Now is the the time for boldness, originality. So many have given up, when the real race has just begun. #endurancewriter
This is a Tweet i sent out to my 221 very organically derived Followers (four of whom I know personally). Yeah, I am not much of a believer in the easily-gamed Twitter follower game. Or in the algorithms that determine what gets brought up in Google searches. Gamed. The better content sinks for long periods, because it takes longer to digest. The tastemakers have lost their confidence in making taste, are now playing catchup with what sells on Amazon, generates x-million views (not critical reads). The serpent is eating its own tail.
But art endures, that's something I realized when I laid eyes on April Jardine Limuran's most recent work. Two people (out of three I have shown in person) have independently mentioned Kandinsky on first glance. What I call Shell-Tile Meditation (April has not yet given it a name) is an accomplished work that contains layers of meaning. I see shells and and a shard of Earth Fabric tribal patterning, mixed with the sophistication of downtown tiles and fleur-de-whatever. There is a sureness to her line that cannot be faked and reminds me of a few artists I really dig.
What April has done is take that raw gift I first saw when she crafted Butterfly Heart in 2012 and turned it into higher level stuff. With no guide but her own intuition, this daughter of the Aklan coastal-nipa-yoga-paraw-tattoo tribe has reached the same level of gritty sophistication as, say a Banksy. Her sense of patterning and line are her own. The feeling emanating from the canvas is genuine. The colors earthy, with a hint of Yellow Submarine and Gaugin languor. I am proud to have collaborated with this emerging artist.
Update (two hours later): The art is having a profound effect. I'm envisioning a flute assemblage, based on the artwork. Snippets of raw, unearthly sound drawn + dripped from a Bukidnon flute. In the anarchic spirit of the Red Pirate, Exit Bar, Camping Chavez––peak moments when music was life.
To be released... ?
This is a Tweet i sent out to my 221 very organically derived Followers (four of whom I know personally). Yeah, I am not much of a believer in the easily-gamed Twitter follower game. Or in the algorithms that determine what gets brought up in Google searches. Gamed. The better content sinks for long periods, because it takes longer to digest. The tastemakers have lost their confidence in making taste, are now playing catchup with what sells on Amazon, generates x-million views (not critical reads). The serpent is eating its own tail.
But art endures, that's something I realized when I laid eyes on April Jardine Limuran's most recent work. Two people (out of three I have shown in person) have independently mentioned Kandinsky on first glance. What I call Shell-Tile Meditation (April has not yet given it a name) is an accomplished work that contains layers of meaning. I see shells and and a shard of Earth Fabric tribal patterning, mixed with the sophistication of downtown tiles and fleur-de-whatever. There is a sureness to her line that cannot be faked and reminds me of a few artists I really dig.
What April has done is take that raw gift I first saw when she crafted Butterfly Heart in 2012 and turned it into higher level stuff. With no guide but her own intuition, this daughter of the Aklan coastal-nipa-yoga-paraw-tattoo tribe has reached the same level of gritty sophistication as, say a Banksy. Her sense of patterning and line are her own. The feeling emanating from the canvas is genuine. The colors earthy, with a hint of Yellow Submarine and Gaugin languor. I am proud to have collaborated with this emerging artist.
Update (two hours later): The art is having a profound effect. I'm envisioning a flute assemblage, based on the artwork. Snippets of raw, unearthly sound drawn + dripped from a Bukidnon flute. In the anarchic spirit of the Red Pirate, Exit Bar, Camping Chavez––peak moments when music was life.
To be released... ?
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