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viernes, 20 de noviembre de 2015
Pejac: Arte creativo y callejero...
"Pejac es el pseudónimo de un artista español que empezó a pintar en las paredes, contrariado por la actitud de sus profesores hacia el arte. Desde entonces, pinta en la calle para llevar el arte a la gente que no puede visitar museos. Las obras de Pejac pueden encontrarse no solo en varias ciudades españolas, sino también en las calles de grandes urbes como Moscú, París, Estambul, Londres y Milán.
“La melancolía es el motor de muchas de mis obras, pero también la suelo mezclar con humor. La combinación de ambos es un buen detonante para lograr un lenguaje poético que huye de la belleza simple y busca su esencia en la cara oculta de las cosas,” contaba para el periódico20minutos.
Las reacciones de quienes ven sus obras le impulsan a seguir adelante: “La vida del adulto es pura inercia y parece que tiende a romperse únicamente por estímulos o noticias negativas. Si además logro una reflexión en las personas que se topan con mis obras en la calle, la cosa va tomando sentido,” dice el artista."
Balcones modernistas en la calle Grande Gracia
OTHER FLESH (Cuento, Otra Carne, en Inglés y castellano). Arsenio Rodriguez Quintana.
appear more innocent surrounded in silence and calmness. That esthetic repose
preceeding dinner was part of the daily attraction her body generated at
knowing her habbit of undressing him underneath the covers.
that lies between the flesh grows benumbed. This modest unheaval of positions
and the short longitud of the folds in the sheets covering her chest and
neck, made one of her breasts show without modesty beneath the fabric. This
must have occured other times because in its nature it appeared without
shyness.
attempted to concentrate on the next but the bronze colored matisses on her
chest and neck showed a notable contrast against the pale democracy of that
ondulated and passive breast.
marginal and sublime breast reproduced a marmol face without eyelids giving
an exact idea of the slimness of her covered buttocks, smiling and calm in
their respiration. Her nipple rested over its ring like a backbone that
generates the equilibrium of that delicate flesh, prepared only for the humid
touch of the toungue.
mass, part of the magic is hidden like that of a snail, mimiking the shape of
her ear. I did not desire to touch it, it would be a crime to erase with one
caress the shape of something that has conditioned a whole contemplative
culture with characteristics of making itself necessary, useful for the
pleasure it represents. I did not gaze (stare) with hate or fear, I had no
desire for competition, competing amongst women implies being the foolish
heiress of Safo. There was something abiding in her breast which made it
reach its eternity. It is like that of being in the brest of God. Now its
beauty survives beneath any blouse without a brassier and I do not know the
reason why, this bit of faith does not lie within my power.