Category: studio

  • OctoberDocument092218sla-page033a+architecture

    AG2018-OctoberDocument092218sla-page033a

    https://www.tumblr.com/garadinervi/730375098766376960/gunta-st%C3%B6lzl-wall-hanging-wool-silk
    https://www.tumblr.com/darquitectura/614442147958095872/alvar-aalto-sein%C3%A4joen-kaupungintalo-1962

    “what I am saying right now is secretly built over

                  a love poem, the fossils of a cupola,

    pink buildings with red hyphens and dashes

                  and three red dots …” (Alexandria Peary, The Architecture of a Love Poem)

  • AG2023_1066685a or genius loci

    AG2023_1066685a

    “dance naked, grotesquely

    before my mirror

    waving my shirt round my head

    and singing softly to myself”

    William Carlos Williams, Danse Russe.


    “The organ can be heard playing his music
    And conjuring into life the whitewashed walls”

    David Ricks, Genius Loci.

  • Patterns, of a sort

    AG2023_1066711a

    AG2023_1066711a

    In progress.

    AG2023_1056082a

    sent to 14n61w

    AG2023_1056082a

    Out to Lunch

    Installation view of Out to Lunch, Art & Culture Center of Hollywood, Hollywood, Florida, 2010.

    Nodal Sculpture

    untitled (sharing in a market-mediated access economy; stadium), 2015.
    enamel paint, chipboard, wire, wood, and found coroplast.


    “a stay against everything unforeseen” Timothy Liu, Holding Pattern.

  • AG2023_1045245a reprise or that is her patter in the hall

    AG2023_1045245a

    Neither rosy nor prim; prefers the chorus to the heap of disturbance.


    “Softly–
    Yes, that is her patter in the hall.
    She has returned.”
    –Alfred Kreymborg, Again


    “They raise their eyes to her whose grace and wit
    Reanimate the shadows of the room,
    Her eyes nocturnal beings exquisite
    With witchery to make the stillness bloom;”
    –Alfred Kreymborg, When They Require Gardens


    “The person you are trying

    is not accepting. Is not

    at this time. Please

    again. The person

    you are trying is not

    in service.

    […] Again later

    at this time. Not accepting.”

    –Martha Collins, Again later.

  • AG2023_1066646a or thin and indiscernible

    AG2023_1066646a

    Flowing, thin, and indiscernible


    Wandering Through Landscapes curated by Hartvest Project (Carola Bravo) and Adriana Meneses.

    Elisa Benedetti, Andrés Cabrera-García, Jefreid Lotti, César Rey, Clara Toro, Gustavo Acosta, and Adler Guerrier

    An exhibit that invites you to embark on a captivating journey through the contrasting and different ways to see our landscapes. We delve into the essence of distinct yet interconnected worlds: the dynamic urban landscapes that pulse with vibrant energy and the serene rural expanses that breathe tranquility. South Florida’s unique blend of tropical allure and cosmopolitan life is a melting pot of diverse cultures. Through this exhibition, we aim to capture different visions, shedding light on the captivating interplay between those visions.

    Adriana Meneses

    September 10 through November 5, 2023. At Pinecrest Gardens, 11000 Red Rd, Pinecrest, FL, 33156.

  • AG2023_1066644a barely holds

    AG2023_1066644a

    Some faint impressions barely held by this arrangement.


    “… some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end” – Eliot

  • AG2023_1066517a

    AG2023_1066517a

    “everyday life is situated somewhere in the rift opened up between the subjective, phenomenological, sensory apparatus of the individual and the reified institution.

    […]

    To read everyday life, … is therefore to become engaged in an act of poesis.”

    -(Kristin Ross, The Politics and Poetics of Everyday Life)

  • AG2023_1056070a or whispered intelligence lurking in the leaves

    AG2023_1056070a

    A reworked element from the installation, Untitled (Sistrunk–in medias res. Unfurling the presence of Black life), 2020, shown in African-American Research Library and Cultural Center, 2650 Sistrunk Boulevard, Fort Lauderdale, Florida.


    And there was no voice in her head,

    no whispered intelligence lurking

    in the leaves—just an ache that grew

    until she knew she’d already lost everything

    except desire, the red heft of it

    warming her outstretched palm.

    Rita Dove, I Have Been a Stranger in a Strange Land