Question: If you weren’t a painter what would you like to be?
Yoda: A musician or a filmmaker.
Q: Do you sing?
Y: Yes, in the shower (laugh)
Q: If someone makes a song about you, who would you like it to be?
Y: Just one song? Why not an entire album? (laugh). Hmmm, Lou Reed.
Q: And if a filmmaker would make a movie about you?
Y: Easy, Tim Burton, Michel Gondry, or David Lynch.
Q: And a writer?
Y: Michael Ende or Janette Winterson.
Q: But Michael Ende is dead.
Y: You never said it has to be alive (giggle).
Q: Ok, ok. Which famous painter would you like to make your portrait?
Y: G. Helnwein or Arturo Rivera
Q: And which famous photographer?
Y: Eugenio Recuenco or Joel-Peter Witkin
Q: And if someone who you admire could make your portrait?
Y: In photo I’d like oladios or Slow Cheetah and in drawing szaza or occam’s razor
Q: If you could do any of these two what would you choose: to breathe underwater or to fly?
Y: Fly away
Q: To where?
Y: That’s my secret.
Q: Which is your fashion style?
Y: Like a safe box: you don’t know how the combination is (laugh)
Q: What kind of cat would you be?
Y: A poser.
I always thought making a drawing or a painting would be much easier with one colour. I was so wrong.
The complexity reaches to strange levels and there was times when I felt nothing was going on, nothing seemed right, but still to quit wasn't a good idea, not only because the drawing was something I had to make for the exchange, but also because of the learning process. I can see now that I'm capable of making something almost monocrome.
Is it boring? For me, no, I don't know if it's for you.
When I was younger...
but things can't always start with such sentence. Though I'm getting older, or as I'm getting older, I'm starting to forget things. There are some events that are erased from my memory and somehow I know they are there, somewhere, hidden inside me. I don't know if I need them, or if they need me. Maybe not. If I get to be an old lady I'll remember them, for sure.
I been trying to remember how did I learn to tie my shoelaces and when I successfully did it. No matter how much I try to focus I can't recall it. On the other hand, there are thing I don't remember but my parents or family does, like when I was a baby, so they form part of my memory.
I do remember when I was making this drawing, a long time ago. If I consentrate enough I can even remember how I was feeling those days.
Is strange what we choose to remember and what not.
Everytime I have a nice cup of tea I transformer myself into a new character, quite old, actually. Is a part of me, my part of a sophisticated lady, like the ones that appears in victorian portraits, in old books.
That doestn't happens with any type of tea, just with some in which the flavours are rich and soft at the same time.
A friend once described me a tea she drinks like "a mountain". It took me a while to understand what that means, how a tea could be a mountain. Little by little I've been understanding that; still I don't have the whole idea but I'm getting close to it.
I've tried some good teas, some really great, some of them makes me feel like I'd never want to stop drinking them, though is always good there's no more and my cup is empty so I can try a new flavour or an old one.
Maybe one day I'll get to drink a tea in a nice place and me, wearing a nice vintage dress; only one day, that would be fantastic. And maybe that day I'll be in England and a nice english rain would be there, outside, but I'll have my nice cup of tea, with sugar and perhaps some cream, and I wouldn't mind about the rain because I'll ahve a wonderful red umbrella with me and a lovely monster-friend by my side.
Little by littel the idea of tridimentionality is taking a place in my imagination. Still is not a complete idea, still I can't make one of those pop up things. My dad is too kind and he gives his creations for me to use however I want. I need to learn how to make the things he tries to teach me, and I say "try" because is taking me too much time to think in another way beside bidimentional way. Maybe that's why I didn't studied scupture.
I feel that I have to start to change the way I see things, the world, everything, in order to understand how things works. Who knows, maybe if I get to understand that the next step is kinetics.
Just drawing and painting is not enough, I can't say everything I want to say.
There's much to learn and time is endless.
Sometimes I'm sick of my own face. Is there and everybody else can see it, but why should I see it all the time? But there are sometimes when I see it and I don't recognize it, is somebody else's face. I look at it deeply, I see the eyes - deep brown, the lips - like a duck's mouth - the nose... I like my nose, but still is not my nose and not my lips, my eyes, eyebrows, etc. I ask to that person looking back to me at the mirror "who are you?" She asks the same to me. No response.I never draw myself how I really am. Is me, yes, minus this, minus that. "Artist's license" is called, pure self indulgence I call it.I'm selfish, yes and I have my egotheque of self portraits. I'm the only one there willing to be drawn, and my cats of course.
I don’t like to draw hair
And I hate Mozart… most of his works, except that one and a few more.
And I hate Mozart… most of his works, except that one and a few more.
I met Captain Dimitri while traveling on the seven seas. He was a nice Russian guy whom likes to drink cherry whiskey and sing songs about his travels. He showed me the songs that the mermaids sing when the storms are coming and also showed me to cook a nice lemon salmon. He told me that he was born in Poland, because his mother was from there, but his father was Russian so he took him away when he was a child to become a sailor, just like him. When he was sad he used to sing his mother’s songs in her languaje. Captain Dimitri also was known as Rosie by some people in Mauritius. I never asked him why. I also asked him his name, but was in polish and russian, so the when he saw my blank expression he told me "call me Dimitri".I don’t know what happened to him. The last thing I’ve heard about him was that he was sailing near the red sea but he was so blue that he headed up north.
Conocí al capitán Dimitri cuando navegaba por los siete mares. él era un buen hombre ruso que gustaba beber wiskey de cereza y cantar canciones sobre sus viajes. Él me mostró las canciones que cantan las sirenas cuando viene una tormenta y también a cocinar un delicioso salmón al limón. Me explicó que él nació en Polonia porque su madre era de ahí, pero su padre era ruso, así que cuando era muy pequeño se lo llevó con él para que aprendiera a ser un marinero como su padre. Cuando se ponía triste cantaba canciones en su lengua materna.
El capitán Dimitri también era conocido como Rosie por algunas personas en Mauritius. Nunca le pregunté por qué. También le pregunté su nombre, pero era una mezcla de ruso y polaco, así que cuando vió my expresión me dijo "llámame Dimitri".
No sé qué pasó con él. Lo último que supe esque cuando viajaba por el mar Rojo se sintió tan triste que decidió dirigirse al norte.
My imaginary friend likes to think she's the mature one here and the monster that lives upside my head is so kawaii ;P
Now, I want you to go to your room and play with your imaginary friend - Pretty Things
Cuando era chica creía que había alguien que era yo misma en otro lugar, pero ella era una princesa. Creía que si miraba con detenimiento mis rostro en el espejo era provable que en algún momento la viera.
When I was a child I used to believe that somewhere there was a girl that actually was me, but she was a princes. I believed that if I stared long enough my face in the mirror I could have a glimpse of her face.
Connection - Elastica
Slowly I awake today. My eyes are tired so is my head, not to mention the rest of my too-young-to-be-old body. I try to listen some music, nothing seems to catch my attention. Finally I choose something, someone to sing what's on my head. Note by note, smooth as a cat comes my old friend Chet Baker telling me 'let's get lost, let's get lost' and I take his invitation as his trumpet flows around me, clear metallic sound filling every corner of my solitude. My solitude - with Billie Holliday's voice is the voice in my head.
Sometimes I don't understand english, I don't understand 'I like you' meaning - is so different if I try to translate it to my own languaje -. But I say it anyway.
I should stop listening the old tunes. They stick to me, get into my bones as I'm starting to feel how they fill me with sadness, melancholy of things I would never have, such feelings.
Soundtrack: We are going to be friends - The White StripesThis is Juanito's guardian angel. Maybe he's not the cuttest angel in the world (or heaven) but he's a very nice one... maybe Juanito's father doesn't thinks the same.
El ángel guardián de Juanito. Tal vez no sea el mejor, pero juanito cree que sí... a excepción de su papá.
soundtrack: Just like a woman - Charlotte Gainsbourg
Un collage que hice reciengemente.
En verdad me gusta, aunque creo que con otra foto mía hubiera quedado mejor.
I still think that the hair looks sweet... and my cat ears :D