Tate Modern

Is it a gun? Is it a camera?
It is amazing to have Street Art in the entrance of the Tate Modern.
We may be able to communicate a message across to people just with Art. Art is very personal, the artist expresses a collective awareness through an unique perspective.

Writing For Images

A writing composition - Creative Writing
- A place where I´ve never been and I´ve always wanted to go

In - Ink

An explosion of colour and codes of emotions from behind anothers’ skin.

Ink.

Secrets concealed before an impulse,
within a hidden heart.
Where tales become fixed into reality and reality becomes fantastical and with it
new worlds abound,
magic spirits spill out.

It is a hangman with an uncovered face,

a poet,
a writer,
a journalist

a love note
a suicide
a child’s first line

Its life is like the stage,
never knowing which character it will be forced to perform.

as each morning dawns
the lightness of day embraces its calligraphy,
makes its stream glisten brighter than shattered diamonds
for its value is greater than all the worlds wealth combined.

It transmits.

Peoples’ ideas get carved with the point of a finger.
It performs this task for them.
They smile at it, get so attached to it,
it can feel their thoughts,
it can.
It really can.
Sometimes agreeing,
Sometimes disagreeing,
It longs to make them aware,
“you are wrong, you don’t mean it like that, try again,”
and then,
they might scribble it frantically across the spoiled page for a new explosion of feelings to flow and
“Yes!”.
They are attached to it again.

Like a best friend
It is a box of benevolence to all of them.
It serves them dutifully
Sometimes feeling good.
Sometimes feeling bad
spelling out feelings it cannot understand
because

It transmits.

But yet sometimes it knows
when they are lying,
when they are loving,
when they are working,
when they are joking,
­It does,
It really does,
It is so aware,
simply because they get so attached.

With their fingertips rubbing its cloak/clothing,
It starts to sense the thinking they are trying to express and as they sweep it softly once again across the page

It receives.

Australasia - U8 Magazine

These are the latest articles I have designed for U8 magazine. It is not too long to put the whole magazine together and send it to the printers! We all are very excited, learning more and more about publishing and editorial design, bring it on!

PAPUA NEW GUINEA - Subtle Reflections From a Dark Paradise

HAWAII - Recentralizing The Native Hawaiian

Letterpress

I have been making some prints in the workshop at University! It is amazing the ellaboration that Letterpress involves but it is really rewarding the final piece. It is a print of your existence! Unless you chit will not get the same print twice!

These two prints I made to be included in two of the articles that I´m designing for U8 magazine, included in the Middle East Section.

Pulp Fiction in Typography

Really good brief for Graphic Motions!!
Jules Winnfield (Samuel L.Jackson)
Typography in Movement. A bite of inspiration!!
How does Marcellus Wallace look to you??? ....What???

Passion about Life

Another delicious bite of life here! what a career "George Steinmetz" -amazing-
He is a regular contributor to Nation Geographic and GEO magazine

His portfolio is an exciting journey around the world.

This photo as most of the aerial photos he takes are taken from the seat of the lightest powered aircraft in the world, a motorized paraglider.
The amazing about this photo is that the camels are the white line!!

Rebecca Horn (1944-Germany/Alemania) Poetry

Rebecca is a German installation artist, but she also writes poetry. Her typographic work is amazing! Like a paint, her installations are a place where you can quiet simply relax and enjoy the trip! It could be described as a projected tale.

Rebecca es una artista conceptual alemana, pero tambien es una poeta. Su trabajo es impresionante! Al igual que una pintura, sus installations son un lugar donde simplemente puedes relajarte y disfrutar del viaje! Podria describirlo como un cuento projectado.

Light imprisoned in the belly of the whale


Horizontal roots,
ramifications of gill/wings
suckled on cold blood
Endlessly alone in slippery corridors,
shapes of air, shapes of moon,
in all this floating where to hold on?
Rubbing the body to create a fire
in the hotel of unborn words,
Bessie Love in Pris, 1928.

In the night words are wandering
like shadows inside the head,
gliding across the marble of water.
A golden rod interrupts the flow
writing in reverse upon black water,
redeems sentences through waves,
kindles a turmoil of signs
in mirrored transparency.
Trembling words search for a new order,
asking the moon for orientation
in the dome of interwoven wods.

Escape from the belly of ramified echoes,
whirling around the heart/pulse of the whale.
My shadow invents its fever,
clasps the cold throb,
sending flames of light
in the centyer of the heart.
Uncertain if love contains deliverance within the fire.

The grain of seed in the word,
nourished in darkness,
unable to fasten the heart/knot,
is light and shadow at once,
floating in the sphere.
A drop of air and water takes shape within the whale
as a scream.
Birth of words,
resounding across the waves,
gliding towards the sun

Rebecca Horn