Visions libres Journey

S N O I S i V M

Head Inside Journey into your inner | ine gaz Ma re ltu Cu d an Art e Th

libres

LETTER from the editor JOURNEY INSIDE YOUR INNER HEAD You may not know what is ahead but you will know what lies in-between, not the past. Rumi said a long time ago, “And you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?” Face yourself first, then the rest of the world. Don’t waste your time in growing up or going back. Either of it would not bring anything. It is exactly like this: how do you write anything? First you brainstorm but if you do not get any idea what to write, you just look within yourself. You find the key to write. Of course that key does not appear magically, it comes from Almighty. As whatever you are searching for is with Him, inside your heart. Word by word it all writes by itself but only the writer knows what it takes; to sit patiently writing it all down. It does not matter whether the audience will approve his work or not, it matters that he had the courage to stand up for his words for himself. To just say it, even if the world thinks this particular person is insane philosophizing on words and connecting it with ourselves. To leave the comfort zone, to ask the people, at least find the time to read what it is written. Aer all reading is only a task of eye-mind coordination if you want to put it that way. It hardly takes five minutes to read it all. But to get the feedback out of people, it takes a while. A while because writing is what we all fear from. A huge task isn’t?

For the rest it may be like just to blurt out what he read in the first line to debate till 1000 comments.

1000 comments or less, it is interesting how far a human being can go either it is useless or useful; we are not going into details. We are only concerned with how far he abused, used and reused the words for his convenience to just let it go on and on.

Feature: YANN CIELAT / I hate Paris? page 4_21 ARTlife: RENSKE KOSTER / Stencil-Art page 116_121 Poetry District: MIKE LEE / e Ghost in You page 34_35 / 68_71 Cover: Yann Cielat

Journey inside your inner Head

Partizipating artists: Analua Zoé / www.facebook.com/analua.zoe Andrea Eddem / www.facebook.com/andrea.medde.3 Angie Stergio / www.facebook.com/angiestergio12 Barbara Travers / www.facebook.com/Traverphotographyart Boris Le Montagner / www.facebook.com/El.Borse / www.facebook.com/borislemonphoto Boy Jeconiah / www.facebook.com/boy.jeconiah Chih-Chieh Wang / www.facebook.com/Morrison.C.C.Wang Claudia Griebl / www.facebook.com/cege777 Dadu Phoenix / www.facebook.com/dadu.phoenix Daša Ščuka / www.facebook.com/dasa.scuka David R Banta Photography / www.facebook.com/davidrbantaphotography Dewald Jay / www.facebook.com/dewald.jay Egon Hungerbühler / www.facebook.com/egon.hungerbuhler Émili Bermúdez Photography / www.facebook.com/emili.bermudez Francesca Ferrari / www.facebook.com/ferrari.fra00 Grauen Adm / www.facebook.com/aphexevil Horst Schmier / www.facebook.com/horst.schmier Ivan Fei / www.facebook.com/ivan.bdrphotography Jean-François Dupuis Photographe / www.facebook.com/jeanfrancoisdupuis.photographe Jenny Papalexandris / www.facebook.com/jenny.papalexandris Joe Josephs / www.facebook.com/joe.josephs.7 Jos Tontlinger / www.facebook.com/j.tontlinger Kátia Lima / www.facebook.com/katia.lima Kazuyuki Shimokawa / www.facebook.com/kazuyuki.shimokawa.52 Konrado Sobczak / www.facebook.com/konrado.sobczak / www.facebook.com/pages/Wykadrowany/477411129039899 Laura Simonsen / www.facebook.com/laura.simonsen.58 / www.facebook.com/pages/Laura-Simonsen-Photography/664472900297892 Lo Bricard / www.facebook.com/achile.tatin / www.facebook.com/pages/Photos-by-lo/461310770605706 Lyza Charlie / www.facebook.com/lyzacharlie Mai Saki Art Lab / www.facebook.com/maisakiart Mariangela Raponi Fotografa / www.facebook.com/mariangela.raponi www.facebook.com/MariangelaRaponiPhotographer Marion MCa / www.facebook.com/marion.callies Mark Longbottom / www.facebook.com/malongbottom / www.facebook.com/platform58 Michał Konrad Fotografia / www.facebook.com/shadow10021983 Mike Lee / www.facebook.com/mike.quinam MWeissArt / www.facebook.com/pages/MWeissArt Nigel Maudsley / www.facebook.com/nmaudsley Olivier Rondeaux / www.facebook.com/olivier.rondeaux.9 Otilia Bercaru / www.facebook.com/Agentofdarkness87 Peder Aresvik / www.facebook.com/peder.aresvik Phil Mckay / www.facebook.com/phil.mckay.33 Philip Rice / www.facebook.com/pjr47 Pia S / www.facebook.com/jukka.stampell Renske Koster / www.facebook.com/renske.koster Rita Brito / www.facebook.com/rita.brito.754 Ryuichi Noguchi / www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100004435595361 Sam Herron / www.facebook.com/samuelherron Sammy Sharon / www.facebook.com/sammysharon Sasa Art, Sandra Sachsenhauser / www.facebook.com/sasaphotographyart Sherry Akrami / www.facebook.com/sherry.akrami Shirren Lim / www.facebook.com/shirrenlim Sookie Sirene / www.facebook.com/SookieSirene / www.facebook.com/pages/Sookie-Sirene-art/1477588352483602 Stefano Assisi / www.facebook.com/stef7718 Valerie Simonnet / www.facebook.com/simonnet.valerie Viola Ursu / www.facebook.com/vivi.ursu Yann Cielat / www.facebook.com/yann.cielat 陳顯坤 / www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008288171149

Paris – PHOTOGRAPHY AND VISIONS

BY YANN CIELAT

Paris I hate you for so many reasons.

I hate you for your too expensive coees and your people jumping on board your overcrowded metro. I hate the hours lost during the travelling time and the liningup in shops. I hate your dirty pavements in some of your places, your greyness of winter and the gloomy faces of your tired and stressed people. I hate your pollution and your neverending noise. But the main reason why I hate you is that you are always looking at me with a smirk on your face when I am going back to my home province. Because you know I cannot do without your beauty and your turmoil. And you also know that I will tremendously come back to you.

Paris, I desperately hate loving you.

02/03

I hate

you?

IdentitĂŠ

04/05

Fi ct

io n

LibertĂŠ

06/07

ree adjectives describing Yann Cielat?

I AM A SELF-TAUGHT, INSTINCTIVE & COOL PERSON, BY ALL MEANS, AS THE WORD »COOL« IS MY FAVOURITE ADJECTIVE ...

Secret

Who would you be and what would you do, if in your life there was not the photography?

SOMETHING TO DO WITH FRAME, BECAUSE IMAGES ARE DEFINITIVELY PART OF MY LIFE.

What were the most important moments of your artistic experience, the biggest success and the toughest defeat if any?

I DO LOVE ALL THE EXHIBITIONS I HAD BUT THE FIRST ONE IN PARTICULAR WAS SUCH A COOL EXPERIENCE. I FELT LIKE A LEGITIMATE PHOTOGRAPHER AND THAT WAS A GREAT FEELING. BUT I THINK MY ARTISTIC BACKGROUND IS STILL A BRAND NEW ONE. SO YOU WILL HAVE TO ASK ME THE QUESTION AGAIN IN A FEW YEARS AHEAD.

Diversité

08/09

Nuance (dés)Humanisé

Express

10/11

ion

Whenever you hide behind the camera, how much you like to reveal yourself?

MY PHOTOS ARE A TOTAL PERSONAL SELF-REFLECTION, DEALING WITH MY PERCEPTIVITY, WITH MY INTIMATE WORLD, MY OWN UNIVERSE. I DO NOT CHEAT, I DO NOT COMPROMISE. IT’S A MIXTURE MADE OF CONSCIOUS AND UNCONSCIOUS FEELINGS, OF PERSONALITY, ARTISTIC SENSITIVITY, BACKGROUNDS AND INFLUENCES ... I BARE MY SOUL AT MY OWN PACE, THAT'S WHY YOU ALSO HAVE TO READ BETWEEN THE LINES.

12/13

Non-Conformisme

Illusion 14/15

Décalage

Your photographic works reveal a harmony between particular technical features and concept art; tell us about your poetry and your vision of photography: construction, illusion or reality?

I AM AN ABSOLUTE SELF-MADE PHOTOGRAPHER. I HAVE NEVER LEARNT THE BASIC RULES OF PHOTOGRAPHY. AND I HAVE NEVER STUDIED ON THE FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHERS' WORKS EITHER. WHEN I STARTED TO TAKE PHOTOS, BLACK & WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY CAME NATURALLY TO ME, AS THE REFERENCES I HAD ON PICTURING WERE COMING FROM THE TYPE OF CINEMA I WAS ESTHETICALLY CONCERNED ABOUT, SUCH AS DARREN ARONOFSKY'S PI, BESSON’S LE DERNIER COMBAT AND SOGO ISHI OR SHINYA TSUKAMOTO'S MOVIES. MY PHOTOGRAPHIC UNIVERSE FINDS ITS SOURCE THERE, BY INSTINCT. AND I TRY NOT TO SPREAD MYSELF. BUT TO BE HONEST, THIS IS RATHER SUBCONSCIOUS AS I DON’T AIM AT KNOWING IF MY WORK BELONGS TO TRADITIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY OR TO MODERN ART. I DEAL WITH MY OWN BUSINESS AS COOL AS I MIGHT BE, THAT'S ALL. I LEAVE IT TO PEOPLE TO INTERPRET, DEFINE AND CATEGORIZE MY WORK IF THE WISH TO DO IT.

16/17

TemporalitĂŠ

18/19

Vision IndĂŠpendance Zone

Mystère

20/21

Fant a

sme

In your opinion what is the best thing and the worst thing being a photographer?

THE BEST THING FOR ME IS THE FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION IT BRINGS. IT IS AN ART THAT IS EASILY ACCESSIBLE TO ALL. THE WORST ONE, IS THAT BEING A PHOTOGRAPHER IS SOMETHING REALLY TIME-CONSUMING, AND ALSO FRUSTRATING WHEN THE EQUIPMENT CANNOT »REFLECT« THE EYE...

Liberté

Which equipment do you use taking your images? How did you started? Analog or digital?

I STARTED WITH A COMPACT CAMERA AND NOW I AM WORKING WITH A BASIC REFLEX, AND MAY YOU HAVE THE WILL TO PROVIDE ME WITH A GOOD QUALITY ONE ... THIS WAS JUST MY CALLING FOR DONATIONS ! I HAVE NEVER WORKED IN A TRADITIONAL FILM FORMAT.

22/23

Yann, how did you felt during taking photos in color?

Ecart

I ALWAYS TAKE PICTURES IN COLOUR. HERE, THE CHALLENGE WAS TO PROCESS THEM IN COLOUR, AND I WAS REALLY AT PAINS. FOR ME, THERE IS NOTHING NATURAL IN DOING IT. SO I HAD TO THINK ABOUT WHAT I ACTUALLY WANTED, ABOUT THE BENEFIT I COULD GAIN FROM IT. WHEN I WORK IN B&W, IT ALL CAME NATURALLY, MAKING PERFECT SENSE TO ME. HERE, I HAD TO TRUELY WORK HARD, QUESTIONING MYSELF ALL THE TIME.

Urbain

24/25

26/27

e g a v u Sa

How do you feel about working in Magazine projects or Conceptional Editorial stuямА?

I AM SO PROUD ... PROUD TO BE AMONG TALENTED ARTISTS AND PROUD TO SEE THAT MY WORK IS RECOGNISED.

Illusion 28/29

Sensibilité

Finally, what are your next projects?

I DO NOT HAVE ANY OTHER FUTURE PROJECTS, APART FROM GOING ON SHOOTING. I HOPE I WILL HAVE OPPORTUNITIES TO MOUNT EXHIBITIONS AGAIN AND AGAIN. I REMAIN OPEN TO ALL SUGGESTIONS.

Merci à Louisa, Yaël, Laëtitia, Seb, François, Johann et Christophe pour vos contributions, votre implication et votre soutien.

30/31

e

Pé

qu i r é h rip

©Mike Lee

The Ghost in You eBook: e Invisible Mirror

Mike Lee is a writer and photographer based in New York City and Managing Editor of Public Employee Press, the voice of District Council 37, AFSCME. Previous publications include e Ampersand Review, Paraphilia, Sensitive Skin, Glossolalia and e Potomac Journal.

His stories are also featured in several anthologies, including Forbidden Acts (Avon) and Pawn of Chaos (White Wolf). A collection of photos, Le miroir invisible (e Invisible Mirror), was published by the French publisher Corridor Elephant.

www.amazon.fr/miroir-invisibleInvisible-mirror-ebook/dp/ B00M606OXE

His photography is featured in ArtPhotoFeature Magazine, Aspect: Ratio, Black & White in Color Magazine, Visions Libres, SHOT! Magazine, Inspired Eye and in the books Black and White Street Photography, World Street Photography (Kujaja Press, Austria).

Web: www.mleephotoart.com.

34/35

Poetry District

Mike Lee A. e walk home: Under the sun less warm in the autumn, as leaves turn into the narrow kaleidoscope of earthen tones and magenta, Maggie and her father quietly stepped down the narrow street. Greenwich Village, New York City, the world within a universe, in a bubble, self-contained but they knew for years that it was only a small shared space in a universe of cities and towns, of wild country and stark desert. Guided like a trained hawk toward its destination, father and daughter walked down the narrow cobblestoned street leading toward the river, their destination a small café on the corner two blocks from West Avenue and the Hudson River. e days remained long, but already the sun began its downward slide into night.

B. Café: indeed tiny, dark, the patio behind shaded with ivy. Maggie clutched her plush sunflower doll, who she called Mr. Smiley. it was a gi from her kindergarten teacher, because as she told her father, because she seemed so sad in class and needed a friend. e father thought about boundary issues and considered divorcing the mother for the umpteenth time. He also decided to take on more responsibilities, arraigning with his boss to pick Maggie up from school and taking her to his work. He felt it a more proactive act than subconsciously sweeping up

shards of heart. Aer work, they walked home, passing SoHo and into Greenwich Village. Here they stopped for dinner. e father could ill-afford it, but neither wanted to go home, and they were hungry.

C. Ten years later: Mr. Smiley went to college with Maggie. Maggie has not seen the mother since her parental rights were stripped by a family court judge a very long time ago, though sometimes for both father and daughter it still feels like only yesterday.

Maggie’s father remembers the mothers’ reaction to being served divorce papers.

He sits in the café with a glass of merlot in front of him, the stained glass window salvaged from an episcopal church in Chelsea behind, the glow of the setting sun reflecting through the translucent glass as he raised the wine to his lips. “You’re divorcing me?” he murmured, putting the wine glass down. He lays his hands over the darkened wood, spreading his fingers, taking a deep breath, still relieved.

D. H.P. Lovecra’s courtyard: in the early 1920s Lovecra lived in Brooklyn Heights, in a room on Clinton Street near Atlantic Avenue. in his wanderings in the city he would go to this particular courtyard on Perry Street in Greenwich Village. He used the location for a short story, not one of his better ones, but it is the one the father thought fondly of when he arrived in New York City 25 years ago. He arrived to the city with a different woman. He missed her. She returned to where they came from. Long ago, a metal gate was installed, making the courtyard inaccessible except for the building tenants. He stood at the gate and took a photo with his iPhone. He turned to face the setting sun before moving into cascading gray, walking home alone.

Faces

self_ VI 36/37

BY JeNNY PAPALexANdRiS

self_ VI

Ash, ash You poke and stir.

Flesh, bone, there is nothing there Lady Lazarus Plath

Cellopane

self_ VI 38/39

BY NiGeL MAUdSLeY

Veil

Inner

BY BoRiS Le MoNTAGNeR 40/41

What was in their inner head at this point of time? And is this expression representing their all mind set, or not at all ...

What's crossing these people mind at this exact moment when I clicked their pic?

42/43

BY BoRiS Le MoNTAGNeR

Zeitgeist

BY SAMMY SHARoN BY kรกTiA LiMA

44/45

BY PedeR AReSVik

Matrix

BY JeNNY PAPALexANdRiS

BY ANALUA Zoé

46/47

BY eGoN HUNGeRBüHLeR

BY MARk LoNGBoTToM

self_ VII

BY JENNY PAPALEXANDRIS

BY DADU PHOENIX

48/49

BY DADU PHOENIX

Post mortem / L'oeil et la plume...

Auto-portrait

BY JEAN-FRANÇOIS DUPUIS PHOTOGRAPHE

BY NIGEL MAUDSLEY

50/51

BY ÉMILI BERMÚDEZ PHOTOGRAPHY

BY NIGEL MAUDSLEY

Complex Matters

BY VIOLA URSU

SAM© “I’m an old man now, and a lonesome man in Omaha / but not afraid / to speak my lonesomeness in a car, / because not only my lonesomeness / it’s Ours, all over America, / O tender fellows –/ & spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy / in the moon 100 years ago or in / the middle of Omaha now.”

BY SAM HERRON 52/53

BY JEAN-FRANÇOIS DUPUIS PHOTOGRAPHE

BY 陳顯坤

BY PHILIP RICE

BY NIGEL MAUDSLEY

BY ANGIE STERGIO 54/55

BY MICHAŁ KONRAD FOTOGRAFIA

BY ANGIE STERGIO

BY STEFANO ASSISI

BY PIA S.

BY SOOKIE SIRENE

56/57

BY LO BRICARD

Identity

BY PIA S.

BY JEAN-FRANÇOIS DUPUIS PHOTOGRAPHE

BY DEWALD JAY

BY OLIVIER RONDEAUX

58/59

BY BOY JECONIAH

BY BOY JECONIAH

Infinite

60/61

Poetry

BY VALERIE SIMONNET

Eternal

62/63

Dimension

by Valerie Simonnet

I-cant-get-these-

Voices

by Shirren lim 64/65

out-of-my-head

by Chih-Chieh Wang

by iVan Fei

by KazuyuKi ShimoKaWa 66/67

by KazuyuKi ShimoKaWa

Silent

Scream

by Shirren lim

ŠMike Lee

Poetry District

miKe lee 68/69

Batacuda

I. my fading black suede beatle boots are in a desperate need of restoration. at the toes the scuffs are long and prominent, lending them a sloppy, weather beaten look that i did not like. instead, i prefer crisp, fresh, brand-new and young; believing as i did since my teens that looking like shit attracts such. unfortunately, this never applies to relationships and therefore i exercise poor judgment, having a history of bad girlfriends and a horrific mar-

riage under my belt. at lends itself to three options at my age: give up, look for someone new, or look back in the past for the women i had missed. a new pair of boots should do, however i prefer my ancient suede shit kickers.

Clara sits across from me, quietly in contemplation. i miss her above all. She is one of those girls i dated around when i was young and for a long time i oen wondered why.

Fear, i guess. Fear that it would work. We seemed to have an instinctive understanding of each other as kids, and that sense of deep knowledge coming from another tended to intimidate me. When Clara found me decades later through a high school alumni Facebook group, as they all always do these days, we picked up as before, finishing a conversation. “my life is a series of digressions.” i pause, look up at the ceiling, my thinking tacitly reflecting upon the view above. no cracks above, but always see an abyss. i continue. “Paths untaken and projects le unfinished because of taking on responsibilities better le to others, and certainly, in retrospect, none of my business.”

Clara stars at me under her faded yellow bangs. i liked her gray eyes, wishing she never hid them so, but that was not my business. i have no papers on her and even if i did, i wouldn’t say a word.

“Well, honey, i hear that,” the tone disinterested, and i sensed she wearied of the complaint of teenage friends turned agelessly untreatably regretful. She was too old for bettie Page. Clara’s graying hair and puffing, aging face resembled a bruja; an old lady selling love candles and stacking thumb worn tarot for forty bucks to get an obvious foretelling. in a tarot reading someone that is close to you is either moving

to California or Florida. Some woman who is really sexually intense is right around the corner waiting for you; usually a hottie and invariably single. her name. e letter starts with r. Who is r? everyone knows at least two rs in their lives—i dated five. e reader belabors the obvious and works the percentages for small profit, using the sense of self-important power by resting in the hopes of the client’s metaphysical beliefs tapping them as blood from a corpse. yes, tarot—those pathways of illumination, cards spread out at the table between aer the shuffle and cut. e obvious answers looking straight back at you on the frayed satin tablecloth under dim lamplight. i still have a hard time believing it, but i am at the age of wanting to know, to believe, perhaps too much, and curious as to where directions i avoided led. i paid sixty bucks for a reading a week before Clara came to visit. like the bruja Clara is sincere too; or was at one time in her life. however, she is a passive soothsayer. She tells futures only by appearing, and giving me each and every jagged scar and canyon wrinkle to touch and read like the open book she was since i met her under a tree during a free concert by the lake when we were fieen. irty years later, and we still haven’t gone on a date. She exposes her neck for me to take whatever she feels i need, and i always make an excuse to refuse.

“What i wanted?” i want a cigarette. i am trying to quit by not smoking in my apartment, but i do not feel like going out on the fire escape to talk through the window.

So i endure.

Continue reading

☛

☛

Continue reading

i respond. “you ask oen, don’t you, Clara?”

Clara lowers her eyes. i was on to her reasoning a long time ago. again, she wants the answer: even so, i am reticent and unrevealing with my question. i learned never to give a straight answer and my questions are oen framed as rhetorical. my mother was diagnosed a depressive, and my ex-wife is bipolar. ose experiences provide an environment of eternal irrational distrust, which causes me to curl into silence and evasion. i protect the right to emotions, so to shield; i learn to avoid, and unfortunately, lie by omission, divulging facts and feelings only when safe. is however is a stream of debate, which ends in failure because in the end i am honest, aer a turn. i stare down at my beatle boots.

Damn i need them shined. heels replaced, too.

Clara pushes her knees together, adjusting the hem of her white peasant skirt. e faded red tank top was shrunk and too young for her.

Still, i she is pretty in it, remembering with teenage memory that little hippie girl back in 1978 under a tree at town lake shaking her head to local punk bands. “yes. i wanted you, Clara.” “biggest regret?” “yes.”

Clara took a deep breath with thirty-year-old air. “en, why not?”

Shit. i desperately wanted that cigarette.

70/71

©Mike Lee

II. We walk to the Starbucks for a last venti before seeing her off to the subway. Clara was going home, back to texas, paying the rent through another nowhere job. ings like that were her realities; not something i thought would happen to her, but she married that man, had his kids, and he le them for her to deal with. his greener pastures were her deserts as she is wont to say, but the kids were grown and moved on, offering Clara the luxury of wandering back to her past. not necessarily reaming the past, as she pointed out during one of our many Starbuck conversations during her visit, but it was simpler, easier to be on closed austin, texas high school Facebook groups reminiscing than waking up every morning to older and none

too wiser. yes, that would be Clara, that girl turned weary, searching for something that she missed while blindly gasping for air.

We sit on stools facing the mirrored bar. i suspect she is counting the lines on the faces before us—i know i am. i gulp my coffee, trying not to sigh.

Clara speaks up, texas twang taut and about to snap. “i think i pissed the girl next to me off.” e woman had been talking about how she could not stand people who failed to handle their shit, choosing to inflict it on others. She was referring to her ex-husband, but spread the web to include many of the folks back home. Clara turned and told her to shut up. e woman sat, speechless, before turning away, murmuring to her friends, with furtive glances back to us.

Poetry District

miKe lee “Speaking reality pisses people off.”

“So it seems.” “ere is an entitlement mentality to victimhood. it becomes an act and an excuse to engage in bad behavior.” “exactly. Wanting pity as a form of attention is just sad.” Clara brus-

hes a lock of her hair, meditative looking at her reflection. “yeah. Just doesn’t work aer a while. one assumes growth and insight as time passes. or wisdom.” “hey, that’s a word. not a word i heard slung around me over the years.” Clara turned to me. “it’s just another kind of pain whore. i think they try to get some enjoyment out of it. Certainly was in my experience. i wasn’t like that, was i?” “never.” “really?” i swallow another gulp of my venti coffee. “you aren’t the kind who is clueless, grandiose and unaware of others’ pain. i never thought of you committing random acts of empathy as a means to show off. you weren’t about getting attention—perhaps that was the issue. you should have stuck your head above the rest. but no—you weren’t manipulative, you did not treat people as chess pieces, and you sure as hell weren’t controlling. you just went for the bad men. like me, i fell for worse women.” “anks. but it is hard to keep a man interested who is a little too free, and a way too spirited.” She smiles, a tad rueful, and perhaps betraying a too spirited self. got it. i’m sorry, honey. god i am. maybe it will work out. Stay.

C’mon man, tell her to stay.

we pass they began forming a song. i immediately recognized the samba. it is batacuda. i drop the duffle on the ground, taking Clara by the hand. “here, do this.” She was slow to comprehension with eyes round, wide. “here, just follow my lead.” i take Clara, and we closely dance, arms tight around us, fingers interlocked, two fists sweeping in motion to the music. abruptly, the song ceases. i pick up the duffle, and we move toward the station, holding hands. i put my hands on her shoulders before we kiss. Stepping back, i transfer the bag. Clara wearily slings the duffle over her shoulder, bending her body to the side with a grunt.

She straightens up. “you know i always loved you, and miss what we could have had.” i shied my weight, placing my hands on hips. “en why won’t you stay?”

While waiting for her answer i hear the maracas and bongos, repeating the song. i light another cigarette, crushing the match under my boot.

More of Mike Lee’s photography is available on Amazon as an eBook, published by Corridor Elephant Editions: e Invisible Mirror.

III. We had to walk through the park to get to the subway station; from there, it was a transfer and a bus to the plane. i carry Clara’s duffle over my shoulder. huddled at and around a bench near the entrance are a group of musicians: guitarists, maraca bongo players, messing www.amazon.fr/miroir-invisiblearound with various latin riffs. as Invisible-mirror-ebook/dp/ B00M606OXE

BY HORST SCHMIER

Floating Into e White Space 01

BY CHIH-CHIEH WANG

72/73

BY 陳顯坤

Protect

BY MAI_SAKI

BY MARIANGELA RAPONI FOTOGRAFA

Root out the lie/ Estirpare la menzogna Lying is the way whitout exit. Once started to follow this road, you can't stop and lies become immense.

La menzogna è una strada senza uscita. Se si imbocca questo cammino si è costretti a inventare bugie sempre più grosse. La menzogna non è nel discorso, è nelle cose.

74/75

BY BÁRBARA TRAVER

BY 陳顯坤

SkinDeep

BY ANDREA EDDEM

76/77

BY ANDREA EDDEM

BY RYUICHI NOGUCHI

BY GRAUEN ADM & MARIOLA WEISS

78/79

BY PHIL MCKAY

BY GRAUEN ADM & MARIOLA WEISS

BY SHERRY AKRAMI

BY JOS TONDLINGER

80/81

BY NIGEL MAUDSLEY

BY FRANCESCA FERRARI

82/83

BY JOE JOSEPHS PHOTOGRAPHY

Breathe

RE-Birth

BY JOE JOSEPHS PHOTOGRAPHY

84/85

BY FRANCESCA FERRARI

BY MICHAŁ KONR

Window 86/87

RAD FOTOGRAFIA

e eye is the window of the soul, the mouth the door. e intellect, the will, are seen in the eye; the emotions, sensibilities, and affections, in the mouth. e animals look for man's intentions right into his eyes.

Even a rat, when you hunt him and bring him to bay, looks you in the eye.

Hiram Powers, American sculptor (1805 – 1873)

88/89

BY CLAUDIA GRIEBL

by DaviD R banta

90/91

by Sammy ShaROn

by OlivieR ROnDeaux

by Otilia beRcaRu

92/93

by SanDRa SachSenhauSeR

by bOy JecOniah

by lyza chaRlie

94/95

purEdgRed

by maRiOn mca

by nigel mauDSley

by Daša ščuka 96/97

by nigel mauDSley

by Daša ščuka 98/99

by StefanO aSSiSi

by 陳顯坤

by PhiliP Rice

100/101

Travel Inside your Inner Head

by陳顯坤

BY OLIVIER RONDEAUX

Trip

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BY BOY JECONIAH

BY 陳顯坤

BY SHIRREN LIM

Journey 104/105

long – road – home

BY BORIS LE MONTAGNER

BY SHIRREN LIM

balloons over bagan

106/107

BY BORIS LE MONTAGNER

BY BORIS LE MONTAGNER

tibet

BY SHIRREN LIM

BY KONRADO SOBCZAK 108/109

BY RITA BRITO

BY SAMMY SHARON

Turn

BY SANDRA SACHSENHAUSER

110/111

Dream

BY KONRADO SOBCZAK

Escape

BY LAURA SIMONSEN

112/113

BY KONRADO SOBCZAK

BY SHIRREN LIM

BY SHIRREN LIM 114/115

Power

BY KONRADO SOBCZAK

ARTLife RENSKE KOSTER

Contact: http://m.facebook.com/stencilartnetherlands http://m.facebook.com/renske.koster 116/117

MY NAME IS RENSKE KOSTER (REN NL). I’M A STENCILARTIST FROM THE NETHERLANDS. I LIVE IN THE VILLAGE BODEGRAVEN. 7 YEARS AGO IT ALL STARTED FOR ME WITH A PASSION FOR STREET ART. LOVE FOR “STENCILLING”. INSPIRED BY 'BANKSY'.

In the past 4 years i have learned self stencilling and this was a great succes. is hobby got fairly out of control. Since a year it’s a partime job. In the last 4 years made a lot of stencils together with my best friend ‘Chris Windhorst’. He’s also a great stencil artist.

ere’s a lot I can express with Stencil Art. Working with canvas in all different sizes.

I also like to make art at festivals.

My stencilworks were part of a few exhibitions in e Netherlands and in last year organised a stencilart exhibition together with the owner (‘Joost Zwanenburg’) of Galery VijfB in Alphen a/d Rijn (NL). 19 national and international stencil artists were part of this exhibition. It was a great succes.

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ARTLife RENSKE KOSTER

Pepijn Dolderman and Menno Boelen were also part of this exhibition. ey are great stencilartist from the Netherlands. Another succes was that I was a finalist in e Stencil Art Prize 2013 in Australie.

I make art in commision and i give workshops for ‘Bravo’ in our village. e workshops i give together with stencil artist ‘Mark Koelewijn’ Last month I was part of a live painting at NIFFO Galerie in Rotterdam and a live painting at a technoparty, Waterfront in Rotterdam. e livepaintings were organised by (stencil) artists in Rotterdam. e organisation is named ‘Cretopia’. I painted in the live paintings together with Chris Windhorst, Jimmy Granti, Casper Casperinc, Chuck Turner en Stephanie Loenen.

ARTLife RENSKE KOSTER

My advice for people starting in stencilart is use your fantasy,create your own 120/121

style and make beautiful art.

ViSIONS M

libres

The Art and Culture Magazine |

Head Inside Journey into your inner

BY YANN CIELAT

Join in and share your art. www.facebook.com/groups/583971975064919