튜니카 - チュニック- 中山裝
튜니카 - チュニック- 中山
Jose C. Garcia’s first retrospective publication delves into a year of photographs in America. These photos were taken in Mexico and U.S. Thanks to everyone who helped make this book possible. Special Thanks to : Hoon Ju Ko Limited edition. Printed and edited in New York. Summer 2012. Editor Jose C. Garcia Design by www.braul.io Contact: 677 Metropolitan av. #4C Brooklyn 11211 NY www.josecgarcia.com www.tunicapublication.com
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The devil’s cave “Brujos can put curses on people. They make bad things happen, and from what I’ve seen, it works,” page 5
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In Mexico, there are three levels of illnesses. The first is spiritual. The second is emotional, such as sadness, and the third is physical. In the United States, people turn to doctors and pills to treat physical illnesses. But they don’t treat the emotional and spiritual. Mexicans believe you must treat all three.
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“The people believe that the first Friday in March is the first day of creation, the first Friday in history,” local anthropologists and raconteurs Raymundo Gonzales says. “It’s a potent day for magic. All the high witches are here for the gathering tonight.” Every year, witches convene for the annual Brujos Convention in Catemaco, an area many regard as the center of magic.
Mexicans believe there are three types of magic: black, white and red. Curanderos practice white or red magic, using plants or the spiritual world to heal. Most feared are the brujos, or brujas if female, who practice black magic. Curanderos, or shamans, are bound by the law of nature and karma to never do harm. But brujos, the powerful witches, answer to a darker creed.
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Just arrive, the salt water, sand and sun are waiting for me. I was wondered how I would be to feel the Atlantic Ocean...Closer to the Equator line. Big waves and sailors were waiting. I took an octopus with my hands from the deep sea, out of the grocery list. Yunaire, a young beautiful singer in the 70´s, showed me her self-portrait, but time didn’t make any good with her. Now she is singing on terraces, singing with a happy voice but the tune is really off-key. Headache, 4:00 am and the party in the bar downstairs is still running — Thinking about joining in and, for sure, head to the jungle tomorrow.
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My crown across the sky, I’ve lost with Victoria like police, cheating those two girls in skates. Small sharks in fancy empty bars, back to the road in order to escape and feel the heat, the soft noise and the freedom of the lands conquered with blood. Next stop, the magic cactus. No more sand in my shoes — that’s for you, tourists, blowing money up. and dreaming with happiness.
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Drive till sunset and say goodbye to your body, because this is not a photograph. I saw sixteen americans, raised by wolves, probably lost in paradise city. I found your head — Do you still want it?
This is not a short guide to write about art. Go in, out of the window, inside New York’s stars qualities, dreams and schemes. People are gathered together, brewing coffee — you have seen their faces? The artists in Manhattan.
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Now or never. I just sold a cathedral, an angel in the elevator, heavy air and the world speed — here’s my heritage. Alone with the moon, blue water and art, gold. No more tame again, no suite, no soul. Drilling and boring, after death, the way it is, extra innings in the paradise for all the right people.
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