VANDAL- Relentless Creativity
N 39 - Winter 2011/2012
Preserving Sources of Inspiration Presented by Ramona Cezar Forward by JemWu
Artist and anthropologist Ramona Cezar is not like your average reclusive shy artist, she is an avid explorer of sources of inspiration. From Pop Culture, to tribal crafts of remote cultures of the Peruvian Amazon, Ramona Cezar draws from all sources for the enrichment of her work. I am drawn to the ideals of universal patterns and universal truths such as we find in mathematics. Feb. 2009: Walking down the road divider, a 5am sunrise, on the way into town. Dust kicking up from the moto-taxis passing by with wide eyed drivers, gawking at the sore thumb caught in the light of the rising sun. Long shadows from the early flight of horned vultures stretch across the wet tire tracks. There is the sound of the world coming alive all about the dead concrete, barreling through the ancient jungles of Peru, in line with Ucayali River gulping cold water from the melting snowcaps of the Andes. Pucallpa, is a dangerous town; stories of hostage taking terrorists and drug smugglers. Peddlers and pushers with calloused knuckles who prefer to dine upon backpackers with big “take me” signs fastened to themselves, weighing them down, bulging from their backs; like a meaty drum stick dancing
in front of starved hounds. But in fact it is more dangerous to trust a foreigner in this place, because most come for a reason; one with many prepackaged explanations. The natives are happy and proud, fully aware and accepting of their neighbors and fully accustomed to lending a hand where it is needed. Only from the relatively recent influence of consumer culture have their hands sought the feel of money in exchange for kindness. But there are still many who know virtue in their blood. I was lucky enough to find such kindness, a CT townie with a pocket full of lucky charms and a knife securely fastened to the hip, a walking contradiction in a place where people come to never be found. I wanted this kind of solitude, for it is only in the places where
man ceases to be a man that he truly knows himself. Four hours by taxi down a white sand and red clay road, to catch a boat, two hours down river, then one hour walking up and down hills, deeper and deeper into the hot breast of the Amazon. Going to meet a hidden teacher; the student seeks words with a sort of infinite; greater than an echo, an incongruous conversation with the id. Oct. 2005: It was my second year in art college. I’m at Borders looking through the art section for books that might fit under my shirt or in my bag. I come upon a book, “The Cosmic Serpent,” by Jeremy Narby, shelved incorrectly, wedged between Lucian Freud and Art Through the Ages. I would buy this book and it would lead me
N 39 - Winter 2011/2012