visual artist and poet, born in Cordoba, line art studies at the School of Arts And Crafts in the same city, self and is a member of several arts groups, "CIALEC (International Centre for Art and Literature" Team Cordova) .- Member of art group ConetArte-member art group TruecArte
-collaborator as Distinguished Pen in the digital newspaper El Correo Familiar.-member art group Orbita Literaria.
Last participation: "It's
CIALEC member since 2006 (International Centre for Art and Literature" Team Córdoba). Participation
-NAFA International Art Fair 2007 of the National Academy of Fine Arts Selection ConetArte Brazil.-Ast International Contest 2008, Córdoba, Spain.-Contained in the Book of Poetry 2008 with Visual Poetry.
-First prize, Stories 2008 organized by the Literary House of Poetas.-Selected in the VI International Fine Arts Competition 2008 Aires de Cordoba.
Collective Exhibition 2008 at the gallery La Terraza Pitalito Huila in Colombia.
-Honorable Mention in the First International Festival of Painting "Laboy City 2008"
-Participation in the First International Exhibition of Pictorial Art "Electrohuila 2008"
Neiva Colombia Saire
-V International Exhibition Small Format "Aires de Cordoba" 2009 .
-I International Fine Arts Fair City LaBoy (Colombia) 2008.
-work Donation to the Museum of Contemporary Art in Huila (Colombia) 2009.
-Selection in International ConetArte Ast Contest 2009, Córdoba, Spain.
-Accésit the best local work Contest III Outdoor Painting Villaharta 2009.
-Selection in the IV National Painting Exhibition "El Primero de Faria" 2009
-Participation in the Annual Exposição painting and sculpture by Associação de Artes Crusaders and Donation Boxes work to the Museum of Viseu Vouzela
-Honorable Mention for collaboration in the league against cancer, the Terrace Gallery Pitalito (Colombia).
-Selected in the VI International Fine Arts Competition 2009 Aires de Cordoba.
-Publication of the poetry book "Beyond Dreams" with the editorial Bubok
-SL2009 Publishing Publication of the epistolary novel "Letters to a Friend" with the editorial Gerüst Creations SL2009-Grant
work at the Museum of Contemporary Art Velez (Málaga) 2009. Donation
-work at the Museum of Water Boyacá (Colombia) 2009. -Selected
I work for Hall CIALEC-2009.
-Participation in the International Competition ANAP 2009 (National Academy of Visual Arts from Brazil)
-Participation in the First Biennial of Aires de Córdoba microformat.
-finalist in the contest I ArtGerust microstories Horror Homage to Edgar Allan Poe.2010
OPINION OF THE ARTIST:
My works are based from the deepest feeling of my being. I am a poet and visual artist who paints and writes, I have the need to deepen and to catch the feelings of an image, these are very ethereal, to create the systemic meltdown of life, this symbiosis of the written work and plastic key for me is sometimes part of an emerging sense of a moment, an experience, an image, the written work comes next line and the plastic work or vice versa, complement each other in order to approach the reader or viewer and the work which feels like yours.
poems is registered in the Property Intelecutal of Authors, therefore any publication or copy without consent by the author, gives the right to use the appropriate legal channels, thank you very much and do not copy.
THE OLIVE TREE OF YOUR CHILDREN
I see you sitting across the horizon on your favorite tree, the olive trees, the grandfather I placed a platform of wooden planks in its branches, from there, from the top, you start sight in the bush, golf spikes like a raging sea by the wind, your imagination takes you to watch the boats struggling to stay afloat against the tide, the wind stops and everything returns to calm, looks down the cup of mud that you enter your hands and shake the spoon to give it a sip of tea to your wrist barely get up two feet of soil, but from your vantage point you feel great and saved from the dangers lurking on the floor, quietly return to your game and olive floral heard your laughter, the smile of a child and lost, with only vague memory in the mind which beautify the time and distance on the tree of your permanent game lies already lost your childhood.
Even now, I keep seeing in the olive of your games, that aura was happy girl forever, permeating all of innocence and tearing into the clutches of time its course, though the hand of man transformed the place, but there's olive skin and aged to a rusty heart remains, your childhood was left trapped between shared sunsets, olive trees, cicadas, resols, laughter and tears, hands I pressed, kisses that were my mom and our games do you want a coffee? Yes daughter coffee, made from water and mud we had to throw the top of the shoulder, and is so good, it was, "Thank you Mama, sweet words that still echo in my ears. Now
olives, cut the branches full of hope sprouting a new life remains, waiting for the girl of his games with joy prevails.
Every summer it becomes almost all white and red in the evenings, the old walls give off the heat accumulated, I feel the door with fan in hand, I turn my gaze to the horizon and see the olive tree of your childhood, although not my because she was a woman, he returns to me in a repetitive cycle every summer as a litany, thus receiving the tree of life the best gift.
Sitting in the doorway, fanning and the ringing of the bell and bell from the neighboring church, take me out of my mind making me back to reality, after leaving the sound of the bell only hears the creak, creak of crickets and there are a few fireflies in the flower bed without me account will echo the night, look at the sky and see the stars shine much more ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Some poems: My way
Sometimes it's hard to continue
Every time I stop more, I
take the spirit of each person
With that I pass on the road.
I stop
again to feel love and warmth that comforts me, I return to resume
way Happy but full of longing.
outrun everyone
That I stretched out his hand, The hand
loving and kind
That helped me jump a hurdle.
But I take the essence of each being,
That for some reason they were there,
continue and return my gaze
Backward to never forget.
No, what I'll find down the road,
But if you ask me What do I wear?
answer:
My only luggage on this journey
For life is LOVE.
Bella
hotness inside, beautiful on the outside somehow disto
so,
Only the spirit that accompanies me
is beautiful, perhaps because in past lives was
And beautiful appearances retained
Well accommodated within I, A gift!
only instrument I feel this Entity
And when I write it appears that the pen only to write,
Words escape
leave on a flight Creating verses, stanzas, sonnets giants
And when I paint the brush on the other hand was guided,
Creations, paint on a canvas only
Colors embodied in harmony heaven.
The fullness of the spirit that fills and satisfies me, feeling
pletorita,
symphony of colors that fill my life and my soul,
seems like my body, shell
fragile and weak, transitional shelter, stackers
of lost memories in many ways, Trapped
were walking by the spirit
From the soul of a great artist full of grace, that hotness
the air expands in the shadows.
My creative soul
My brain is a hotbed of solfatara, creativity and spontaneity
uproar, Rueda
wheel genius elixir,
Sereno and constant going and coming,
is accumulating dead-end ideas . Damn
accurate picture, Illusions
always hoping a jury
foolish and blind,
When will be first?
Work that is neglected, desperate.
Geniuses who were and were not,
idolized artists of tomorrow
Defeated by ignorance without return Death altana
forgotten millions
Works bounded.
Hunger
artistic passion nursed
duality of truth uncritically
painting that blurs my genius destroyed, the spirit
damnifica Yermo,
never too late if the sentence is replaced.
would not like Death by Hanging
assured success without status of a museum marble,
Works dusty walking to his banishment,
lies and my creative soul, a funeral candles,
My genius is in another life, bled to death. Many artistic wanderings
postulates
Muses generously granted me His grace, kindly pick
arises,
Paintings, poems, writings, future policyholders,
That tomorrow bring your gifts intertwined. Manuela Prieto
Carrión, Cordoba, English nationality, "My creative soul"
With this poem participated in the second Poetry Contest of Heptagrama
Lagrimas de Cristal
My tears are
as crystals embedded in a heart of Hawthorn, Pena
shed no
fine silver wire, poles
Al fro Easter.
He said the Virgin of Aguas Santas:
other penalties The penalties are paid
rain Let it run like April! Purifying water
bring Rio Guadalquivir at my feet fever.
My eyes painful, from a pulpit, lectern
As a sounding board where freedom
Claim asleep faster
went through my life, and resists hostile
back to my days.
Behold! in the solitude of my solitude
the edge of this abyss
And Dam
circumstances of ambiguity with this spring
Perpetua and full of antagonism.
Your words echo in my ears still
As seasoned
flock of birds that rings at the top of heaven,
almost like an echo as far away
Repeating in this sad wreck.
Your face is erased from my thoughts
As a column of smoke into the wind,
Your hands, and do not remember! Figure Drawing
me all the folds of my wrinkles.
All you, you lost in the silence
In my white sheets, and sleep
Before the flutter of happiness April
goes and dark gray stains
narrow Like a summer storm.
resurgence come again to love again?
What words fill my ears burning?
What to resonate in my heart beat? Beating
joy and falling folded arms Among
, perhaps in the dusk.
(Poem registered SafeCreative)
FEELING OF LOVE
Quiet afternoon in the light
Twilight, I turn my soul
My heart burns with the power
the shine of your words.
asleep
discover feelings that come and go at will
From shore to shore
hit enclosed space in my room.
dream awake tomorrow Torn from your lips
With strives devotion, dream
both with passion. Just a touch
wind
thrills me and fills me with feelings
Believing that your soul may be a slight
That time caressing my face.
deep breath your essence To
take your whole being so you can mix it with mine
That turned into a whole is infinite. Bebo
this bottle of elixir
With eyes closed and always trust in you
That there is no measure for love
dream If your heart beating them.
Two words spring to
Two pair kissing at the same time exploiting
two thoughts that are confused
Those are our two souls coming together ....
(Registered in SafeCreative)
