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Showing posts from December, 2005

She Lives Around Here

Here's to eating Baked Potatoes in the middle of the night and somehow finding some in your underwear the next day. Here's to flashlights that act like microphones where you confess the obvious. Here's to knowing what you want and what is right are the same thing. Here's to the twin I knew was out there but what do we do now?

Thank You for Making Noise

I find myself thinking a lot about a song from the band Pulp called Something Changed. It's certain lyrics that keep playing itself in my head: "when we woke up that morning we had no way of knowing that in a matter of hours we changed the way we were going, where would I be now if we never met?" the great theme is chance. Chance, the wonderfully unexpected, the "perfect day" . Don't we all live for this? I know I cherish these occurences. Sometimes your life just changes from something that is so far from your radar and it is good. I hope for more of these and can't wait till the next one.

I Repeat Candles

I have deep admiration for a couple of friends. They both have a courage of spirituality. In our enviroment certain practices and thoughts are expected, especially politically. These guys have the independence of being who they are despite what is around them. They don't impose their thoughts but teach by example.


One more minute

Sometimes its good to see the world go by

No More Waiting

Sometimes in this life you struggle with yourself about yourself. The "who am I?" kind of questions. In thinking so much of the me me and me, a break is needed. It never fails, once the focus is directed outward the "struggle" seems silly. The answers searched seep into you like a sponge. Things are obvious. Its practically right outside of my studio

Its Quiet

I recently read something about how we are physically made up of zillions of different types of live critters and together they form our bodies. This made me think about the independence of each organism that forms me/us. If we were to isolate one of these critters what would be its identity? What does it live for? Does it know that it serves a "higher" purpose? Maybe it does because our bodies are amazing. I wonder if moments in time, isolated as it is, mirror these critters in concept. A morning moment standing in a quiet neighborhood must serve such a "higher" purpose for our lives. I guess they form a life just as a body is a form and I wonder if a life is serving yet another higher purpose, and is there an end to this hierarchy? Is it infinite? ?????

Halfway Juan

Late June in the 1980's, us kids wouldn't be able to play with a full team of sort -of two hand touch football on Saint Anthonys Parking lot. Many of the boys would be on that twelve hour trip to South Of the Border for fireworks. The dads would go and buy a huge load of fireworks that were illegal to have in Jersey. They went down to that funny looking gas station in South Carolina. About a hundred miles out from this place, large cheesy billboards would announce that "Pedro" with his funny sombrero can't wait to see you at South of the Border. Many of us Cuban folk also know Pedro as the exact halfway point from Union City NJ(Cuba North) and Miami Fl(Cuba South) on the 95 Interstate.

Going There

If I go down this street I might see Liza sitting drinking her coffee, reading a book and smoking a menthol and that is good sight, but if I make a right I will have a clear view of the sun going down causing spectacular angles all over the ghetto. Life's choices sometimes but only just sometimes are great.

The Room

I have a secret envy for those that have lived in the same house through to adulthood. It must be nice to be so secure about what home is. I have been contemplating putting wheels on practically every thing I own. Maybe I'll buy an old Uhaul truck and live in that. I have been carrying the same books around for eleven or twelve years now. I guess in a way "home" for me is everywhere and anywhere these books are next to me.

Night Flight

One of the last times I remember feeling a great family bond with my brothers was back in early 1991. The three of us piled into a Datsun 280ZX. Of course I being the kid bro had to lay in that uncomfortable hatchback/trunk for nearly two hours. We found the Giants playoff game on the radio finally, it was a tight game and we were all excited about Jeff Hostetler's wildy different style of play from that of the overly cautious, safe and luckily for our Giants injured Phil Simms. We were hooting and hollering over the game but there was an underlying nervousness in the car. The closer we got to our destination the more nervous we felt. My oldest brother Carlos had to be at that Air Force base promptly. He got the call that his unit was deploying to the Middle East, fucking Sadam was playing Hitler and my brother volunteered to make sure our boys didn't lose body parts. As we approached the base I got to hear a different jet sound. The hair raising thunderous sounds of fig

I Repeat Rings

These passed few days has been a visual bonanza with Art Basel and its accompaniments. I am happily tired and letting my brain sort of relax and this painting is in front of me as I write this. Its sort of like going out and trying on all these new clothes then returning home and putting on a well worn t-shirt.

Facade No.2

More visual meditaion. This one is as tall as many of you.


As a kid whenever I would stay over my father's apartment in that ghetto part of Passaic New Jersey, he would make a big deal about two things: Fire Trucks, which honestly scared the heck out of me , he'd enthusiastically wave me over to look out the window at the screaming Red monster that seemed to devour Myrtle Avenue. I would just sigh in relief if it passed the apartment building we were looking out of. The other were airplanes. Every time a Jet would start its final descent toward Newark I'd run to the kitchen to see my dad already standing with his characteristic hands-on- his- hips pose just staring out. "Mira el avion Yonni" he would repeat over and over. I swear we were both excited seven year olds each time a jet flew by. Sometimes when the steady gurgle sound of the jet dissipated, we'd go over to a great big poster of a DC 7 cockpit in the living room and he'd teach me what each lever and button would do, talking to me as if I were his c

The Jet

My father was a DC 3 pilot way back in Cuba. Its part of me, I check out airplanes the same way I check out hot art chicks at gallery openings. This work is a sort of a break out piece. I thought of doing it as I drove back to my studio and I wouldn't let any distraction until I got it to where I wanted it.