THE CREATIVE SPARK: “In Portuguese culture, it’s common to find the swallow in various places and forms: murals, crafts, sculpture, poetry and songs. The swallow is monogamous and is associated with love and fidelity, but it’s also a figure of departure and return, much like the Portuguese navigators that discovered new lands. I did this painting after I returned from a quick trip to Portugal. It represents the journey of many of my Brazilian ancestors—Portuguese people who made their way to Brazil in search of a better life — like my grandfather who left his homeland as a child, sailing bravely alone on a ship, starving and cold. The model is my niece who posed for me while I was there.
“I’m a realistic artist, and my subjects are mainly figurative. I prefer to work from photos, which allows me to spend more time on the rich detail in my paintings. My favorite surface is Aquabord because it affords me more control over the medium than paper does. I usually work with a limited palette of no more than five colors in a painting. It keeps the painting soft to the eyes and less distracting to the viewer. Recently I’ve been exploring the contrast between light and dark to bring more drama to my art.”
La Muralla (The Wall) by Alma Hoffmann
THE CREATIVE SPARK: “This artwork is based on the poem titled ‘La Muralla’ by the Cuban poet Nicolás Guillén. The poem was later interpreted into a song by the Puerto Rican group, Haciendo Punto en Otro Son, founded in 1975. It’s a call to end discord and establish a community that embraces peace. The wall would filter out those with ill intentions but remain open for those of pure intentions. For instance, it would open for the rose and the carnation but would be closed to the colonel’s sword. It would open to the friend’s heart while closing to the snake’s fang. Even after many years, this poem remains relevant to our present need for truth and connection.”
Harlem Over Third by Frank M. Koran
THE CREATIVE SPARK: “This painting was done on site from the roof of my apartment building in Harlem on a cold January afternoon. The temperature hovered a bit above freezing — just warm enough that my paint and fingers didn’t freeze. The wind was quite gusty that day. My favorite hat was blown off my head and fell 12 stories to the ground below. My glass water jar fell from my easel and shattered on the brick floor of the roof. I worked with cold ears and wet shoes, my fingers numbing as I painted the neighboring rooftops. I worked until the sun started to set, when the biting sensation of the cold wind finally won out against my need to get the light just right. Then I packed up my gear and finished the painting inside.”
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