“My installation work ‘Refract’ is on exhibit in the U of M gallery now. This series is about humanity separating itself from nature, from reality. We live in boxes of our own creation most of our lives, distanced from reality by window upon window of technology and information. We can see what's out there, but it's always refracted, always distorted, and the more windows between us and nature, the more distorted our view will be. We can lose ourselves in such a world. We live in a rapidly changing time, and there is no point in trying to stop progress; I’m not even saying that we should. I’m simply documenting what’s happening. The boxes have so many concepts; they evolve. Like other contemporary, minimal art pieces, this installation is very open to perception."
“Although my great aunt is not a nun, she grew up in a convent. I remember going to see her when I was seven years old. An old man---a painter---lived in the guest quarters there, and in exchange for his room, he donated paintings and gave art lessons to the nuns and to my aunt. I wasn't allowed inside the convent itself, but when I went to visit, my aunt sneaked me in so I could see the huge religious paintings he had done. They were beautiful. He never charged money for them; he just wanted to live there and paint. He made a big impression on me, and as I grew up, I knew I wanted to be an artist too. My family was against it. They're in the restaurant business and always said to me, ‘How are you going to make money out of that? You need to grow up. It’s not real.’ But it is real. There are many paths where you might be successful as an artist.
“My installation work ‘Refract’ is on exhibit in the U of M gallery now. This series is about humanity separating itself from nature, from reality. We live in boxes of our own creation most of our lives, distanced from reality by window upon window of technology and information. We can see what's out there, but it's always refracted, always distorted, and the more windows between us and nature, the more distorted our view will be. We can lose ourselves in such a world. We live in a rapidly changing time, and there is no point in trying to stop progress; I’m not even saying that we should. I’m simply documenting what’s happening. The boxes have so many concepts; they evolve. Like other contemporary, minimal art pieces, this installation is very open to perception." "I’ve ridden bikes since I was 18 years old and I’m almost 66 now. I love the wind, the sounds, the smell, things you’d never notice if you were in a car with the windows rolled up. I’ve ridden with the same group for about 10 years now. My wife was scared to death of bikes until about seven years ago when I got a larger, more comfortable one with a nice back rest. The first trip I took her on, she fell asleep twice, she was so relaxed. I've laid the bike down a few times, even with my wife on it, but we've never gotten injured. Sometimes people see us out with our tattoos and leather and think we’re rough, that we’re drinkers and dopers, but we’re not. We’re like family. We’re just ordinary people with different jobs who like to ride together. Most motorcycle clubs do some kind of charity work, and even though our group is too small to do a lot, we contribute to the Humane Society and Toys for Tots." Shaded areas represent states in which this group has ridden their bikes.
“I thought I could do it all. I was working full time, getting my Masters, teaching art, working with an online business, and being a mother to my three children who were 2, 4, and 6 years old. There were so many pressures and demands that finally my body just collapsed. In the space of three months, I had two episodes of paralysis. The first one lasted only a few hours. After it resolved, I kept doing everything I had done before and ignored my doctor’s advice to take it easy. The next time it happened, it was more serious and lasted much longer. Even though the MRI didn't show a physical problem, my doctor said that my body was breaking down due to stress. He told me, ‘You've got to slow down or your health will get worse. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for your children.' That caught my attention. I knew I had to make some drastic changes, so together my husband and I worked out a plan. I resigned from my job and dropped everything else I was doing, which meant a cut in our income, a change in schools for the children, and many changes to our daily lives, but the sacrifices were worth it. My husband said, ‘This is your opportunity. Why don’t you do what you love?’ For me, that was painting. I had painted all along, but never full time. “That was five years ago. It took a health issue for me to focus on what is important, which is God and my family. If you never have the experience of losing or of pain, you don’t appreciate happiness and opportunities when they come. Now, before I say yes to a new project, I try to ask myself how it will affect my husband, my children, and myself. Maintaining a good balance is hard because there are so many things I’m interested in, but so far it’s working. "It's important to me to see the beauty and the positive side to everything that has happened. For example, even though many of my paintings are political and deal with hard themes, I don’t use blood or negative images. I can make statements that are just as strong with beautiful images and with color." "Unity is a very important theme in my work. I appreciate my background and my Latino culture, but I want others to be just as proud of their own identity. When we embrace our who we are, along with our roots, our past, and our culture---whatever it is---we begin to appreciate both ourselves and others. We appreciate how connected we are to the rest of humanity.” Yancy Villa-Calvo
Website: http://www.yancyart.com FB: https://www.facebook.com/YancyART Bio: http://www.urbanartcommission.org/artists/yancy-villa-calvo “When I was twelve years old, I met a man at the fairgrounds, a Mr. Gilbert, who had quarter horses. He taught me how to groom and said he could take me with him to Indiana when I was a little older if my mama was okay with it. She was, so when I turned 14, I went and worked for him till I was about 16. That’s when the reality of racism first hit me. There was a little white girl, Lisa, who used to ride, and we had started getting close. Mr. Gilbert saw me kiss her on the cheek one night because she had lost her pony and she was crying. It was just a sentimental thing, but the next weekend I was on the bus back to Memphis. I didn’t let it make me bitter, but somewhere deep inside of me I put up a wall. I didn’t seek emotional connection with white women after that; I kept my distance. I’ve made a lot of friends and had different employers over the years, and a lot of them have been white, but in me there was that barrier. I guess that’s what made me ‘safer’ around their wives.
“What happened didn’t stop me from working with horses though. I’ve worked as a groom my whole life, and I love it. Once you get to know the horses, you see that each one of them has a character of its own. They’re like people. When they get in the ring, it’s like watching your son play in a championship basketball game. You’re like, ‘Come on, come on. You can do it!’ You’re rooting for him. “It’s my belief in God that gave me the strength to look back on what I went through, smile about it, and believe that we can make a better world. We as people. All we got to do is just love each other for real. You got a lot of people giving out patronizing love. They mean well, but a lot of the white people who reach out to black children, they feel like, ‘It’s my job just to be nice to you.’ Nobody wants to add discipline to that. I’m going to be nice, but I’m going to tell you to sit down if you’re out of place. I’ll deal with you just like I would my own kids. That’s true love. "Racial attitudes have changed for the better over the years. I think our basic issue now is economics. Poor people look at how you might benefit their cause. It’s not the race; it’s the money thing now. You’ve got some people feeling like, ‘You got it and I ain’t.' As rough as they say Orange Mound is, you see white kids walking around there, hanging out with the black kids. They been there long enough, people know them. But then you’ve got other people who are still struggling to get past need; they’re so caught up, they can’t get to know this little white kid. When they see the little white kid, the little white kid got a little more than him, so rather than getting to know him, here’s an opportunity to get something off him. They automatically turn him into a victim. And the prominent white kids are so so accustomed to being turned into victims, they be like, 'He trying to do something.' They turn the poor black kid into the aggressor even though he hasn’t had the opportunity to BE the aggressor. Our racial relationship has come a long way, but we need to figure out how to stabilize our economic situation and give our kids the opportunity to know each other just as people. Get on the level, on common ground, and it would be a totally different world. That’s wishing for a whole lot though. That’s our major issue. The kids need to venture out, not to take nothing, but to see what’s out there. Media feeds the issue: You got to have Nikes, you got to have this, you got to have that. Corporate America is feeding off our country." “My parents were preachers and ministers of music at my church. My mom plays organ, my dad plays guitar, and when I was I about three years old, I just kind of found my way to the back of the choir stand. They let me stay, and that was the beginning. My sister and I and two guys started the Southern Avenue Band about a year ago, and we play all over town now. I write the song lyrics, which gives me the freedom to say what’s on my mind. It might not be what normal, respectable people would express, but when we’re all in the room together and everybody can relate to the song, there’s no judgment in that moment. We’re all human and equal. There’s the freedom not to have to be perfect, to be ourselves as we are. When I sing, I feel that sense of freedom.” Tierinii performing at South Main Sounds Songwriters Night, 550 S. Main “When I was a young artist just out of college, I started painting animals because they were dear to my heart. A friend suggested I concentrate on just one animal and see where it would take me, and I thought that was a grand idea, so I chose sheep. They’re wonderful animals and not as stupid as people think. Then a couple of years ago, I started using insects in my art, creating characters out of their body parts. This one is made with the head of a pinch bug. I made the body with clay, the lashes with hair from my cat, and the legs are from a frog I found squished in my driveway. I let it dry out totally in the sun, then I cut the legs off, which was kind of... Picasso says, 'We live in such a queer world', so yes, it was a bit queer at first, but I felt that I was giving him new life." Butler Steltemeier's work is on exhibit at L Ross Gallery, 5040 Sanderlin, through April 30, 2016.
Gallery hours are Tu-Fri 10am-5pm and Saturday 11am-3pm. "My favorite part of the day is the morning. I wake up, my cat comes in and snuggles with me, I make coffee, and then I open the blinds. I can see the river from my window. It's so quiet, so peaceful."
"You have to work to keep romance alive; it doesn’t just happen. Joe and I got married in 1948, and we were married for 63 years until he died. We traveled together, talked a lot, and hugged a lot. One time when I was on a trip with my sisters, he sent flowers to me at the hotel where we were staying. He was always doing things like that. Of course we fussed a little once in a while; I guess most couples do. I’ve known people who say they’ve never had a cross word with their husband or wife, but sometimes it takes a little fussing. You have to communicate; you have to get it out. Sometimes I’d go to bed mad, but I wouldn’t get up that way. By morning, I was over it. The main reason is that I couldn’t remember what I was mad about." Wedding day, 1948 Mary Lois enjoys playing the piano (plays by ear). “Since I was young, I’ve always liked to be around older people, to listen to my elders and learn from them. When I was a 4-year-old boy in Mexico, my Uncle Manuel taught me to draw. He said, ‘I’m going to teach you just once. That’s it. You’d better pay attention.’ He grabbed a piece of paper and my crayons and did a drawing of a volcano. I was so impressed. The ceiling light was very dim in our house, but I remember the details of the drawing and how beautiful it was, even though it was not on quality paper and my crayons were the cheapest kind. In that moment, I decided to become an artist. When I was 8 years old, this same uncle baked a lemon meringue cake right before my eyes with just the things he found in our kitchen. He took lemons off the tree in our backyard and used only his hands to make this cake. No mixer, no appliances. He did it in a very precise way, showing me how to get the butter to the right temperature and how to work it into the flour. He said, ‘Pay attention to every detail. That’s how you will be the best.’ In many ways, I have tried to replicate his life; he has had such an influence on me. I think he is the reason I care so much about education. “Life is about learning, and you can learn something from every single person. All your experiences go into making you who you are; money and possessions may not last, but your experiences will go with you. I'm interested in so many things. I’m pastry chef at the Crescent Club, a writer, a reporter, and a political cartoonist for La Prensa Latina, a portrait painter, photographer, filmmaker, part of the Quetzcoatl Aztec dance group, and I’ve done acting with Cazateatro. I know I will die one day, but before that I’m going to learn all I can and enjoy life to the fullest.” Rafael Figueroa
"The most important thing I learned from my mom is to take in every moment with family and friends because you never know if it might be your last. You may never get another day with them."
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