Chile

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JAVIER ALISTE ~ PAINTER OF MAGICAL SUBCONSCIOUSNESSES

The artist Javier Aliste searches for the syncretism of our current cultural identity. To find his answers he has been researching the Andean world and the idiosyncrasies of the Amazonian people since 1997. In his work of art he uses sacred chromatic and sacred symbolism, which is inspired on the way people live in South America typically Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia and Chile. Using his heritage of the South American continent – Javier was born in Chile and living in Buenos Aires – where art has always been a mixture...

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TERESA WILMS MONTT ~ “TO DIE, AFTER FEELING EVERYTHING AND BEING NOTHING…”

TERESA WILMS MONTT  POET FROM CHILE (Viña del Mar, 1893 – París 1921): She was born in a wealthy family, daughter of Federico Guillermo Wilms Montt and Brieba, and his wife Luz Victoria Montt and Montt. Given the social context of that time, her primary instruction was given to her by governesses and particular teachers. When Teresa turned 17, she got married with Gustavo Balmaceda Valdés. In the following years (1911 y 1913) she gave birth to her daughters, Elisa and Silvia Luz. Almost right after the wedding, the...

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HECTOR SALGADO ~ COLORFUL PAINTER

MONIQUE UNA FLOR  SE DESPERTO EN TU SOÑAR VIAJANDO ENTRE ESTRELLAS Y SUSPIROS TU, FRENTE A UN ESPEJO PURA E INOCENTE EN UN CAMINO DE MARES CON TU SONRISA DE NIÑA CON TU PIEL DE MUJER LAGRIMAS Y COLORES SENTADA EN LA PLAYA, TERNURA DE TU ALMA UNIVERSO DE MIRADAS SENTIMIENTOS………………. PINCELES TROVADORES QUE DANZAN A TU LADO QUE CANTAN EN TU CORAZON MI MONIQUE, MI MUJER, AMANECER DE NUESTRO AMOR UNA MANO TE ESPERA MI AMOR TE ACOMPAÑA SINTIENDO TU RESPIRAR TU PALPITAR, TU DESEAR… Hector Salgado Chile,...

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GABRIELA MISTRAL ~ DUSK

DUSK I feel my heart melting in the mildness like candles my veins are slow oil and not wine, and I feel my life fleeing hushed and gentle like the gazelle. Gabriela Mistral (April 7, 1889 – January 10, 1957 / Vicuna / Chile)

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PABLO NERUDA ~ ON HIS POETRY

I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. ~Pablo Neruda, quoted in Wall Street Journal,, 14 November 1985

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