Photo A.Hormann
Michiko Seki 2012
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Annette Hormann Artby Annette Hormann |
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La Vie pourrait être une Oeuvre d'Art - Life could be a Work of Art
Ce site web est un travail en progrès. This website is a work in progress.
aller à / go to : www.annettehormann.wordpress.com
Bruxelles, exposition du 20 Avril au 10 Juin 2012 Vernissage le 19 avril 19h – 21h Lieu : « Freedom Works» Atelier-Galerie A.Hormann, rue des Vergnies, 28, 1050 (à proximité de Flagey)
Bols en céramique crées avec une vision de paix et d'amour
Artistes : Michiko Seki (Paris), Josh Redman (Herefordshire - Angleterre), Maria Johansson (Amsterdam) ….et les dernières œuvres de l’artiste peintre Annette Hormann (Bruxelles)
Bols en céramique créés avec une vision de paix et d'amour par les artistes Michiko Seki (Paris), Josh Redman (Herefordshire – Royaume-Uni) et Maria Johansson (Amsterdam) ...et des leis en papier, inspirés par le symbol de paix hawaïen( les leis de fleurs) de l’artiste peintre Annette Hormann (Bruxelles) seront exposées dans l’espace «Freedom Works», un espace de création axé autour de la paix et de la liberté à Bruxelles. Que se passerait-il si les mains du monde entier pouvaient se saisir d’un bol rempli de nourriture chaque fois qu’il y a besoin ou simplement désir? La vie serait-elle plus belle, le monde plus en paix? Lire plus...
Brussels, April 20 - June 10 2012, Opening April 19 at 19.00 h Ceramic bowls holding a vision of peace and love created by the artists Michiko Seki (Paris), Josh Redman (Herefordshire - UK), Maria Johansson (Amsterdam) and paper leis, inspired by the Hawaiien peace symbol (the flower lei) by the peinter Annette Hormann (Brussels) will be exhibited in «Freedom Works», a space of creation around peace and freedom.
Atelier-Galerie A.Hormann Rue des Vergnies, 28 1050 Bruxelles (close Flagey)
What would happen if the hands of every person on earth could pick a bowl filled with food, whenever he feels the need or just the desire? Would the world look more beautiful, more peaceful? read more....
As my personal contribution to "be the change" I am going to open an exhibition space around peace and freedom in Brussels. It is something I feel called to do apart from being an artist - sharing and the need of doing something meaningful, that will help create some change, through creation, experimentation, vision, acquisition and helping people through microfinances.
The concept is to have ceramics as one part of the exhibitions and one other media - both creating a communication.
Immediately I am thinking about blinking sharp cold weapons having cut off the golden light shining silk of a beautiful maiden. But no. It has nothing to do with that. Blond curls are growing out of green swords, maybe to demonstrate that there is nothing to fear? Well, I'm not so sure about that.
It was the 1st of January and somehow she had overslept the change of the year. What a pity! She loved fireworks. She loved the light flowers in the black sky. It made her dream, it made her yearn. And as she was yearning she became a flowerwork herself.
Elle est douce. Qu'est ce qu'elle est douce! Ça fait du bien. Ça calme. Je la respire. Je me sens bien.
Je me demande contre qui elle doit se protéger comme ça? Elle doit avoir bon goût ou au contraire peut-être la consommation de ces branches est dangeureuse et elle protège le gourmand potentiel. C'est gentil en tout cas. Je n'aurais pas pensé de la manger mais maintenant je le ferais encore moins.
It had been raining and raining and raining. The only thing one could do was grabbing a huge umbrella and walking barefoot to the next bakery, having a warm croissant right there in order not to starve. But They were enjoying it, loving it, craving it, dancing in it, inspiring me to do the same.
She was travelling from far outer space to reach the earth as a seed. She didn't really know what kind of Being she was going to become because conditions on earth are so different from the ones in her universe. But she decided to trust herself and started to grow. If she could see herself, I think she would be pleased.
Once upon a time, as a queen sits sewing at her window, she pricks her finger on her needle and three drops of blood fall on the snow that had fallen on her ebony window frame. As she looks at the blood on the snow, she says to herself, "Oh, how I wish that I had a daughter that had skin white as snow, lips red as blood, ....".
It was January 1st 2008. We went to the beach to have some grilled fish in the sun. And there they were. Hundreds and hundreds of them, looking at us from the sky.
Once upon a time there was a water drop. It was so big that her parents didn't exactly know how to feed her. But it didn't matter - a drop only had to look at her to fall in love with her and when they kissed - they became one. And so she was growing and growing or actually they... and they became more and more beautiful as well, full of love.
Il y a longtemps l'eau était tellement sale, qu'il nous fallait la laver. Heureusement c'est fini maintenant!
L'eau sait danser, je danse avec elle
Si l'eau pouvait danser je danserait avec elle.
Walking through the Retiro Park in August 2003 I found that water is the principal necessity of the body and light the principal necessity of the soul.
She was having a coke. Never would I have imagined that she could touch such a mundane thing. It just didn’t fit. Maybe some red wine in a golden mug. Or in a crystal glass. Or an exquisite tea in an exquisite paper thin tea cup. Rather some plain water from a holy spring in a mouth blown glass. Or some air… No, she was having a coke.
C’était au Retiro à Madrid. Je l’ai vu tout de suite. Elle était tellement fière. Elle m’a intrigué avec son gros ventre.Elle était furieuse en plus. Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Ça n’a aucune importance. Elle avait cette force en elle … Ça m’a plu.
Michael Jackson. Enfin, ce n’était pas Michael Jackson mais presque. En tout cas il venait d’un autre monde, pareil. Juste d’un autre monde. Pas celui de Michael Jackson. Ils avaient quelque chose en commun. La danse. Je crois que c’était « Thriller » mais je ne suis plus sure. Tout le monde était ébahi à le voir, pareil – mais différemment. Et puis, ils avaient autre chose en commun – le courage.
C’était juste après Noël. On l’attendait chez sa fille. Pour l’occasion il avait mis son plus beau costume. Tout le monde était là. Tout le monde espérait sa venue. La famille était si grande. Combien de personnes y seraient-ils encore ? Il ne le savait plus. Mais beaucoup, beaucoup trop. Il avait peur.
Everyday they were meeting on the same bench under a palmtree, Puerta del Mar. They were best friends and very different. One of them was living in a beautiful house, the other one on the street. They didn’t talk to each other very much, but they enjoyed each other’s company. Sometimes I saw them sharing some wine. Never one of them judged the other for anything.
Playa de la Marina, Malaga. A crowded beach. People playing swimming running screaming. Pizza icecream chips and Coca Cola. Red brown black white skin. All coulours, bright light. Life everywhere, all ages. She was sitting in the sea, not concerned by anyone or anything. Singing.
We saw him almost every day. We called him Dali because of his picturesque face. He used to lie down on his deck chair for a few minutes and then get up and walk to the sea. There he would wet his feet and legs and slowly his whole body and then immediately come back to his chair. We didn't know whether he was looking inside himself or outside himself, but he was absorbed – that was clear. He would take a towel and dry himself thoroughly, looking around to catch a glimpse of some known face. Then he lay down again, a little sad, a little lonely but with hope that something might change soon. I painted his double to distract him...
It was a beautiful summer day in Amsterdam. I took my bicycle as always when the wheather would permit it to go for a stroll in the park. People biking, playing, lying around everywhere. Abundance of life, laughter, colours, movement... And there he was lying. Exhausted? Peaceful? Out of time and space. From Outer Space? From the Moon. He reminded me of a moon calf "Mondkalb", whatever that means.
I was walking through this park I didn't know. The weather was cloudy and the park almost deserted. Here and there a person would move quickly through this spot of nature. Didn't they like to breathe? Or maybe nature wasn't really looking like nature yet? From far I could see a black spot on a bench. There wasn't much else to see, so I became curious. A well dressed man was manicuring his fingernails. He reminded me of my father when he was young. Not that he was looking like my father very much, but the sound of clipping fingernails in the morning transported me to a different place.
At 7 o’ clock in the morning, I am looking through my window at an empty street. Something is going on outside. Movement. Colour. A couple is walking on the other side, one person almost inserted into the other. The person behind is hugging the person in front; two pairs of feet are forming one pair only. A couple in love! It seems unusual to do this kind of thing on a Monday early morning! And now they are gone and coming back. I can see that they aren’t a couple in love, but a mother and her son.
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