About Me

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New York, New York, United States
Hello, I’m Mariana! I seek to explore universality through my work. I also have this habit of walking in front of automatic sliding doors and pretend that they open because of my magical abilities.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014


Though better known for his still life work, I find Henri Fantin-Latour's compositions more intriguing. 

I rediscovered his work at the Art Students League library and immediately became in disagreement with the historian (favorite hobby) for her claim that his compositional work was "uninspiring" and "awkward"-- quite the opposite!

 Harold in the Mountains, 1884

Manet, 1867

The Evening Star, 1879

  Le D√©couragement de l'artiste, Henri Fantin-Latour (1895)

We all can relate to the latter, I think. 

Saturday, March 22, 2014

The Crickets of the Metro Card Swipes, Reprise

Self-portrait with braid, graphite on paper, 2014.

The Crickets of the Metro Card Swipes, Reprise

I discovered myself again,
on the sixth floor of the Midtown Manhattan building,
separating the pencil from the tooth of the paper
intending to sip some coffee.

Lips attached to the plastic,
seeking in the well for caffeine,
I was alive,

Monday, February 24, 2014

Things I highlight when underground

Sisyphys, by Titian. 

What, then, is that incalculable feeling that deprives the mind of the sleep necessary to life? A world that can be explained even with bad reasons is a familiar world. But, on the other hand, in a universe suddenly divested of illusions and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land. This divorce between man and his life, the actor and his setting, is properly the feeling of absurdity.

I don’t know whether this world has a meaning that transcends it. But I know that I cannot know that meaning and that it is impossible for me just now to know it. What can a meaning outside my condition mean to me? I can understand only in human terms. What I touch, what resists me — that I understand. And these two certainties — my appetite for the absolute and for unity and the impossibility of reducing this world to a rational and reasonable principle — I also know that I cannot reconcile them. What other truth can I admit without lying, without bringing in a hope I lack and which means nothing within the limits of my conditions?

An Absurd Reasoning, The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Sisyphus II

Charlie Mostow sculpting at the GCA.

The days blur,
and the events become foggy.
Your eyes dry,
and the laughter blends
with the noises
of the construction workers 
fixing the pavement.

The paintings at the Met
are outnumbered 
by your thoughts and worries,
and you become an inside joke
between the teller
and your bank account. 

(There's no trophy,
the rules are absurd,
and the Queen of Hearts 
is probably behind them.
The rock is heavy,
but please,
carry on.)

The Dear Seven-Avenue-I'm-Late-Again Waltz