A canvas of flinching cells, a frame with skin-like texture, and an array of eye-catching colors draw you into an
In the realm where pixels dance in discord and the old boundaries of the screen are challenged, jonCates emerges as
A hack saw, a trowel, a haxe. These are the tools that build homes, that dig into the earth to
Patrick Amadon is interested in art that stirs shit up in the real world.
Bleak city streets, strange noises, and the penetrating scent of garbage mix with the comforting sounds of R&B and a hope for the future that nothing can squash. Nate Santana, better known as Dead Society Poetry, brings together a unique blend of poetry, music, and film that gives voice to the often overlooked aspects of urban life, casting a spotlight on the interplay between poverty, suffering, and the vibrancy of city living.
Dead Society Poetry’s creative process is a finely tuned alchemy of different art forms. He masterfully combines the rhythmic cadence of music of varying genres and styles, the evocative power of words, and the visceral impact of film to create artworks that are deeply moving and profoundly insightful. Each piece is a reflection of the raw emotions that permeate urban life, oscillating between hope and hopelessness, color and darkness.
The city, with its stark contrasts and dichotomies, serves not just as the inspiration for his work but also as an integral part of his artistic identity. The city’s influence is palpable in his art, infusing it with a sense of authenticity and immediacy. Today, we have the opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of Dead Society Poetry’s artistic vision and the city that shaped it.
Virginia Valenzuela: So I wanted to start with the fact that this is chapter 7 of an existing series and I’d love to hear a little bit more about that series and what you’re trying to accomplish with it.
Nathan Santana: Okay, so the series is titled the “City of Dreams.” To me the City of Dreams is this sociological inquiry into the ramifications of poverty on individuals and communities. And it was this idea, the “City of Dreams” was born one day just driving around my hometown, which is Bridgeport, Connecticut. Bridgeport, Connecticut is one of the five major cities of Connecticut. Bridgeport is, historically it’s one of the worst cities in the US.
VV: Why are you smiling when you say that?
NS: Because I love Bridgeport. That’s my shit right there. I’m from the projects. [We laugh.] So yeah, Bridgeport is one of the worst. Lots of crime, lots of pain, lots of misery, and it goes on generationally.
So again, the “City of Dreams” was born from observation, but it was also inspired by one of my favorite poems, “Harlem” by Langston Hughes. Dreams deferred, what happens with a raisin in the sun, whatever is said there in that poem. But there was one profound, very poignant line where he’s asking what happens with a dream deferred. Does it explode? And so, I was just really thinking about how dreams are essentially the new opium of the masses in this neoliberal society that we live in, where people are essentially hamsters on a wheel going to work, to work for a better life. It’s almost like the myth of Sisyphus. So you’re fuckin’ working. You’re working hard, but you ain’t going anywhere, but the only things that are driving you forward, the carrot on the stick, are your fuckin’ dreams.
VV: Yeah.
NS: So what we got is motherfuckers out here just dreaming all the time, dreaming for success, dreaming to get the fuck out of the ‘hood, lottery tickets, fuckin’ menial jobs. And when nothing comes, the only thing that comes is pain and misery, it’s really the only thing that’s real. Then you have a whole bunch of other coping mechanisms and you have all these negative behavioral manifestations.
I’m an epidemiologist. My focus is HIV and STIs–or STDs, is what we still call them. I focus on syphilis and congenital syphilis and HIV investigation. But my original and main interest in epidemiology was always social epidemiology. It was always looking at the social and socioeconomics and circumstances as the actual etiology of most diseases.
VV: Yeah, totally. I mean when it’s not even about access to doctors, I mean that’s a part of it too. But it’s like…something I think about a lot with poverty–because I grew up in a below-poverty household as well–it’s the food insecurity.
NS: Right.
VV: And I don’t know. Do you know to brush your teeth for two minutes in the morning and at night, it’s the little things like that that compile year after year. And then obviously, there have been all these books and studies about how sadness and pain can cause disease, right? So, yeah, I think there’s definitely a connection here just in quality of life and what that quality is when you don’t have access to basics.
NS: Exactly.
VV: Which Latinos know very well. I grew up in a food desert. We had an Associated Marketplace and everything was canned and processed.
NS: Right, right exactly. Food, that’s one aspect. And you also have a very sort of coercive relationship with labor tied to this whole dream of success, where, the lower on the totem pole you are, the menial labor, the stress is exponential.
VV: And the money is minimal.
NS: And the money is minimal. And so you’re just living this entire life where your cortisol levels are in survival mode. So the unique thing about Bridgeport in Connecticut is that it’s surrounded by vast wealth. So then you also have an added element of knowing your socioeconomic position. Income quality, and it’s right in your face. And so you get this element of shame your entire life.
It’s almost like being this colonial subject where you’re constantly reminded of your second-class citizenship. Of how you are less than because you can’t afford things, because you can’t buy things, because you can’t consume things, and in our society, in this consumer society, being a consumer is almost tied to patriotism. It’s almost tied to your inclusion in society and it isn’t just consumption of goods, physical tangible goods; it’s also this consumption of social media, is the consumption of TV shows. You’re in this conversation with someone and they’re saying “You haven’t watched ‘Game of Thrones,’ motherfucker? You’re stupid.”
VV: And it’s like, no. I got three jobs.
NS: So now I guess I’m a fuckin’ pariah, and I gotta watch “Game of Thrones.”
VV: I haven’t watched “Game of Thrones” and I’m not interested, so…
NS: Yeah, me either, I never watched a single episode.
VV: I’m watching real life and it’s just as scary.
NS: Hell yeah real life nasty, is messy, is fucked up. I don’t need “Game of Thrones.” There are so many motherfuckers out here having sex, fuck that. [He laughs.] I don’t need “Game of Thrones” to see that shit.
VV: So I think that’s a great segue to talking about this piece, “Chapter 7: Black Plastic Bag.” It’s really packed with a lot of specific imagery both in the way that you filmed it and in the way that the poem unfolds, so I’d love to talk first about all of the multimedia that you used in it because calling this multimedia seems like a gross understatement. You’ve got layers of film, you’ve got distortion, music, throat singing, noise layers, you have the audio of the poem. I’d love to hear a bit about what each layer brings to this piece in your mind, and more importantly, what inspired you to bring so many different pieces of media together?
NS: Hmmm. I’ll answer the last part first. I’ve always wanted all of my poetry to have an audio component as opposed to just text.
VV: Yeah.
NS: Audio and visual. That’s pretty much it really, I mean for that part. It’s just that every time I wrote a poem it was always very visual, very auditory. I could hear things. I could see things happening and while I don’t have the production capability, the whole multi hundred thousand dollars to actually bring everything to life. I do what I can.
VV: You go indie!
NS: Yeah, I go super indie. Look, this is my chapter 7 fuckin’ camera, this thing right here.
VV: My God!
NS: This is from 2010. I got it for free.
NS: And it’s just me and it’s my partner, my partner just helps me, or it’s on an iPhone. It’s super low budget.
Yeah, so, everything comes together. The piece stands alone, but it’s also interwoven with themes from the rest of the series. So I always envision the “City of Dreams” to be this overarching, multi-volume thing. And this would be the first volume of the “City of Dreams.” But I always envision it to be a multi-series, multi-volume ongoing body of work that is interwoven with musical overtures with musical themes.
So you have listened to Chapter 7, but if you listen to other chapters, there’s this theme that is prominent throughout — it’s like doo-doo-do-do-do-do-do-doo — that you can hear throughout the other pieces. So I wanted it to be this grand, interwoven story with multiple themes that connect throughout the series, throughout the different chapters, almost like this book, right?
So there’s the prologue and it runs through chapter 7, and chapter 7 is the last chapter. Then you have the epilogue; the epilogue will be just music.
VV: Something I really love about it too is that for a series like this, I would expect an artist to put it all on the same marketplace in the same spot and I love that you’re putting it all over the place. You have one piece on MakersPlace and that exhibition with Whale DAO, this piece on Mint Gold Dust. And it just feels like this story deserves to be on many different platforms and all over the internet. It’s a story that speaks to not just people in Bridgeport, or me here in New York; it speaks to people out in the projects in Jersey, or like, all over California.
NS: Yeah, yeah.
VV: So I like that choice that you made of almost making it universal because the themes of it are pretty universal. There are more people who are poor than rich, right?
NS: Right exactly, and there’s the pain, misery, suffering, all that stuff is felt by everyone in almost the same way, it’s just kind of fucked up. [He laughs.]
VV: I’d love to hear a little bit more about, what made you want to pick up that camera and use film in this, because a lot of people in the NFT poetry world, I noticed they tend to do more, like, AI work, or a kind of simple background with the text on top, something a little more static or only slightly animated, and you went in the total opposite direction. You created a short film basically, so I’d love to hear about your connection to film, your connection to using that camera and moreover, I’m assuming this is footage of Bridgeport?
NS: Yeah, so a lot of my pieces include footage of Bridgeport and also footage of different areas in New York City, because I have a connection there as well.
Again, the film aspect, it’s just that I always had a visual and the visual is told through moving image, the moving image.
VV: I think you were saying something earlier about how you’re creating a specific aesthetic with the film and then obviously some of the film is distorted. There are parts in this piece where it seems like there are two different clips overlaid with each other.
NS: Yeah.
VV: Like it’s coming in and out of vision. I find it really interesting because it’s not cut and dry, like the film for you seems to be just another material.
NS: Yeah, and I mean, I’ve always wanted to tell a story, especially when it comes to film. I’ve always been influenced by very avant-garde, very weird things and I like shots that are just essentially nonsensical, in a way incoherent, non-linear and it’s just like a long, still shot and there’s a lot to take in.
But I’m also telling a story, so it’s not just the poem. The music tells a story as well. The music is trying to evoke emotion. I feel like the poem is probably the most in-your-face direct part of the piece. And it all comes together really well, but when you break each piece down, the poem, the spoken word, that’s the most direct part. What I actually enjoy the most is the stuff that you have to think about, which is the short film aspect, the music. The music is emotive. It’s trying to convey an emotion. It’s trying to tell you what the real world is like. It’s dirty. It’s disgusting. It’s sad.
But at the same time there’s a break at the end like the outro of Chapter 7 where it becomes this R&B thing, and it’s like if there’s a juxtaposition where the music in the beginning is really eerie, the visuals are really fucked up; but then there’s a juxtaposition in the mood of the music, and then the lyrics are fucked up. So there are multiple things that switch and then it goes back to just me cutting myself [out of the bag].
VV: Yeah, and that’s one of my favorite things about this piece, that you can’t really get comfortable ever. You’re either being pushed to feel uncomfortable through the music, through the imagery. And then once you do feel comfortable with the jazz at the end, then it’s like bam! You come right back, and so I think that’s a great metaphor for life. Things happen, things change. Just when you think you’re living the life, then you get laid off or your mother gets sick. And that’s so potent because it kind of shows whether you’re really affluent or just going through the motions, trying to get through, bad things happen and kind of throw you off your game and it’s not different, the money doesn’t make that part any easier.
NS: It reminds me of that meme. I don’t know if you’ve seen this, but it’s fresh in my mind. It’s like “I paid off all my bills” and then there’s somebody screaming, there’s like a video of somebody screaming, and it says my brakes, my car brakes are screaming.
VV: Yeah.
NS: So right after I paid off my bills, there’s another bill coming up.
VV: That is so true! Every time you’re like, all right, my credit card is fresh. Fuck. Now there’s a new expense. Yeah, it never ends. So, let’s talk a little bit about the imagery here and what the poem is talking about, because you start with things we might find in a garbage bag and then I think it’s kind of moving into some of the challenges of living in the modern world. And then finally we land on some amazing Puerto Rican food staples, but they are also distorted.
You say “mofongo with a side of basura [garbage].” You say “chewing on rusty nails, chicharrón sleeping on the floor with a squid in a brown paper bag.” So it feels like the speaker of this poem is talking about how sustenance, it’s important, but in this poem it’s being corrupted, and obviously without sustenance you can’t survive. So can you speak a little bit more to the idea of survival and how it’s functioning in this poem?
NS: Yeah. I’m not gonna talk about the poem specifically. There’s one thing that I don’t do, and I don’t talk about the work specifically.
VV: That’s fine.
NS: I allow people to just walk away with what they want to walk away with. The context for me is just sociological inquiry, poverty, pain, life. Whatever else you get from it is what you get from it.
VV: The only clues you’re given.
NS: Exactly, and catharsis, like the most important thing, individual catharsis, what I was feeling, what I’m trying to say, my story is being put there for all to see.
But yes, survival comes at a cost. It comes at the cost of your health. All right, we talked about the food deserts, we talked about eating food that isn’t essentially good for you, despite it being food from your homeland, from your people. It’s just like super oily, super this, super that.
VV: It’s like instead of chorizo, you’ve got those salchichas, with like 1000% of your daily salt intake.
NS: A thousand percent, maybe more.
VV: Maybe per sausage. Yeah, that’s the thing right? It’s like you get really happy because you found some tortillas? Then you’re like, what the hell is in this? It tastes chemical, like there’s something weird here and like I love that idea of the cost of connecting with your culture. You’re away from it. You get this rundown version of it that ends up, maybe it gives you a little bit of comfort when you’re eating it, but it ends up hurting you in a way, right?
NS: I also wanted to play with a lot of juxtaposition. So you’re eating this food, this mofongo, you have this momentary comfort, but you’re surrounded by, essentially, basura [garbage]. You’re surrounded by hurt, you’re surrounded by pain, you’re surrounded by an environment that is covered literally with garbage. You walk out of your house and all you see is fuckin’ trash, flattened out McDonald’s cups–
VV: Heroin needles–
NS: Two condoms on the corner–
VV: Blood! I’ve seen blood on my street, and more than once.
NS: You see everything. You get a momentary comfort and after that momentary sort of amnesia, you wake up and there’s a side of basura [garbage]. And if there’s one thing about your sides, they’re always there on the side on your plate. You’re always reminded of your side. [He laughs.] There’s always the main course, but the sides, fuck!
VV: They’re not so great. Excuse me, can I send this back? [She laughs.]
NS: Yeah, I don’t want this fuckin’ broccoli. Get this broccoli out of here.
VV: Alright, I’ll skip this next question because we’re not gonna talk about the poem. I was really interested in the way the poem uses color because we start with this really dark black-and-white glitchy aesthetic, and then the poem happens and then you ask the viewer “do you feel me?” And then we switch to the jazz and the color comes on and now we’re seeing film in color and interestingly enough because of what you chose, it’s like now we’re seeing graffiti in color. So it’s like you’ve put us from black and white to color but the images that you’re showing are melancholy. I’m still feeling this darkness from it, even though you’ve turned the lights on. So I’d love to hear a little bit more about that choice. And yeah, how do you view color in this?
NS: That’s not something I think about.
VV: [She laughs.] Of course not.
NS: I’m not consciously thinking about color in that way. To me, my process is very much mimicking the chaos of everyday life. It’s experimental. It’s improvisational. It’s chaotic. This is what comes next. This influenced that, so this will come next.
VV: Yeah.
NS: I always find it very silly, in a way, and I don’t really mean to talk shit about artists, but, when all those fuckers are out here talking about practice and discipline and it’s like, okay you turning this shit into a fuckin’ job, fuck off, just express yourself. So to me that’s how I approach things, so if it comes out in a sort of way like that, it wasn’t really conscious. There’s this maybe subconscious effort to experiment, and if it comes out that way it’s because perhaps it was…I don’t know, I can’t really describe what I’m saying here, but…
VV: Yeah, I get you. That’s fascinating because the only part that has color really is the jazz. Most of the other one with the darker music and covering of the face with the plastic bag, all of that is so dark and the black and white fits so perfectly and that’s so amazing, especially as I’m thinking about your musician brain, right, that’s in the background, is probably what was working there. And so I find that fascinating because earlier in the piece, there are a couple of flashes of light and there are little tiny bits of color and so it actually made me think of “The Wizard of Oz.”
She starts in black and white, goes to the Land of Oz and it’s color, and then goes back home and it’s black and white again, and your piece did the same transition and it just made me think so much about–you mentioned catharsis. And so I was thinking about how the subject of this poem is living this dark life and then finally states this poem and then we go into a world of color. It almost to me felt like the power of catharsis, the fact that maybe after you get something off your chest that changes the way you see the world. But then he goes right back into the darkness. The catharsis is momentary. It doesn’t help, you still find your way back to the shit that you were dealing with beforehand.
NS: Right. I wrote a poem about this a few years ago and there’s a section in that poem where you’re in a labyrinth and you see this crack in the wall and you squeeze through like a tiny mouse, and then you’re outside of the labyrinth. There’s a moment of joy and celebration that then gets sequestered because the labyrinth isn’t just a stagnant labyrinth. It’s this moving, breathing machine inside of a machine that creates itself, that reproduces itself and it actually uses your brain, your thoughts to create more elaborate labyrinths to keep you inside of it.
VV: It’s like, you leveled up? Me, too.
NS: But it’s already 50 steps ahead of you.
VV: Yeah.
NS: So, in my mind that is always what’s happening. I’m breaking through and it’s the same thing with when you clean out your credit card and then your brakes are squealing. It’s just like, how is this always the case? Why is this always happening?
VV: Can’t catch a break ever.
NS: Why can I not break free without being put right back in? And I always think of fuckin’ “Godfather 3.” They keep pulling me back! Or even “Carlito’s Way.” I don’t know if you’ve seen “Carlito’s Way.”
VV: Of course. Yeah.
NS: And you block over the Bronx? Carlito is trying to get out, but, he can’t.
VV: Yeah, exactly. So before we go, let’s talk about the music a bit. There are a lot of pieces here, including jazz, R&B, and more. What was the process of bringing all of these pieces together?
NS: As I mentioned previously with my sort of experimental improvisational process, the music actually came together in the same way that “Oceans of Pain” came together.
I asked Greg Wilcox, who is a bassist, multi-instrumentalist, and throat singer, to contribute some throat singing. And he had no idea what the music was going to be like, and I basically just gave him a prompt. Do something inspired by black plastic bag. Think about that, and just whatever it is you do, think about that.
VV: Channel it.
NS: Yeah. Don’t worry about the key. Don’t worry about tempo. Don’t worry about rhythm. Just in your head, think about this, and let it out. And then there was also the trumpet player. His name is Ni!
I did the same thing. I was just like, think about this. Don’t worry about anything else. And I like that when it comes to music, that’s my approach. It’s just like the birds, the insects, the deer, the other animals, they don’t work. They’re not planning what they’re doing. They’re just going by their own tune.
VV: Just making a symphony, just like that.
NS: It comes together in this super harmonious thing. If you are ever in the forest and you hear the birds chirping, you hear the trees swaying, you hear the river going over fuckin’ rocks and shit. It’s like, these motherfuckers ain’t talking. They’re just doing what they’re doing. And so what I did was I just put everything together as if we were disparate components, but we fit so harmoniously.
VV: I see you. I see what’s going on.
NS: Yeah, the jazzy R&B part too, I remember creating that and I was like wow, this is fuckin’ amazing. [He laughs.] And my partner sang on it and she wrote the lyrics to that. I was just like “City of Dreams,” black plastic bag. Think about it. But yeah, the rest of the music, it was all me. The piano, my opera singing.
VV: Incredible.
A gust of color, a stroke, a line, a glimmer in the eye, almost imperceptible. The work of an abstract artist is complex. It combines the use of color, form and texture, with a touch of mystery and ambiguity. It asks us to see art, and by extension, the world, in a different way.
Liceoty is a digital painter who works with light and color in order to tell stories of people and places, some that feel familiar, and others, totally alien. His pieces are like snapshots of a dream, where the colors blend and merge in unexpected ways. Though brought to life by a vivid color palette, upon further inspection we can see shadows, facial expressions, and smudged edges that pulse with a sense of mystery.
Liceoty’s work is heavily influenced by abstract expressionism and his pieces often have an emotional intensity that draws the viewer in. He uses bold brushstrokes and vibrant hues to convey feelings of joy, sadness, anger, and everything in between. His paintings are a reflection of the human experience, capturing the complexities and fluctuations of human emotions.
The Art of Lasting Impressions
Like many practicing artists, Liceoty grew up with an artist in the family. His grandfather was a painter whose impressionist works really influenced him, both in the embrace of painting and in style. “La capacidad es ilimitada,” he says. “Tengo mucha libertad en lo que puedo hacer.” With unlimited capabilities and the freedom to create whatever he wants, he can create scenes “sin atarme a nada en concreto,” or without being tied to anything concrete.
Liceoty is also drawn to the work of de Chirico, Rembrandt, and Goya painters who were masters at utilizing contrast with color and light in order to create dramatic effect, to tell stories through light and shadow. But our conversation continues to return to Goya, and Liceoty notes his fascination with Goya’s ability to tell stories through the faces of the figures in his paintings, and the impressions of the decrepit. Goya creates a world that Liceoty likes exploring.
And that is perhaps why so many of Liceoty’s paintings are brimming with the details of life. A dining room with paintings hanging on the walls, a crowd of people entering a plaza, each with their own expression. Each scene peers into a different universe, and contemplates the relationship between subjects and their surroundings.
A World of Color
After making the initial sketch, Liceoty paints with greens and grays. It is a neutralizing color palette, one that welcomes other colors into the picture. “Verde, que te quiero verde,” wrote the Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca, ruminating on the entrancing effect of the color green. It is a color that calls to Liceoty, that shows him the first steps into the work.
“Cuando tengo ese verde, o un azul muy apagado,” he said, “pues, le intento meter un contraste de un color más puro, con más…con más ficha.” A calm green, or a pale blue, invites Liceoty to add colors to contrast it with, a purer color, a color with more…depth. He cultivates this same sense of curiosity and thoughtful discovery to his entire practice.
“Lo voy haciendo sobre la marcha,” he told me. “I’m doing it as I go.” From the start, he doesn’t have a specific idea of what he wants to create, what colors he wants to use. He begins with the sketch, and follows the colors. Forms begin to take shape, and characters emerge. The scene comes to life through the conjuring of colors and brush strokes.
His artworks are colorful, playful even, but they carry a darker side, a sense of mystery humming just below the surface: an elongated shadow, a mysterious glint in the eye, a heavy sense of waiting. “El contraste lo que quiero es hacer que el color que yo quiera destaque,” he said, “y digamos los oscuros, pues siempre tiendan a neutralizar un poco la composición, no?”
He is speaking quite literally about color, how darker colors tend to neutralize the composition and how he wants certain colors to stand out, yet his words also apply to the themes of his work. Using color, he illuminates the darkness within his characters, bringing their true colors to light.
“Lo que quiero yo intentar expresar con eso, con los colores esos oscuros, es establecer un límite en el paisaje,” he said. “No una especie como de pared, algo que termine ahí y entonces pues por eso me gustan.” For Liceoty, the darker parts of the painting act as edges, or limits, but ones that are more flexible, not like a wall, he says. Instead a line, a smudge, a sort of opening between light and dark.
The Story of “The Monk”
Liceoty has been interested in monks for some time. “Me gustan mucho los monjes,” he said. “Uno tanto por la religión y por la espiritualidad, por la estética de las capas de los monjes, los atuendos que llevan.” There is something to their religion, to their spirituality, as well as the aesthetic of their robes, the layers.
For Liceoty, “The Monk” was its own medication, a move away from what had become comfortable. “Quería romper con lo que llevo haciendo durante un año que es lo que llevo pintando,” he said. “Quería romper, pues con la tendencia esa siempre de tener que dibujar muchos personajes, dibujar muchas escenas secundarias y, como te digo yo, a los lejos no hacer escenas a lo lejos.” For this piece, Liceoty wanted to break with what he had been doing for the previous year.
Instead of having many people in the scene, he focused on a singular subject. Instead of creating multiple scenes in one piece, or depicting scenes from a distance, he focused in on one person, and let him take up the entire canvas. He played with greens and violets, and utilized more light than usual. That was part of the experiment as well, reaching for colors that are different from those that he usually calls his own.
“Quiero trabajar más la luz,” he told me, “porque es verdad que en muchos de mis cuadros la luz se deja de lado y importa más el escenario el color y la expresión, que la luz no la trabajo mucho.” In the past, he feels like more of his attention was put onto the setting, color, and the expression of the characters, but the light wasn’t as prominent.
“Y lo que quiero es empezar a trabajar la luz. En los personajes, en los ropajes…una pintura abstracta o que dibuja personaje y a la vez le mete luz, pues algo bastante interesante. Quiero llegar a eso.” He wants to explore light in his abstract work, in the characters, the clothing. A painting that draws and character and also shines light onto it, that seems quite interesting. He wants to reach towards that.
Art is the Journey, Not the Destination
Liceoty’s work is a testament to how an artist can transcend traditional boundaries and create a new form of expression. Through his abstract paintings, he invites viewers to see the world through his eyes, where the ordinary becomes extraordinary and the mundane is infused with magic.
One of Liceoty’s greatest strengths as an artist is his ability to find beauty in the most unexpected places. His keen eye and attention to detail allow him to uncover the hidden gems in everyday scenes, whether it’s a bustling plaza or a quiet dining room.
But what sets Liceoty apart from other digital painters is his unique style and technique. He combines traditional painting techniques with cutting-edge technology, using digital tools to enhance and add depth to his pieces. This fusion of old and new creates a mesmerizing effect, captivating viewers and inviting them into Liceoty’s world.
In a time where technology dominates the conversations around art, Liceoty stands out as an artist who embraces innovation while staying true to the essence of traditional art forms. His work serves as a reminder that art knows no boundaries and can be constantly redefined and reinvented.
What do frogs, trash cans, and Punks have in common? They’ve all been burned and elevated by one artist so committed to the social and cultural power of art that he’s influenced the very meaning of what it means to be infamous. One of the most wide-ranging and influential artists in the world of crypto art, ROBNESS has been a part of this ever-growing community since its early days and has made significant contributions that have shaped the scene into what it is today. From his experimental digital art pieces to his infamous ’64 gallon toter’ that challenged artistic boundaries in a decentralized network, ROBNESS has been at the forefront of defining what art can accomplish when paired with blockchain technology.
But one of the biggest challenges for artists, especially those that approach or achieve critical acclaim, is balancing reputation with experimentation. For “The Golden Age” exhibition, ROBNESS revealed a new style of art that bridges the tactile and the digital. Using digital tools to add creases, rips, and fade, his artwork “MA’MORTE AND CHILD” looks like one that has been crumpled up, perhaps thrown into the garbage bin, and found anew by a lucky passerby.
In this interview, we dive deep into his journey as an artist in the crypto world and gain insight into his creative process and experiences creating art in a new and untested terrain.
VIRGINIA VALENZUELA: A lot of people are familiar with your digital artworks, from Pepes to toters to glitch. What kind of work were you making before you got into digital art?
ROBNESS: AS FAR AS PHYSICAL WORK? MOSTLY IT WAS ATTACKING CANVASES AND DOING ABSTRACT TYPE OF WORKS IN BETWEEN BAND PRACTICES IN A STUDIO I USED TO RENT OUT. I HAVE BEEN DOING DIGITAL ART OFF/ON SINCE I WAS 7 YEARS AND UP. I ALWAYS JOKE THAT MY FIRST FORAY INTO DIGITAL ART WAS USING AN ANCIENT MICROTEK SCANNER AND TRYING TO EDIT MAGIC CARDS TO SEE IF I COULD COUNTERFEIT THEM. I DIDN’T GET INTO CANVAS STYLE WORK UNTIL MUCH LATER, EVEN ACTUALLY AFTER I GOT INTO MUSIC AS WELL.
VIRGINIA VALENZUELA: I know that music, and specifically album covers, were an entry point for you as a young person getting interested in art. How does music fit into your artistic practice today?
ROBNESS: MUSIC GOES COMPLETELY HAND IN HAND IN MY PROCESS. MAINLY, IT’S ALWAYS ON WHEN I’M WORKING. I HAVE A WEIRD CONNECTION WHERE I ALMOST PICK CERTAIN GENRES OF MUSIC I FEEL AT THE TIME FIT THE VIBE I’M GOING FOR. FEEL LIKE IT GIVES ME A RHYTHM IN THE WORKFLOW. SOMETIMES I’LL PUT ON SOME 90’S ELECTRONICA, BEBOP JAZZ, VAPORWAVE, CLASSIC ROCK, FUNK…..ANYTHING THAT AESTHETICALLY FITS THE OVERALL FEELING AT THE MOMENT WHILE I’M WORKING VISUALLY.
VIRGINIA VALENZUELA: There is a lot of humor in your work, both in the feelings you conjure up for the viewer and the titles you play with for the pieces. Yet, some of the topics of your work are extremely serious, like censorship and the financial system. How do you strike a balance between making statements with your work and at the same time keeping it rather joyful?
ROBNESS: IT’S FUNNY YOU MENTION THE HILARITY ASPECT. PERHAPS IT’S MY INNER SKEPTIC OF MOST THINGS AND I NATURALLY HAVE TO POINT OUT THE ABSURDITY OF WHAT I PERCEIVE. IT’S ALSO A COMPLIMENT AS WELL, PRIMARILY BECAUSE IT SEEMS LIKE IT’S A TRADITION OF ALL ARTISTS FROM THE PAST TO IMBUE THE WORK WITH COMEDIC ELEMENTS, ENSURING THAT WE DON’T TAKE LIFE TOO SERIOUSLY. MAYBE THAT’S PERHAPS WHY THAT PENCHANT EXISTS FOR MANY? AS FAR AS BALANCE IS CONCERNED IT’S ALWAYS A CHALLENGE, REALLY DEPENDS ON THE CONTEXT OF THE WORK. SOMETIMES YOU CAN BE ABSOLUTELY AND GROTESQUELY BLATANT, OTHER TIMES YOU MIGHT HAVE TO REALLY BURY IT INSIDE THE WORK FOR IT TO NOT TURN YOUR PIECE INTO SOME FUTURE ROTTEN MAC & CHEESE, YOU KNOW….THE PIECES THAT ARE JUST TOO ‘ON THE NOSE.’
VIRGINIA VALENZUELA: Everyone knows about the SR/Toter chapter of your career, so I won’t bore you with an easy question on that. Something I’d love to know is: Why was it so important to you to stress test the NFT community at that time?
ROBNESS: TRUTH BE TOLD, I WASN’T REALLY LOOKING FOR IT. PERHAPS MY PENCHANT FOR A FREE AND OPEN PLACE TO CREATE ART BEYOND ANY CENSORSHIP BOUNDARIES SLIPPED INTO DOING LITERALLY EVERYTHING WRONG ON THE SUPERRARE PLATFORM. HOWEVER, WHEN THE IDEOLOGICAL ROADBLOCKS BEGAN AND JUDGEMENTS FROM THE COMMUNITY ON MY SPECIFIC STYLE OF ART EMERGED, MY INNER JOHN LYDON I GUESS CAME OUT AND JUST SAID ‘F IT, I’M GONNA TRASH THIS PLACE.’ AT FIRST THE JOKE DIDN’T GET ACROSS….OR MAYBE IT DID I DON’T KNOW. BUT I MADE SURE MY STATEMENT WAS MADE WITH THE 64 GALLON TOTER BEING A BLUNT DIGITAL MESSAGE. SO YEAH, IT WASN’T REALLY INTENTIONAL….NOW THAT I LOOK BACK ON IT IT FEELS LIKE A NATURAL COURSE OF EVENTS FOR THE SPACE TO GROW.
VIRGINIA VALENZUELA: You have been called a “disrupter” by many writers both inside and outside the NFT art space. I think of you as being more open-ended, like a question with an infinite amount of answers. How would you describe yourself?
ROBNESS: MERCURIAL. I REALLY DON’T CONSIDER MYSELF A ‘DISRUPTER,’ PRIMARILY BECAUSE IT SETS ME ON A COURSE WHERE I’LL HAVE TO KEEP DELIVERING THAT SET OF EXPECTATIONS THROUGH MY FUTURE WORKS. IF I FEEL I HAVE TO MAKE SOME WORK IN A CONCEPTUAL/DISRUPTIVE WAY I’LL DO IT, SOMETIMES I JUST WANT TO CREATE BEAUTY OR PERHAPS A ZEN ELEMENT TO THE WORK. AS OF LATE I’VE REALLY BEEN GRAPPLING WITH THIS AND NOT TRYING TO BE A BROKEN RECORD, ALWAYS TRYING TO STRIVE FOR SOMETHING NEW. IF PEOPLE EXPECT ME TO BURN AN NFT FOR INSTANCE, I PROBABLY WON’T DO IT JUST BECAUSE I’LL FEEL IT’S JUST TOO PREDICTABLE.
VIRGINIA VALENZUELA: I can tell from previous interviews that you have some fond memories of the earlier days of cryptoart, like finding the Fake Rare community or artworks minted on Rarible circa 2018-2020. What did you like about that time?
ROBNESS: QUITE SIMPLY, THE SLOW GROWTH OF FRIENDS I’VE MADE OVER THE ENTIRE PLANET. SOMETIMES I’LL BE WORKING AND I JUST THINK THERE’S NO TIME IN ART HISTORY WHERE REALLY THIS TYPE OF MOVEMENT COULD GROW LIKE THIS. THE SPEED OF INFORMATION TRANSMISSION, COMBINED WITH CRYPTOART JUST CREATED THIS VAPOROUS SCENE ACROSS THE WORLD AND IT’S PROBABLY ONE OF THE GREATEST HIGHLIGHTS OF MY LIFE.
VIRGINIA VALENZUELA: A lot of people are leaving the NFT community now that there are fewer eye-popping sales and less money in the space overall. Do you think that this shift will affect the way people create? If so, how?
ROBNESS: IT’LL SHIFT FOR THOSE WHO WEREN’T REALLY IN HERE FOR THE RIGHT REASONS, AND I CAN SEE IT CLEAR RIGHT NOW. A LOT OF ARTISTS THAT ARE REALLY IN THIS THING HAVEN’T FALTERED AND REMAIN CONSISTENT. SOME OF THE MORE SUCCESSFUL ONES (DISAPPOINTINGLY ENOUGH) HAVE SLOWED THEIR PRODUCTION. IT SEEMS LIKE THEY MIGHT BE AFRAID TO REDUCE THEIR PRICE POINTS ON THEIR ART DURING THE BEAR MARKET PHASE, WHICH I THINK IS KIND OF LAME BUT TO EACH ITS OWN.
VIRGINIA VALENZUELA: I read that you were actually living in your car before you got into crypto, and long before you found a way to make your art a source of sustainable income. What did you learn from that experience that you hold on to to this day?
ROBNESS: FAITH. FAITH, AND MORE FAITH. IN MY DARKEST PERIODS OF HOPELESSNESS, I’D DRAG MYSELF OUT OF THE CAR, GRAB MY RUNNING SHOES IN THE TRUNK AND GO RUNNING ON THE BEACH BEFORE EVERYONE ELSE AROUND WOULD WAKE UP. I’M A GOD FEARING MAN BUT NEVER WENT THE ROUTE OF THE CHURCH AND ALL THAT. I WOULD PUT ON GOSPEL CHOIRS AS I RAN IN THAT 5:30-6:00 AM MORNING, TO THIS DAY I’M NOT SURE WHY. IT GAVE ME STRENGTH, TRULY DID. THE SMELL OF THE OCEAN AIR CLEARED MY LUNGS, AND THE MUSIC CLEANED MY SOUL, IN A WAY. AN ODD BONUS WAS I GOT TO FINALLY SEE WHAT GAVE ELVIS THAT SPECIAL GIFT OF ROCK N ROLL. IT ALL STARTED FROM GOSPEL MUSIC….
For Acid Boy (aka Pat Cantin), nothing hits quite like trying something for the first time. Art is all about exploration for the Quebecois creator. Working out of his east Montreal studio, the trained painter, creative coder, photographer, and DJ/producer is thriving as a full-time artist. His studio is split up into different areas for different creative practices — one area for painting; another for digital art; another for music.
After discovering NFTs in early 2021, he saw the medium as a new avenue for creativity and minted his first works on Hic et Nunc. Since then, he’s been an active participant in the space with works minted across marketplaces. In this conversation, we explore what it means to have a healthy creative mindset, believing in the process, and why you don’t need drugs to make art that feels like you’re on drugs.
“The Eclipse”
Chris Kokiousis: When did you fall in love with art? Like was there a moment or an artwork?
Acid Boy: When I was born! [laughs]
Chris Kokiousis: Out of the womb.
Acid Boy: Yeah, I’ve always loved art. I’ve always been into art, into drawing, into creating. I have a bachelor degree in Fine Arts. I graduated in 2000 here in Montreal. And after that I couldn’t live from my art at all because I mean living from art when you finish school, it’s impossible. It’s like a dream, but I did a lot of things before getting back into paintings in 2012 full time, and I did only that until NFTs came. So now I do paintings and NFTs for a living. So, I live from my art, so I’m super happy, but between 2000 and 2012, I learned to code by myself. I was a webmaster at a big TV company here in Montreal and I learned everything all by myself.
I was a freelancer doing website design, programming JavaScript, things like that. But one day, I just quit my job and I said, Okay, I need to go back to my paintings, into my art. And that was the most beautiful thing I did in my life, going back to creation full-time.
Chris Kokiousis: Did you have an epiphany where you realized work was too much and you were missing your art?
Acid Boy: I was missing my art for like, five or six years. And I said to myself, if they don’t give me a raise this year, I quit and go back to my paintings. And they didn’t have the budget to raise every employee and they said that they [couldn’t] give me a raise for the year in 2012. So I said, Okay, I give you my two weeks. And so I stuck to my point. And it’s like a drop in an empty space — you don’t know where you’re gonna land.
Chris Kokiousis: Right.
Acid Boy: But I mean, when you’ve got the passion, everything is gonna go. Well, even if it’s a stressful job being an artist, if you like it, you know, you’re gonna get through.
“Misty Moods”
Chris Kokiousis: Talk to me a bit about the difference between your painting process and your NFT process. How do you get in the headspace for that? Like, are you working on a project at any given moment? Or is it kind of more, Oh, today I’m going to paint.
Acid Boy: Creation is not like a 9 to 5 job, that’s what I learned… I try to be at the studio most of the time. So, I’m here from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m. even if I’m not creating, even if I’m just procrastinating, playing Zelda. But if I’m in the studio, I’m in the creative mood. I already have all the tools available here in the studio, so if I want to make music, I can go in the studio, make beats. If I have an inspiration or an idea or a painting, I can do it right away. It’s not like I’m home and I have to go to the studio…So if I have an idea I can do it right away, and when an idea comes or when you get the inspiration coming, you need to do it right now. You cannot take notes or do a drawing and come back later. I mean, I have to work on it like right away because it’s a feeling. So I don’t have a plan. I don’t go like, Oh today I’m gonna paint, or today I’m gonna do an NFT. I’m gonna do what I want to do every day, so if I feel like painting, I do it.
Chris Kokiousis: So more spontaneous.
Acid Boy: Yeah, exactly…You can’t force creativity.
Chris Kokiousis: What was the first artwork you minted and the first NFT that you collected? Like, how did you get into the space? Tell me that story.
Acid Boy: One of my friends introduced me to NFTs. He’s like 65 years old, and he read an article in a newspaper. And he said, “Hey Pat, do you know what an NFT is?” And I was like “No, I don’t have a clue.” It was like right before Beeple blew up with [“Everydays”].
And I dug a little bit and I said, Oh my god, that’s a pretty cool medium to explore for me. I always did a lot of things — photography, music, painting, digital art web stuff. And I said, Okay, that’s another avenue to express myself, to express my creativity…
So I learned a lot of stuff, but before, I [was trying] to put my conceptual art into NFTs, like some performances or like, balloons and stuff. But when I found ToughDesigner, that software was really speaking to me, because I’m not a good coder and I’m really, really bad at math and I’m really, really bad at coding. I have a small brain [laughs]. I don’t know why. I never took acid by the way.
Chris Kokiousis: Oh, that was gonna be my next question… [laughs]
Acid Boy: No, never never, I’m too scared of that…
“Space Wave 19”
“Sola”
Chris Kokiousis: So acid, maybe means more to you in a musical sense than a drug experience?
Acid Boy: Well acid…boy. Acid Boy came from like, you know, acid music. Acid house music, techno music. And I wanted to create stuff that gives you a buzz visually. So I want the person who looks at the art to get a little bit dizzy or confused or you know, like when you’re on drugs. Well, I never did drugs, but I want to give a physical feeling when someone looks at my art. So I think Acid Boy fits really, really well for the purpose of this.
Chris Kokiousis: What’s interesting is each piece kind of gives you a different feeling and they’re all kind of self-contained experiences. Some of them are more dizzy, some are more hypnotic.
Acid Boy: Yeah, or more meditative as well.
Chris Kokiousis: Yeah.
Acid Boy: And one fun fact is that I’m really, really seasick. Motion sickness, you know? Even when I swim in waves in the ocean, I get sick. So I’m really sensitive to that. So there are some pieces that make me sick. Like I have to look away from the computer for 10 minutes and breathe and then get back to the code. Because when you create, the animation is always moving. And you look at it, and there’s some details you need to correct, but sometimes it’s like, Okay, oh my god, I need to take a break because I’m gonna be sick.
Chris Kokiousis: Yeah, I could imagine doing that looking at one of your pieces for hours. When you look away, you probably see it on the wall.
Acid Boy: Exactly. The walls are like here [moves his hands in front of his face in a swirling motion].
Chris Kokiousis: That’s amazing [laughs]. Obviously in the art world, a lot of the most successful artists have a very distinctive style and they stick to it a lot of the time and it becomes their signature. How much of art do you think is finding a lane like that? Is it more of a necessary evil, or do you see it more as a fun kind of creative limitation?
Acid Boy: It’s a hard question, because if I speak for myself, I always wanted to try different stuff. Since I was young, I tried karate, I tried unicycling, I was a clown…I mean, I tried everything. And why would I stop that in my art? Because it’s part of myself, it’s part of my life. I always change things. I always try something new and I get bored easily. So, you know, painting was my main revenue from 2012 until 2019. But when I got into NFTs, I had like a year without painting because I wanted to be into NFTs. But as for the style, it’s different from artist to artist, but in the conventional art world, if your style is always different, galleries will not take you to exhibit. You always have to do the same thing.
Chris Kokiousis: Right.
Acid Boy: You always have to do the same style, same colors and whatever. And this is really really boring to me. So I’ve never been represented in a gallery because my style always changes. I started with portraits. Very figurative portraits. And now I’ve really abstracted more and more and more. And now it’s just splashes on the canvas. So if you take like my early work in 2012 and [compare it to] today, I mean it’s two different artists.
Chris Kokiousis: Yeah, I really like your paintings. And I was surprised when I saw them on your Twitter feed, like that’s the same guy?
Acid Boy: Yeah. And if I had advice to give to artists — if you want to do another style, do it. That’s it. There’s no questioning. If you want to create something else, create something else… Anyway, just create even if it’s something that is way beyond your usual stuff. Okay, do it. It’s gonna nourish your own style, and you’re gonna experiment and you get to take that and come back to your style and go and come back.
Chris Kokiousis: How do you feel about story in art — have you played around with that much? It seems like something that’s not as high of a priority [in your work].
Acid Boy: At university, I always had a hard time explaining what I was doing and teachers were always on our backs about how important it is to have a statement about our art. And I remember one of my teachers, we had to write 20 pages about our art at the end of university. And I failed that course, because I wrote like 20 pages with big fonts so they were like a paragraph of text, like a hundred words, but in 20 pages — no spaces, no [periods], no accents, no nothing. So it was really hard to read. But it was like, the contrary of the statement I was [supposed to be] doing. I was doing a [statement on the statement] — like I hate doing statements, so why would I do it?
Just look at my stuff. What you see is what you get. Like, why would I have to write about my art? So, I was in rebellion about the writing stuff at university, but the teacher didn’t like it. Obviously. [laughs]
Another time I had to do an exposé, and all I did was put me in a frame and I was holding it like this [holds a sideways pose] for 10 minutes in front of the class. Because I didn’t want to do the exposé. So that was the exposé. So I failed that course, but I was an artist.
“Stare at me for a minute”
Chris Kokiousis: Right. Now you can probably look back on that kind of fondly, you know, just like that purity of, yeah, I’m an artist.
Acid Boy: Yeah, I’m a true artist, you don’t understand me, you know. But to answer the question, I think it’s important to have a statement. It’s the most difficult thing to do as an artist. It’s easy to do it for someone else, for another artist. But when you have to introspect and [ask yourself], what do I want to say to others with my art, it’s the hardest thing ever.
Chris Kokiousis: What other advice would you give to aspiring artists who are trying to work their way into the NFT space, just about getting involved in the community and staying productive as an artist?
Acid Boy: Well, the only advice I would give is to be genuine. Like, just be yourself. Be authentic. And don’t try to hide yourself behind a persona. I mean, Acid Boy is Pat Cantin in real life. I’m the same person; it’s just a name. So when people talk to me on Twitter or something, I’m the same person as Pat Cantin on my website. But yeah, be authentic…
That would be the best advice I could give. Don’t lose yourself in the Twitter space and the Meta whatever, Instagram and things. Just create. Put it out there. If you got likes, fine. If you don’t, fine. Just create — just do what you have in here [taps his hands on his chest] and show it to the world. But don’t get lost in all the negativity and marketing on Twitter and other platforms.
Chris Kokiousis: Really good advice. What about for artists that are trying to find their creative voice? The journey of that experience, of finding your creative voice and experimenting with different styles?
Acid Boy: You will never find your creative voice. I graduated in 2000 and [I’ve been] a full-time artist since 2012. Every day, I’m questioning myself. What’s my style? What am I doing? Why do I do that? Where do I want to go? As an artist, it’s always the same question. And I speak to other artists — like well-established artists that sell big paintings for 12 years or 25 years — and they say Pat, it’s always the same question every day all the time even after 20 years.
So, it’s okay. It’s part of the process as an artist to always question yourself because when you don’t, you won’t be an artist.
Chris Kokiousis: Yeah. I guess it’s more about the promise or the commitment to believe in the art you’re making, and the process, and just sticking with it.
Acid Boy: Yeah, you never figure it out, it’s always a process. An artist’s life is always a process. It will never end. You’ll always be questioning yourself — what are you doing, and why [are you doing it]…
So yeah, be true to yourself and what you love, and other people are gonna love it.
Chris Kokiousis: Thanks for the wise words Pat. Let’s wrap this up — any favorite acid tracks?
Acid Boy: I’ve got some DJs that I like — Mistress Barbara, she’s from Montreal as well, and I really love Miss Kitten too.
“Stable Perspective” (from “The Golden Age” exhibition)
When I first entered the NFT space in July of 2021, I hadn’t fully grasped why anyone would buy a work of digital art. Even if blockchain technology could authenticate the original, what kind of person would spend tens of thousands of dollars on something you couldn’t even hold in your hands? Flashing GIFs, strange 3D beings, and photography made without realism in mind seemed far out of reach, especially for those prices.
But one day, while scrolling through the pages of the curated NFT platform that had hired me to help build their art magazine, I came across something colorful, personable, and strange. The artwork, titled “CAUTION,” featured sharp angles brought to life by playfully contorted lines. There was a ladder melting in the corner, a cardboard box in the foreground, and out through the doorway, the whisper of an alley. The style reminded me of the great surrealist painter Giorgio de Chirico, who famously wrote “What is especially needed is great sensitivity: to look upon everything in the world as enigma.” This painting, and the following 100 or so that I looked at on this artist’s profile, are indeed within the realm of enigma.
The artist that captured my interest, and who truly helped me understand why anyone would buy a JPEG, is Nacho Frades.
“En realidad, la escena que pinto es una excusa para iluminarla.”
Nacho was born in Madrid in 1967 and quickly found expression through art. His talent eventually led him to animation; one of the few ways for artists to make a living at that time. “La animación fue lo que más se parecía a pintar,” he told me on a video call. Animation was the thing most similar to painting. “La parte mía fundamental era lighting, o sea, iluminación.” The part that was most fundamental to him was lighting, or rather, illumination.
The way Nacho uses light is one of the reasons I was so drawn to the work. Not only the mastery of it, but the playfulness. In the same way Nacho invited wavering lines and enigmatic versions of ordinary objects, he also gave light permission to operate a bit differently in the scenes he creates.
“En realidad, la escena que pinto es una excusa para iluminarla,” he said. “Puedo pintar cualquier cosa porque lo que me importa es cómo funciona la luz ahí.” For Nacho, the scene he paints is an excuse to create a space which he can illuminate. For this reason, he can paint anything, because the thing that interests him most is how the light functions there in the space he has created.
It comes as no surprise then, that so much of Nacho’s work explores shadowy nighttime scenes brought to life with neon signs, street lights, lamps, and occasionally, stars. In works like “Turtle” and “Content,” the artist adds on layers of color to find out what lies beneath the surface of the canvas. Much like the American novelist Flannery O’Connor who wrote “in order to find out what [she] knew,” Nacho uses light to reveal unexpected characters, like a rat drunk and slumped over a bar, or a chair sitting all by itself looking up at a screen. The light bulb illuminates, and he captures what he sees.
“La luz y el color no son lo mismo,” he interjected. “Con el color se puede conseguir luz, pero el color no es luz. En el iPad y todo eso si es luz, pero no se pinta con luz. Se pinta con color. Lo único que tienes es la paleta de colores, no tienes más.”
The artist quickly points out that light and color are not the same. With color one can get light, but color is not light. On the iPad and all those other tools, yes, it [this creation] is quite literally made of light, but it is not painted with light. It is painted with color. The only thing you have is the color palette. You don’t have anything else.
Nacho creates much of his work at night, when the world is dark and quiet. He is nocturnal, and oftentimes remains awake, and his painting takes the place of sleep. “Yo soy muy nocturno,” he told me. “Entonces, muchas noches me quedo pintando en vez de dormir, me quedo pintando y con la casa en silencio, en la cama con el iPad, la música, y tal no puedo pedir más, no puedo estar más a gusto. Y que más quiere, digo nada, porque yo lo tengo todo.”
With the house encased in silence, in bed with the iPad, music, he couldn’t be more comfortable, he couldn’t ask for more. What more could you want? He says nothing, because in these moments, he has everything. Darkness and light, brought together by music, color, and the stillness of a Spanish night.
Born in the French countryside, Lapin Mignon (“Cute Rabbit”) had an idyllic childhood of imagination and simple pleasures. Today, she adopts a charming alias to distinguish her creative digital life from her corporate day job. Like two sides of her personality, she has managed to carve out a space for pure creativity as Lapin Mignon, where she can be free to dream up detailed watercolor worlds populated with whimsical, beady-eyed creatures. Drawing influence from nature and the great adventure stories of Jules Verne and Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Lapin loves being able to make art however she pleases, without worrying about how the market will react. She’s found a way to be true to herself and have total creative control, while also being a full-time working mom. Impressive is an understatement.