Hyuro is an Artist born in Argentina, who’s living now in Valencia, Spain.

Her next exhibition ( soloshow) will be in Zürich, Switzerland, at Starkart Gallery.

Opening thursday december 8th.

We know ( and love) her painting, murals she made in differents country, but we have now to forget what she has made before. This is what she wrote about her new exhibition :

¨Casual Anomalies¨//

How to face this project:
  1. Take a step out from my old way of working.
  2. Avoid previous ideas before start working.
  3. Believe in the process rather than in final results.
  4. Contemplate new elements into my language.
  5. Dont be close just to the drawings format….be open to knew shapes.
  6. Work more from the unconnscious side rather than the rational one.
  7. Be less narrative and more poetic.
  8. Dont take it like a dogma…its just a text for this flyer!

Looking forward for pictures !

External image

╳; von┊closed
( -✄--;; @daemonignism )

             () – To say these desolate streets and their depraved, wandering, or simply just plain lost occupants had become familiar would be a stretch of the imagination. They had become familiar in the way biting cold seeps into your bones as winter first begins to break and you don’t have the right clothes to shield you from the icy winds, familiar in the way your heart sinks when you hear the shattering of glass and a loud voice yelling from downstairs as you try to find solace in the lukewarm water of a bathtub not deep enough to drown you. But such was that familiarity that let you know it was the harshest reality you could face, and so you tell yourself it can only become better from there. You tell yourself that something will eventually strike a familiar nerve that will stir up nostalgia or remembrance rather than a stale, bitter taste in the back of the throat and grim resignation. 

          He supposed that was the only reason he bothered to let his gaze roam about his surroundings and not fix solely on the person who had caught his previous sultry glance and had let that contemplative look of a hungry wolf sweep across already ambiguous features. Until there were definites, he could allow himself to at least hope in those windows of freedom between clients and other obligations he cared not to make public– obligations either only he or the lingering dead knew of. 

         Business was slow today. In hindsight, that should have been expected; the nipping cold had settled over the city like a blanket, and it was felt sorely down among the slums where the only heat to be felt was skin against skin, whether in secretive intimacy or through carnal pleasures. Seeking it out only made blood pumping through veins warm in a restless manner, to the point that others would expect that momentary solace to come wandering over to them, like a doe into a meadowed clearing where it couldn’t see the rifle’s glare from among the thicket. Well, if he was going to get anywhere, he would have to bite the bullet this time. 

         So with a soft sigh with ghosts laced to make the air ever more frigid, a tip of his head that had lush raven locks spilling over a shoulder and part of a smokily made up face, and the gentle sway of his hips that would be easily recognized by those looking for it, he’d made his way over to where he was well aware either isolated individuals or packs would be loitering about. Their voices were heard easily enough even amongst the hazy clamor; he’d learned to recognize over the past months how to pick out tones and certain words that would help pinpoint those who wouldn’t turn down offers, verbal or nonverbal, of the services he offered. And yet, for all that experience on narrowing his options down to a perfection, Yamai felt himself drawn to one in particular he’d pick up on his approach. His measured steps had slowed, a curious glint brightening dark eyes as his presence remained nothing but a suggestive sattelite. As if he had something definable to look for, he skimmed what few were there to pick from, and his eyes found their mark. A woman in no way an acquaintance to him waiting, he supposed, for something or someone– 

           ( the way she’s leaned across the wall is tugging at the closed off heart; why is it that the curve of her jaw looks familiar, why the sound of her voice brings out responses you’ve never said to anyone? )

            Without conscious consent, he was moving forward again, still with confidence but lacking the same purpose he’d approached with. Black tipped fingers deftly brushed the raven hair from his eye, mocha hues widening with flashes of recognition and a depth of recall that shouldn’t have been possible.