Frustrated, the lonely painter arranged his papers, faced his unfinished canvas and, caught in a devilish frenzy, set the shabby studio on fire. Ultimately, drunk, he committed suicide. His wife…
Welcome to Jean Paul Leon's Studio
Violence and testosterone seem to be embedded into our DNA. Immersed in the Anger of wealth and the hunger of many, the South is drowning its hopes in Mortal Migrations to the North. In the North -the West- consumed by consumption, by money, speculation, techno-gadgetry and xenophobia, we are blindly contributing, like puppets on a string, to the pathetic dilapidation of this planet. Let's change our subverted values and eradicate this predatory system.
He had the Midas Touch; a disgruntled taste for love and glory equaled only by a disproportionate ego who lived in the shadows of his ever-mutant cyclothymic alter-ego. Some days,…
(continued… From the Slums of Bombay) A few weeks later, we welcomed the summer, a period of thong-sandals, mosquitoes and flies. Packed inside two heavy duty bands, like Norwegian sardines…
The prophet arrived and to break the ice, he briefly yapped to the void like a parrot heavenly perched into his penetrating Hindu accent. With a bit of saliva popping…
Jean Paul Leon
Memory resides in the bones…
and atavistic, hides a code.
Imagination flutters in the air…
and free, proposes a challenge.
from deciphering the code
and facing the challenge.
has been activated, one can begin
to breathe, to dream, to think,
to delight, to inform, to transform,
to make Art… until our bones
return to the bottom of the sea
and our spirits diffuse
into the freedom
of the total void.
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