Fragments. Shards. Tiny particles that don’t fit together Mismatched codes, Ironically similar In our flaws and lacks
We walk, but we don’t question the journey. We don’t understand the path, It seems deprived of destination and purpose. We just carry on, with or without legs With or without eyes. We just follow silent orders Anonymously in the crowds We dare not to stand out of norm, of compliance We can’t stop Catch our breath. Disrupt traffic, Rest. We succumb to the steep climb. Hopping that the unbridled descent will shorten the path, spare us, somehow.
We walk, breathe, we eat and sleep when possible. We obey inevitably. We are all besieged. Inside and outside all the walls in this world. We are patient and we go mad We wait, and we hope that something will change Someone will save us Anything will happen Besides the pain Despite the fate Beyond the insanity Above the oppression Under the sun We are scattered all over the place Living lawful lies Defying absurdities Coping with what is. But what is Is way less than we deserve
We dream of surviving chaos and catastrophe Hoping our fate would heal and redeem us. We surrender to time Holding to the pieces that are long gone Whipping the dust off our remains wipping dry tears off our eyes We continue, filled with shivering hope and whatever is left of our sacred innocence.
Luciana Mariano (c)
Waiting – acrylics on fine Belgian linen – 180×215 cm
Painting done during the Serlachius Residency in Mänttä, Finland, between March and June 2025.
Original artwork available at @maksla_xo_gallery (Riga, Latvia)
I have been thinking a lot about parental relationships lately. Maybe because I lost my mother only 6 months ago, and even though we always had a difficult relationship, she was also the symbol of steadfastness and a safe harbor in my life, a safe shelter in case I needed to lay my head down and rest for a while. Maybe because since adolescence me and my son have been emotionally distant from each other and I recently remember the advice of an old friend saying that I had to be distant from him on order to him to grow up, take interest in the world, in other women. I was very afraid to damage my son in the way I felt my parents had damaged me and I took her advice very literally, breaking my own instincts and heart to give him space… Unrequested space that later proved to damage the close relationship we had. I was a betrayed woman and not wanting to harm my son I betrayed him, by making myself absent, distant. Note to self: advices can be given in good intention, but can be very harmful too. Humans have different experiences and therefore the advices can have very adverse outcomes. 20 years later I still feel my son distant and untrusting, repeating patterns that were mine when I decided to give him space. Our romantic relationships are a reflection of the aspects we need to evolve in the relationship with ourselves. Abusive relationships are a sign of unhealthy and self imposed emotional mysery. That kind of relationship where you give the best of you to someone that is mostly there to take and only gives the bare minimum to keep you trying, giving, surviving. People should resolve their emotional issues before they set out to rescue others. We need to count on our safe harbors to learn how to swim before we sail out on our life quests. I was so afraid to suffocate him that I left taking away his life buoy. Even though we are in the same continent, he keeps an ocean between us and instead of finding safe ground he has been pedalling adrift in a leacky boat, that sooner or later will make him a castaway. From my hatch I can only see so far and the sailing continues with no guarantees for safe manoovers, easy journeys, calm seas. life taught methat a broken heart can be healed, but seeing the lost and sad face of someone you love more than anything, feels a little bit like I am drowning. Dreaming a little to try to make peace with my failures and your choices. Dreaming of pink sunsets, relaxing chairs on a calm deck, on a lazy afternoon of long awaited peaceful laughter, love and safety.
The 10th painting of 12 series Finding Home is called Finding Unity.
They are now in the same room, but they still don’t share the same table. Timing is still different, understandings are still diverse, but they are now facing each other; communication is established, it starts to be comfortable, less awkward, they explore the common ground to find unity. A new culture takes time to sink in and become familiar, it mixes with one’s own repertoire and experiences, it doesn’t invade, it invites; it doesn’t impose, it approaches by friendly exchange and acceptance. Finding home takes effort, curiosity, open mind, intention, will. Finding home requires purpose and love.
It’s been such a busy year, with so many work commitments that, for a moment, you believe that everything can roll on automatic gear; that things are under such control that you can even decide about time, what happens and what to do. The illusion of control doesn’t apply to real life. Real life is unpredictable, unforeseen, unexpected. One day you are happy, rich, loved, young, the next day all is changed. Real life doesn’t stay still.
Mothers, I found out, are like time: you always have it; but it is not up to you to decide for how long you will have it. She was my safe harbour, my distant but steady ground, one I thought would always be there, no matter what. And now she is gone forever. It is the broken chain of existance, when your origin desappears. It is the natural course of things, and yet, a rupture that defies your own existance. It changes your perspectives. It shatters your heart in so many small pieces that you wonder how it can still function, continue.
She painted until her very last day. It was one of the things she never gave up on. She taught me so much and this must have been her ultimate message for me: go on, continue painting as long as you are breathing, as long as you still have a heartbeat. She did. She left me three paintings, fully finished but unsigned. Tiny ones, beautiful dead natures. She was still teaching me by the example. Finish your mission even if it doesn’t carry your name, your vanity, your ego; just live, do what you can at each moment you have. One day you will be gone, but your love will live on.
That’s what she did.
Perdi minha mãe há uma semana.
Foi um ano tão agitado, com tantos compromissos de trabalho que, por um momento, você até acredita que tudo pode funcionar no automático; que as coisas estão sob tal controle que você pode até decidir o tempo, o que acontece e o que fazer. A ilusão de controle não se aplica à vida real. A vida real é imprevisível, imprevista, inesperada. Um dia você é feliz, rico, amado, jovem, no dia seguinte tudo muda. A vida real não fica parada.
As mães, descobri, são como o tempo: você sempre o tem; mas não cabe a você decidir por quanto tempo o terá. Ela era meu porto seguro, meu terreno distante, mas firme, que pensei que sempre estaria lá, não importa o que acontecesse. E agora ela se foi para sempre. É a cadeia quebrada da existência, quando a sua origem desaparece. É o curso natural das coisas e, ainda assim, uma ruptura que desafia a sua própria existência. Isso muda suas perspectivas. Isso quebra seu coração em tantos pedacinhos minúsculos que você se pergunta como ele ainda pode funcionar, continuar.
Ela pintou até o último dia. Foi uma das coisas das quais ela nunca desistiu. Ela me ensinou muito e esta deve ter sido sua mensagem definitiva para mim: continue, continue pintando enquanto respirar, enquanto seu coração ainda bater. Ela o fez. Ela me deixou três quadros, totalmente acabados, mas sem assinatura. Pequeninos, lindas naturezas mortas. Ela ainda estava me ensinando pelo seu exemplo. Termine sua missão mesmo que ela não carregue seu nome, sua vaidade, seu ego; apenas viva, faça o que puder em cada momento que tiver. Um dia você irá embora, mas seu amor continuará vivo.
During the month of September people in Tampere will be able to visit my solo exhibition “Working Women / Naisia Työssä” at the Werstas Työväenmuseo, Finnish Labour Museum Werstas located inside Finlayson, Tampere. The exhibition presents 20 new pieces made specially for the Labour Museum and approaches the female universe and its relationships with work, duty, motherhood, sorority, care, equality, capitalism and work market. It is open from Turdays to Sundays, from 11 til 18:00 and it ends on September 29. The address is Väinö Linnan aukio 8, 33210 Tampere.
A atriz Fernanda Montenegro fará uma leitura extra do texto “Cerimônia do Adeus”, da filósofa francesa Simone de Beauvoir, expoente do feminismo, no dia 18 de agosto (18/7) no Parque Ibirapuera, na zona Sul de São Paulo (SP).
O espetáculo lembra a pintura “Frida e Angela tomando chá (ou café) na casa de Simone”, de Luciana Mariano. Pelo título, somos levados a uma jornada por três mitos que discutem a condição feminina. A escritora Simone de Beauvoir (1908 – 1986), ao que sabemos dona da casa da cena, tem uma influência significativa no pensamento feminista, principalmente pelo livro “O Segundo Sexo” (1949), que trata da opressão contra as mulheres.
Do lado esquerdo da mesa, está a pintora mexicana Frida Kahlo (1907 – 1954), célebre não só pelos seus retratos e autorretratos e obras inspiradas na natureza e na cultura local, mas pelas manifestações, na vida e na arte, de valorização da própria identidade e da liberdade de gênero na conservadora sociedade local.
Do lado direito, encontra-se a professora norte-americana Angela Davis (1944), filósofa socialista que alcançou notoriedade mundial na década de 1970 como integrante do Partido Comunista dos EUA e dos Panteras Negras, importante movimento de militância pelos direitos das mulheres e contra a discriminação social e racial em seu país.
A pintura inclui uma solitária vela na mesa, que dialoga com o foco de luz na calçada do lado de fora da casa; Frida com um gato, escritos em inglês no chão, relógio na parede, livros de cunho libertário na estante, um retrato de Sartre, que viveu uma relação afetiva com Simone, fumando cachimbo na parede, e o piso ligado ao mobiliário por jogos visuais em marrom.
A imagem junta dois ícones do movimento feminista conversando em uma mesa muito bem posta em que curiosamente há bule, mas não xícaras de chá. Esse jogo de presenças/ausências se dissemina pela obra, tendo como ápice a falta da dona da casa anunciada no título. É desses mistérios e da silenciosa conversa entre as protagonistas que a obra se alimenta.
Oscar D’Ambrosio @oscardambrosioinsta Pós-Doutor e Doutor em Educação, Arte e História da Cultura, Mestre em Artes Visuais, jornalista, graduado em Letras,crítico de arte e curador.
Article by Professor Dr. Oscar D´Ambrosio on Brazilian news channel.
Life is a maze, an amazing trip. A sure destination without a timetable, just a limited, unpredictable time to go across. Dead ends, swirls and turns. Sweet meetings and sad farewells. You can walk bare feet or fly, but you can’t escape. You may as well enjoy the ride and pay attention to the signs along the way. Beauty and poetry is not always given, but can always be found there. Serendipity, chances, possibilities on every corner, though it depends on your deliberate intention to find those. There is no right or wrong ways, every walk will bring you forward, even if you feel stuck, even when you walk in circles or if you don’t walk at all. Time drives the way and takes you to what you need to see, learn, live. Happiness it is definitely a choice, an intent and decision to be perceived and found throughout the way.
A vida é um labirinto, uma viagem incrível. Um destino seguro sem horário, apenas com um tempo limitado e imprevisível para atravessar. Becos sem saída, redemoinhos e reviravoltas. Doces encontros e tristes despedidas. Você pode andar descalço ou voar, mas não pode escapar. Você também pode aproveitar o passeio e prestar atenção às placas ao longo do caminho. A beleza e a poesia nem sempre são dadas, mas sempre podem ser encontradas ali. O acaso, as chances, as possibilidades estão em cada esquina, embora dependa da sua intenção deliberada de encontrá-las. Não existem caminhos certos ou errados, cada caminhada o levará adiante, mesmo que você se sinta preso, mesmo quando ande em círculos ou nem ande. O tempo conduz o caminho e te leva ao que você precisa ver, aprender, viver. A felicidade é definitivamente uma escolha, uma intenção e uma decisão a ser percebida e encontrada ao longo do caminho.
The Maze of Life is in exhibition at Malva Museum, Lehti, Finland. In the collective exhibition “Destinations”, curated by Veikko Halmetoja, until November 2024.
I have never done a thing like this. I have done fundraisers for myself, many times, when I needed to travel for an exhibition or to buy material to paint. I have also donated paintings to charity and paid myself for an endless number of events, fundraisers and charities for other people for many different reasons. Helping other people feels good. I have always given whatever possible from my always so unforeseen and unstable personal economy. I have been helped so many times and I never thought twice to help others too. It is good to help and be helped, it makes us feel loved, cared for, protected, gives that sense of belonging that is so important to feel, once in a while.
But for people facing genocide, this is the first time.
I have helped people at risk, hungry people, people who lost their possessions, victims of natural disasters. But for people trapped in a piece of land with their families, children, elderly, while their homes were being intentionally destroyed, facing severe famine, dying of thirst, easily treated illnesses and atrocious bombings, shellings, shootings… this is the first time.
I became friend with some people that otherwise we would never get to know each other. An engineer and mother with 3 small babies, a 6 month pregnant dentist and mom-to-be and a teacher with 4 teenagers. All amazing women. All mothers in different periods is their motherhood. All beautiful Palestinian gentle souls that taught me so much about my ignorance, prejudice, limitations, weaknesses… and also my value, my potential for humanity.
They are the ones facing the most horrific time in their lives and in desperate need for help and yet, they are the ones teaching me. That without empathy, sorority and solidarity with are much less than humans… we are useless. The utility of life is our sensibility to see the other and treat them as we would like to be treated. The meaning of existence is to leave this planet a little bit more humanly evolved and wise than we entered it. They are helping me to understand that even when you can’t do anything, you can still do something. And spread some live, some sympathy, some generosity and some art.
I ask you to do what you can in the face of injustice. Whatever you can. Even if you can do nothing, do something. Ask someone else for help, pass it on, share truth and information, listen, donate if you can. Everything counts. In the millions we are, even a tear can serve as a sea to navigate, to help, to arrive or to flee to safer grounds. Do it for others, exercise your humanity to be worthy of being human.
I offer you my humble art, the very least I can do but also the best of me. It comes with my deep gratitude and a shared opportunity to make a difference in our existence. Because it might also change the fate of a few, and that should be enough for each and every one of us to try. Try. Please, try.
I would like to tell and show you a little about why I’ve adopted Rewaa as my own. Yes, she is younger than my son, so I feel like a mom to her. I feel that my daughter and grandkids are in the middle of this brutal war. She is very, very shy. But since the beginning it seemed that she also adopted me back and even though she has 3 small kids, she says good night to me, every evening 🥰 (except when they have no Internet or electricity to charge her phone), differently from my son, that has internet and electricity all the time and rarely calls 😅 . Their culture is so far from my own, and yet, it is so beautiful to meet her in our humanity, and see that even culture, religion, a world apart can be merely a detail when kindred souls meet. Trying to learn and to know them better, I asked her where she met Mohammed. She answered: Oh no, this is something our parents prepare for us. I was shocked. (In this century?) And then I understood why she treats me with so much kindness and respect. She is a good engineer like her dad, and an amazing, loving mom like her own. Even though I had already talked with them a few times on cam, my suspicious western self, afraid of Internet scammers and wrong doers, went sneaking around on social media trying to find whatever I could on that couple that seemed a little bit too sweet and good to be true. I explain: they asked for help, but they never imposed it. They kindly asked for help and every time I shared their story or gave them Instagram advice (as if I could!) they would show immense gratitude. After a few times, she started wishing me a good night every night, even when I didn’t do anything for them. She would also ask how I was feeling and telling me little things about their difficult daily routine. But it was not only sadness. She told me stories like how happy she was working both on the bee keeping project with other engineers (very proud to sell pure Palestinian honey) and also the job in the dairy factory, where they produced yogurt out of dehydrated milk from Denmark, because Palestine doesn’t have enough cows for their own production of milk. She also told me that they never travelled, because they have been besieged for most of their lives and that was a dream that they could not yet make come true. We played about the day the war would end and how we could finally meet and laugh and hug and talk and cry together about these very dark, painful times. And then she also shared fotos from her kids (pretending I was her mom, I supposed I also felt very proud of my pretend grandkids). Maria was no more than 4 months when we started talking and now my cute chubby cheeks girl is sitting and almost standing up. I saw Rewaa a few times on cam, but she would never send photos of herself. That was annoying me a little because I said to her that it is much more difficult to get people to engage with her story and donate if they don’t see the face of their campaign. She would shower me with photos of her kids, but never photos of her own. One day I gave her an ultimatum: Rewaa, without your face no one will donate! She said she was very uncomfortable about showing herself. I flipped: Rewaa you are a gorgeous girl, we could sell your story much easier with your face on this campaign! I froze a little. Yes, I had heard myself. I not only didn’t know her culture, as I completely ignored it, butchered it and submitted it into our western standards where everyone has a price, everyone is a product and even the better if it is all shaped and marketed for mass consumption. I felt so disrespectful with a girl that had showed nothing else but love and respect for me and all the dum things I could say. I understand that our idea of oppression may be the obligation of wearing a head scarf, but we see no damage on being ourselves a product of consumerism or even tattooing slogans or brand logos on our own skin. I was oppressing her. I was demanding her to show her face and according to her culture, religion and her own choices, it was the same as asking her to stand naked on a public square. How arrogant. Evil. How small of me. She never said no, but she also never sent the picture. And slowly we both accepted that. At some point we just started understanding each other’s ways, concessions, limits, beliefs, choices.
I am an atheist. I am also very spiritual because I believe in physics and for me energy is the answer and mystery of science, as much as God is the answer and mystery of everything for those that believe in It. Because of my lack of god it is easier for me to cope with my mortality and try to be good just because life is way too short to accumulate bad energy. In the other hand, Palestinians are extremely religious and with all the ordeals this people have been enduring for at least 76 years, I think I too would have needed to believe in a mighty being that could save me from so much evil, dirty politics, aggressions, thefts, oppression and Nakbas. Palestinians are incredibly kind because they know it all shall pass and in the end they will be granted the things they love so much in their own land and they are more and more deprived from. We all believe in whatever gives us the most positive outlook out of our miserable human lives. I never told Rewaa I was an atheist. I suppose they believe I am Christian. She never once tried to indoctrinate me. Not once. ”Whatever your beliefs are, we love you and we pray for you”, they said. I never answered. I just accepted their kindness, knowing that they where giving me much more than I could ever give them. No western religious person would let go so easy on such an unprofitable trade. Have you ever met any fundamentalist Christian? Well, we’ve heard, through our whole lives (or perhaps more vehemently since September 11th or October 7th) how dangerous fundamentalist Muslims were. Well, I still believe that any fundamentalism is core stupidity, but have you lately met any fundamentalist evangelical zionist? Well, nothing is more dangerous than those… well, perhaps only Israeli zionists.
Anyhow, going back to my western suspiciousnesses; young Rewaa and Mohammed had ancient Facebook profiles. From those ancient times, when they were almost teenagers, just around before they met. A handsome, humble, yet hardworking and ambitious boy that was going to medical school. A young student with a little bit of an edgy gothic fashion taste. They didn’t post much through the years but slowly you could see their transition into the whole people they are today (We all had our embarrassing teenage years, right?). On their earlier photos I found young Rewaa and her beautiful luscious dark hair, her perfect face and the kindest blue eyes. Then came some wedding pictures. Fairy-tale like, to make any western capitalist princess legitimately insulted jealous. The bride shows her hair, apparent shoulder in a beautiful dress, the veil, the silhouette of her face, but no longer shows the face. And she seems immersed in bliss. Not one speck of regret nor oppression. Acceptance, hope, love, pride of her culture, approval of their parents choice as if she couldn’t have done better herself. Then a bit later the first baby belly. Then a cute baby and a proud dad, then family gatherings and celebrations, birthday greetings, kids videos running on their yards, friendly and loving comments from university, work colleagues, relatives… then war. Destruction of their homes, a plastic tent built on deserted sands. Now my girl is trapped with her family in a war zone.
They have been displaced 16 times.
They don’t have clean water, almost no food, drones buzzing day and night, bombs falling all around them 24/7, for the past 8 moths… as long time time as Maria’s whole life. Ali and Tia are 5 and 4. They look tired and afraid, they miss kindergarten and their toys. Mohammed still tries to work in what is left of a local hospital, he has no salary. He works because he must to help his people. I know no western doctor that would risk his life for that reason.
Rewaa messages me good night, almost every night.
They fled Rafah just before it was brutally invaded and tents were bombed. I guess Allah is also trying his best to save whoever he can from all the collateral damage the empire is causing. Perhaps He is what has been keeping Rewaa and Mohammed, Ali, Tia and Maria alive in such desperate, dire times.
Also their go fund me campaign. That gives them hope and chance of survival.
They want desperately to cross the border to Egypt (their first real trip abroad) and live.
They want to see their children grow, study, play, eat healthy food and drink clean water.
That should not be so much to ask for.
But they don’t always have internet.
So I must ask on their behalf: Please, help my friends.
Help them as we all should have done during the Holocaust in WWII, the genocide in Rwanda or the Nakba in 1948.
We cannot change history, they say, but we definitely should try a different end. This is our opportunity.
Rewaa´s campaign is still far from reaching their goal so I decided to do two extra actions to help them. It´s two different raffles and they both follow the same rules and conditions, it costs 10€ each to participate and can be done through donations straight into their fundraising on this link or via MobilePay to my phone (+358413690466). Remember to send me the print of your donation so I can put you in the raffles lists, mentioning which raffle you are signing on to. The first one is called “Bird of Freedom” and if you win it you will get this painting here sent to your home. The second raffle is called “My own painting” and the winner will get me to paint a commissioned word (20×30) of your own wish. Both raffles will be donated 100% to this family, helping them to escape death and starvation.
Opening of the exhibition: Wednesday 1 May, 14 – 17
Spring, the moment that all Finnish residents have been waiting for, brings light and color back to their hearts and minds. The colors, the variations of light and shadow in art, partly unite and separate the works of Kikka, Minna and Luciana. However, the atmosphere and the playful, naive outlook on life create common paths for these friends in the world of art. Individually, their art differs, but combined like this, it evokes the same warm, springtime atmosphere. This exhibition will certainly immerse you in the playfulness and joy of the Finnish spring.
About the artists:
Minna Lehväslaiho is an illustrator, naive artist, art teacher, and scientist from Kauniainen. She likes to create happy art, and in her paintings even houses are happy and kind. Minna’s preferred media are acrylics, ink, and watercolors. Minna is a member of Finnish Naive Artists, Kuvittajat, and Freelance Graafikot. A two-time postcard artist of the year, she loves to illustrate postcards and postage stamps.
Born in 1971 and raised in São Paulo, Brazil, Luciana Mariano is the third generation of naive artists in her family. Everyone around her did some art: grandmother, uncles, mother, but only as a hobby. She made a career in the corporate market and painted only in her spare time. Until she was 38, feeling ashamed of her childish trait, she discarded everything she painted immediately after finishing. In 2008, her production became more intense, leading to her first exhibition. Since then, she has been showing and selling her art in many countries around the world. In 2018, she moved to Finland, and in 2023, she became a Finnish citizen. She is now devoting herself full-time to restarting her career in Europe. Finland is finally the place she loves to call “her forever home”.
Kikka Nyrén: I paint with acrylics on canvas. Besides paintings, I also create sculptures in ceramics. In my paintings the world is at peace. With my art, I seek connection with strangers. We are different, which could make us rich if we choose so. I believe humans should respect nature (which we are part of), instead of destroying the place we live in. I believe animals are our brothers and sisters. My bright colors assure that there will be spring after the long and gray winter. Born in 1951 in Helsinki, Finland. Currently living in Lahti, Finland.
Friends from Helsinki: all invited! It will be a pleasure seeing you there!
luciana mariano 