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Scarcella Arte Debuts in Miami with “A Collective Showcase” Celebrating Latin American Art

Scarcella Arte
Scarcella Arte

Scarcella Arte Debuts in Miami with “A Collective Showcase” Celebrating Latin American Art

Garden Title Gallery Presents “A Collective Showcase” — The First U.S. Exhibition by Scarcella Arte

Garden Title Gallery is thrilled to announce the first-ever United States exhibition from Scarcella Arte, titled “A Collective Showcase,” taking place on November 9, 2025, from 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. at 710 NE 126th St, North Miami, FL 33161.

Scarcella Arte, renowned for championing Latin American creativity, has chosen Miami—a city celebrated for its vibrant Latin influence—as the perfect setting for its U.S. debut. No other location could better honor the diversity and innovation of Latin American artists or provide a more fitting stage to share their work with the world.

This exhibition marks a historic moment: it is the first time that several works by the 15 featured artists will be publicly exhibited in the United States. Visitors will have the opportunity to experience their artistry firsthand, making this event a milestone for both the artists and Miami’s ever-evolving cultural landscape.

“We could not imagine a better place to introduce our artists to the U.S. than Miami—a city that thrives on diversity and creative energy,” says Sergio Scarcella. “For some, this is their first opportunity to share their work with audiences in the United States.”

Everyone is welcome, and admission is free. The event aims to bring together generations, families, friends, and the broader community to celebrate this significant collaboration between Scarcella Arte and Garden Title Gallery.

Event Details

Exhibition: A Collective Showcase — Presented by Scarcella Arte
Date: Sunday, November 9, 2025
Time: 1:00 p.m. – 4:00 p.m.
Venue: Garden Title Gallery
Address: 710 NE 126th St, North Miami, FL 33161
Contact: 305-525-1286 | [email protected]

About Scarcella Arte

Scarcella Arte is dedicated to supporting and promoting Latin American art through collaborative projects, exhibitions, and opportunities that foster cultural exchange and international dialogue. Its mission is to amplify the voices of emerging and established artists from Latin America, bringing their stories and perspectives to global audiences.

IxLA 12×12 Collage International Juried Show

IxLA 12×12 Collage International Juried Show
IxLA 12×12 Collage International Juried Show

IxLA 12×12 Collage International Juried Show

Imago Cultural Center Presents the IxLA 12×12 Collage International Juried Show
Opening Reception and Awards Ceremony — November 15, 2025

Miami, FL — [October, 2025] — Imago Cultural Center is delighted to announce the Opening Reception and Awards Ceremony of the IxLA 12×12 Collage International Juried Show, taking place on Saturday, November 15, 2025, at 6:00 p.m. at Imago Cultural Center, located at 4028 SW 57th Ave, Miami, FL 33155.

This special evening invites artists, families, and art lovers to come together in celebration of creativity, community, and the power of collage. The exhibition showcases the works of talented artists from around the world, highlighting the diversity and expressive potential of this ever-evolving medium.

Guests will have the opportunity to meet the participating artists and jurors, explore the exhibition, and share in a night of connection and inspiration within Miami’s vibrant artistic community.

Event Program (estimated):

  • 6:00 p.m. | Reception and gallery walkthrough
  • 6:45 p.m. | Welcome remarks
  • 7:00 p.m. | Awards ceremony and official group photo
  • 7:30 p.m. | Cocktail and networking

Attendance is free and open to the public. Guests are kindly asked to RSVP by November 10, 2025, by replying to this email or contacting [email protected].

Join us in honoring the artists and creative minds who make this exhibition possible, and celebrate an unforgettable evening dedicated to the art of collage.

Artist Name

Zubi

Abbo, Dora

Benatar, Nadia

Bencid, Isaac

Campos, Nahila

Catamo

Cruz, Simón

Czukerberg, Monica

Damas, Diego

Dumas, Veronica

Fernandez, Victor Alejandro

Fontes, Adriana

Gomez, Luis

Marinoni, Mario

Mayra

Montilla, Rafael

Olmos, Bernardo

Perez, Marianela

Riera, Tania

Rincon⁣⁣⁣⁣, Martin

Rodriguez, Ernie

Suarez Toro, Jaime

Troconis, Flor

Ulivi, Maru

Georgia O’Keeffe: The Courage to See Differently

Georgia O’Keeffe: The Courage to See Differently
Georgia O’Keeffe: The Courage to See Differently

Georgia O’Keeffe: The Courage to See Differently

Are you curious about what makes Georgia O’Keeffe’s art distinctive and daring? Few artists in modern history have expressed such a bold and personal vision of the world. O’Keeffe’s art invites us to look closer, question our perceptions, and see beauty in often overlooked forms.

Her fearless style was shaped by the modernist movement, which encouraged artists to break free from the constraints of academic tradition. O’Keeffe embraced this spirit of innovation, using vibrant colors, sweeping lines, and monumental close-ups of natural forms—flowers, bones, landscapes—to create intimate and monumental compositions. Through these works, she transformed ordinary subjects into potent symbols of emotion, vitality, and sensuality.

Beyond her technical mastery, O’Keeffe’s personal journey profoundly influenced her art. Her decision to live and work independently, first in New York and later in New Mexico, gave her the space to explore her vision without compromise. The desert’s vast landscapes and radiant light became her sanctuary—where she could merge nature, abstraction, and spirit into one unified language of form and color.

Her husband, Alfred Stieglitz, a pioneering photographer and art promoter, played a key role in her early career. His support and belief in her talent helped O’Keeffe gain confidence and recognition, yet she always maintained her artistic independence. She refused to be defined by anyone else’s interpretation of her work, insisting that each painting spoke for itself.

Georgia O’Keeffe’s boldness came from her authenticity—from daring to see the world on her own terms. Her legacy inspires artists to trust their instincts, embrace individuality, and find the extraordinary within the familiar.

Whether you’re an art enthusiast or a curious learner, O’Keeffe’s journey reminds us that courage in art often begins with the courage to be oneself.

How Does Cubism Use Geometric Abstraction?

How Does Cubism Use Geometric Abstraction?
How Does Cubism Use Geometric Abstraction?

How Does Cubism Use Geometric Abstraction?

Have you ever wondered how artists transform everyday objects into captivating works of art? Few movements in art history demonstrate this transformation as powerfully as Cubism, a revolutionary style that redefined how we see and represent the world.

Cubism emerged in the early 20th century through the visionary experiments of Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque, who around 1907–1908 began to challenge traditional ideas of perspective and realism. Their goal was not to reproduce what they saw, but to reveal the inner structure of reality through form, line, and geometry.

At the heart of Cubism lies geometric abstraction — the use of simple geometric shapes such as cubes, cones, and spheres to break down complex objects into fundamental components. Instead of depicting a single viewpoint, Cubist artists combined multiple perspectives within a single image, inviting viewers to see an object from different angles simultaneously. This analytical approach created compositions that were dynamic, layered, and intellectually engaging.

As the movement evolved, artists shifted from Analytic Cubism, with its muted palette and intricate fragmentation, to Synthetic Cubism, which introduced collage elements, textures, and brighter colors. This second phase simplified forms and emphasized construction over deconstruction, giving rise to a new visual language that blurred the boundaries between painting, sculpture, and design.

Cubism’s emphasis on geometry and structure profoundly influenced modern art, architecture, and design. It encouraged artists to move beyond surface appearances and to explore the essence of form. From the angular facades of modernist buildings to the rhythmic compositions of abstract painters, the legacy of Cubism endures.

Whether you’re an art enthusiast or a curious learner, understanding Cubism helps us appreciate how geometric abstraction reshapes not only our perception of art but also how we interpret the world around us.

Subscribe for more art insights, visual stories, and explorations into the language of form and imagination.

Berghain — Rosalía (feat. Björk & Yves Tumor)

Berghain — Rosalía (feat. Björk & Yves Tumor)
Berghain — Rosalía (feat. Björk & Yves Tumor)

Berghain — Rosalía (feat. Björk & Yves Tumor)

La canción “Berghain” abre la nueva era del cuarto álbum de Rosalía, Lux (7 de noviembre de 2025), y lo hace con ambición maximalista y riesgo creativo. En colaboración con Björk y Yves Tumor, este tema se erige como una audaz fusión entre pop, ópera, electrónica y música de cámara. LOS40+1

Arquitectura sonora y lenguas entrecruzadas

El título remite al mítico club berlinés Berghain — una catarsis del clubbing, la disolución del yo y la espiritualidad nocturna — que sirve aquí como metáfora de una metamorfosis interior. Cadena SER+1
La voz de Rosalía recorre fragmentos en alemán (“Seine Angst ist meine Angst…”), en español (“Yo sé muy bien lo que soy…”) y en inglés, mientras Björk aporta un clímax vocal arrebatado y Yves Tumor, con su frase repetida (“I’ll fuck you till you love me”), introduce el pulso furioso del techno. El resultado es una experiencia multilingüe, multicapas, turbia y liberadora. LOS40+1

Materialidad, ritual y cuerpo

La producción gravita entre los violines orquestales que recuerdan a Vivaldi y una percusión que remite a The Rite of Spring. Rosalía disuelve su registro pop en un formato ritual: no solo canta, sino que se convierte en protagonista de un escenario de transformación. Pitchfork
La referencia al club Berghain —espacio mítico de disolución y euforia— trasciende lo superficial: la pista se vuelve altar, el ritmo devenido plegaria. Aquí, deseo y redención conviven desde lo sensorial.

Evaluación crítica

“Berghain” posee momentos de magnitud sonora irregular: mientras su tensión dramática y escala orquestal impactan, algunos críticos señalan que la provocación opera más en el plano del concepto que en el del mensaje profundo. exclaim.ca Aun así, la canción marca un hito en la evolución de Rosalía: deja atrás el sonido urbano-experimental de Motomami y se eleva hacia una estética de máximo riesgo y teatro sonoro. Pitchfork

Con “Berghain”, Rosalía no ofrece simplemente un single: propone un rito musical que interroga la identidad, el cuerpo, el deseo y el espacio simbólico de la noche. Es una obra fragmentada, fascinante, que exige al oyente abandonar la comodidad. En ese tránsito —precisamente— está su valor.

Rosalía – “Berghain” (feat. Björk & Yves Tumor)

Official Lyrics & Credits

LYRICS

Alemán (German)

Seine Angst ist meine Angst
Seine Wut ist meine Wut
Seine Liebe ist meine Liebe
Sein Blut ist mein Blut

Die Flamme dringt in mein Gehirn ein
wie ein Blei-Teddybär
ich bewahre viele Dinge in meinem Herzen auf
deshalb ist mein Herz so schwer

Seine Angst ist meine Angst
Seine Wut ist meine Wut
Seine Liebe ist meine Liebe
Sein Blut ist mein Blut

Español (Spanish)

Yo sé muy bien lo que soy,
ternura pa’l café,
solo soy un terrón de azúcar.
Sé que me funde el calor,
sé desaparecer,
cuando tú vienes es cuando me voy.

Alemán (Reprise)

Seine Angst ist meine Angst
Seine Wut ist meine Wut
Seine Liebe ist meine Liebe
Sein Blut ist mein Blut

Inglés (English)

Björk
This is divine intervention.
The only way to save us
is through divine intervention.
The only way I will be saved
is through divine intervention.

Yves Tumor
I’ll fuck you till you love me,
I’ll fuck you till you love me,
I’ll fuck you till you love me,
Till you love me,
Till you love me,
Love me,
Love me,
Love me,
Till you love me.

CREDITS

Director – Nicolas Méndez
Produced by – CANADA
Creative Direction – Rosalía Vila Tobella & Pilar Vila
Executive Producer – Victor Mata
Producer – María Rubio
Managing Partner – Alba Barneda
Head of Music Videos – Callum Harrison
Director of Photography – Max Pittner
Production Designer – Andy Kelly
Stylist – Jose Carayol
Assistant Stylists – Misha Davis, Helena Contreras
Makeup – Isabella Ching
Hair – Serpiente

Editor – Carlos Font Clos
Assistant Editor – Bernat Udina
Postproduction Coordinator – Marina M. Campomanes
Grading – Metropolitana
CGI/VFX – El Ranchito
VFX/Online – Alvaro P. Posadas & Marta Castillo @ CANADA
Additional VFX – David Gomez @ Only Postproduction, Metropolitana
Sound Mix – Xevi Studio
Commissioner – Saul Levitz

CAST

Jeweller – Krzysztof Konrad
Doctor – Beata Rynkiewicz-Zaborowska
Choir FEs – Michelle He, Poonam Chauhan, Jeff Baruani, Kitson Olanga, Oliwier Konrad, Victoria Emmanuel Macpepple

ORCHESTRA

Coordinator – Aleksander Zwierz
Conductor – Jakub Zwierz

LOCAL CREW – 247xRADIOAKTIVE

Executive Producer – Kate Galytska
Producer – Elena Rožukaité
Production Manager – Agnieszka Dragan
Production Coordinator – Ola Stankiewicz
Production Assistant – Andrew Shpak
PA/Chaperone (Glam Team/Label) – Melania Sroka
Chaperone (Visiting Crew) – Magda Kepa
Chaperone (Artist) – Michalina Ferencz
Talent Coordinator | Prep – Ania Pastuszak
Talent Coordinator Assistants – Gosia Kowalewska, Martyna Kapral

1st AD – Przemek Krawczyk
2nd AD – Katarzyna Wisniowska
Location Manager – Olga Zaborowska
Set Manager – Remik Kubiak
Production Designer – Jędrek Kowalski
Set Dresser – Maria Dziewanowska-Kowalska
Props Master – Mateusz Zakrzewski
Props on Set – Filip Karczmarczyk
Props Assistants – Martin Idzik, Karol Rębalski, Adam Wąsiel, Jan Magnuszewski, Piotr Lis

Set Construction – Tomasz Trybulski
Graphic Designer – Katarzyna Trzcinska Palenga

Camera Operator – Jan Konikowski
1st AC – Marcin Studniarek, Pawel Zelsko
2nd AC – Antek Luc
DIT – Marcin Boguszewski, Robert Krzyzewski
Video Assistant/VTR – Mikolaj Przywara

Grip – Przemek Libermann, Marcin Bębnista, Jarosław Bajer
Grip Ronin – Paweł Zapisek
Gaffer – Misha Shashko
Best Boy – Yevhenii Malik
Sparks – Bartosz Baprawski, Andrii Linnik, Robert Kwiecień, Mateusz Gawęda, Sebastian Zurek, Lukasz Cichecki

Sound – Pawel Trabicki
Hair & Makeup Artist – Izabela Andrys
Assistants – Justyna Zaranek, Kasia Lewandowska
Costume Designer – Emilia Czartoryska
Assistant – Martyna Pawlik

Solo conmigo

Solo conmigo.
Solo conmigo.

Solo conmigo

No estoy preso, ni aislado, ni fuera de la ciudad o el pueblo, el barrio o la casa. Solo estoy solo conmigo, en una soledad exquisita que solo acaricia los pétalos del árbol.

El silencio me habla desde la oscura noche, y me llegan voces calladas, susurros que se cuelan a mi mente y la separan de un mundo ruinoso a otro “ideal”.

Ya la mañana está cerca, amenazando la paz que “esos cantos” me han traído. Ya pronto volveré a ser un ser humano. Máquina inquieta y temerosa que poco a poco va en deterioro.

Muchos trajines trajo la vida, tantas historias y momentos divinos, pero extraños también. Magias y encantos que me sostuvieron soñando en un sueño que nunca despierta.

Ya mañana habrá un mañana distinto; no sé, ya no quiero caer en los absurdos y las adivinanzas abstractas que no conducen a la certeza, así la tenga uno por sentada.

Solo conmigo, intentando desprenderme de este misterio que soy con el miedo a encontrarme en una dimensión errada. Juzgando mis delitos y pecados y toda la mierda que me “he creído ser”.

Nada urgente ni prescindible desde esta individualidad orgullosa. Que se reconoce como una hoja más de las que ocupan estos árboles que arropan mi casa.

No soy nada conmigo mismo. No tendría sentido esta soledad si solo fuera yo quien habita. ¿Quién construye, quién destruye, quién crea y se alimenta de egos y espantos y otras intenciones más agradables…?

No tendría sentido la soledad por sí misma y sus silencios obligados o buscados. No tendrían sentido Dios ni el Diablo. No tendría sentido yo que escribo ni tú que lees.

Solo conmigo, pero contigo. Yo de mi lado y tú del tuyo. Con atmósferas distintas, distintos rincones,

Distintas soledades y sueños.

No estoy preso, pero no sé por qué así me siento. Sí puedo salir al patio y las calles y ver un montón de gente que siempre aparece en mis sueños… En este sueño que amanece en la misma cama, misma casa, mismo rincón, mismas personas.

Solo conmigo medito y suelto esos latidos que ya se repiten de tanto pensar lo mismo sin encontrar las respuestas… La respuesta… O la “otra” pregunta…

Solo conmigo comparto contigo, imaginándote en la distancia y viéndome en ti, como si fueras yo. Exactamente iguales, con las mismas ignorancias y “porqués” que nos alumbran.

El mismo final inagotable. La misma hoguera, la misma sentencia sin un juicio justo, sin una clara “aclaratoria” del bien o el mal.

Y sigo aquí, conmigo mismo, hablándome sin conocerme y pensando que sí. Que hay un sentido en el sinsentido de “los sentidos que creo percibir”, aun dudando hasta de mí mismo.

Ya empiezan a arañar los gatos las paredes, sacándome del “mismo” donde, otra noche fallida, acompañaron las especulaciones. Tan familiares ya, tan prevenidas.

Ya no estoy solo conmigo; volví yo mismo a acompañarme a mí en “ese abrazo” que nunca siente ni percibe la dualidad de dos mundos.

La certeza de la incertidumbre vuelve a la carga. ¡Salud! Mínimo Conminero.

Louvre museum robbery jewels

Louvre museum robbery jewels
Louvre museum robbery jewels

After the Heist: Reimagining Jewelry Display in Paris Museums

Curatorial Strategies at the Intersection of Security and Spectacle

The recent €88 million jewelry heist at a major Paris museum represents more than institutional failure—it exposes fundamental contradictions in how museums negotiate the display of precious objects in an era of hyper-visibility and organized crime. This incident compels a radical reassessment of curatorial strategies for jewelry presentation, where aesthetic experience, educational mandate, and security imperatives collide.

The Traditional Jewelry Display Paradigm

Historically, European museums have employed what might be termed the “treasury aesthetic”—jewelry displayed in dense clusters within glass vitrines, often under dramatic spotlighting that emphasizes materiality: the refraction of gemstones, the luster of gold, the intricacy of craft. This approach, dominant in institutions like the Musée des Arts Décoratifs and the Louvre’s Galerie d’Apollon, operates on several assumptions:

  • Proximity as pedagogy: Viewers must see fine detail to appreciate technical mastery
  • Context through adjacency: Grouping pieces by period, provenance, or technique creates narrative coherence
  • The vitrine as neutral container: Glass cases function as transparent thresholds between viewer and object

Yet this model, inherited from 19th-century museum practice, assumes institutional invulnerability. The heist shatters this assumption, revealing how traditional display strategies prioritize aesthetic access over protection, creating what security analysts call “target-rich environments.”

Post-Heist Curatorial Dilemmas

1. Visibility vs. Vulnerability

The paradox is acute: jewelry must be seen to fulfill the museum’s educational mission, yet visibility facilitates targeting. Thieves conducted reconnaissance posing as tourists, studying sightlines, guard rotations, and extraction routes. The very transparency that enables public engagement becomes tactical intelligence.

This raises urgent curatorial questions:

  • Can museums maintain open access while protecting high-value collections?
  • Does the democratization of museum experience (increased visitor volume, extended hours, photography permissions) inadvertently compromise security?
  • At what point does protection negate the purpose of public display?

2. Authenticity vs. Reproduction

One immediate post-heist strategy involves strategic substitution—displaying high-quality facsimiles while securing originals in vaults. The Victoria & Albert Museum has experimented with this approach for its most vulnerable pieces. However, this solution generates new problems:

Phenomenological loss: Jewelry’s aura—Benjamin’s term remains relevant—depends partly on material authenticity. A reproduction, however precise, cannot convey the temporal depth of an object that touched royal skin, survived revolutions, or embodied dynastic power.

Ethical transparency: Must museums disclose which pieces are reproductions? The 2019 controversy at the British Museum, where visitors unknowingly photographed replica jewels, demonstrates public expectation of authenticity. Curatorial honesty risks undermining institutional authority; silence becomes deception.

Educational compromise: If museums prioritize originals for scholarship while showing replicas to the public, they create a two-tier system where knowledge access correlates with institutional privilege—anathema to democratic museum philosophy.

3. Contextualization vs. Decontextualization

The heist commentary noted that stolen jewels might be “melted down,” reducing cultural heritage to commodity. This illuminates how traditional display already enacts a form of violence: extracting jewelry from bodies, ceremonies, and social relations to isolate it as aesthetic object.

Pre-heist curatorial norms often displayed jewelry as:

  • Exemplars of craft technique (formalist reading)
  • Markers of wealth and status (sociological reading)
  • Evidence of taste and fashion evolution (art historical reading)

Post-heist reconsideration might demand:

  • Embodied display: Using mannequins, video projections of historical wearers, or participatory try-on experiences (digitally mediated) to restore jewelry’s relational essence
  • Provenance transparency: Explicitly addressing colonial acquisition, forced sales during wartime, or royal confiscation—the heist’s framing as potential “justice” highlights how jewelry accumulation often involves historical theft
  • Dematerialized presentation: Privileging photographs, sketches, and descriptive text over physical objects for the most vulnerable pieces

Emerging Curatorial Strategies: Four Models

Model 1: The Fortress Aesthetic

Prioritizes security through architectural deterrence

Characteristics:

  • Reduced jewelry on view; rotating displays from larger collections
  • Reinforced vitrines with polycarbonate laminate, seismic sensors, and timed locks
  • Controlled entry galleries with airport-style screening
  • Minimal information about security measures (operational secrecy)

Example precedent: The Green Vault (Grünes Gewölbe) in Dresden, which suffered a €1 billion jewelry heist in 2019, subsequently installed bullet-resistant glass and reduced simultaneous visitor capacity.

Critique: This approach transforms the museum into a securitized space, potentially alienating visitors and contradicting institutional commitments to accessibility. The architecture of fear—visible cameras, guards, barriers—alters the phenomenology of viewing, making security infrastructure as visible as the art itself.

Model 2: The Digital Surrogate

Emphasizes virtual access over physical presence

Characteristics:

  • High-resolution 3D scans allowing 360° rotation and magnification beyond human visual capacity
  • Augmented reality overlays enabling users to “try on” pieces via smartphone
  • Blockchain-secured NFTs as certificates of authenticity and provenance records
  • Physical objects stored in secure facilities; public galleries feature screens and projections

Example precedent: The Smithsonian’s digitization initiative has created explorable models of jewelry pieces, accessible globally without physical travel.

Critique: This model risks becoming museum-as-database—efficient, democratic, but phenomenologically impoverished. Jewelry’s material presence—weight, texture, the way light interacts with surfaces—cannot be fully replicated digitally. Moreover, this approach may inadvertently devalue the museum visit itself, undermining arguments for public funding of physical institutions.

Model 3: The Distributed Collection

Decentralizes high-value objects across multiple sites

Characteristics:

  • Loan networks among smaller regional museums, preventing concentration of targets
  • Rotating exhibitions that keep locations unpredictable
  • Collaborative security protocols across institutions
  • Emphasis on “no single vault contains everything”

Example precedent: The French National Museum system’s practice of depositing works across provincial museums, though historically driven by space constraints rather than security.

Critique: Distribution increases logistical complexity, transportation risks (objects are most vulnerable during transit), and insurance costs. It also fragments narratives that depend on seeing collections in totality—dynastic jewel suites, for instance, lose coherence when scattered.

Model 4: The Hybrid Encounter

Balances physical access with layered protection

Characteristics:

  • Selective display: most significant pieces shown physically, supporting collection digitized
  • Temporal zoning: high-security hours (limited visitors, advance booking) vs. open hours (replica display)
  • Interpretive depth: extensive contextual material that shifts focus from object to story
  • Transparent security: visible but architecturally integrated protection that becomes part of the exhibition narrative

Potential implementation: A gallery might display Marie Antoinette’s diamond necklace in a central vitrine with visible but elegant security (reinforced glass that refracts light artistically, discreet sensors), surrounded by:

  • Video projections showing the necklace worn at Versailles
  • Documents detailing its theft during the Revolution and recovery
  • Interactive stations exploring gemstone sourcing and cutting techniques
  • Explicit acknowledgment: “This object’s protection requires visible security measures; their presence reflects both its historical significance and contemporary vulnerability”

Advantage: This model doesn’t pretend security is invisible nor that digital suffices for physical experience. It makes protection part of the interpretive framework—security as curatorial honesty.

Theoretical Reframing: From Object to Relation

The heist invites museums to reconsider jewelry not primarily as object but as relation—networks of meaning connecting maker, wearer, viewer, institution, and broader publics. This shift suggests curatorial strategies that prioritize:

1. Storytelling over spectacle: Rather than jewelry as glittering centerpiece, exhibitions might foreground:

  • Labor histories (who mined stones, who crafted settings, under what conditions)
  • Wearing contexts (ceremonial use, daily adornment, political signaling)
  • Afterlives (theft, resale, museum acquisition, conservation challenges)

2. Temporal complexity: Jewelry embodies multiple temporalities—geological (gemstone formation), human (craft production), biographical (ownership chains), institutional (museum stewardship). Post-heist displays might visualize these layers, showing jewelry as palimpsest rather than fixed artifact.

3. Ethical transparency: Addressing uncomfortable questions the heist commentary raised:

  • Were these jewels originally acquired justly?
  • Do former colonies have claims to repatriation?
  • What does it mean to “protect French heritage” when that heritage includes objects taken from elsewhere?
  • Can a heist ever be “justice,” or does crime simply perpetuate cycles of commodification?

The Macron Doctrine: Heritage as National Identity

President Macron’s framing—”an attack on our history”—reveals how jewelry display operates within nationalist discourse. The heist becomes not merely theft but symbolic assault on collective identity. This rhetoric, while politically legible, carries dangers:

Essentializing heritage: Positioning jewels as embodying “Frenchness” ignores their cosmopolitan origins—gemstones from Asia, African gold, Italian craftsmen at French courts, later owners from multiple nations.

Securitization justification: National security language can authorize disproportionate measures, transforming museums into fortresses and potentially excluding marginalized visitors (increased screening disproportionately affects racialized bodies).

Resisting repatriation: If jewels are “attacks on our history” when stolen by criminals, this logic complicates claims by nations seeking return of colonially acquired objects—the discourse of violated ownership cuts multiple ways.

Post-heist curatorial practice might resist nationalist instrumentalization by foregrounding jewelry’s transnational trajectories, its embeddedness in global networks of trade, conquest, and exchange that exceed any single nation’s claim.

Conclusion: Toward a Post-Security Jewelry Aesthetic

The Paris heist forces recognition that security and display are not opposing values but co-constitutive conditions of contemporary museum practice. The question is not whether to protect or show jewelry, but how to develop curatorial strategies where protection becomes pedagogically meaningful rather than merely restrictive.

This might involve:

Curating vulnerability itself: Acknowledging that all preservation is provisional, all security partial. Exhibitions might include sections on “jewelry we have lost”—historical thefts, wartime destruction, pieces returned to source communities—making absence and risk explicit themes.

Privileging use over possession: Commissioning contemporary artists to create jewelry responding to historical pieces, wearable in public contexts, then displayed alongside protected originals. This activates jewelry’s social function while keeping historical objects secured.

Slow viewing protocols: Limiting visitor numbers not just for security but as interpretive strategy. The Uffizi’s timed entry for the Botticelli rooms demonstrates how constrained access can enhance rather than diminish experience—scarcity generates attention.

Community co-curation: Inviting publics to shape what is displayed and how. If jewelry represents “collective memory” (per the Reuters commentary), then collectives—not just curators—should determine its presentation. This democratizes expertise while building stakeholder investment in protection.

Ultimately, the heist reveals jewelry display as always already a negotiation between competing demands: aesthetic pleasure and institutional security, public access and object preservation, national heritage narratives and transnational historical realities, material authenticity and symbolic meaning.

Post-heist curatorial innovation will not resolve these tensions—they are constitutive of museum practice itself—but might make them visible, generative, and ethically accountable. The most honest response to the question “how should we display jewelry after the heist?” may be: with full acknowledgment that perfect solutions are impossible, and that this impossibility is itself a truth worth displaying.

Galerie Les filles du calvaire The gallery

Galerie Les filles du calvaire 

Founded in 1996 by Stéphane Magnan in the Marais district of Paris, Les filles du calvaire historically established itself at 17 rue des Filles du Calvaire. In 2023, it reinforced its mission of promoting and supporting artists by inaugurating a second space at 21 rue Chapon.

Since its beginnings, Les filles du calvaire gallery has been committed to promoting contemporary creation through a diversified exploration of artistic mediums. From conceptual works to photography, encompassing painting, sculpture, video and performance, the variety of artistic expressions reflects the gallery’s ongoing commitment to exploring new languages of creation.

True to its support for visual artists, Les filles du calvaire has been accompanying artists from various backgrounds for over twenty years. The gallery, in particular, has established close ties with the national and international photographic scene, supporting historical artists and pioneers of contemporary art. 

With the opening of its second space in 2023, Les Filles du Calvaire continues its commitment to promoting contemporary creation. The gallery participates in fairs both in France and abroad, collaborating with numerous institutions and external curators. By providing a platform for both emerging and established artists, the gallery solidifies its position as an essential reference in the Parisian and international art scene.

Represented Artists

  • Laia Abril
  • Bianca Argimón
  • Art Orienté Objet
  • The Bells Angels
  • Katrien De Blauwer
  • Paz Corona
  • Jérémie Cosimi
  • Léo Fourdrinier
  • Makiko Furuichi
  • Frances Goodman
  • Julia Haumont
  • Todd Hido
  • Karen Knorr
  • Katinka Lampe
  • Diana Markosian
  • Kate MccGwire
  • Olivier Mosset
  • Ethan Murrow
  • Nelli Palomäki
  • Clara Rivault
  • Karine Rougier
  • Kourtney Roy
  • Emmanuel Saulnier
  • Lore Stessel
  • Maya Inès Touam
  • Levi van Veluw

Collaborations

  • Abdelhak Benallou
  • Arielle Bobb-Willis
  • Jean-Christian Bourcart
  • Scarlett Coten
  • Charles Fréger
  • James Hyde
  • Tania Franco Klein
  • Ellen Kooi
  • Juul Kraijer
  • Katalin Ladik
  • Thomas Lévy-Lasne
  • Paulien Oltheten
  • Marie Quéau
  • Yusuf Sevinçli

Works By

  • Helena Almeida
  • Thibaut Cuisset
  • Antoine d’Agata
  • Gilbert Fastenaekens

17 rue des Filles-du-Calvaire,
75003 Paris

Phone number: +33 (0)1 42 74 47 05

[email protected]

Open on Tuesday from 2:00 PM to 6:30 PM

Open Wednesday to Saturday from 11:00 AM to 6:30 PM

Closed on public holidays

Team

Founder
Stéphane Magnan

Director & artistic director
Marie Magnier

Artistic director 
Charlotte Boudon

Gallery manager & artist liaison
Lou Baudillon Coutet

Communication manager & artist liaison
Lila Casidanus

Gallery assistant
Symphorose Guillon

Administation & production assistant

Marco Valentini

Registrar
Dorothée Dupla

FIU Frost — Agustín Fernández: The Alluring Power of Ambiguity

Agustín Fernandez, Cousures, Oil on canvas, 1962, 51 ½ x 46 ½ inches, Gift of Jose Martinez Cañas, MET 77.10.7
Agustín Fernandez, Cousures, Oil on canvas, 1962, 51 ½ x 46 ½ inches, Gift of Jose Martinez Cañas, MET 77.10.7

FIU Frost — Agustín Fernández: The Alluring Power of Ambiguity

Written By Olga Garcia-Mayoral

On view: February 15, 2025-January 25, 2026 | Site visit: October 26, 2025

Standing in the first gallery at the Frost, you feel Agustín Fernández pull two magnets in opposite directions–flesh and mechanism, ache and elegance, seduction and restraint. The surfaces are satiny, almost inhaled; the forms are knotted, pinned, cinched, sliced. It’s a language at once intimate and armored, a non-dualist grammar that refuses to choose between figuration and abstraction. Curated by Elizabeth T. Goizueta with assistance from Gabriela Goizueta, The Alluring Power of Ambiguity is less a linear retrospective than a lucid anthology of Fernández’s obsession: bodies that masquerade as objects, objects that vibrate with sentience, and desire treated not as illustration but as structure.

Born in Havana in 1928 and trained at San Alejandro (with formative detours to the Arts Students League in New York and Madrid’s Real Academia), Fernández left Cuba for Paris in 1959 and would never return to live on the island. The exhibition tracks that peripatetic trajectory–Paris, San Juan, New York–without reducing the work to biography. Instead, it tunes us how exile recalibrates seeing. The monochromes (and near-monochromes) that define much of his mature work push against the color-saturated “Cuban canon,” as the museum’s notes put it, and that resistance reads as productive friction: a refusal to be summarized by palette. Fernández subtracts color to sharpen anatomy–not literal anatomy, but the touch, pressure and restraint.

Seduction as Structure

Across more than 65 works–paintings, drawings, collages, portfolios–the exhibition makes a crisp case for Fernández as both “painter of the brush” and draftsman of uncommon bite. A room of drawings reveal his precision with the line: folded paper that seems to crease as you watch; pins, hooks, belts and spikes that operate like punctuation marks, toggling tensions between the seen and the implied. The “tool” motifs are not props; they are syntax. They bind, puncture, fasten; they also tease. In painting, his gloved grays and metallic creams glow like skin under studio lights, while hard edges and ligatures interrupt the caress.

The erotics is never simply illustrative. Fernández stages the conditions for desires–veils and un-veils, tugs and releases–inside the picture plane. In one large canvas, ribbons and belts gather into a torqued knot that reads as both ligament and lacing. You sense muscles preparing to flex even though there are no bodies depicted–only intimation of them, abstracted into pulls and counter-pulls. Elsewhere, a field of soft gradation is cut by a glossy seam with acuity of a scalpel. You can almost feel the coolness of the surface where the brush has polished a highlight to metal.

Materials, Methods, and the Pleasure of Control

If Fernández’s visual language seduces, his technique closes the deal. The paintings’ “finish”– that sleek, buffed, nearly industrial skin–carries a paradoxical warmth. Up close, you find the trace of the hand: tight modulations, slight burrs where once glaze meets another, the faint tremor of a hairline. The show smartly pairs paintings and drawings so viewers can triangulate how a hook in graphite becomes a hinge in oil, or how a receding gradient in pencil rehearses a large swoon on linen. 

Equally strong is the curatorial emphasis on ephemera: letters, photographs, and studio notes that widen the aperture on Fernández’s process and psyche. They are not mere supplements. They materialize the world in which the paintings were possible–the friends, the debts, the nights and jobs that funded the days in the studio. A vitrine of clippings from Paris in the 60’s sits near later New York snapshots; together they chart a life lived inside international avant-gardes without surrendering to any one school.

Dialogues and Lineages

The wall texts sketch Fernández’s influences–surrealism’s charged objects, post-Minimalism’s cool rigor, even traces of downtown New York’s punk attitude–yet what’s striking is how fully he metabolized them. The surrealist legacy appears not as dream iconography but as the psychic weight of things; the post-Minimal turns up not as a unit/repeat modules but as an ethic of surface and discipline. And the “punk” is less about noise than stance: a refusal to behave, to please, to be decoded quickly.

That stance is especially resonant in Miami, a city where Cuban modernisms are often (mis)read through tropes of tropical color and nostalgia. The Frost’s thesis–that Fernández monochrome and surgical, sits apart from that expectation–feels right. But the exhibition also positions him inside a broader conversation about the body in late modernism: how artists in the 1960s-80s contended with desire and control, violence and care, in the wake of both historical trauma and new sexual politics. In Fernández, the wounded and the polished share a skin. 

Fashion as Afterimage

One of the most engaging surprises is a custom dress by designer Fernando Pena, commissioned after one of  Fernández’s iconic paintings. The garment sits like a mirage between sculpture and apparel: seams echo canvas ligatures; a bodice folds with the logic of his drawn paper; the palette stays loyal to his disciplined grays. Rather than costume the art, the dress translates it –re-engineering pictorial tensions as patternmaking problems. It’s a deft curatorial gesture, especially in Miami, where fashion is often spectacle; here, it becomes exegesis. You see how Fernández’s forms want to move on bodies, not just in the mind. 

The Mind on the Page: Memoir and Voice

Alongside the artworks, the exhibition includes an unpublished memoir, Adiós al barroco. Detailing about his human experience in Cuba from childhood to early adulthood. Fernández delves into this artistic practice, literacy influences and the friendships he fostered throughout his career. Also dedicating a chapter to New York City’s photographer Robert Mapplethrope, whose demise from AIDS was a devastating loss for both himself and his wife Lisa. Later Fernández’s re-examins his life from the context of ancient civilizations of Mexico. 

That caveat aside, the memoir’s presence matters. It frames Fernández’s not only as an image-maker but as a thinker of images–someone for whom ambiguity is not a pose but an ethic.

Ambiguity, Read for a New Generation

The exhibition title earns its keep. In 2025, ambiguity is not always alluring in public life; we are trained to demand declarations. Fernández insists on the opposite: that ambiguity can be a site of intimacy and rigor. The show is careful not to reduce his knots and clamps to allegories of exile (though they can be read that way). Instead, it gives multiple entry points–material, erotic, historial–so new audiences in Miami can triangulate their own readings. Teens admiring the ephemera of the legacy, a couple debated whether a painting’s central pinch was a space, unhurried sightlines–lets those debates breathe. 

Framing, Not Freezing, a Legacy

The Frost is an important site for Fernández’s. Its 1992 retrospective helped anchor his presence in Miami institutional memory; this exhibition deepens that commitment while updating the conversation. Works from estate, private collections, and the museum’s holdings–many never exhibited–are the show’s ballast. Together they extend a thesis: Fernández belongs to a transnational modernism that is at once Cuban and unbound, Latin American and global, erotic and ascetic.  

What lingers after the walkthrough is the sense that ambiguity here is not fog but focus. Fernández asks us to attend–to surfaces, seams, restraints, releases. He insists that desire is a form of knowledge and that control, when tenderly applied, can be a kind of care. For audiences encountering him for the first time, that proposition lands with clarity. For those returning, it feels like permission to keep looking. 

Closing Thought

Fernández once described himself first and last as a painter–a vocation of patience and exactitude. That feels right in these rooms, where ambiguity is engineered with the care of a tailor and the courage of a surgeon. The allure is real, but so is the power: a steady voltage running through the belts and seams, through grays that smolder. The guest curatorial team did an outstanding collaboration showcasing the legacy of this Cuban painter. In a city that loves the declarative, this exhibition is an argument for the whisper—and the long look. For Miami’s expanding audiences–students, designers, artists, collectors–this exhibit offers a rigorous alternative genealogy of Cuban and Latin American modernism, one that privileges discipline, ambiguity and the erotics of form over easy brightness. 

Agustín Fernández, Le Fleur Bleue, 1959, Oil on linen, 40 x 35 inches, Gift of Joe Novak, FIU 2005.008
Agustín Fernández, Le Fleur Bleue, 1959, Oil on linen, 40 x 35 inches, Gift of Joe Novak, FIU 2005.008
Agustín Fernandez, Naturaleza Muerta y Follaje, 1956, Oil on canvas, 51 x 35 inches, Gift of Jose Martinez Cañas, MET 77.10.8
Agustín Fernandez, Naturaleza Muerta y Follaje, 1956, Oil on canvas, 51 x 35 inches, Gift of Jose Martinez Cañas, MET 77.10.8

A Night of Wonder: Stéphane Denève, The Best of John Williams

A Night of Wonder: Stéphane Denève, The Best of John Williams
A Night of Wonder: Stéphane Denève, The Best of John Williams

A Night of Wonder: Stéphane Denève, The Best of John Williams

Written By Olga Garcia-Mayoral

Stéphane Denève already radiates the kind of buoyant curiosity that makes an audience lean forward. The French conductor, known internationally for his affinity for living composers, is an eloquent champion of John Williams’ music, on the podium and in conversation — led the New World Symphony’s “The Best of John Williams” at Knight Concert Hall on October 18, 2025. In person, Denève is generous and effusive, the sort of maestro who quotes Spielberg with a twinkle and then, in the following breath, talks about brass endurance and woodwind transparency with surgical precision.

Maestro Denève, the Artistic Director of the New World Symphony, walks on stage with the ease of someone who genuinely loves the company he’s keeping–both the orchestra in front of him and the composer he’s celebrating. In conversation, “We will play tonight a piece called Harry’s Wondrous World,” he told me before the concert, “and I think there is always this feeling of wonder associated with him, with his music…just love.” That word–wonder–would become a signature thread through the evening at Knight Concert Hall. This program doubled as a tribute, a masterclass, and for me, a profoundly personal homecoming to the soundtracks of my childhood.

I met Denève an hour before the grand performance. I had a list of questions; We sat for a brisk exchange that flowed like the sound chamber of secrets. When I asked how he curated the night for Williams’ immense catalog, he smiled with a conductor’s familiar blend of delight and pragmatism. “It is tough to choose indeed, because I love so many of his pieces,” he said. “The idea I had was to perform a concerto of his… I wanted the audience, who often comes for the film music–to discover another part of what he composed. And then I tried to choose what would be good for the fellows to work on…to show them how rich this music is, how varied, and how much it rewards care and detail.”

If curation was the scaffolding, emotion was the architecture. Of all the selections, Denève admitted he feels the closest to E.T. “I was 10 years old when E.T.  was released. I was the exact same age as Elliot…I believe it’s the first time I cried in a movie theater.” He recalled Spielberg’s famous line–“I can bring the audience to the brink of crying, but it is John Williams’ music that makes the tear fall”–and then nodded, as if to say: yes, and tonight we’ll prove it. 

From my seat in the third row of the orchestra, the program unfurled like a reel of living memory. The violins spun the opening sheen of Harry’s Wondrous Word, and I was instantly eight again, reading in my living room while the soundtrack blasted through my CD player. The oboe’s phrasing, tender but unsentimental, led into a string swell that triggered that fizzy, head-to-toe sensation I only get with Williams: an ache that also lifts the soul. I felt tears pool–not just at the melody, but at its craftsmanship: how the inner notes braid, how percussion is held back a half-beat longer than you expect, how brass are invited to declaim but never bludgeon. Denève drew out those details with a kind of clarity that feels generous rather than clinical. 

I asked him how he balances fidelity to the original film recordings with the creative license of a concert performance. His response was liberating as it was practical. “Since we have the recordings and the movie, should we do exactly the same? I don’t think so,” he said. “His music is so rich it can be played without the movie. In film, he followed the timing–but in concert, I feel very at ease to put my own interpretation and feelings into the piece. Every conductor, every orchestra can do it differently. That’s beautiful.” You heard that freedom in Raiders March, where Denève shaped the main theme with a swagger just loose enough to dance, in Yoda’s theme, where he let the lines breathe-slightly elongated cadences that made the wisdom in the melody feel earned rather than announced. 

So much of Williams’ writing is attached to images–bikes across the mood, dinosaurs in nature, and spaceships flying in Space–that it’s fair to ask whether the music holds the same weight without them. Denève argues that his reasoning is, yes, rooted in craft. At Williams’ home, he once studied the cue sheets that map the film to the score nearly “second after second.” “He’s really following the movie precisely,” Denève said. “But at the same time, he creates a musical logic in parallel–so strong that if you remove the movie, the logic is convincing. You follow the story of the music without knowing anything about the film.” That parallel logic is exactly what filled the hall in the theme from Jurassic Park. Without dinosaurs on screen, the brass chorale glowed as an ode to awe itself: not spectacle but scale; not fear but reverence.

There’s a persistent critique that Williams’ language leans heavily on Romantic and late-19th-century idioms. Denève brushed aside the charge with a historian’s perspective and a practitioner’s ear. “Every great composer is like a sponge…No good music comes from nowhere,” he said. Influences are inevitable and honorable. “You always recognize John Williams’ music for what it is–John Williams. There’s nothing to ‘defend’. He never quotes; the genius is in the voice. The melodies are his.” He even credits Williams with something larger than any single score: “I think he saved the symphony orchestra in popular culture,” Denève said, noting how Star Wars re-associated orchestral sound with futuristic storytelling and how blockbusters still turn to orchestras when they need true power. 

Backstage realities shape poetry, too. Denève described the demands these pieces place on an ensemble–” virtuosity…endurance…transparency, working on layers.” He singled out the brass for their stamina and control, and spoke about sculpting what he called “the John Williams sound,” a warm, richly blended sonority rooted in the kind of German repertoire.” One practical decision revealed the conductors-as-producer: in Close Encounters, an organ is optional. “I decided not to make it optional,” he said with a grin. “Otherwise, it’s lacking. So we organized an electronic organ to be brought here.” That touch mattered later — when the harmonics opened under the strings, the organ’s quiet foundation made the air in the hall feel charged.

Personally, the night pressed a finger on memories I didn’t realize were still humming. My father is a lifelong Star Wars and Indiana Jones devotee; growing up, our family listened to the vinyl soundtracks and had movie marathons. When Harry’s Wondrous World, the audience was once again a group of curious children, marveling at the world before them. Hearing the Raiders March in the room where it happens–a brass line that grins as it strides–was like opening a time capsule and finding it still warm. Yoda’s theme arrived, and I thought about patience and mentorship; when the clarinet offered its gentle answer to the strings, I thought about my own mentors in the arts who trusted me before I knew how to master myself. 

Denève’s relationship with Williams goes beyond advocacy. “It’s the truth that we are friends,” he shared. They’ve worked through scores side by side at Williams’ home, traveled together to Japan, and shared stages for significant milestones. Denève was invited to conduct at the composer’s 90th birthday celebration in Washington, and later a gala with him at Carnegie Hall. He paints a portrait of an artist whose celebrity never curdles into self-regard. “He looks at you with curiosity…He never really wants to speak about himself,” Denève said. “He’s the most generous human being, the most humble. When you are with him, you feel at ease; you can be yourself.” That humility, Denève suggests, is inseparable from the music’s openness–the way it welcomes listeners into big feelings without condescension.

Miami calls itself the Magic City, so I asked Denève about dreaming–how to keep it alive at every stage of an artist’s life. His answer was as much a philosophy as a practice. “The key is curiosity and a sense of marveling,” he said. “There are so many things to admire.” He spoke of his own path with genuine gratitude: moving to Paris at 18, discovering operas and concerts, meeting extraordinary artists. “I feel my life is a permanent bonus…like a child in a toy shop.” That attitude, he added, is one reason Williams’ music keeps its charge; it keeps us “on the right side of the Force.”

In the Hall, that childlike joy radiated through the Flying theme of E.T. Denève, widened the phrase just enough before the takeoff–the bar where the melody vaults and the harmony blossoms–and I felt my throat rise with it. When the bikes finally lifted (if only in our collective imagination), the audience breathed as one. 

If you spend enough time with John Williams’ music, you come to feel what Denève articulated so simply: that the work invites you to love without embarrassment–to feel big feelings in full color and excellent counterpoint. At the end of our interview, I asked him to describe Williams’ legacy in one word. He didn’t hesitate. “Wonder,” he said. Then, after a beat: “Love.”

Those words described my night as well. Sitting in the third row, I was a writer, a listener, a professional with a passion, a kid with goosebumps, a curator thinking about programming, and a daughter remembering beautiful family memories and stories that took flight. Denève and the New World Symphony fellows didn’t just play the best of John Williams; they reminded me why this music endures off-screen–why, in a concert hall, it can stand on its own and still carry every memory with it. On the way out, Denève whispered, “May the Force be with you.” For once, the cliché felt earned. In Miami’s Magic City, on a night devoted to a composer of galaxies and gardens, we were all, for a couple of hours, on the side of wonder.

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