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Bandar Perabot Jl Raya Setiamekar No 2a Tambun Selatan Bekasi Timur

(Samping Bank Mandiri Rawakalong) Langsung Owner 0897-3739-663

https://www.facebook.com/DistributorPerabotRumahTanggabekasi

Major Project:

For my major project my topic was based around humans and the environment, the research that I conducted for this question influenced me to construct a sculpture based on materials that damage our marine life. The ‘Coral Sea’ is full of coral reefs and deep sea canyons, that contains 49 different habitats that supports over 300 threatened species. This research then inspired me to specifically look at ‘The Great Barrier Reef’, a natural attraction that is slowly deteriorating from the damages of pollution. At the start of my project I was struggling to come up with an idea that would focus on the reef and create an ‘affect’. I then visited the MCA and the Art Gallery to gain inspiration from contemporary artists and exhibitions showing. Physically looking at other artists works, such as Nike Sawas and Ernesto Neto I was inspired by their use of colours, textures, space and materials used to form their installations. Their artistic ideas and images echoed across time, and cultures that inspired them to create their work. I was also inspired by the artist Mai-Thu Perret at Francesca Pia, who plays with the idea of the formless and amorphous–the ceramic islands in the main exhibition space can be understood as coral reefs or underwater landscapes, but also as examples of primal and regressive sculpture. I wanted to question assumptions and habits through my work but to also play with the use of space, to create an ‘affect’ that makes viewers move around the sculpture rather than just starring at it.   

 In the past three decades, the reef has lost half its coral cover, pollution has caused deadly starfish outbreaks, and global warming has produced horrific coral bleaching. Coastal development also looms as a major threat. That's why we need to act quickly and fight for the conservation of the Great Barrier Reef. By researching into the many different forms of pollution that is destroying the reef today, I came up with the idea of including everyday materials used by us humans that severely damage our marine life. Every year, as much as 12.7 million metric tons of plastic waste are dumped into the ocean. One of the main materials that damage our marine life is plastics, such as straws. These everyday materials are washed away into the sea that end up in the bellies of turtles and other marine life.  My major project is a representation of ‘The Great Barrier Reef’ before and after, displayed inside two wooden pieces that are stuck on top of each other. Inside each box has both recyclable and non- recyclabl materials, such as plastic, cans  foam and wire that were made to  represent coral, seaweed, species and rock. ‘Returned to the world of the sea’ - The top is full of colour and plastics that are shaped to represent the coral reef. I made the bottom with plastic bottles and straws that were cut out to the shape of coral as well, which I then burnt to depict the reef deteriorating slowly and soon to become nothing from the damage of pollution. 

The bottom section was experimented and burnt with a blow torch, I incorporated wire around the outside of this section as a representation of marine life being killed by pollution. I included a small black speaker that played ocean sounds, this is to create a reaction from the viewers and to represent the sea. Although burning plastics created the ‘affect’ I wanted, I realised after I had burn these plastics the environmental ‘effect’ it has. I used recyclable materials found on the street, water and in-between rocks. I also bought coloured straws, and foam balls from Kmart to make my assignment. It also wasn’t until after when I researched more into the effects of these materials that I had realised how damaging they are to our environment. Many designers, and artists use materials that contribute to pollution when constructing works of art and the process of making them. I have learnt from this assignment to always be aware of materials being used before making a project and to buy these materials from stores that specialise more with recyclable things, such as reverse garbage and Greenfield rather than stores that contribute to pollution.

(Click on a Tumblr photo on my assessment 2 page, to view full description & process conducted) 

References:

Noguchi, I, "The Isamu Noguchi Catalogue Raisonné | The Noguchi Museum.". in Noguchi.org, , 2017, <https://www.noguchi.org/research/catalogue> [accessed 10 September 2018]. 

Lichtenstein, R, "MoMA at NGV | NGV.". in Ngv.vic.gov.au, , 2018, <https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/exhibition/moma-at-ngv/> [accessed 10 September 2018]. 

Internet, C, "Why Plastic Straws Are So Bad For the Planet | Nourished Life.". in Nourished Life, , 2014, <https://www.nourishedlife.com.au/article/893141/why-plastic-straws-are-so-bad.html> [accessed 11 September 2018]. 

"Great Barrier Reef". in , , 2017, <http://www.wwf.org.au/what-we-do/oceans/great-barrier-reef> [accessed 12 September 2018].

Perret, M, "Mai-Thu Perret at Francesca Pia (Contemporary Art Daily).". in Contemporaryartdaily.com, , 2017, <https://www.contemporaryartdaily.com/2013/10/mai-thu-perret-at-francesca-pia-2/> [accessed 13 September 2018].

"How does pollution impact corals?". in , , 2015, <https://floridakeys.noaa.gov/corals/pollution.html> [accessed 9 September 2018].

"Threats to Coral Reefs". in , , 2017, <https://defenders.org/coral-reef/threats> [accessed 10 September 2018].

Victoria Psarros

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Ernesto Strikes Back: Fan Fiction for “Coco” 

[Part 1: Fallen]

Part 2: Anger

The sight of his mausoleum was the first slap in the face.

Ernesto let his hood fall back as he stared up at the white stone building that had been built in his honor. A green spray of light from nearby fireworks washed over the building, briefly illuminating the board that had been hung around his effigie’s neck.

“Forget you.”

He walked up the trash littered stone steps, passing through the locked door effortlessly now that he was in a true spirit form.

Everything inside was covered in thick dust. The edges of the floor were lined with desiccated marigold petals, obviously not laid down for this year. An oil portrait of himself hung over the marble sarcophagus that presumably held his mortal remains. Between them three metal brackets jutted from the wall like broken ribs, missing whatever they had been built to hold.

He walked to the sarcophagus and set a hand on the heavy stone lid, an odd tingling sensation raced up his bone arm. For the first time, he wondered what his handsome body had looked like after he had been crushed to death by the first bell.

Ernesto shivered and pulled his hand away. He noticed some mostly scrubbed away red graffiti on the side of the stone box, he was only able to make out the first few letters: “MUR”

A sticky hot feeling crept up his spine as he turned away helplessly, unable to even straighten the slightly askew lid of his final resting place in his translucent state. He grit his teeth as he passed back out through the barred door.

How dare these people desecrate his grave. Ofrendas were one thing, this kind of spite was quite another. This was his own hometown, it had been his generations before it had ever been home to whatever tonto had decided to graffiti his coffin.

Ernesto stalked across the cemetery, past dozens of properly respected graves festooned with wreaths of orange flowers, decked with worthy offerings, attended by the smiling living and the reminiscing unseen dead beside them. The warmly candle-lit scene of joy and family only made the pounding ache in his head worse.

What did any of them know of love, what it was like to be truly adored by millions? What had any of them accomplished in life that was worth celebrating? Ernesto had clawed his way to stardom, had become a household name, had changed the musical world forever when he’d seized his moment.

Hector had been a small price to pay for the return it had gotten Ernesto, and the world for that matter. Hector had been the selfish one, wanting to keep his gift to himself, to abandon Ernesto right at the critical moment of their careers. Ernesto had been the one to give the world the music it craved, that it needed, who had kept it from being caged up in one man’s home.

And now it was Hector’s descendant who had ruined everything.

Ernesto walked out the cemetery gates, weaving around other skeletons who were walking onto the cobblestone streets of Santa Cecilia, following trails of orange petals. He pulled his hood up again after an especially inquisitive glance from another dead man and turned to the path.

The petals here were fresh, glowing soft yellow as the dead tread along them. Ernesto’s shoes reflected the golden light as he felt the magic of the petals gently tugging him forward, guiding him to an ofrenda with his picture. Toward the Rivera home.

The streets all looked so familiar as he walked across town, nearly the same as the nineteen-hundreds with the same old arches and stucco and cobblestone, but now with a new thin layer of modernity over it. Plastic signage, electric lights that shone bright and steady, cars that put even the fancy fords he’d had the wealth to enjoy during his life to shame.

Even so, his feet guided him more than the petals underfoot as the memory of Santa Cecilia came back to him, the memory of the hundreds of times he had walked this road to visit Hector in his previous life. Visiting to practice their songs, to endure dinners with his new bride, to fake smiles when handed little Coco to hold. Above all, so many visits to plead, to beg Hector not to let his music go to waste.

Ernesto was pulled out of his thoughts as a barking hairless xolo dog and a street cat gambolled past his feet as they tore down the street, turning into a house’s courtyard down the road.

Hector’s courtyard.

Ernesto pulled back, suddenly unsure at the sight of the old place. It had been turned into a shoemaker’s shop sometime in the last hundred or so years, the family name painted for all to see on the stucco wall. Festive laughter and singing spilled from the archway and into the streets, eliciting grins and waves from passersby, both the dead and the living. He heard two sets of familiar guitar strumming coming from the courtyard.

Of course Hector and his family would all be here. Gloating over Ernesto’s fall from fame no doubt.

Ernesto walked casually past to entrance, glancing at the fiesta inside. There was the brat, proudly dressed in a maroon mariachi outfit and singing with all his heart, playing his song on Ernesto’s guitar. So that explained the empty brackets in the mausoleum, the little mocoso had stolen his white skeleton performing guitar.

Beside the kid was Hector, playing a spirit copy of the guitar. The arrogant burro. That copy belonged to Ernesto, he’d played that instrument for the world longer than Hector had even lived in it. That guitar did not belong to the Riveras, it was his.

Hector glanced up, an irritatingly wide smile on his face. Ernesto ducked away and out of sight. He dashed around a corner and another and to the backside of the property, passing through thick weeds and piles of trash. He tried to lean against the back wall to catch his breath but to his exasperation fell right through it, sending him sprawling on the tile floor inside.

He looked up and was greeted by the warm, dancing orange light of an ofrenda. Several tiers high and staggering under a collection of carvings, shoes, candles and a blanket of marigolds, the ofrenda took up the entire small room.

At the very top sat an old picture of Hector with his family. He looked just as he had the day he’d finally been coaxed away to perform music on the road. So he’d had gotten his picture put up anyway after all Ernesto had done last year to prevent it.

Ernesto pulled himself to his feet, folding his arms tight and seething inside as he stared at the ofrenda. Yes this was despicable, yes they had stolen his happiness, his reputation, everything he’d worked so hard for, but what could he possibly do about it now? Miguel was out of his realm, literally out of his reach. The dead Riveras were enough in number to overwhelm him in a direct confrontation anyway even if he could somehow touch the boy.

He clenched his fists, trembling with anger. If only the blasted curse had stuck on Miguel, Ernesto would be able to get at him, to at least cut short whatever time he had among the living in the only kind of revenge left to him.

Ernesto clenched his teeth against the howl of anger rising in his chest and viciously swung an arm at the side display of the ofrenda.

To his shock a manic swirl of petals flew off the tabletop, glowing a deeper orange than usual, and a single painted ceramic alebrije tipped off the table, shattering to pieces at his feet.

He stared at the broken figurine on the floor, then at his hand.

A slow smile crept up his lips.

Perhaps some of last years’ curse hadn’t quite worn off after all.

[Read Part 3:Cursed] 

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Reblog if you enjoyed it and follow me or the tag #forwhomthebelltolls to get the next part as soon as I post it. Looking forward to reading your tags/responses/comments! :)

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@nerdy-emo-royal-dad

La Ponderosa: a Honda CB750K built up from a wreck

When a dog ran out in front of Nick Acosta’s 1974 CB750K it changed his world. He had just done a little brake work and was taking his bike for a spin when a canine torpedo shot out to attack his wheel.

Nick tried evasive maneuvers, only to end up totaling the bike and severing his calf muscle.

“I had just picked up and installed my freshly painted tank two days earlier. I was so disappointed”, Nick says. “The bike was a brat/cafe cross and everything was lost.”

Clip-ons, Motogadget bar-end indicators, forks, a wheel…everything was done for, except Nick’s love for building and riding.

“We don’t get a long riding season here in Canada. I had a month of intensive therapy for my injuries and spent that time thinking of how I could rebuild the bike and get back to riding.”

With a fire to create something special from the wreckage, Nick began doing all the things he was “eventually going to do with the bike”. But now he had time and a stronger motivation.

Nick had never tackled a full build, but learning something new wasn’t strange to him. “My dad is a carpenter and my mom is a chocolatier. I grew up in a very ‘hands on’ kind of environment”.

With a cafe racer project in mind and months of therapy ahead, Nick started watching videos and reading about rebuilding Honda’s iconic inline 4.

The CB750 got a complete teardown. Inspection, cleaning, honing and rebuilding kept Nick busy for a short time. He installed a new Dynatek ignition system and bolted on a Cyclexchange 4-into-1 exhaust system before moving on to more aesthetic work.

The air intake box is from Cognito Moto, also made from billet aluminum, giving the bike a unique look compared to the usual pod option.

“I was faced with a style dilemma”, Nick says of the next step. Settling on a period-appropriate cafe style with modern upgrades where possible, Nick began a process that ultimately aggregated the talents, efforts, and care of a large number of craftspeople in the Toronto moto scene. “I couldn’t have done this without them”.

A love for industrial design and simplicity would normally have led to the immediate delete and relocation of the side covers and oil tank. Nick says, “I just love the classic look of the oil tank and side covers that the bike originally had”—so they stayed.

To keep things sleek, Nick ended up using a vintage fairing and seat from a local manufacturer who works with the Vintage Road Racing Association in Canada. A matching windscreen from Gustafsson Plastics completes the fairing.

“I was lucky enough to meet and develop a great working relationship with Brian Kates of MotoBrix, a very talented metal worker in Toronto who also builds motorcycles. He made an ingenious system to easily mount the seat and fairing onto the motorcycle with minimal welding to the frame”.

After the mounts were finalized, the seat and fairing were drilled and cut to fit the front and rear lighting, also making sure there was proper clearance for the clip-on handlebars.

Swapping in forks from a 1975 GL1000 provided a slightly stiffer front end (and dual disk braking) without the need for gusseting the frame. Finishing up the front end, Nick rebuilt the wheel with new spokes, bearings, rebuilt calipers, forks, and added steel lines for a touch of class.

To complete the cockpit Nick added Motogadget bar end indicators, new handlebar controls, a speedo and tach, LED Indicator lights, mirrors, and a clock to bring everything together.

“I’m a bit of a nut for the clean industrial look of billet aluminum, and incorporated it into many parts of this build, from the gas cap, to the triple top, petcock bowl, clip on handlebars, gauge bracket, and rearsets and passenger pegs”, Nick says.

Then came the question of integrating the right-side rearset with the kickstart lever. “A lot of times you have to decide which you’re going to keep”. With a little engineering, Nick was able to keep both.

Nick designed a flip-up system for the brake actuator, which gives the kickstart lever enough clearance to get the job done. “I’m in engineering, which is just figuring out ways to solve problems, really…”.

Paint was expertly handled by the talented Amanda Brisibois of Toronto’s Black Widow Custom Paint. “She mixed a black cherry base with a micro red metallic, and on the stripe she mixed gold pearl with the red to give it a flip effect. The motorcycle’s name, ‘La Poderosa’, is stenciled into the racing stripe as well”.

David Aversa of Raven6 Customs made a beautiful diamond quilted oxblood red leather seat, and a seat pan to fit the bubble seat. The seat is also interchangeable with a brat style seat of the same leather and design in case a passenger is ever on board.

Nick says the name “La Ponderosa” (meaning “The Mighty One” in Spanish) springs from the motorcycle that Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara and Alberto Granado took on their life-changing trip across South America. Fitting, after what Nick and this bike have been through!

After completing La Ponderosa, Nick is hopelessly bitten by the bike building bug. “I plan on doing many more custom motorcycles, as well as classic restorations, and pushing my boundaries with every build”, he says.

“Let the world change you and you can change the world” ~ Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara

From picking himself up from the pavement to this beautiful build, we find ourselves strangely agreeing with Che himself.

Augment Collective | Instagram

Goodbye to Illusion and Spontaneity in Cuba

Goodbye to Illusion and Spontaneity in Cuba / Iván García Ivan Garcia, 9 January 2017 — The sun's rays were not yet peeking over the horizon, when Danier, 10, a fifth grade student at an elementary school in southeast Havana, with a small backpack and two plastic bottles of frozen water, went with his parents to the Plaza of the Revolution to participate in the "march of the fighting people" and afterwards to see the military parade for the 60th anniversary of the founding of the armed forces. Seated on the curb of the sidewalk on Paseo Street, they breakfasted on egg sandwiches that were already dry and a glass of soda pop. Although the authorities have not offered an estimate of the people who attended, to Danier it seemed like hundreds of thousands. "I imagined a military parade with tanks, rockets, airplanes and helicopters. But there were only soldiers, militia members and people," he says, disappointed. His parents, like the rest of those present, were not summoned at gunpoint or forced to attend. The methods of Raul Castro's Cuba are more subtle. "Before leaving for the end of year holidays, the teacher at my son's school asked them to write a composition about their experience at the parade. If we hadn't brought him, there was no way he could have done the assignment," says Julian, the kid's father. Julian was not forced to attend, nor did he go out of loyalty to Fidel Castro. He probably would have preferred to sleep in until nine in the morning. "But I have an important job at Labiofam. And if I didn't attend without a good reason, you know how it is," he says, shrugging his shoulders. Less and less, businesses and schools pressure their employees and students to attend public gatherings. In the years of Soviet Cuba, listening to all of a four-and-a-half hour speech by Fidel Castro, cutting cane, or participating in voluntary work, as well as receiving a diploma or a tin medal, was all worth it to enter your name into the state drawing for when they doled out fans, washing machines, Russian televisions or a microbrigade-built apartment. Now the handouts are other things. A snack, in the case of the state phone company, ETECSA, which later you can sell for twenty Cuban pesos, or people go simply because an important share of Cubans act like zombies and prefer to fake support for the government, which in the last twenty-seven years has bot been able to benefit the workers. In Cuba, the people who work for the state without stealing or embezzling are, along with pensioners, those who live the worst. Deadly inflation makes their ridiculous salaries disappear when they buy a string of onions and ten pounds of pork. But on the island, the Revolutionary symbols still weigh heavily. The official media cling to them to camouflage the disaster. Celebrating Christmas Eve and Christmas is considered a 'petty bourgeois' custom. There is only room for the olive-green narrative. These and other Christian celebrations of the Western world are allowed by the regime, but with a frown. Their legend is different. If God exists, then the Cuban Revolution has Fidel Castro. They don't need museums, streets with his name, nor running the risk that in difficult times his statues would be torn down by his adversaries. Fidel is in the ether. He is omnipresent. He was the architect of the ranch, he taught us to read, write and think. The sportsman in chief. He was like Santa Claus, when he distributed five boxes of beer or a can of deviled ham on the ration book for parties or weddings, like one of the Three Wise Men when he moved Christmas to July and offered children under twelve three toys. Fidel Castro tried to bury the traditions. Proscribe the dreams. Danier, 10, is an example. He never believed in the fable of the Three Wise Men. His parents, on the eve of Epiphany, never put toys under the bed. "When I want a toy, if my parents have money, we go to the Carlos III shopping center or the Comodor and buy it. There are children in my school who are my age and still believe in the Three Wise Men. But I don't," says Danier, back from the Plaza of the Revolution. The anthropological damage that the government of Fidel Castro has done to Cubans is incalculable. When at some moment we objectively evaluate its effects, we will observe and realize its dimension. We should not have feelings of guilt or believe we were idiots. The leaders of the masses are expert manipulators, snake charmers. Citizens as rational as the Germans also applauded a devious man. In his delirium and self-centeredness, Fidel Castro sought to demolish the cultural foundations and traditions of the nation. One morning in January of 1960, from a small plane, the Rebel Army threw candies and toys to poor children of the mountains who had never had them. On another occasion, in the basement of the old Radiocentro — today the Yara move theater, in the heart of Vedado — along with Ernesto Che Guevara and Juan Almeida, they dressed as the Three Wise Men and distributed toys. The message was timely: now the traditions are ours. Fidel Castro hijacked customs and changed dates of festivities like the carnivals of Havana. In his eagerness to take over everything, he ruined the country. He killed illusion and spontaneity in children and adults. It's unthinkable one person can cause so much damage. Fidel could. Source: Goodbye to Illusion and Spontaneity in Cuba / Iván García – Translating Cuba - http://ift.tt/2jqVCZ7 via Blogger http://ift.tt/2i9SvIU