preliminaries colors

Basquiat particularly favored primary tones, such as red, yellow, and blue, along with vivid and intense secondary shades like orange, green, and purple. These hues created a striking contrast, infusing his canvases with a vibrant energy that captivated the viewer.

Black and white also held a crucial place in his palette. Black often unfolded to define contours and shapes, while white played the role of brightness highlighting the vibrant colors. This contrasting dance of shades conferred a graphic and expressive dimension to his creations.

The symbolic use of colors was another captivating facet of his work. For example, red became a conveyer of violence or passion, while blue could evoke spirituality or sadness. It’s important to note that the symbolic meaning of colors in Basquiat’s art was not a fixed constant; it adapted to the changing nuances of each artwork’s context.

Basquiat didn’t limit himself to playing with colors but extended his genius to the diversity of materials and textures. From acrylic paint to pencils, markers to sprays, and even collages of fabrics and papers, each canvas became a masterpiece where the richness of colors blended with the depth of materials.

iggy pop : “je sais que tu sais”

The nights are made of long waits, cigarettes smoked down to the filter, and half-empty glasses left on wobbly tables. There’s something electric in the air, a silent tension, a sort of invisible ballet where every move matters.

That’s what foreplay is. It’s not just skin brushing against skin, not just a hand slipping under fabric; it’s everything that happens before, long before bodies ignite. It’s in the glances exchanged in the corner of a dingy bar, where the neon lights flicker like faded hopes. It’s the silence between two sentences, a stifled sigh, a hesitation that speaks volumes. It’s the background music, the kind that sticks to the wall along with the yellowed wallpaper, the melody that sets the rhythm of waiting, the slow rise of fever.

It’s the game of nerves, the art of knowing just how far to stretch the tension without breaking it, this tension that turns every movement into a small earthquake. The caress, the bite, the heat rising in the throat, the sparks that dance beneath the skin, they’re promises held in suspense, desires stretching out, making you yearn, as if the entire world could explode in the blink of an eye.

Foreplay is that nameless dance, where every gesture is a poem, every word a shard of glass that glitters before disappearing. You pour into it all the things you’ve never known how to say, all the fears, all the scars you’ve never wanted to show. It’s a battle where no one wins, but the losers are those who don’t dare go all the way through the waiting, all the way through desire.

You play with time, twist it, stretch it like an elastic band about to snap. And when you finally give in, when the bodies draw closer, collide, find each other, it’s not the end, no. It’s just another beginning, another chapter in a book you never quite dare to finish. Because it’s not really about sex, not really. What matters is everything that comes before, everything left unsaid, everything between the lines, everything you wait for, everything you hope for, everything that burns slowly in the night that stretches on and on.