I was born at Banyuwangi East Java,Indonesia.
I have graduated from Stiba University in Malang, East Java,Indonesia with a bachelor of arts degree in foreign literature and languages, I fell in love with art and I cannot stop loving it. I read a book “Everyone can draw” which motivated me to start learning how to draw, I then completed a private art course for 6 months, it turns out that I am an artist. Bali inspired me as strongly as the artistic blood is flowing in me. Artists such as William Hofker and Ton Schulten have inspired and influenced my style of art. Aboriginal art also has had a profound influence.
By following modern arts and through self-development, I have finally became a consensusism artist.
Consensusism style is characterized by abstract geometric compositional works in balance with the roots of impressionism and the elements of shape, light and color.
Group Exhibition Art Connecting Woman “In commemoration of International Women’s Day”
4th -8th March 2020,Grand Gallery,Arabian Court one &Only Royal Mirage Dubai
Solo Exhibition at Royal Beach Hotel Seminyak from 1st March 2019 until 15th January 2020
Group Exhibition at Kaktus Art Space Sanur from 6th April from 21st April
Group Exhibition at Monkey Forest Gallery from 26th April until 26th May
Group Exhibition at Lv8 Hotel Canggu- Bali from 26th July until 24th September
Group Exhibition at Studio Jaring ,Batu-Malang East Java from 15th August until 27th
Group Exhibition at Hadiprana Galellery Jakarta 30th November until 22nd December
Solo exhibition at Café Des Ubud, Bali from 1st August until 30th October.
Group exhibition at Padhapa Art Space Jogjakarta from 25th August until 5th September.
Group exhibition at Art Center Denpasar- Bali from 4th November until 10th November.
Group exhibition at Art Patio gallery Lovina, Bali, Indonesia from 4th March until 20th May
Group exhibition Bali art camping at Made Budiana Gallery, Loh Tunduh, Ubud, Bali, Indonesia from 8th April until 8th May
Group exhibition “Female artist” on June at Art center, Denpasar Bali-Indonesia
Solo Exhibition at Maison Aurelia Hotel Sanur, Bali-Indonesia from 17th September until 17th November.
Group exhibition “Female artist” on 22rd December 2017 until 22rd January 2018 at Monkey Forest Gallery Ubud, Bali, Indonesia.
Group exhibition on January at Darwin, Australia.
Solo exhibition at Lestari Grill & Pasta restaurant Seminyak, Bali, Indonesia from March until November
Group exhibition on December at 501 Petitenget Hotel, Seminyak, Bali, Indonesia
Solo exhibition on April at Dandelion Restaurant, Canggu, Bali, Indonesia
Art Camping Darwin Australia from June until July.
Solo exhibition on October at Hotel Neo Seminyak, Bali, Indonesia
Exhibition at Kaja Art Space Ubud, Bali, Indonesia from 12th November until 20th November.
Group exhibition at Gorontalo Sulawesi, Indonesia from 21st November until 30th November.
I had my first solo exhibition at the “Ginger Moon” Restaurant in Seminyak, Bali, Indonesia from December 2013 until January 2014.
The second solo exhibition at Lestari Restaurant in Seminyak, Bali, Indonesia from August until September 2014.
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Facebook: Woman Artist Suryani
I have always loved creating. Inspired through the crafting of projects with my father. I started by drawing on everything in front of me, becoming more creative with each new medium I found. I began lessons in the 6th grade, following through high school, continuing into college some years later.
My style has grown on it’s own. Journeying toward an enjoyment with acrylics, oils, charcoals and pastels. Everything in life is an experience: colors, textures, human forms, dreams, emotions are an inspiration of life.
As a woman and an artist, I’ve enjoyed bringing the emotions and the wonderment of life into many different creations with vibrant color and blends of detail. Art has always been a passion and an outlet, but more than that, an escape and connection to life.
By taking my own perspective and using art as a way to process, interpret and journey through all the emotions and experiences I’ve had; this has helped me grow and tell my stories in my own way. Beyond my own stories and messages, I encourage everyone to find their own curiosity in all the beauty and ugly around us.
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Encounter in Whitehorse
Under clodlike clouds too thick
for the aurora borealis to penetrate, the
Yukon River crackled a greeting beneath its
icy shell while log-cabin skyscrapers and
silvery evergreens slept or possibly
The coyote, whose furry
ears rose at the terminus of a frosty road,
filled the night with its answer:
Not a baleful howl or a gritty
growl, just the
nip-nip-nip of playfulness and pep,
the tiny grin in its voice mirrored
by the one on my face.
God, I Hate Cleaning the Bathroom
My head heavy from the Scrubbing Bubbles that
promise to save me precious labor as
I say goodbye to the grime and grout
on the unintentionally toffee-colored tiles, I
sigh and sit on the hot pink toilet seat cover
that looks envious of its big sibling, the fuzzy rug draped
over the bathtub.
Both were bequeathed by Nana, who’d
expired in September after Aunt Nancy’d
urged the nurse to pump up the morphine
to mollify the pain once
the cancer had colonized the bones.
A draft of fifty-one-degrees-Fahrenheit/eleven-degrees-Centigrade
traces my face as I watch ants hobnob around an errant splash of
Kool-Aid on the gravel outside the open window that offers a view onto half a
faded ‘Free Puppies’ sign flapping against a leafless oak tree.
It must have been forgotten since the malamutes and their
masters had decamped in a moving van on the morning of
that election day when everyone was so angry.
Teasing me from under the closed closet door is the
border of the bathroom scale I banished after devouring the
entire rhubarb crisp Cheryl had smilingly foisted on me
despite my best efforts to
follow Beyoncé’s Master Cleanse because boys worry
about willpower and weight too.
On Friday afternoon he’d lunched solo, as usual, on the Cracker Barrel
fish fry special during which he’d daydreamed he
was Dina, the eldest daughter of a doting
Neapolitan-American Catholic couple in 1959
instead of a twenty-first-century-middle-aged Methodist
of English and Scottish and Swedish descent
– according to a hundred-dollar DNA test –
flung aside as a flake by his family
and whose nagging gender dysphoria drove him
to shame his balding pate with mail-order berets.
Popping into the gift shop, he strained to make
his two-hundred-seventy-two-pound frame in a paisley t-shirt
as petit as possible as if to apologize for
his plump presence and not bump into the crush of impulse buyers
and salespeople or destroy displays of candles and candies and cards
and owls and samplers that screamed “Relax and Accept the Crazy”
as he bitch-slapped his panic and fed his basket before it puked
Dubble Bubble and diet orange ‘n cream soda at the cashier,
a cinnamon-scented sixtiesh lady with a Nancy Reagan hairdo who
didn’t question the tiny tube of champagne lip shimmer before
fondling the fractured tutti-frutti candy stick and cooing,
“Oh it’s broken. Are you sure you don’t want a different one?”
Insulted by the suggestion to refuse such a flamboyantly sweet,
yet shattered specimen, he expelled a plaintive “No!”
like Betty from Father Knows Best before
inhaling the yellow and red and green and white shards
while waiting for the bus.
Adrian Slonaker crisscrosses North America as a language boffin and is fond of opals, owls, fire noodles and The Alfred Hitchcock Hour. Adrian’s work, which has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the Best of the Net, has been published in WINK: Writers in the Know, Ez.P.Zine, The Pangolin Review and others.
It is easy to wear a mask made of the vomit of the sun
walking the streets of a timid town in search of
the perfect background for every sacred word
cumbersome in the eye of a bird or a beast.
Canine laughter might be served as a breakfast
for nauseous music you are too afraid to hear.
Slumber Bigger Than Life
36 days ago I couldn’t
touch the claws of the clouds
and the scratches made by flowers
on somnolent walls. Consider the reptiles:
Under the snow they smell, smile, simulate
happiness of the eyeless sky.
Shadows and mice invade the parks
and the mirrors of the towns cursed by the roar
of butterflies between the seasons.
Hibernating leaves are ashamed of revealing the future.
A story of blabbering flowerless vases
has been buried in oblivious ice.
I am serious as a vacuum cleaner:
Words are the duds of mute angels
that loathe doing the laundry.
Ivan Peledov lives in Colorado. He loves to travel and to forget the places he has visited. He has been recently published in Goat’s Milk Magazine, The Collidescope, iō Literary Journal, and Wend Poetry.
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