artist andy denzler presents hybrid souls

From a bucolic countryside town in Sicily, Júlia Martins Miranda has forged a name for herself as a talented artist, musician, filmmaker, and visionary. Most recently, the Brazilian polymath has garnered headlines for her verdant canvases, inspired home interior and upcoming exhibition Pindorama: an exciting series of works scheduled to run later this autumn at 220 East 42nd Street, New York.

For an artist who lives and breathes the warm tones of Brazil, Júlia Martins Miranda has the sunny disposition you would expect. During our recent interview, we discussed her latest series of works, Pindorama: a veritable love note to the artist’s home country (over 9,000 km away from her current abode in Noto, Sicily). “The project started as a need to reconnect with my roots, with Brazil,” Martins Miranda shares. “Being away from Brazil has given me a different perspective. I feel more connected to it now.”

Pindorama features solitary glowing suns and clusters of flora and fauna blossoming across geometric landscapes. Their forms appear purposeful, luscious, and structured, as rogue palm trees infuse canvases with a playful tone. Pigments are bisected into delicate colour blocks alluding to fragments of sunlight, while blank backgrounds blush with heavy brushstrokes of buttercup yellow and apricot. Perched upon their own canvas, a striking pair of hummingbirds is accented in burnt orange and black detailing. 

After leaving her Brazilian hometown of Belo Horizonte and living in bustling cities like Milan and New York, the artist felt drawn to the slow life of the Sicilian countryside. It’s here that she renovated a loft apartment in a former 17th-century monastery into a painter’s paradise with her partner, Mimmo Calcagno. For Martins Miranda, the connection between her living space and artistic process is vital. The art studio is more than just a workspace, it’s an intimate environment designed for creative exploration. Enlisting local artisans Franco Ragonese and Franco Gugliotta in the renovation project, her residence blends Sicilian sensibility with the vivid pigments of Brazil.

Readers familiar with the legacy of Brazilian Modernism, or who have visited recent and current retrospectives at New York’s MoMA, and London’s Royal Academy of Arts (28 January to 21 April), may recognise the movement’s signature motifs in Martins Miranda’s work. The presence of the sun and forestry, for instance, falls into a canon of organic imagery used by 20th-century artists Tarsila do Amaral, Anita Malfatti, Djanira and Alfredo Volp.

Encouraged by writer Oswald de Andrade’s 1928 Manifesto Antropófago, these painters fused elements of European avant-garde with their Brazilian heritage and the country’s indigenous roots. “African people were brought to Brazil as slaves, but their culture became an integral part of Brazilian identity. Our music, for instance, is deeply influenced by African rhythms. Without this influence, Brazil would not be the same,” Martins Miranda explains. In the past, artists like Djanira and Rubem Valentim drew directly from their ancestry of indigenous (or enslaved African) peoples. While do Amaral reimagined tales of mythical beings associated with Brazil’s pre-colonial cultures.

Similarly, Martins Miranda has reflected upon the indigenous history of her homeland. “I wanted to go back to the origins of the land, to the people who were here before colonization. A lot of our culture is still embedded in what they created.” Through her practice, the artist draws a parallel between the clear, expressive shapes and the natural beauty of indigenous and African art forms.

Within Pindorama’s natural imagery lies a nexus of poetic and musical influences. The album Deep Brasil by Deep Forest and Flavio Dell’Isola was particularly inspirational. “The lyrics in this album are all poems,” says the artist. “They evoke a deep sense of nostalgia and pride in belonging to Brazilian culture.” We can also observe flowers and names dedicated to Brazilian poetesses, like Adélia Prado, Cora Coralina and Cecília Meireles. The word Pindorama itself originates from “the name used by indigenous people for Brazil before it was known as Brazil.” According to Martins Miranda, “Pindorama means ‘Land of the Palm Trees,’ which I thought was a beautiful name that conveys a sense of returning to the roots.”

Martins Miranda’s proclivity to draw on multiple forms of cultural and literary references is emblematic of her instinctive need to explore and master multiple modes of practice. “The first art form I connected to was music when I was three years old,” she says. This early exposure to music paved the way for a deep exploration of other creative outlets.

“Pindorama is an ode to joy, to roots, to the land that raised me,” says the artist. “It’s a symphony of colours, built on essential shapes—where simplicity holds the essence of being.” By combining indigenous, African, and contemporary influences, Martins Miranda’s art resonates with the spirit of Brazil—vibrant, powerful, and rooted in history. Her upcoming exhibitions in New York, Los Angeles, and possibly Mexico City are the first steps in what promises to be a transformative year for her career.

Pindorama will run from September 24th at 220 East 42nd Street, New York.

words. Raegan Rubin

André Lanskoy, La Bataille d’Uccello, c. 1968, oil on canvas, 38.2 x 76.8 in | 97 x 195 cm

Opera Gallery New York is set to open Lines in Motion, a group exhibition running from May 8 – 31, 2025, that dives deep into one of art’s most fundamental — yet endlessly expressive — elements: the line. Spanning works created between 1948 and today, the show gathers a heavyweight lineup of artists including Pierre Soulages, Sol Lewitt, Hans Hartung, Georges Mathieu, André Lanskoy, Serge Poliakoff, Victor Vasarely, Richard Prince, Carlos Cruz-Diez, Pablo Atchugarry, John Helton, Pieter Obels, and Fred Eerdekens.

Grouped into four themes — Lyrical Abstraction, Op Art, Art and Text, and Sculpture — the exhibition traces how artists have used the line as both form and feeling. In the lyrical works of Hartung and Lanskoy, the line becomes a raw, emotional gesture: multicoloured pastel marks in P1948-16, or the tumbling abstraction of La Bataille d’Uccello, which reimagines Renaissance battle scenes through fluid, spontaneous strokes.

Op Art’s cool precision appears in Victor Vasarely’s Anadyr-R, where converging lines and geometric patterns create illusionary depth, and Carlos Cruz-Diez’s Cromointerferencia Espacial 13, where colour-charged lines seem to vibrate and shift, even when still. Both artists channel kinetic energy and technological fascination, echoing a mid-century optimism — and unease — about the future.

That tension between control and chaos runs through the exhibition. As Art Curator Christian Rattemeyer writes in the catalogue essay, “In the beginning there was the line. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, there is little opposition to the idea that the line is a fundamental building block of all visual expression.” Rattemeyer reminds us that many works in this show — especially those by Mathieu and Hartung — emerged from a postwar era defined by the existential threat of the atomic bomb, where mark-making became an urgent act of sense-making. As the exhibition moves into more contemporary terrain, the relationship between freedom and line softens, opening up to play, ambiguity, and experimentation. 

That playful spirit comes through vividly in the intersection of Art and Text. Richard Prince’s Untitled (2008) uses language to cheekily deconstruct American culture, while Fred Eerdekens sculpts delicate metal strips that, when lit, project shadowed words and phrases onto the wall — transforming abstract forms into fleeting, poetic meaning.

In sculpture, the line becomes physical. Pablo Atchugarry’s marble carvings suggest elegant folds of drapery, while John Helton and Pieter Obels take heavy bronze and corten steel and bend them into shapes that seem impossibly weightless.

Whether sweeping and emotional, coolly precise, or texturally physical, the line remains one of art’s most potent tools — a way for artists to navigate history, technology, memory, and meaning. With this show, Opera Gallery reminds us just how much can emerge from something as simple as a line, drawn across space.

Carlos Cruz-Diez, Cromointerferencia Espacial 13, 2015, chromography on aluminium, 23.6 x 31.5 in | 60 x 80 cm

Discover more about the exhibition here.

photography. Opera Gallery, On White Wall
words. Gennaro Costanzo

Cycling meets self-expression in Canyon’s latest innovation: MyCanyon, a groundbreaking program that lets riders design their dream machine from the ground up. Through an immersive new platform, customers can choose custom colorways, components, and even exclusive artwork, turning high-performance bikes into one-of-a-kind statements.

Leading the charge is a collaboration with renowned Italian artist and designer Elena Salmistraro, whose debut frame design merges striking aesthetics with emotional storytelling. Based in Milan, her bold aesthetic and use of colour and texture are known globally, allowing Salmistraro to bring an art-world sensibility to the cycling sphere, setting the tone for what’s to come in Canyon’s custom future. Salmistraro conjures the magic of colour in her joyful reinterpretation of the Aeroad CFR, using a dynamic, kaleidoscopic concept that transforms the high-performance frame into a rolling piece of art. It’s a celebration of individuality, emotion, and motion — all brought to life on two wheels.

Schön! chats with Elena Salmistraro to discuss the collaboration, her approach to the task, and more.

How did the concept of speed, motion, and technology inspire your approach to designing the MyCanyon Opus bikes?

Speed, movement, and technology were the starting points of my approach to designing the MyCanyon Opus bikes. When I was invited to work on this project, I immediately envisioned a bicycle racing toward the sun, with light playing across its surfaces, creating ever-changing reflections and colours, just like in a kaleidoscope. To bring this vision to life, I worked on the frame’s surface, using gradient effects that mimic light reflections and give the colours a dynamic feel. The shades blend seamlessly, creating a sense of continuous motion, while small points of light enhance the idea of speed and freedom, essential elements of a bicycle.

Technology played a key role in this process, but I felt something was still missing: a human touch. That’s why I introduced subtle blue lines, reminiscent of fingerprints or water droplets, which break up and emphasize the composition. This detail is meant to symbolize the direct connection between the cyclist and the bike, like a personal signature that makes each experience unique.

What emotions or sensations were you hoping riders would feel when they see — and ride — a bike featuring your artwork?

I hoped that my work could evoke a sense of wonder and surprise in those who observe it, transforming the visual experience of the bicycle into something deeper, almost dreamlike. My goal was not simply to decorate a means of transportation but to create an image capable of captivating the viewer, a moment that could remain etched in their memory.

The cyclist has an intimate relationship with their bicycle: they choose it, know it, feel its weight, speed, and response to every movement. They share with it the effort, the wind on their face, the emotion of the journey. But an external observer does not have this direct connection; for them, the bicycle and the cyclist become one, a moving element that can turn into a visual icon.

I imagined the cyclist as a traveller of light, an almost mystical figure crossing space like a luminous trail, a supernova streaking through the darkness. My intention was to create an image that could fascinate and enchant the viewer, transforming a daily act—pedalling—into an extraordinary phenomenon, capable of leaving a trace, even if only for a moment, in the mind and imagination of those who witness it.

Customisation is at the heart of MyCanyon. How did you balance creating bold, personal designs while allowing each rider to still feel a sense of ownership and individuality?

The balance between personalization and series is a crucial theme in my work, especially when it comes to products intended for everyday use, like in the case of MyCanyon. The challenge lies in integrating the authorial aspect, the strength of the design, with the need to make each piece accessible and recognizable to the user. My goal is not only to create an aesthetically pleasing object but also a product that speaks on an emotional level, one that evokes a sense of belonging and connection with the user.

Art, in all its forms, has always been a means of connecting with something deep and universal. We listen to a certain type of music, read a book, or look at a painting because we feel that something in that language speaks to our sensitivity, to our subconscious, and makes us feel less alone in our emotions. The same principle applies to design. When I create, I try to embed in the object something that resonates with the user, that makes them feel involved, as if they are living a shared experience.

In the context of MyCanyon, I wanted each cyclist to feel that connection with the product, but at the same time, maintain the strength of the authorship that characterizes every creation. Personalization becomes a channel through which the individual can express their uniqueness, but always within a structure and vision that makes the design recognizable and distinctive. The goal is that, even while being part of a series, each cyclist perceives the object as a part of themselves, an extension of their identity, an object that becomes a vehicle for a shared emotion.

Art often tells a story — what’s the narrative behind your Opus design, and how does it connect with the idea of movement and adventure?

The design for Opus comes from a vision that combines the concepts of movement and adventure. The inspiration came one day while I was at my house on Lake Maggiore, a place often frequented by cyclists. That day, as I was observing the landscape, a bike passed in front of me, but with the reflection of the light on the water, I struggled to make out its outlines, as if it were almost a vision. In that moment, I had the impression of seeing a cyclist riding the light, as if they were travelling on something that didn’t fully belong to the physical world.

From that moment, the desire to tell that sensation grew, to transfer that vision into design. To do this, I wanted to incorporate the movement of the water, its waves, into the bike design. These undulating lines aren’t just a reference to the surrounding landscape but also a way to convey the sense of dynamism and transformation that accompanies every journey. In this case, the bike isn’t just a means of transportation; it becomes a symbol of exploration, freedom, and adventure.

In the end, the creative idea from the start was to tell an adventure, to capture in an object that fleeting moment of movement that slips by too quickly. The design isn’t just an aesthetic aspect but an expression of a sensory experience, an invitation to see the world from a different perspective, as if every journey, every movement, were an adventure to be lived and shared.

What was the design process like?

The design process was truly special. Although it was a long project, it was never heavy or stressful. On the contrary, it was a very enjoyable journey, where the lack of deadlines or obligations allowed me to fully focus on achieving the best possible result, without the pressure of meeting strict timelines. This made the entire process much freer and more creative, giving me the chance to explore all possibilities without hurry.

Working with Lukas and the Canyon team was equally stimulating. It was a real pleasure to collaborate with such open-minded people, always ready to challenge themselves and push boundaries. Every discussion with them brought new ideas, and the continuous exchange of opinions enriched the project, allowing me to see things from different perspectives.

The bike’s creation was a layered process. Each phase required particular attention, from color to finishing touches, and I really enjoyed working directly on the frame, almost like painting on a canvas. Every detail was carefully thought out and chosen, and each step was approached with the desire to create something truly special. The first prototype, which represents the heart of all the work for me, is kept in my studio as a symbol of this creative phase. It’s the tangible result of a journey that was both fascinating and engaging.

Your work is known for its vibrant colours and bold, eclectic patterns. How did you adapt your signature style to fit the sleek, high-tech canvas of the Aeroad CFR?

Adapting my style to the sleek, high-tech surface of the Aeroad CFR was a truly interesting process. When I start a new project, I usually begin with sketches, 3D models, and vector graphics to visualize my ideas. But in the case of the bike frame, I quickly realized that the space available was much more limited than I had expected. A frame, in fact, offers much less room to maneuver compared to a larger surface, and every choice has to be made with great care to avoid overloading the design and losing the core concept.

So, instead of continuing with my usual approach, I decided to treat the frame like a canvas. I worked on it at a 1:1 scale, drawing directly on the frame and defining every detail with precision, using stickers and other elements that helped me stay true to my vision. It was really fun because it allowed me to experiment with a completely new material and surface while still keeping my stylistic imprint.

The approach was a bit different from usual, but in the end, it was exactly what I enjoy doing: adapting my artistic language to new contexts, materials, and surfaces.

You’ve collaborated with other global brands — how did designing a custom bike compare to working on more traditional design projects?

Each project has its own identity, and fortunately, no two projects are ever the same. Every time, new stimuli, challenges, and variables emerge, making it unique. In the case of the bicycle, I followed a process similar to that of other, more traditional projects, although with some peculiarities. What primarily changes are the materials and forms, which in the case of a bicycle must not only be aesthetically pleasing but also perform well, be durable, and lightweight.

What fascinates me about this type of project, making it similar to jewelry design, is the attention to detail. In jewelry, as in bicycle design, every small detail contributes to the overall harmony of the final object, and personalization, which can be essential in both cases, requires a precision that goes beyond just the aesthetic aspect.

Learn more about MyCanyon at canyon.com.