PBG Gallery To Host Okokume and Pol Segura's ‘Two Voices, One Path' Exhibition
PBG Galleryis set to hostTwo Voices, One Path, the inaugural joint exhibition by acclaimed Spanish artistsOkokumeandPol Segura. Opening later this month, this show marks a significant moment in their two-decade-long partnership, spanning both their personal and creative lives. The exhibition deeply explores the theme of 'sharing,' inviting viewers into a contemplative space where two distinct artistic languages not only coexist but actively converse.
Okokume, known globally for her signature Cosmic Girl character, presents 23 new works that delve into themes of emotion, environmental awareness and interconnectedness. Her vibrant, pop-inflected canvases serve as mirrors of inner reflection, with Cosmic Girl acting as both guide and symbol. In this exhibition, the character appears in bolder, more expressive forms, offering a deeper look into the artist's evolving visual narrative and continued exploration of contemporary social issues.
Pol Segura's abstract compositions bring a complementary contrast to the show. His animated plant forms stretch, twist and dance across chaotic landscapes, symbolizing resilience and the journey of self-discovery. Influenced by artists such as Willem de Kooning and Francis Bacon, Segura's work blends organic spontaneity with rhythmic structure. His pieces offer a visual counterpoint to Okokume's emotive storytelling, highlighting the harmony that can emerge from divergent perspectives.
Together, the artists transform the gallery into a shared landscape of dual perspectives. While each maintains a distinct voice, their works engage in a fluid dialogue. The VIP opening reception will be held on July 17, with the show running through August 9 at PBG.
PBGPBG Hannam, 87 Dokseodang-ro,Seoul, South Korea
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Eater
12 hours ago
- Eater
The Tire Shop Food Stand Serving Unique-to-Seattle Venezuelan Hot Dogs
is a freelance journalist living in Seattle. A contributor to Eater since 2023, his work has also appeared in Outside Magazine, The Stranger, and Seattle Met. In Seattle and the Pacific Northwest, where Mexican food and people are the most visible representatives of Latin American culture, Latin American cuisine often gets oversimplified to Mexican food, which in turn gets over-over simplified to tacos, burritos, and $5 margaritas. But if you look beyond Mexico's southern border, there's a literal world of food in Central and South America that deserves appreciation and recognition. Fortunately for North Seattleites, taking the first step toward something new is easy. Just walk across the street from the Wallingford Chipotle into the parking lot of Omar's Tires, and you'll find Fido Hot Dogs, a new Venezuelan hot dog stand that has emerged as the neighborhood's most wonderful surprise. 'I heard about it through TikTok,' said Jonathan, a customer making his first visit on a busy Saturday night. 'This guy I always see on my feed lives in Venezuela, but somehow was doing promotion for a place in Seattle! My friend went before me, and now here I am.' (Eater Seattle conducted the interviews for this story in Spanish.) For just over two months, Fido Hot Dogs has been bringing a street food vibe to North 45th Street, a slightly dingy strip of Fremont dotted with ice cream shops and Thai restaurants. Fido has no website, no Instagram — just a TikTok mixed with guest creators promoting Fido Hot Dog's locations in Seattle and Tacoma — and only accepts cash and Zelle. The owner Fido (pronounced fee-dough), declined to provide his last name, but says that he is friends with the Omar's Tires owner. A hot dog at Fido Hot Dog. Charlie Lahud-Zahner But what even is a Venezuelan hot dog? 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The only downside is the slightly undercooked dog — the meat is often barely larger than how it came out of the package and would definitely benefit from grilling. However, without a doubt it's the carne mechada that sets Fido Hot Dog apart. The beef is super savory, juicy, and easily worth the extra two dollars. For drinks there's Frescolito, a Venezuelan soft drink with an almost bubble gum-esque flavor, Coke, or Maltín, a soda best described as a malted cola. A scene one recent night at Fido Hot Dog. Charlie Lahud-Zahner 'This is the food I ate growing up in Venezuela, the same way you'd have tacos in Mexico or McDonalds here,' says one patron named Uriel. 'The food is different, but the feeling is similar.' With that being said, most customers are of Venezuelan descent and/or Spanish-speaking. Non-Spanish-speaking Wallingfordians seem simultaneously intrigued and intimidated by the bilingual scene. Jokes, jeers, and jibes in a distinctive fast-paced Venezuelan Spanish fill the air and the cling cling of Doordash notifications is a constant background refrain. According to Michel, the second half of the two-man stand, the majority of the patrons are delivery drivers, and it's not uncommon to see hot dogs eaten at Joey Chestnut speeds as they maintain quick turnaround times. English speakers do their best to ask clarifying questions while Fido and Michel do their best to give clarifying answers, but small miscommunications regularly occur. Fido and Michel hope that the new printed English menu will help attract even more locals. With this in mind, any curious diners should make their best Spanish effort if they have the ability to do so. If not, an order of uno con todo will give you the most bang for your buck. Fido Hot Dog's is located at 2221 N 45th Street in the parking lot of Omar's Tires in Wallingford; open from 7:30 p.m. to midnight Tuesday through Sunday; the Tacoma stand is located at 11111 Pacific Avenue South, in the parking lot of another Omar's Tires. Eater Seattle All your essential food and restaurant intel delivered to you Email (required) Sign Up By submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
Los Angeles Times
12 hours ago
- Los Angeles Times
Appreciation: Tex-Mex titan Flaco Jiménez knew how to best beat la migra: humor
The accordionist commands the stage, his eyes staring off as if in a trance, his fingers trilling out the opening notes of a tune. It's a long, sinuous riff, one so intoxicating that the audience in front of him can't help but to two-step across the crowded dance floor. He and his singing partner unfurl a sad story that seemingly clashes with the rhythms that back it. An undocumented immigrant has arrived in San Antonio from Laredo to marry his girlfriend, Chencha. But the lights on his car aren't working and he has no driver's license, so the cops throw him in jail. Upon being released, the song's protagonist finds a fate worse than deportation: His beloved is now dating the white guy who issues driver's licenses. 'Those gabachos are abusive,' the singer-accordionist sighs in Spanish in his closing line. 'I lost my car, and they took away my Chencha.' The above scene is from 'Chulas Fronteras,' a 1976 documentary about life on the United States-Mexico border and the accordion-driven conjuntos that served as the soundtrack to the region. The song is 'Un Mojado Sin Licencia' — 'A Wetback Without a License.' The musician is Tex-Mex legend Flaco Jiménez, who died last week at 86. Born in San Antonio, the son and grandson of accordionists became famous as the face of Tex-Mex music and as a favorite session player whenever rock and country gods needed some borderlands flair. He appeared alongside everyone from the Rolling Stones to Bob Dylan, Buck Owens and Dwight Yoakam on 'The Streets of Bakersfield' to Willie Nelson for a rousing version of 'Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.' With Doug Sahm, Augie Meyers and fellow Tejano chingón Freddy Fender, Jiménez formed the Texas Tornadoes, whose oeuvre blasts at every third-rate barbecue joint from the Texas Hill Country to Southern California. Jiménez was a titan of American music, something his obits understood. One important thing they missed, however, was his politics. He unleashed his Hohner accordion not just at concerts but for benefits ranging from student scholarships to the successful campaign of L.A. County Superior Court Judge David B. Finkel to Lawyers' Committee, a nonprofit formed during the civil rights era to combat structural racism in the American legal system. Jiménez and the Texas Tornadoes performed at Bill Clinton's 1992 inauguration ball; 'Chulas Fronteras,' captured Jiménez as the headliner at a fundraiser for John Treviño Jr., who would go on to become Austin's first Mexican American council member. It's a testament to Jiménez's heart and humor that the song he performed for it was 'Un Mojado Sin Licencia,' which remains one of my favorite film concert appearances, an ideal all Latino musicians should aspire to during this long deportation summer. The title is impolite but reflected the times: Some undocumented immigrants in the 1970s wore mojado not as a slur but a badge of honor (to this day, that's what my dad proudly calls himself even though he became a U.S. citizen decades ago). Jiménez's mastery of the squeezebox, his fingers speeding up and down the rows of button notes for each solo like a reporter on deadline, is as complex and gripping as any Clapton or Prince guitar showcase. What was most thrilling about Jiménez's performance, however, was how he refused to lose himself to the pathos of illegal immigration, something too many people understandably do. 'Un Mojado Sin Licencia,' which Jiménez originally recorded in 1964, is no dirge but rather a rollicking revolt against American xenophobia. The cameraman captures his gold teeth gleaming as Jiménez grins throughout his thrilling three minutes. He's happy because he has to be: the American government can rob Mexicans of a better life, 'Un Mojado Sin Licencia' implicitly argues, but it's truly over when they take away our joy. 'Un Mojado Sin Licencia' is in the same jaunty vein as other Mexican classics about illegal immigration such as Vicente Fernández's 'Los Mandados,' 'El Corrido de Los Mojados' by Los Alegres de Terán and 'El Muro' by rock en español dinosaurs El Tri. There is no pity for undocumented immigrants in any of those tracks, only pride at their resilience and glee in how la migra can never truly defeat them. In 'Los Mandados,' Fernández sings of how la migra beats up an immigrant who summarily sues them; 'El Corrido de Los Mojados' plainly asks Americans, 'If the mojados were to disappear/Who would you depend on?' Even more defiant is 'El Muro,' which starts as an overwrought metal anthem but reveals that its hero not only came into the United States, he used the titular border wall as a toilet (trust me, it sounds far funnier in the Mexico City lingo of gravelly lead singer Alex Lora). These songs tap into the bottomless well that Mexicans have for gallows humor. And their authors knew what satirists from Charlie Chaplin to Stephen Colbert knew: When life throws tyranny at you, you have to scoff and push back. There are great somber songs about illegal immigration, from La Santa Cecilia's haunting bossa nova 'El Hielo (ICE)' to Woody Guthrie's 'Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos),' which has been recorded by everyone from the Byrds to Dolly Parton to Jiménez when he was a member of Los Super Seven. But the ones people hum are the funny ones, the ones you can polka or waltz or mosh to, the ones that pep you up. In the face of terror, you need to sway and smile to take a break from the weeping and the gnashing of teeth that's the rest of the day. I saw 'Chulas Fronteras' as a college student fighting anti-immigrant goons in Orange County and immediately loved the film but especially 'Un Mojado Sin Licencia.' Too many of my fellow travelers back then felt that to party even for a song was to betray the revolution. Thankfully, that's not the thinking among pro-immigrant activists these days, who have incorporated music and dancing into their strategy as much as lawsuits and neighborhood patrols. The sidewalks outside the Metropolitan Detention Center in downtown L.A., where hundreds of immigrants are detained in conditions better suited for a decrepit dog pound, have transformed into a makeshift concert hall that has hosted classical Arabic musicians and Los Jornaleros del Norte, the house band of the National Day Laborer Organizing Network. Down the 5 Freeway, the OC Rapid Response Network holds regular fundraisers in bars around downtown Santa Ana featuring everything from rockabilly quartets to female DJs spinning cumbias. While some music festivals have been canceled or postponed for fear of migra raids, others have gone on as planned lest ICE win. Musicians like Pepe Aguilar, who dropped a treacly cover of Calibre 50's 'Corrido de Juanito' a few weeks ago, are rushing to meet the moment with benefit concerts and pledges to support nonprofits. That's great, but I urge them to keep 'Un Mojado Sin Licencia' on a loop as they're jotting down lyrics or laying down beats. There's enough sadness in the fight against la migra. Be like Flaco: Make us laugh. Make us dance. Keep us from slipping into the abyss. Give us hope.
Eater
13 hours ago
- Eater
Best Dishes New York Editors Ate This Week: August 4
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