According to Albert Camus, an “artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge.” There can’t be a better way than this to describe our featured artist of the month, Oscar Coyoli. After speaking with Coyoli, it became apparent that art is not a means to an end for him but rather a necessity. No matter the medium, art for Coyoli is the pure expression and processing of his emotions, feelings, time and place. There seems to be an innate impulse to produce what is on the inside to his outside; perhaps to examine, to understand and most certainly to share and connect with others.
The list goes on when it comes to the forms that his art takes: illustration, graphic design, music, dance, AI. There is a common thread running throughout these different mediums that suggests a signature style. There is an ambiguity, a forlornness, and a deep sense of beauty that emerges in his art. Perhaps this is due to having lived amongst different cultures and languages throughout his life.
Born in Mexico City in 1982, Coyoli was raised in CDMX as well as a short period in France, when he lived just outside of Paris with his family as a young boy. In 2018, he made the move to Montréal, Canada, where he is located to present day. Fluent in Spanish, French and English, it is interesting to wonder how linguistically and culturally these experiences have had an impact on his life and his art form.
In his visual art, you can see a pattern of amorphous, androgynous and often ambiguously human entities, favouring the use of a dark background combined with vibrant colour. These often evoke a feeling of mystery and eroticism, tinged with sadness. There’s a sense of uncanniness that one gets from his work, when the familiar becomes unfamiliar. Likely similar to the feeling when exploring a new city — the smells, the sights and sounds that fall into ambiguity. The familiar mixed with the exotic. Coyoli’s music is no different. Echoing his visuals, there is a haunting mystery that drifts along when you listen to his compositions. A forlornness flows through his tender, yet raw vocals as he sings in Spanish over the melody from his guitar. His talent and curiosity to explore and create does not stop here. Along with a series of musical projects he has in the works, he also is constantly collaborating and experimenting with other artists in all sorts of mediums. In the past several years he has explored combining his music and craft with the circus arts as well as with contemporary dance. To name a few collaborations, he worked alongside choreographer Edgar Zendejas on Cirque Eloize's film 'Sept moments de joie,' collaborated with contemporary dancers Clarisse Delatour, Mélanie Larose, and Lauranne Fauber-Guay on 'Tu es le vent,' and also contributed to the project 'Ofrenda' with Camille Renarhd. Recently he founded and helped organize ‘Sistemas Efímeros’ – a series of electronic music sessions in both Mexico City and in Mérida. This series focused heavily on collaboration and community, a space to grow and learn from all participating artists. The closing performance took place at the Centro de Cultura Digital in Mexico City.
Knowing his passion for a creative challenge, we were thrilled to learn that Coyoli was game to collaborate with Please Don’t Tell on an artistic project. At PDT, we love to explore the themes of nostalgia and secrecy through fictional worlds and characters. For this reason, we provided Coyoli with these prompts and gave him carte blanche to do as he creatively pleased. We were not disappointed with the result. He produced two pieces for Please Don’t Tell fusing together visual and musical mediums to create original and evocative artwork, which can be found included within the interview portion of this editorial.
Can you tell us a bit about your journey growing up in Mexico City, spending parts of your childhood in France, and then moving to Montreal, Canada in 2018? How have these different cultural experiences influenced your creative work?
As I pondered on your question and dug into my memories; I realized how much of an indelible impression was made by some very specific details that happened during my infancy, and how, all those countries mean one large collection of memories that know no border. I don't hear different languages or different sounds but just one continuous song: 3 languages coexist on my day to day. My main instrument and interest is the human voice, and this I can immediately connect to the choral music that my father used to play on Sunday mornings or to the heartfelt singing of my grandmothers. I think about the empty workshop that my uncle left when he passed away (specifically, the hand of a robot that he didn’t get to finish) when considering my interest in technologies. The imaginaries of Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington, the nahuales and alebrijes, the laments of la Llorona on empty nocturnal streets fed my imagination greatly. The vibrant colors at each corner of the city, the smell of copal, ghost stories from the time of "La colonia" that my mother used to read to my sister and me by candlelight, tainted by a red chair and art naïf postcards that my parents had in our apartment in France, the girl Clementine who was able to travel to hell in a bubble, the centre Pompidou and the smell of the metro along all the french literature and music that populated the spaces in my house later back in Mexico. All these layers and layers of memories (and fantasies) deploy a vast weaving of emotions, desires and nostalgias that cannot be unraveled, I feel like being in a space that lightly touches the rims of the known, without ever completely becoming it. I think I am in love with this solitude of the in-between. (A Nepantla, as Gloria Anzaldúa would say).
You’ve developed a unique style when it comes to your illustrative work. What draws you to this particular visual aesthetic, and how does it connect to the emotions you aim to convey?
It is the imagery that pushes its way through me. I am discovering these images and their mysterious language as they bloom, learning to communicate and to accept them along the way. Within them I find all the emotions and memories that move through me, from solitude and silence to nostalgia, love and the nocturnal (with all their mystery, life, eroticism and violence). I feel it is the Mexican culture (life and death coexisting in such a special way) that sprouts through these images too. There's also the constant presence of animals sharing territories with entities that are not well defined: part human, part rock, part male, part female.
Similarly, you have also developed a unique musical style. Could you share some insights into the themes or emotions that often inspire your musical compositions?
For me, music has become a bridging space between the dead and the living, between the here and now and the people that have left this physical world. When I sing, I feel as if my grandmothers were singing through me and in doing so I can lightly touch a profound happiness. So, in a way, the strongest emotion linked to my music is that of keeping those who have passed away alive. As an offering I make - as a gift I am profoundly grateful to receive. To this, I can weave the idea of time and it's melancholia: the transformations of life. I would also mention how huge of an inspiration are Mexican arts, both traditional and contemporary, lo mestizo. And yes, finally, migration. The experience of oneself, as an adult in a different culture. Lié, melangé, tejida, pintada con diferentes motivos and sung in different keys
When you're starting a new musical composition or creating a new illustration, what is your typical creative process like? How do you find your initial inspiration and then develop it into a complete piece?
It is a most organic process. Emotions emerge slowly, and it is these emotions that are irremediably poured into visual or sound forms. They usually roam in my chest for long periods of time, coming in and out of focus, until one "special event" gives them meaning and dictates the next steps for their completion. In this process, errors and mistakes are of paramount importance. As doors to roads that we would not walk otherwise, I tend to favour them. My work takes detours often, it is usually significantly different from what I pictured it to be in its onset.
Can you share any specific techniques or mediums you frequently employ in your illustrations? How do these choices contribute to the overall atmosphere you aim to create?
Nowadays I'm mainly using digital tools. I sketch by hand and once I'm happy with the forms I draw, I scan them and then jump to the computer. Once there, I let mistakes and failures lead the way (the book "The Queer Art of Failure" by Jack Halberstam has been an important inspiration as of lately). Also, instead of starting off with a blank canvas, I do so with a black one, I find there is something profoundly nocturnal there : I have the impression of sculpting volumes with light, rather than drawing or painting digitally.
Can you tell us a bit about the pieces that you created for the collaboration with Please Don’t Tell and elaborate on the theme(s) they explore?
The collaboration was ignited by 3 words: Nostalgia, secrecy and fictional character. Nostalgia I tied immediately to the stories about Mexico, to the reverberating nights under the city lights, to the muralists and their nocturnal depictions of the land. To Pedro Paramo and its haunting images. There's the nahual and the nopal (cactus), slightly showing their silhouettes, protected by this eternal night. To me, these shadows engulfing the figures, conceal in secrecy all sorts of narratives and eroticism. I'm trying to find something in these depictions of nights and light. I still don't know what.
Why did you decide to compose and blend music with your illustrations in this project?
I'm constantly looking for ways to mix these two languages together. As if I was also looking for an in-between these two disciplines that eludes their individual possibilities. Viscerally it is an urge, an attempt to visit the worlds that are being created, an opportunity to live therein. Now that I've been gathering memories for this text, I recalled that one of my favourite things to do, was to sing music, as if it was a soundtrack, when I played with my toys. There has always been this connection or necessity for me.
Were there any unexpected challenges or pleasant surprises that arose during your work on this project?
There were a lot of pleasant surprises directly linked to the process of illustration. The light glowing on the chest of the Nahual character or the minimalistic approach to the figures. This was not previewed initially. I spent a considerable amount of time working on the Nahual's silhouette, only to discard almost everything at a later stage because it was so much better this way. Happy accidents, as they say, that illuminate a new direction to follow.
Many artists, like yourself, have a signature style that evolves over time. How do you see your own style evolving, and are there any new techniques or themes you're excited to explore in your future projects?
I have a strong intuition that I will break from the purely visual / image, to start building on the physical space, creating bridges between the languages, community and cultures that inhabit me, and that I inhabit. Montreal has given me the opportunity to create a new relationship with my body; having had the opportunity to work with artists like Edgar Zendejas, Camille Renarhd, Yuma Arias or Paco Ziel, I found a new language to experiment, that of movement. And this exchange has been marvelous: dancers that get their feet wet in the waters of sound, and a musician who incorporates movement to their sounds. As for the themes, I feel that nocturnal, the unsaid and the non visible will continue to push their way through - I'm deeply inspired by the idea of silence and obscurity as spaces for possibility. (The books "The Queer art of failure" by Jack Halberstam and Junichiro Tanizaki's "In praise of shadows" have been a huge influence.)
In a world saturated with visual and auditory stimuli, how do you strive to make your work stand out and leave a lasting impact on those who engage with it?
This question is a difficult one for me, as I've always struggled with visibility. What I do, I do viscerally, out of a strong necessity to live or to share. My work is usually animated through collaboration with other artists. (When in Mexico, I used to work mainly with other musicians, creating their covers, flyers, posters or even press kits). I would love that the ideas of "standing out" and "making a lasting impact" would mean being able to help the people around me. Regarding the world and its current state of saturation, I am striving to find a balance that is right for me, I will "share" things that feel meaningful to me. Paraphrasing Camille Renarhd (who took this quote from.....) I strive for "Sharing, not showing".
Looking ahead, do you have any upcoming projects or collaborations that you're particularly excited about? Can you give us a hint of what we can expect from your creative ventures in the near future?
I'm lucky enough to say: Yes! (And yes!) I've been slowly building new collaborative relationships here in Canada; with Pascal Champagne (and his studio Bain de Minuit), I've been learning about and playing with AI (directed to both visuals and sound). With Camille Renarhd and Mathi Lp, we're hatching an art - social collective called "Objets Derivés", with the aim of nurturing different ways of researching and performing creativity outside of our current system. With Clarisse Delatour and Paco Ziel, there are two contemporary dance collaborations in the works for 2024 ("Tu es le vent" and "Núcleo"). On the other hand, I can say that I'm recording a new album of Mexican contemporary song under my name (vessel for a constellation of collaborations with people I admire and care for: Raphaël Foisy, José Lobo, Joni Void, Francesco Covarino and Gibrana Cervantes), and new sounds under the alias of Soledad Rosas, whose existence allows me to approach sound and music differently, outside of the song structure with more freedom and a playful attitude.
Lastly, what is your secret to staying creatively inspired?
I don’t think I have a secret, I’m just lucky to adore learning about different things. This curiosity creates hope for a today that will transmute into a tomorrow.
If you're interested in learning more about Oscar Coyoli and his work, you can follow his instagram at @oscar_coyoli or listen to his solo music project on bandcamp.
Article and interview by Deidre Driscoll
Visuals by Oscar Coyoli
According to Albert Camus, an “artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge.” There can’t be a better way than this to describe our featured artist of the month, Oscar Coyoli. After speaking with Coyoli, it became apparent that art is not a means to an end for him but rather a necessity. No matter the medium, art for Coyoli is the pure expression and processing of his emotions, feelings, time and place. There seems to be an innate impulse to produce what is on the inside to his outside; perhaps to examine, to understand and most certainly to share and connect with others.
The list goes on when it comes to the forms that his art takes: illustration, graphic design, music, dance, AI. There is a common thread running throughout these different mediums that suggests a signature style. There is an ambiguity, a forlornness, and a deep sense of beauty that emerges in his art. Perhaps this is due to having lived amongst different cultures and languages throughout his life.
Born in Mexico City in 1982, Coyoli was raised in CDMX as well as a short period in France, when he lived just outside of Paris with his family as a young boy. In 2018, he made the move to Montréal, Canada, where he is located to present day. Fluent in Spanish, French and English, it is interesting to wonder how linguistically and culturally these experiences have had an impact on his life and his art form.
In his visual art, you can see a pattern of amorphous, androgynous and often ambiguously human entities, favouring the use of a dark background combined with vibrant colour. These often evoke a feeling of mystery and eroticism, tinged with sadness. There’s a sense of uncanniness that one gets from his work, when the familiar becomes unfamiliar. Likely similar to the feeling when exploring a new city — the smells, the sights and sounds that fall into ambiguity. The familiar mixed with the exotic. Coyoli’s music is no different. Echoing his visuals, there is a haunting mystery that drifts along when you listen to his compositions. A forlornness flows through his tender, yet raw vocals as he sings in Spanish over the melody from his guitar. His talent and curiosity to explore and create does not stop here. Along with a series of musical projects he has in the works, he also is constantly collaborating and experimenting with other artists in all sorts of mediums. In the past several years he has explored combining his music and craft with the circus arts as well as with contemporary dance. To name a few collaborations, he worked alongside choreographer Edgar Zendejas on Cirque Eloize's film 'Sept moments de joie,' collaborated with contemporary dancers Clarisse Delatour, Mélanie Larose, and Lauranne Fauber-Guay on 'Tu es le vent,' and also contributed to the project 'Ofrenda' with Camille Renarhd. Recently he founded and helped organize ‘Sistemas Efímeros’ – a series of electronic music sessions in both Mexico City and in Mérida. This series focused heavily on collaboration and community, a space to grow and learn from all participating artists. The closing performance took place at the Centro de Cultura Digital in Mexico City.
Knowing his passion for a creative challenge, we were thrilled to learn that Coyoli was game to collaborate with Please Don’t Tell on an artistic project. At PDT, we love to explore the themes of nostalgia and secrecy through fictional worlds and characters. For this reason, we provided Coyoli with these prompts and gave him carte blanche to do as he creatively pleased. We were not disappointed with the result. He produced two pieces for Please Don’t Tell fusing together visual and musical mediums to create original and evocative artwork, which can be found included within the interview portion of this editorial.
Can you tell us a bit about your journey growing up in Mexico City, spending parts of your childhood in France, and then moving to Montreal, Canada in 2018? How have these different cultural experiences influenced your creative work?
As I pondered on your question and dug into my memories; I realized how much of an indelible impression was made by some very specific details that happened during my infancy, and how, all those countries mean one large collection of memories that know no border. I don't hear different languages or different sounds but just one continuous song: 3 languages coexist on my day to day. My main instrument and interest is the human voice, and this I can immediately connect to the choral music that my father used to play on Sunday mornings or to the heartfelt singing of my grandmothers. I think about the empty workshop that my uncle left when he passed away (specifically, the hand of a robot that he didn’t get to finish) when considering my interest in technologies. The imaginaries of Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington, the nahuales and alebrijes, the laments of la Llorona on empty nocturnal streets fed my imagination greatly. The vibrant colors at each corner of the city, the smell of copal, ghost stories from the time of "La colonia" that my mother used to read to my sister and me by candlelight, tainted by a red chair and art naïf postcards that my parents had in our apartment in France, the girl Clementine who was able to travel to hell in a bubble, the centre Pompidou and the smell of the metro along all the french literature and music that populated the spaces in my house later back in Mexico. All these layers and layers of memories (and fantasies) deploy a vast weaving of emotions, desires and nostalgias that cannot be unraveled, I feel like being in a space that lightly touches the rims of the known, without ever completely becoming it. I think I am in love with this solitude of the in-between. (A Nepantla, as Gloria Anzaldúa would say).
You’ve developed a unique style when it comes to your illustrative work. What draws you to this particular visual aesthetic, and how does it connect to the emotions you aim to convey?
It is the imagery that pushes its way through me. I am discovering these images and their mysterious language as they bloom, learning to communicate and to accept them along the way. Within them I find all the emotions and memories that move through me, from solitude and silence to nostalgia, love and the nocturnal (with all their mystery, life, eroticism and violence). I feel it is the Mexican culture (life and death coexisting in such a special way) that sprouts through these images too. There's also the constant presence of animals sharing territories with entities that are not well defined: part human, part rock, part male, part female.
Similarly, you have also developed a unique musical style. Could you share some insights into the themes or emotions that often inspire your musical compositions?
For me, music has become a bridging space between the dead and the living, between the here and now and the people that have left this physical world. When I sing, I feel as if my grandmothers were singing through me and in doing so I can lightly touch a profound happiness. So, in a way, the strongest emotion linked to my music is that of keeping those who have passed away alive. As an offering I make - as a gift I am profoundly grateful to receive. To this, I can weave the idea of time and it's melancholia: the transformations of life. I would also mention how huge of an inspiration are Mexican arts, both traditional and contemporary, lo mestizo. And yes, finally, migration. The experience of oneself, as an adult in a different culture. Lié, melangé, tejida, pintada con diferentes motivos and sung in different keys
When you're starting a new musical composition or creating a new illustration, what is your typical creative process like? How do you find your initial inspiration and then develop it into a complete piece?
It is a most organic process. Emotions emerge slowly, and it is these emotions that are irremediably poured into visual or sound forms. They usually roam in my chest for long periods of time, coming in and out of focus, until one "special event" gives them meaning and dictates the next steps for their completion. In this process, errors and mistakes are of paramount importance. As doors to roads that we would not walk otherwise, I tend to favour them. My work takes detours often, it is usually significantly different from what I pictured it to be in its onset.
Can you share any specific techniques or mediums you frequently employ in your illustrations? How do these choices contribute to the overall atmosphere you aim to create?
Nowadays I'm mainly using digital tools. I sketch by hand and once I'm happy with the forms I draw, I scan them and then jump to the computer. Once there, I let mistakes and failures lead the way (the book "The Queer Art of Failure" by Jack Halberstam has been an important inspiration as of lately). Also, instead of starting off with a blank canvas, I do so with a black one, I find there is something profoundly nocturnal there : I have the impression of sculpting volumes with light, rather than drawing or painting digitally.
Can you tell us a bit about the pieces that you created for the collaboration with Please Don’t Tell and elaborate on the theme(s) they explore?
The collaboration was ignited by 3 words: Nostalgia, secrecy and fictional character. Nostalgia I tied immediately to the stories about Mexico, to the reverberating nights under the city lights, to the muralists and their nocturnal depictions of the land. To Pedro Paramo and its haunting images. There's the nahual and the nopal (cactus), slightly showing their silhouettes, protected by this eternal night. To me, these shadows engulfing the figures, conceal in secrecy all sorts of narratives and eroticism. I'm trying to find something in these depictions of nights and light. I still don't know what.
Why did you decide to compose and blend music with your illustrations in this project?
I'm constantly looking for ways to mix these two languages together. As if I was also looking for an in-between these two disciplines that eludes their individual possibilities. Viscerally it is an urge, an attempt to visit the worlds that are being created, an opportunity to live therein. Now that I've been gathering memories for this text, I recalled that one of my favourite things to do, was to sing music, as if it was a soundtrack, when I played with my toys. There has always been this connection or necessity for me.
Were there any unexpected challenges or pleasant surprises that arose during your work on this project?
There were a lot of pleasant surprises directly linked to the process of illustration. The light glowing on the chest of the Nahual character or the minimalistic approach to the figures. This was not previewed initially. I spent a considerable amount of time working on the Nahual's silhouette, only to discard almost everything at a later stage because it was so much better this way. Happy accidents, as they say, that illuminate a new direction to follow.
Many artists, like yourself, have a signature style that evolves over time. How do you see your own style evolving, and are there any new techniques or themes you're excited to explore in your future projects?
I have a strong intuition that I will break from the purely visual / image, to start building on the physical space, creating bridges between the languages, community and cultures that inhabit me, and that I inhabit. Montreal has given me the opportunity to create a new relationship with my body; having had the opportunity to work with artists like Edgar Zendejas, Camille Renarhd, Yuma Arias or Paco Ziel, I found a new language to experiment, that of movement. And this exchange has been marvelous: dancers that get their feet wet in the waters of sound, and a musician who incorporates movement to their sounds. As for the themes, I feel that nocturnal, the unsaid and the non visible will continue to push their way through - I'm deeply inspired by the idea of silence and obscurity as spaces for possibility. (The books "The Queer art of failure" by Jack Halberstam and Junichiro Tanizaki's "In praise of shadows" have been a huge influence.)
In a world saturated with visual and auditory stimuli, how do you strive to make your work stand out and leave a lasting impact on those who engage with it?
This question is a difficult one for me, as I've always struggled with visibility. What I do, I do viscerally, out of a strong necessity to live or to share. My work is usually animated through collaboration with other artists. (When in Mexico, I used to work mainly with other musicians, creating their covers, flyers, posters or even press kits). I would love that the ideas of "standing out" and "making a lasting impact" would mean being able to help the people around me. Regarding the world and its current state of saturation, I am striving to find a balance that is right for me, I will "share" things that feel meaningful to me. Paraphrasing Camille Renarhd (who took this quote from.....) I strive for "Sharing, not showing".
Looking ahead, do you have any upcoming projects or collaborations that you're particularly excited about? Can you give us a hint of what we can expect from your creative ventures in the near future?
I'm lucky enough to say: Yes! (And yes!) I've been slowly building new collaborative relationships here in Canada; with Pascal Champagne (and his studio Bain de Minuit), I've been learning about and playing with AI (directed to both visuals and sound). With Camille Renarhd and Mathi Lp, we're hatching an art - social collective called "Objets Derivés", with the aim of nurturing different ways of researching and performing creativity outside of our current system. With Clarisse Delatour and Paco Ziel, there are two contemporary dance collaborations in the works for 2024 ("Tu es le vent" and "Núcleo"). On the other hand, I can say that I'm recording a new album of Mexican contemporary song under my name (vessel for a constellation of collaborations with people I admire and care for: Raphaël Foisy, José Lobo, Joni Void, Francesco Covarino and Gibrana Cervantes), and new sounds under the alias of Soledad Rosas, whose existence allows me to approach sound and music differently, outside of the song structure with more freedom and a playful attitude.
Lastly, what is your secret to staying creatively inspired?
I don’t think I have a secret, I’m just lucky to adore learning about different things. This curiosity creates hope for a today that will transmute into a tomorrow.
If you're interested in learning more about Oscar Coyoli and his work, you can follow his instagram at @oscar_coyoli or listen to his solo music project on bandcamp.
Article and interview by Deidre Driscoll
Visuals by Oscar Coyoli
According to Albert Camus, an “artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge.” There can’t be a better way than this to describe our featured artist of the month, Oscar Coyoli. After speaking with Coyoli, it became apparent that art is not a means to an end for him but rather a necessity. No matter the medium, art for Coyoli is the pure expression and processing of his emotions, feelings, time and place. There seems to be an innate impulse to produce what is on the inside to his outside; perhaps to examine, to understand and most certainly to share and connect with others.
The list goes on when it comes to the forms that his art takes: illustration, graphic design, music, dance, AI. There is a common thread running throughout these different mediums that suggests a signature style. There is an ambiguity, a forlornness, and a deep sense of beauty that emerges in his art. Perhaps this is due to having lived amongst different cultures and languages throughout his life.
Born in Mexico City in 1982, Coyoli was raised in CDMX as well as a short period in France, when he lived just outside of Paris with his family as a young boy. In 2018, he made the move to Montréal, Canada, where he is located to present day. Fluent in Spanish, French and English, it is interesting to wonder how linguistically and culturally these experiences have had an impact on his life and his art form.
In his visual art, you can see a pattern of amorphous, androgynous and often ambiguously human entities, favouring the use of a dark background combined with vibrant colour. These often evoke a feeling of mystery and eroticism, tinged with sadness. There’s a sense of uncanniness that one gets from his work, when the familiar becomes unfamiliar. Likely similar to the feeling when exploring a new city — the smells, the sights and sounds that fall into ambiguity. The familiar mixed with the exotic. Coyoli’s music is no different. Echoing his visuals, there is a haunting mystery that drifts along when you listen to his compositions. A forlornness flows through his tender, yet raw vocals as he sings in Spanish over the melody from his guitar. His talent and curiosity to explore and create does not stop here. Along with a series of musical projects he has in the works, he also is constantly collaborating and experimenting with other artists in all sorts of mediums. In the past several years he has explored combining his music and craft with the circus arts as well as with contemporary dance. To name a few collaborations, he worked alongside choreographer Edgar Zendejas on Cirque Eloize's film 'Sept moments de joie,' collaborated with contemporary dancers Clarisse Delatour, Mélanie Larose, and Lauranne Fauber-Guay on 'Tu es le vent,' and also contributed to the project 'Ofrenda' with Camille Renarhd. Recently he founded and helped organize ‘Sistemas Efímeros’ – a series of electronic music sessions in both Mexico City and in Mérida. This series focused heavily on collaboration and community, a space to grow and learn from all participating artists. The closing performance took place at the Centro de Cultura Digital in Mexico City.
Knowing his passion for a creative challenge, we were thrilled to learn that Coyoli was game to collaborate with Please Don’t Tell on an artistic project. At PDT, we love to explore the themes of nostalgia and secrecy through fictional worlds and characters. For this reason, we provided Coyoli with these prompts and gave him carte blanche to do as he creatively pleased. We were not disappointed with the result. He produced two pieces for Please Don’t Tell fusing together visual and musical mediums to create original and evocative artwork, which can be found included within the interview portion of this editorial.
Can you tell us a bit about your journey growing up in Mexico City, spending parts of your childhood in France, and then moving to Montreal, Canada in 2018? How have these different cultural experiences influenced your creative work?
As I pondered on your question and dug into my memories; I realized how much of an indelible impression was made by some very specific details that happened during my infancy, and how, all those countries mean one large collection of memories that know no border. I don't hear different languages or different sounds but just one continuous song: 3 languages coexist on my day to day. My main instrument and interest is the human voice, and this I can immediately connect to the choral music that my father used to play on Sunday mornings or to the heartfelt singing of my grandmothers. I think about the empty workshop that my uncle left when he passed away (specifically, the hand of a robot that he didn’t get to finish) when considering my interest in technologies. The imaginaries of Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington, the nahuales and alebrijes, the laments of la Llorona on empty nocturnal streets fed my imagination greatly. The vibrant colors at each corner of the city, the smell of copal, ghost stories from the time of "La colonia" that my mother used to read to my sister and me by candlelight, tainted by a red chair and art naïf postcards that my parents had in our apartment in France, the girl Clementine who was able to travel to hell in a bubble, the centre Pompidou and the smell of the metro along all the french literature and music that populated the spaces in my house later back in Mexico. All these layers and layers of memories (and fantasies) deploy a vast weaving of emotions, desires and nostalgias that cannot be unraveled, I feel like being in a space that lightly touches the rims of the known, without ever completely becoming it. I think I am in love with this solitude of the in-between. (A Nepantla, as Gloria Anzaldúa would say).
You’ve developed a unique style when it comes to your illustrative work. What draws you to this particular visual aesthetic, and how does it connect to the emotions you aim to convey?
It is the imagery that pushes its way through me. I am discovering these images and their mysterious language as they bloom, learning to communicate and to accept them along the way. Within them I find all the emotions and memories that move through me, from solitude and silence to nostalgia, love and the nocturnal (with all their mystery, life, eroticism and violence). I feel it is the Mexican culture (life and death coexisting in such a special way) that sprouts through these images too. There's also the constant presence of animals sharing territories with entities that are not well defined: part human, part rock, part male, part female.
Similarly, you have also developed a unique musical style. Could you share some insights into the themes or emotions that often inspire your musical compositions?
For me, music has become a bridging space between the dead and the living, between the here and now and the people that have left this physical world. When I sing, I feel as if my grandmothers were singing through me and in doing so I can lightly touch a profound happiness. So, in a way, the strongest emotion linked to my music is that of keeping those who have passed away alive. As an offering I make - as a gift I am profoundly grateful to receive. To this, I can weave the idea of time and it's melancholia: the transformations of life. I would also mention how huge of an inspiration are Mexican arts, both traditional and contemporary, lo mestizo. And yes, finally, migration. The experience of oneself, as an adult in a different culture. Lié, melangé, tejida, pintada con diferentes motivos and sung in different keys
When you're starting a new musical composition or creating a new illustration, what is your typical creative process like? How do you find your initial inspiration and then develop it into a complete piece?
It is a most organic process. Emotions emerge slowly, and it is these emotions that are irremediably poured into visual or sound forms. They usually roam in my chest for long periods of time, coming in and out of focus, until one "special event" gives them meaning and dictates the next steps for their completion. In this process, errors and mistakes are of paramount importance. As doors to roads that we would not walk otherwise, I tend to favour them. My work takes detours often, it is usually significantly different from what I pictured it to be in its onset.
Can you share any specific techniques or mediums you frequently employ in your illustrations? How do these choices contribute to the overall atmosphere you aim to create?
Nowadays I'm mainly using digital tools. I sketch by hand and once I'm happy with the forms I draw, I scan them and then jump to the computer. Once there, I let mistakes and failures lead the way (the book "The Queer Art of Failure" by Jack Halberstam has been an important inspiration as of lately). Also, instead of starting off with a blank canvas, I do so with a black one, I find there is something profoundly nocturnal there : I have the impression of sculpting volumes with light, rather than drawing or painting digitally.
Can you tell us a bit about the pieces that you created for the collaboration with Please Don’t Tell and elaborate on the theme(s) they explore?
The collaboration was ignited by 3 words: Nostalgia, secrecy and fictional character. Nostalgia I tied immediately to the stories about Mexico, to the reverberating nights under the city lights, to the muralists and their nocturnal depictions of the land. To Pedro Paramo and its haunting images. There's the nahual and the nopal (cactus), slightly showing their silhouettes, protected by this eternal night. To me, these shadows engulfing the figures, conceal in secrecy all sorts of narratives and eroticism. I'm trying to find something in these depictions of nights and light. I still don't know what.
Why did you decide to compose and blend music with your illustrations in this project?
I'm constantly looking for ways to mix these two languages together. As if I was also looking for an in-between these two disciplines that eludes their individual possibilities. Viscerally it is an urge, an attempt to visit the worlds that are being created, an opportunity to live therein. Now that I've been gathering memories for this text, I recalled that one of my favourite things to do, was to sing music, as if it was a soundtrack, when I played with my toys. There has always been this connection or necessity for me.
Were there any unexpected challenges or pleasant surprises that arose during your work on this project?
There were a lot of pleasant surprises directly linked to the process of illustration. The light glowing on the chest of the Nahual character or the minimalistic approach to the figures. This was not previewed initially. I spent a considerable amount of time working on the Nahual's silhouette, only to discard almost everything at a later stage because it was so much better this way. Happy accidents, as they say, that illuminate a new direction to follow.
Many artists, like yourself, have a signature style that evolves over time. How do you see your own style evolving, and are there any new techniques or themes you're excited to explore in your future projects?
I have a strong intuition that I will break from the purely visual / image, to start building on the physical space, creating bridges between the languages, community and cultures that inhabit me, and that I inhabit. Montreal has given me the opportunity to create a new relationship with my body; having had the opportunity to work with artists like Edgar Zendejas, Camille Renarhd, Yuma Arias or Paco Ziel, I found a new language to experiment, that of movement. And this exchange has been marvelous: dancers that get their feet wet in the waters of sound, and a musician who incorporates movement to their sounds. As for the themes, I feel that nocturnal, the unsaid and the non visible will continue to push their way through - I'm deeply inspired by the idea of silence and obscurity as spaces for possibility. (The books "The Queer art of failure" by Jack Halberstam and Junichiro Tanizaki's "In praise of shadows" have been a huge influence.)
In a world saturated with visual and auditory stimuli, how do you strive to make your work stand out and leave a lasting impact on those who engage with it?
This question is a difficult one for me, as I've always struggled with visibility. What I do, I do viscerally, out of a strong necessity to live or to share. My work is usually animated through collaboration with other artists. (When in Mexico, I used to work mainly with other musicians, creating their covers, flyers, posters or even press kits). I would love that the ideas of "standing out" and "making a lasting impact" would mean being able to help the people around me. Regarding the world and its current state of saturation, I am striving to find a balance that is right for me, I will "share" things that feel meaningful to me. Paraphrasing Camille Renarhd (who took this quote from.....) I strive for "Sharing, not showing".
Looking ahead, do you have any upcoming projects or collaborations that you're particularly excited about? Can you give us a hint of what we can expect from your creative ventures in the near future?
I'm lucky enough to say: Yes! (And yes!) I've been slowly building new collaborative relationships here in Canada; with Pascal Champagne (and his studio Bain de Minuit), I've been learning about and playing with AI (directed to both visuals and sound). With Camille Renarhd and Mathi Lp, we're hatching an art - social collective called "Objets Derivés", with the aim of nurturing different ways of researching and performing creativity outside of our current system. With Clarisse Delatour and Paco Ziel, there are two contemporary dance collaborations in the works for 2024 ("Tu es le vent" and "Núcleo"). On the other hand, I can say that I'm recording a new album of Mexican contemporary song under my name (vessel for a constellation of collaborations with people I admire and care for: Raphaël Foisy, José Lobo, Joni Void, Francesco Covarino and Gibrana Cervantes), and new sounds under the alias of Soledad Rosas, whose existence allows me to approach sound and music differently, outside of the song structure with more freedom and a playful attitude.
Lastly, what is your secret to staying creatively inspired?
I don’t think I have a secret, I’m just lucky to adore learning about different things. This curiosity creates hope for a today that will transmute into a tomorrow.
If you're interested in learning more about Oscar Coyoli and his work, you can follow his instagram at @oscar_coyoli or listen to his solo music project on bandcamp.
Article and interview by Deidre Driscoll
Visuals by Oscar Coyoli
According to Albert Camus, an “artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge.” There can’t be a better way than this to describe our featured artist of the month, Oscar Coyoli. After speaking with Coyoli, it became apparent that art is not a means to an end for him but rather a necessity. No matter the medium, art for Coyoli is the pure expression and processing of his emotions, feelings, time and place. There seems to be an innate impulse to produce what is on the inside to his outside; perhaps to examine, to understand and most certainly to share and connect with others.
The list goes on when it comes to the forms that his art takes: illustration, graphic design, music, dance, AI. There is a common thread running throughout these different mediums that suggests a signature style. There is an ambiguity, a forlornness, and a deep sense of beauty that emerges in his art. Perhaps this is due to having lived amongst different cultures and languages throughout his life.
Born in Mexico City in 1982, Coyoli was raised in CDMX as well as a short period in France, when he lived just outside of Paris with his family as a young boy. In 2018, he made the move to Montréal, Canada, where he is located to present day. Fluent in Spanish, French and English, it is interesting to wonder how linguistically and culturally these experiences have had an impact on his life and his art form.
In his visual art, you can see a pattern of amorphous, androgynous and often ambiguously human entities, favouring the use of a dark background combined with vibrant colour. These often evoke a feeling of mystery and eroticism, tinged with sadness. There’s a sense of uncanniness that one gets from his work, when the familiar becomes unfamiliar. Likely similar to the feeling when exploring a new city — the smells, the sights and sounds that fall into ambiguity. The familiar mixed with the exotic. Coyoli’s music is no different. Echoing his visuals, there is a haunting mystery that drifts along when you listen to his compositions. A forlornness flows through his tender, yet raw vocals as he sings in Spanish over the melody from his guitar. His talent and curiosity to explore and create does not stop here. Along with a series of musical projects he has in the works, he also is constantly collaborating and experimenting with other artists in all sorts of mediums. In the past several years he has explored combining his music and craft with the circus arts as well as with contemporary dance. To name a few collaborations, he worked alongside choreographer Edgar Zendejas on Cirque Eloize's film 'Sept moments de joie,' collaborated with contemporary dancers Clarisse Delatour, Mélanie Larose, and Lauranne Fauber-Guay on 'Tu es le vent,' and also contributed to the project 'Ofrenda' with Camille Renarhd. Recently he founded and helped organize ‘Sistemas Efímeros’ – a series of electronic music sessions in both Mexico City and in Mérida. This series focused heavily on collaboration and community, a space to grow and learn from all participating artists. The closing performance took place at the Centro de Cultura Digital in Mexico City.
Knowing his passion for a creative challenge, we were thrilled to learn that Coyoli was game to collaborate with Please Don’t Tell on an artistic project. At PDT, we love to explore the themes of nostalgia and secrecy through fictional worlds and characters. For this reason, we provided Coyoli with these prompts and gave him carte blanche to do as he creatively pleased. We were not disappointed with the result. He produced two pieces for Please Don’t Tell fusing together visual and musical mediums to create original and evocative artwork, which can be found included within the interview portion of this editorial.
Can you tell us a bit about your journey growing up in Mexico City, spending parts of your childhood in France, and then moving to Montreal, Canada in 2018? How have these different cultural experiences influenced your creative work?
As I pondered on your question and dug into my memories; I realized how much of an indelible impression was made by some very specific details that happened during my infancy, and how, all those countries mean one large collection of memories that know no border. I don't hear different languages or different sounds but just one continuous song: 3 languages coexist on my day to day. My main instrument and interest is the human voice, and this I can immediately connect to the choral music that my father used to play on Sunday mornings or to the heartfelt singing of my grandmothers. I think about the empty workshop that my uncle left when he passed away (specifically, the hand of a robot that he didn’t get to finish) when considering my interest in technologies. The imaginaries of Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington, the nahuales and alebrijes, the laments of la Llorona on empty nocturnal streets fed my imagination greatly. The vibrant colors at each corner of the city, the smell of copal, ghost stories from the time of "La colonia" that my mother used to read to my sister and me by candlelight, tainted by a red chair and art naïf postcards that my parents had in our apartment in France, the girl Clementine who was able to travel to hell in a bubble, the centre Pompidou and the smell of the metro along all the french literature and music that populated the spaces in my house later back in Mexico. All these layers and layers of memories (and fantasies) deploy a vast weaving of emotions, desires and nostalgias that cannot be unraveled, I feel like being in a space that lightly touches the rims of the known, without ever completely becoming it. I think I am in love with this solitude of the in-between. (A Nepantla, as Gloria Anzaldúa would say).
You’ve developed a unique style when it comes to your illustrative work. What draws you to this particular visual aesthetic, and how does it connect to the emotions you aim to convey?
It is the imagery that pushes its way through me. I am discovering these images and their mysterious language as they bloom, learning to communicate and to accept them along the way. Within them I find all the emotions and memories that move through me, from solitude and silence to nostalgia, love and the nocturnal (with all their mystery, life, eroticism and violence). I feel it is the Mexican culture (life and death coexisting in such a special way) that sprouts through these images too. There's also the constant presence of animals sharing territories with entities that are not well defined: part human, part rock, part male, part female.
Similarly, you have also developed a unique musical style. Could you share some insights into the themes or emotions that often inspire your musical compositions?
For me, music has become a bridging space between the dead and the living, between the here and now and the people that have left this physical world. When I sing, I feel as if my grandmothers were singing through me and in doing so I can lightly touch a profound happiness. So, in a way, the strongest emotion linked to my music is that of keeping those who have passed away alive. As an offering I make - as a gift I am profoundly grateful to receive. To this, I can weave the idea of time and it's melancholia: the transformations of life. I would also mention how huge of an inspiration are Mexican arts, both traditional and contemporary, lo mestizo. And yes, finally, migration. The experience of oneself, as an adult in a different culture. Lié, melangé, tejida, pintada con diferentes motivos and sung in different keys
When you're starting a new musical composition or creating a new illustration, what is your typical creative process like? How do you find your initial inspiration and then develop it into a complete piece?
It is a most organic process. Emotions emerge slowly, and it is these emotions that are irremediably poured into visual or sound forms. They usually roam in my chest for long periods of time, coming in and out of focus, until one "special event" gives them meaning and dictates the next steps for their completion. In this process, errors and mistakes are of paramount importance. As doors to roads that we would not walk otherwise, I tend to favour them. My work takes detours often, it is usually significantly different from what I pictured it to be in its onset.
Can you share any specific techniques or mediums you frequently employ in your illustrations? How do these choices contribute to the overall atmosphere you aim to create?
Nowadays I'm mainly using digital tools. I sketch by hand and once I'm happy with the forms I draw, I scan them and then jump to the computer. Once there, I let mistakes and failures lead the way (the book "The Queer Art of Failure" by Jack Halberstam has been an important inspiration as of lately). Also, instead of starting off with a blank canvas, I do so with a black one, I find there is something profoundly nocturnal there : I have the impression of sculpting volumes with light, rather than drawing or painting digitally.
Can you tell us a bit about the pieces that you created for the collaboration with Please Don’t Tell and elaborate on the theme(s) they explore?
The collaboration was ignited by 3 words: Nostalgia, secrecy and fictional character. Nostalgia I tied immediately to the stories about Mexico, to the reverberating nights under the city lights, to the muralists and their nocturnal depictions of the land. To Pedro Paramo and its haunting images. There's the nahual and the nopal (cactus), slightly showing their silhouettes, protected by this eternal night. To me, these shadows engulfing the figures, conceal in secrecy all sorts of narratives and eroticism. I'm trying to find something in these depictions of nights and light. I still don't know what.
Why did you decide to compose and blend music with your illustrations in this project?
I'm constantly looking for ways to mix these two languages together. As if I was also looking for an in-between these two disciplines that eludes their individual possibilities. Viscerally it is an urge, an attempt to visit the worlds that are being created, an opportunity to live therein. Now that I've been gathering memories for this text, I recalled that one of my favourite things to do, was to sing music, as if it was a soundtrack, when I played with my toys. There has always been this connection or necessity for me.
Were there any unexpected challenges or pleasant surprises that arose during your work on this project?
There were a lot of pleasant surprises directly linked to the process of illustration. The light glowing on the chest of the Nahual character or the minimalistic approach to the figures. This was not previewed initially. I spent a considerable amount of time working on the Nahual's silhouette, only to discard almost everything at a later stage because it was so much better this way. Happy accidents, as they say, that illuminate a new direction to follow.
Many artists, like yourself, have a signature style that evolves over time. How do you see your own style evolving, and are there any new techniques or themes you're excited to explore in your future projects?
I have a strong intuition that I will break from the purely visual / image, to start building on the physical space, creating bridges between the languages, community and cultures that inhabit me, and that I inhabit. Montreal has given me the opportunity to create a new relationship with my body; having had the opportunity to work with artists like Edgar Zendejas, Camille Renarhd, Yuma Arias or Paco Ziel, I found a new language to experiment, that of movement. And this exchange has been marvelous: dancers that get their feet wet in the waters of sound, and a musician who incorporates movement to their sounds. As for the themes, I feel that nocturnal, the unsaid and the non visible will continue to push their way through - I'm deeply inspired by the idea of silence and obscurity as spaces for possibility. (The books "The Queer art of failure" by Jack Halberstam and Junichiro Tanizaki's "In praise of shadows" have been a huge influence.)
In a world saturated with visual and auditory stimuli, how do you strive to make your work stand out and leave a lasting impact on those who engage with it?
This question is a difficult one for me, as I've always struggled with visibility. What I do, I do viscerally, out of a strong necessity to live or to share. My work is usually animated through collaboration with other artists. (When in Mexico, I used to work mainly with other musicians, creating their covers, flyers, posters or even press kits). I would love that the ideas of "standing out" and "making a lasting impact" would mean being able to help the people around me. Regarding the world and its current state of saturation, I am striving to find a balance that is right for me, I will "share" things that feel meaningful to me. Paraphrasing Camille Renarhd (who took this quote from.....) I strive for "Sharing, not showing".
Looking ahead, do you have any upcoming projects or collaborations that you're particularly excited about? Can you give us a hint of what we can expect from your creative ventures in the near future?
I'm lucky enough to say: Yes! (And yes!) I've been slowly building new collaborative relationships here in Canada; with Pascal Champagne (and his studio Bain de Minuit), I've been learning about and playing with AI (directed to both visuals and sound). With Camille Renarhd and Mathi Lp, we're hatching an art - social collective called "Objets Derivés", with the aim of nurturing different ways of researching and performing creativity outside of our current system. With Clarisse Delatour and Paco Ziel, there are two contemporary dance collaborations in the works for 2024 ("Tu es le vent" and "Núcleo"). On the other hand, I can say that I'm recording a new album of Mexican contemporary song under my name (vessel for a constellation of collaborations with people I admire and care for: Raphaël Foisy, José Lobo, Joni Void, Francesco Covarino and Gibrana Cervantes), and new sounds under the alias of Soledad Rosas, whose existence allows me to approach sound and music differently, outside of the song structure with more freedom and a playful attitude.
Lastly, what is your secret to staying creatively inspired?
I don’t think I have a secret, I’m just lucky to adore learning about different things. This curiosity creates hope for a today that will transmute into a tomorrow.
Article and interview by Deidre Driscoll
Visuals by Oscar Coyoli
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