Crystal Fischetti


Ciao and ciao ciao October

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Travels into North America.

Do whatever it takes, get ready to let go of everything you know, be different, be, do have, imagine it is already here...
All the mantras in the world could not have prepared me for the enormous MONSTER that is Los Angeles December 2015.

I was already on the plane, worked so hard for this SPECIAL Artist visa 'of extraordinary talent'. Overwhelm. The Best of Britain. 
Was I going to be found out? Was I worthy?

I only wanted to continue the abstract legacy. From German Expressionism, French Expressionism, post Nazi's while Peggy Guggenheim escaped the grab, New York School, LA, a fleeting dance before Warhol went to New York with his soup cans, left the Ferus Group in drunken, debauched, delirious Venice Beach in the 60's. All actors, all would have beens. 
Home for me was Venice Boulevard and Pacific to an airbnb home, later became friends... friends, friends? Loyal? Hart, she stole my style, no apology. 
Temp routes in Mar Vista living close to gun shot gang shimmying range. 
A boyfriend. Engineer. Capoeira. Santa Monica. My heart away, heartbreak so severe

I saw the devil in a dream in skin and blood and bones in a dream, 
A nightmare, 
A call for change, to leave the Fame City

Energy vampires
Want want want. Get get get. Any means possible. This was not me. 
Three months of rain not seen in 7 years. Three months of crying in and out of my delirium. Did I make that?
A painting sold for $4,000 plus tied me over three months, my rent, my food, my health, my fitness, my paint, but it didn't fill the void. 
Cheated. Cheated. Cheated. 
Hawaii. First time. One month. Felt like 8 months. No meat. Animals spoke to me. She spoke to me. 33. Year of Our Lord, He called me. Way of the Lightworker, the Truth Sayer, be kind to one another and be true to self,
More healing, depths of Atlantis.
Saw people but I was a ghost. Liberated. 
An expo on the spiritual in a hotel, near the airport, Los Angeles. In between trips

A guy, a snake, he owned one, boa, Colombia, cabal, Kabbalah, the sorcerer, I didn't know this.

Hooked he hooked me in like a fish that needed air, water into his trap, fungus opening, high castle, full of dust and empty dreams just for my DNA,
Never did I learn. 
Aliens. Alien contact. Many times. Surgery. 
Another heartbreak. A waste. I didn't give my heart away. I new the magick this time it's an illusion. Smokes and Mirrors. Magic. A cheap way to get high. 
False prophets. 
All of the Beat country, from On the Road, Kerouac, back and forth LA staying at Nikki's in Mar Vista LA, a southern belle with tattoos, poet Erika on typewriter and music playing on streets. I was part of the 'gang', painting murals, commissioned by the City, TV, magazines, museum accolade, i'ld made it but was empty, there was nothing of me. Off to Norcal with the greyhound with piss heads and drug carriers to Napa and Sonoma wine and weed country, before it was legalised. 
It blazed over, it blazed down, devastated all nature, for months...
A Tinkerbell I cherished dearly another compromise, I miss her, we both wanted a stable love, women's circle, sat with Indians, my tribe, my train, my tribe, medicine woman, way of the shaman. It goes on. 
Back. Beverly Hills gallery, selling Dalì and Mirò, old master, new master, take me on, sell my work, let me go. $5000 one painting they took 70%. Another heartbreak. Young American. 
Enough. On my own. I am my own agency. Sell sell sell and I do. 
Empty. Something is missing. 
Culture void of Cult-ure. Genuine connections, constance, love, no barriers.


Departure Lounge.

Chelsea College of Art, London.

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Once my town, my village.

The command from a voice,
The coming out from a voice, my,
The future machines now playing music in flats and rooms and telly screens all over.
A world gone mad.
Cameras everywhere,
Beings without spirits,
All of them everywhere.
After bush and blair, no capitals,
The Edgware Road,
The edge of a,
Normal to 7/7.
Fear and more capitalism,
once, Once, once
Frequenting friends and shisha pipe dens,
4 am. Bird song.
We were cohorts in Connaught.
Gone by.
And Soho and Madame Jojo’s.
Gone by.
The once Mary- le- bone doctor’s town,
Now lulu clan for bending dandasana,
All ass and ahh,
-nothing exotic just homogenised milk moving around each other.
-no music, or body rhythm.
Talking FOMO Vitrines.

A village no longer a village
Only the pharmacist, face and face to a name.
Delivering my father’s tickets from door to door,
From door to door
To know longer.
Heavily feathered and velveted creatures that resided within,
The book-smart, the elegant, the known and noted,
The belle vivant,
The aristo -non conformo,
Non neighbours, I did not know them I DO not know them.
The other one, the other one and the one in Fitzrovia
All gone.
And still I am the
Middlesex Hospital
now gone
Now an estate promoting The Creative of the digital
no thing,
not even the bloomsbury group,
They would shudder.

All are conforming
All are, anaesthetised,
Faded to grey and in
colours of navy and black
no more Soho
No ho.
a big, big, yawn.
the sadness fills up the air like a fully vaporised soft capsule of heavy.

Heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy,

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(Like An Impermeable Layer, A Breathing Layer Of Organ.)

Walking Skin.

Acrylic on linen.

40 cm X 40 cm.


Available for interests.

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" When you give off positive vibrations, you benefit all humankind... "

Brida, Paulo Coelho.

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Descension Ascension.

Oil on linen.

40 cm X 40 cm.


Available for interests.

Where I Am Celestial.

Site specific mural.

Cookhouse Gallery, London.


"Where are you from?”

I am from the Sun and the Moon
He and She rejoiced in my particip-

ation here on earth.

I am from the stars and galaxies
from a thousand years that descended just a second ago.

I am from the Sacred Mother and Grandfather Fire.
I am from the tribe where ceremony and matriarchy exist before THEY came to conquer us.
I am from the THEY who brought us disease and stole gold, our women and our land.

I am from the place they call the beginning of Culture.
I am from the hot sands and coast lines where fish is a daily catch.
I am from the place where couscous was also eaten there and The Romans, Normans and arabs settled there.

I am from a miscreant clan whose name is alive in my name and travelled far and wide.

I am from the place where potato and Guinness are known and was born in the East.

I am from an aristocracy, with titles and nobility that fulfils itself now through my graceful presence.

I am from languages they call Romance.

I am from the City that is the hub of the Western world, Where William Blake spoke to his dead brother.
I am from the unexplained, that place of mystery.
I am from the last tribe of natives that live on the Coast of the South right down to Peru.
I am from the light, expressionism colour and gesture conceived In Europe and
Landed in New York, LA.

I am the pain-ter, the pain-ted and the pain-ting.
I am the the Warrior of Light
I am the fragile, visible and exposed self, objectified by THOSE that call

US the ‘gentle sex’.
I am the strength, flexible and grounded frame you see before you.
I am the power to destroy like the fire of Kali or Pele.
I am the Initiate and the Source Seeker, the Adventurer and Gatherer of nations.
I am the other. I am I, me, myself and you.
I am your mirror if you see me
and the soothing embrace after a long day of weeping.
I am the happy, childlike innocence that no human can remove.
I am the woman and I am the artist
Clear, loving and determined

With the support of my guardian
ancestors and future children.

Thank you for reading. Have a blessed week.

Always in service to the Light,

Crystal XX

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Crystal Fischetti