I live in a world that I shape as I please. I do this through virtual, pictorial and sculptural movements, transferring my experiences and photographing reality through the filters of my mind. I have refined this process through years of research and experimentation.

Painting for me is my first love. An important, pure love. Creating a painting, starting from the frantic search for a concept with which I want to convey my message, this is the foundation of painting for me.

Sculpture is my lover, my artistic betrayal to painting. That voluptuous and sensual lover who inspires diverse emotions that strike forbidden chords.

I have been painting Hip Hop since the nineties. Italian and international rappers have been and are the subjects of my works. In 2021 SNOOP DOGG, a rapper who needs no introduction, published on his website with 60 million followers a portrait of him that I painted. The resulting media wave made me known to the general American public and my works were acquired by important public and private collections.

This new series of concrete sculptures has recently been giving me greater personal and professional satisfaction. How was it born? It was the result of an important investigation into my work. I was looking for that special something that I felt was missing. Looking back at my work over the last ten years, I understood that there was a certain semantic and semiotic logic “spoken” by my images, but the right support to enhance their message was not there.

Reinforced concrete, was created two thousand years ago by the Romans. It tells a thousand-year history, full of amphitheatres, bridges and roads that have conquered the ancient and modern world. Now, concrete is synonymous with modernity. Everywhere you go you find a concrete wall: modern man is in there.

From Sydney to Vancouver, from Oslo to Pretoria, this reinforced concrete is present, and it is this presence that supports writers and allows them to express themselves.

The artistic question was obvious to me: if man brought art to the streets to make it accessible to everyone, why not bring the urban into galleries and museums?

I am currently working a lot on my concrete sculptures, a series of works that have made me known to collectors in Northern Europe and the USA. For my concrete sculptures I usually use my personal clothes. During some artistic processes using plaster, resin and cement, I transform them into works of art to hang.

My memory, my DNA, my memories remain “concretized” within them, transforming the person who observes the works into a sort of postmodern archaeologist, studying them as if they were urban artefacts from a remote past. Under a layer of cement are my clothes that I have lived in. I like to think that those who look at my sculptures ask themselves questions, which they can answer by drawing on their educational, cultural and artistic experience.

There is also a series of sculptures dedicated to my clothes worn during COVID , clothes that survived the pandemic ,similar to the finds discovered in Pompeii, after the catastrophic eruption 2,000 years ago.

Sculptures capable of recounting the anguish, fear and inability of man to face an uncertain future and the restlessness of the tragedy of broken lives and destroyed economies.

In the last five years, over 600 international magazines, mostly official magazines of the most important American and Canadian universities, above all Harvard University, have welcomed my work, dedicating articles and covers to it.

Links to My Socials
www.facebook.com/mario.loprete.5
www.instagram.com/marioloprete/
www.linkedin.com/in/mario-loprete-7aa22529

Walking on Embers – A Long Poem

Living in today’s society

Is like walking on embers,

A perpetual burn,

A relentless trial.

No sign of transformation,

No hope for change in the social fabric,

Only a landscape riddled with evils,

Shadowed by devils lurking in every corner.

My fire-walk has persisted through millennia,

Embers scattered in shallow trenches,

A bed of hot coals beneath my feet,

Each step an act of silent defiance.

Sometimes I slow,

Careful to spare my bare skin,

A cautious pause amid the flames.

But slowing isn’t relief;

It’s a false refuge,

For the end of this journey

Still remains distant, obscured by smoke.

I must press on,

Walking still on fire,

Knowing my feet are destined to burn,

Yet unable to cease the walk

Through the inferno of a broken society.

The evils thrive with hidden grace,

Wearing a thousand nameless face.

Devils dine at golden feasts,

While I walk fire, seeking peace.

Sometimes I slow—

Then I run, but speed deceives,

The fire clings like autumn leaves.

No finish line, no cooling stream,

Just endless heat, and broken dream.

This is my journey, forged by time,

A millennial path of soot and grime.

No miracle to lift this curse,

Each step a verse in a burning verse.

Yet still I walk, I do not fall—

Though flames consume, I heed the call.

To walk through fire is to survive,

To burn, and still remain alive.

I continue walking on fire

Not to escape but to remember

Pain proves I was here.

The fire doesn’t chase.

It waits.

It knows I’ll come back.

This is how I earn each breath.

Not with healing,

But with friction.

You think fire screams.

It doesn’t.

It hums, like a neon sign in a forgotten alley.

I walk not because I’m brave.

I walk because stillness would be worse.

You’d think I’d get used to it,

This burning

But every step is a fresh confession.

I don’t want rescue.

I want to feel the edge.

To remember that pain is proof,

That I’m still awake.

I walk

In the silence we’ve built

The kind that hums beneath electric lights

And flickers

Between headlines and sighs.

There are no gods here.

No miracles.

Only buildings that lean like tired elders,

Built from ash,

Still pretending to be stone.

And so I walk.

Sometimes slowly,

Because the pain demands attention,

Each step a sermon,

Each burn a truth I never asked for.

Other times,

I run.

But the fire follows.

It clings

Like stories we tell ourselves

To sleep at night.

There is no finish line.

No cool stream waiting beyond the bend.

Just more heat.

Just more sky.

Just more walking.

This is what it means

To live with eyes open.

To know there is no rescue.

To choose the fire anyway.

I do not walk for glory.

I do not walk to be healed.

I walk

Because to stop

Would be to forget

That I was ever alive.

_____________

Light in the Darkness

By Nasir Aijaz

One day, there will be light in the darkness,

A dawn to break this endless night.

Though shadows stretch without a mercy,

I walk alone, yet hold on tight.

A tunnel deep, so cold and hollow,

No stars above, no signs ahead,

Yet every step, though faint and faltered,

Is guided by the hope I’ve fed.

The walls may whisper doubt and sorrow,

The silence press upon my chest,

But still I move, with dreams unbroken,

A quiet fire within my breast.

No map, no voice, no hand to lead me,

No promise written in the sky,

And yet, I trust the dark is fleeting,

And light will come — by and by.

For faith is not in what we witness,

But in what we choose to see:

A distant spark, a gleam of purpose,

A truth that sets the spirit free.

One day, there will be light in the darkness,

And all this pain will turn to peace.

I’ll step into that warm horizon—

And find the place where burdens cease.

_________________

Introduction

Nasir Aijaz, based in Karachi, the capital of Sindh province of Pakistan, is a senior award-winning and Gold Medalist journalist having served in the field of journalism for half a century in senior positions like editor and managing editor. He also worked as a TV Anchor for over a decade and conducted some 400 programs besides appearing as analyst in several current affairs programs on TV and Radio channels. He is the award-winning author of ten books on history, language, literature, travelogue, translations from English literature, and biography. One of his books, a translation of poetry of an Egyptian poet, has been published in Cairo.  About a dozen other books are unpublished.

Besides, he has written over 500 articles in English, Urdu and Sindhi, the native language of Sindh. He is editor of Sindh Courier, an online magazine and represents The AsiaN, an online news service of South Korea with regular contribution for eleven years. Dozens of his articles have been published in South Korea while many of his articles have also been translated in Arabic and Korean languages. Some of his English articles were published in Singapore and India and Nigeria. He writes poetry in his native language Sindhi as well as in English. Some of his poems have been translated in Hindi, Bengali, Tamil, and Malayalam, Albanian, Italian, Greek, Arabic and some other languages published in Egypt, Abu Dhabi, Iraq, Bangladesh, India, Kosovo, USA, Tajikistan, Greece, Italy, Germany, and some other countries. He has visited some ten Asian countries and attended international seminars. He was adjudged one of the Top 20 journalists of Asia by a Philippines-based magazine. He has received several appreciation certificates from international organizations for his literary services.            

PSYCHOLOGICAL APPROACHES IN CHILDREN’S EDUCATION

Scientific article 

Author: Aytuvova Xurshida 

Emile: ( aytuvovaxurshida@gmail.com) Annotation This article analyzes the importance of psychological approaches in children’s education, their types and impact on the educational process. Through humanistic, cognitive and socio-educational approaches, the child’s development as a person, learning motivation, emotional state and individual approaches are considered as important factors. This article provides practical recommendations for teachers, psychologists and specialists in the field of education. Keywords child psychology, educational process, humanistic approach, motivation, emotional development, cognitive development, individual approach, pedagogical psychology Introduction In the modern educational process, an approach taking into account the psychological state of the child has become an integral part of pedagogical activity. In contrast to traditional approaches, today there is an increasing need to take into account individual, personal and socio-emotional factors in the educational process. The development of a child as a person, his success in the educational process, social adaptation and self-confidence are largely closely related to psychological factors. 

Main part

1. Types of psychological approaches There are several main approaches in pedagogical psychology:

Humanistic approach: This approach puts the child at the center. Famous psychologists A. Maslow and K. Rogers emphasize the importance of giving the child trust, respect, and freedom for personal growth in their humanistic theories. – Cognitive approach: This method is aimed at developing children’s mental processes such as thinking, memory, and attention. J. Piaget’s theory of intellectual development is an example of this. – Socio-educational approach: This theory, put forward by A. Bandura, shows that children can learn by observing the behavior of others. This indicates the need for education through a positive example from teachers and parents.

2. Taking into account the psychological characteristics of the child The psychological development of a child varies at each age. Children aged 6–10 are more prone to figurative thinking and prefer to learn based on real situations. Also, self-assessment, socialization, and motivational factors are of great importance during this period. 

3. 3. The influence of motivation and emotional state Motivation is one of the main factors that shape a child’s internal desire to learn. In an educational environment with a favorable psychological climate, children develop more actively, freely express their thoughts, and are creative. A kind, patient, and understanding teacher increases a child’s interest in learning. 4. Individual approach and differentiated education Each child has his or her own psychological and mental potential. A differentiated approach, that is, an approach based on the level of abilities of each student, increases the quality of education. In this process, diagnostic methods (psychological tests, interviews, observations) are used.

Conclusion

The effective use of psychological approaches in education not only increases children’s academic achievement, but also helps them develop personally, gain self-confidence, and find their place in society. A teacher should not only be a provider of knowledge, but also an understanding and guide for the child. Therefore, special attention should be paid to the cooperation of a teacher and a psychologist in the modern education system.

Aytuvova Khurshida was born on June 5, 2002 in Saykhunabad district of Syrdarya region. She graduated from the Faculty of Philology of Gulistan State University, Russian language department. Official delegate of several forums, member of international organizations. Member of the International Writers’ Association “Juntos por las Letras” of Argentina. Her creative works have been published in international newspapers and magazines. Author of her personal book “Stories in Silence” and the international anthology “Miracles of Creativity”. Her stories have also been published in the republican anthology “Mouths of Creativity” and in the republican magazine “Ijodkorlar”

ZULFIYAKHANIM

Uzbek women’s,

Nomusi and arysi

Of patience and perseverance,

Without an infinite ocean

Your life path is original,

Is one fiction book

Darkness dims light,

Exclamation to light

Saras of poets

Poems excellent barisi

Elegant as a spring flower

We-chun dear, dear

Awards and orders

Established in this

Zulfiyakhanim daughter

I’ll be on a fast day.

Open to science hand

Hold on to us hand

To Uzbek women

You showed the great way.

Maftuna Rustamova of the Bukhara region, Jondor district, Rabot village, 30th secondary school pupil

A man is not as strong as you think. A man is not as strong-willed as you think. A man is not as rugged as you think. I would know because people had told me how stubborn and difficult Ibekwe could be, and so they are surprised that I’m able to live with him, despite having had two children with another man, despite not being a fresh leaf.

They said I must have gone somewhere and got some charms with which I held him down, na njipia. You know that sort of stories portrayed in Nollywood movies in the early 2000s, stories of wives or girlfriends holding their partners with charms collected from powerful dibias. I think we Nigerians have consumed so much of those movies that we now think that every successful marriage must be dependent on charms. They said there must be something I did, or I’m doing, that has made it possible for us to live together.

My first husband died of motor accident, God bless his soul, and it wasn’t up to a year before I met Ibekwe. What do you suppose a woman should do? Ibekwe had never married before, but according to the stories I’ve heard, he had cast off some girlfriends, and when he saw me, I was the one he chose to marry. His family were enraged when he took me to them. “Of all women to marry, Ibekwe, you chose a widow with two children. What has come over you?” they asked.

They gave me odd stares which did not really bother me. I knew too well that I wasn’t forcing myself on anybody. I was on my own when Ibekwe came asking to marry me. I had not expected to remarry too soon, but I was a woman. When I saw how genuine he was, how honest he was, how loving he was, and how sexy he was, I decided to accept his proposal. Ibekwe is the sexiest man I ever met. I don’t know if people of today actually use sexy to describe a man, but permit me to use it here, biko. I hope he wouldn’t read this, that I’m calling him sexy. That man is also a reader.

Ibekwe’s people were enraged because Ibekwe should marry a fresh leaf, ọnụ-ugu, not someone who had been used by another man. Ibekwe insisted I was the one he would marry. It was me or no other person. Ibekwe loved me. He knew I had two kids. He knew I had married before. He even knew my husband when he was alive. He heard about the news of his death in a motor accident, but Ibekwe chose to marry me, befuddling many connoisseurs of what a proper wife should be for a man who had not married before. I had mourned my dead husband for eleven months before I met Ibekwe in the new supermarket in town. I had gone to get some bread for I and my children when he walked up to me to help. He asked for my phone number and I gave it to him. He was handsome and charming. There was a soothing effect that his eyes gave.

 When he called in the evening I didn’t hesitate to tell him that I was a widow with two kids. I wasn’t ready for any wahala. I wanted to have peace within myself. I wanted to be truthful so that I would be able to sleep in the nights, so that I wouldn’t be worried about covering up lies. I told him my truth, and we started dating. When I went to bed in the night I slept peacefully, knowing fully well that I wasn’t deceiving anyone. I wasn’t lying to anyone. I was surprised that he knew my dead husband. He was a bit popular in Aba, an upcoming singer who would later die in a motor accident on his way to perform in a function in Lagos. “He was the one who performed on my elder brother’s wedding ceremony some years ago. Emenike was his name,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “Emenike was his name. Emenike Onyeudo.”

That night, after we talked, I cried for a few minutes, because we talked about Emenike in the past tense: was.

.

A man is not difficult to love and please when the man knows your spirit and soul. I’m Ibekwe’s fresh leaf. I’m the perfect ọnụ ugu for him, because we are still living together after a couple of years, because Ibekwe’s love for me is out of this world, because the connoisseurs of what a perfect marriage should entail are not truthful.

Author’s Note:

Among the Igbo people of Nigeria, a fresh leaf or ọnụ ugu is a young woman who had never been married before, and who is probably a virgin.

Isaac Dominion Aju lives in Nigeria where he works as a fashion designer. His literary works encompasses poetry, essays and fiction. He has appeared in Poetry X Hunger, Kalahari Review, Flapper Press, Steel Jackdaw magazine, and Synchronized Chaos Magazine.

Moon curve silver contrasts sky slivered rather sharply streaking swift light shards shot unto visional tablature eccentric literature eloquent language form. Shadows shade plus shadows form habitat below. Each passer-by mental engrossed clicks gravel shoe muddied or screech tyres same muddied each sharing commonality of utmost silent. Day ends locating joyed mourning.

    Next fruitful bend apprehends turn unconsciously phone dialling itself haptic thumb tap gotten. Light drenching moonlight stretching confront selves eternal struggle net breaths might then seized watching if there were any all eyes peeled upon something different however. Sat watching however. However stretched the plate was it crawled empty. It stood that after all. After all the self scrutiny Jesus was fed at least. Hunger death provokes happiness. Simply must. Full bellies lack unsheathed sky possessing sitting brain full purses current drain; plate outstretched fingerings sky. Intoxicated throat pity needing at pitied watching pitiless day close fast workplace ushering night sacs containing bones enclose empty brains housing overfed souls. Tie slackened suitcased strides clanking gravel clop — clop — clop — clop — warping truth towards higher truth as all is truth. Food rent clothes boss fiancé mother siblings friends celebrities obsessions run young man’s head seventy two hermit watches across close nearly far across among overlapping streams exercising breathlessness. Breathlessness curse! Gutters flying stench bowed nostrils impassioned glad accept walking submitted greatness submission. Zero space stating breathe?

    Cold eve scanty glad hermit grey giggles cleaving slivering shivering off heavenscape. Drunk decades watching death alive intoxication living moving picture non fiction dream eternal be spit drip lip visual glee surrendering. Friendly house bank during laughing day. Clank! Wad floats down. Clank! Eyes float down. Clank! Disappointed float vanishes upward excitement throat squeezed reminded vanity though screaming assuage far from place at hundred naira economy drained. Used to retain kingly pay one time. Monarchical Left look right look receding day holds two three four five fat slim groups one plus one numerous answers searching loosing time track working work working lost cursing boss children mom wife wide father tableau life spot placed striving husband chained neck feet hand blood vessels arteries arsehole tongue eye all seeing feeling thinking loving believing walled all side taught ordered expected caught napping death alive death alive death alive scared angry what happens happened happening questions unquestioned questioned unquestionably unquestioned left shod mountainous behold blind blotting light darkness shade reading curbed gaze clawed eyes eyes ice ayes highs left low legged legendary lest leap lost loving lime life limelight looks vertical east west south darkness heart recent gleam gloam joy crow peck flesh unfleshed flattering bleached depreciating self loving hoping wanting needing starving seeing blindly kissing touching unfeeling. Monarchical.

    Before all these he was young Before all these he was old but he was young and he was old at heart reading diving drowning found him so Sitting found him so happily sitting still Clang! Floating descends new note five h Glad hide preposterous. Four days hunger cured by six h sees him stand to kiosk ordering beer with groundnut. Laughing ease transform ease necessary to ease hunger. To think one must think he held dark corner marching maintaining gesture reflex mental choices waking abrupt. Friendly house here friendly house there nowhere every where. Spit opens bottle uncork gulping facilitated breathing agreed beer coolth evaporating aroma mouth mastering watering lip tongue jumping joyous glee. Toast thought ancestral garbage at instant apprehend intoxicated aroma bent coolth rushing throat gurgling Adam apple bitten causing temptations love soothing gurgling twice bottle half emptied relishing gassed belly intensely moon brightness intensified. Friendly house here. Hallucinatory stepping digging moats each traverse gifting war away anger away love away beingness away susceptibility way hunger paves drunken belly appreciates. One plate adventure one may sing. Roadside. Sit. Legged crossed opened dally minutely chooses legged cross more emotion summoning strategy best survival way. Singing soothes evening hearing;

    Harmattan rises down every day

    In hot cold heat and happy day (fifty naira)

    Cold heat and happy say every way

    Harmattan brings cold biting toes and souls

    Cold heat they say is frost

    But me I say is solid gold

    As the moon shines moon shine gives me know

    And I walk where I walk toe to toe

    With bare feet (one thousand naira)

    Tell me the joy of singing happily

    The Friday night tells all they must feel

    This Friday night with dance we must see:

    Gets up picks notes pocketing starts dances banging plate onlookers glance crossing avoiding walking striding lengths coordinate of him Memories of joy joyful than joy this whipped horse whips horse parity horse weeping tears of joy breeze sweeping neighbour tongue five hundred dropped dust dropped songless dance drops pants opening genitalia former kiosk possesses sachet gin genes beer genes cigarettes genes groundnuts lastly genes sweet ground nut heals being chest and hearts that fasting men sweating absolution within each step Point of despair avoided such men walk toward backward content forward stretch eye peeled Kerouac way magical rebel submission nature requests;

    Corners again. New spot which pristine bliss stronger wields. Strong. Silence lost boom song crawl upward hearing pathethics bliss tremendous blood cough death chucks all at once beyond moonlight anger moonlight hate moonlight debauch spoiled through play within walls shielding moonlight gaze moonlight hate hoping by shooting rays streaking face arrive crush entire place.

    Speckled rocks haphazard necklaced skyward scintilla:

PS;

    Goes stupor slumbering — chilly breeze freezing broken feet gangrene refuses eating in one glance — dance; no more; never more! Hiccups occur intermittently on the sly time progressing shooting wind clenched bottle solidifies icily commandeering pilot gush ground forces mind plummets dreaming aurorean roaring sky crumpling unfurling crumpling unfurling myriad graduations mortarboards excited eating fuming mist hazy beaming fork plate knife copious ingesting crossing river channels following day blesses peacefully — Friendly ouse firing joy laughter ease bliss kindness camaraderie deluges meals meatless plant filled beer copious whiskey bibulous biblical holy portents popping neural points each lighting where new dawn of time: big? Bang!