Unique To The Unison: An Interview Of Entrepreneur & Taboo Founder Kenny Eshinlokun

January 27, 2022

In the fall of 2020, Kenny Eshinlokun launched her creative agency, Taboo, to create world class projects that transcend audiences and industry borders. After working for a decade in the marketing and music industries, she saw the need for artists to build meaningful, long-term partnerships with brands that truly care about their creative endeavors. Through Taboo, she has built a global cohort of creatives and brands that are committed to giving back to their communities and building relationships that are rooted in genuinely shared visions. Autre caught up with the Eshinlokun to talk about the inspiration for starting her own agency, the meaning of true inclusivity, and the future of Taboo.

AUTRE: What was the creative scene like for you growing up in London—how did you connect to the subculture?

KENNY ESHINLOKUN: My background in London lay heavily in the music industry. The industry is really hard to break into but once you’re in, you’re pretty much in, and I quickly found the industry super small. My connection to subculture and my career had always been separate when I was young, I had a lot of friends who studied fashion and knew a few people working at Supreme and Lazy Oaf during their rise, which was really interesting to watch.

Generally, street style was always extremely special in London and encompassed influences from all over the world, which also meant influences from many subcultures, like grime, the rave kids, skaters, punks, b-boys. I myself used to dance, which was a scene that had so many layers, and I loved being a part of this bubble the most. Dancers are the funniest, most energetic and craziest people you'll ever meet. It's a scene that really made me understand what community and second family was and really drove my connection to music through movement.

AUTRE: What kind of music did you listen to growing up?

ESHINLOKUN: As a kid I listened to a lot of R&B, hip hop, and pop music sprinkled with the tiniest bit of emo, punk rock, and as I got into my teenage years I discovered classical, house, and techno music. Mainly because singing along to Destiny’s Child whilst studying for my exams was too distracting, so I needed music without too many lyrics.

AUTRE: What made you want to start your own agency?

ESHINLOKUN: I mainly started because I couldn't find a job in the role that I wanted and a good friend of mine, Peter, who had started several companies himself, encouraged me to go for it. I wanted to create a space for people in the industry who looked like me and cater for an audience that was more inclusive.

AUTRE: What is Taboo? Can you describe the agency and what its core objectives are?

ESHINLOKUN: Taboo is a brand-partnerships company that has a soul, I guess. We try to add meaning to everything we do and pride ourselves on the relationships we keep with not only our artists, but also the individual's who work for each of the brands with which we partner. We want to create bespoke, authentic partnerships that go a little further and give back to the community in some way, small or big. We want to provide opportunities for musicians to express themselves and share who they are. We want to encourage brands to see artists as more than just a face, and for musicians to see the brand as more than just a dollar sign. We want to create long-lasting partnerships that turn into strong relationships.

AUTRE: What does true inclusivity mean to you—is there something the media or people are missing in their message of bringing disparate communities together?

ESHINLOKUN: Inclusivity means making things accessible for everyone, regardless of whether they’re in the audience or not. You never know who might be a part of your audience, so accounting for everyone is true inclusivity to me.

AUTRE: In an age of multiple virus variants and lockdowns, can you talk a little bit about the challenges of bringing a community together during a time of social distancing?

ESHINLOKUN: It’s been very hard, since at Taboo we love a good party ,and have tried to bring together many parts of our community to celebrate and enjoy each other's company, but lockdown really hinders this.

AUTRE: What does subculture mean in a time when everything is on Instagram and TikTok—can a subculture thrive in a digitized, globalized world?

ESHINLOKUN: Subcultures to me can not truly exist in a digital sphere and thus the most amazing thing is to experience them in real life…

AUTRE: What does the word ally mean to you—how do we develop meaningful allyships in an age of wild division?

ESHINLOKUN: An Ally is someone who has your back when no one is looking.

AUTRE: What kind of brands or partnerships are you looking for—is there a magic word that they usually say where you know that they are the right partner?

ESHINLOKUN: Partnerships that leave an imprint of unison, something that really feels like both parties sprinkled some of themselves and it couldn't be replicated by anyone else as it's completely unique to the unison.

AUTRE: Where do we go from here—what are your grand plans for Taboo?

ESHINLOKUN: I want to do more clothing/fashion collaborations. In general, those are the most interesting for me and hopefully Taboo as a brand can also develop some collab rotations of its own.

AUTRE: As a leader in the community, do you have advice for those who want to take charge and help amplify voices?

ESHINLOKUN: Make sure you know why you are speaking up, as when people try to put you down, you'll be able to brush it off because you know, at the very least, you truly believe in what you are saying.

Follow Taboo on Instagram to learn more.

Bedtime Stories in a Mental Asylum: In Bed with Tobias Spichtig

January 21, 2022

interview by Janna Shaw
photographs courtesy the artist

When was the last time you stood up on a mattress, off-kiltered, aware of your balance, or lack thereof? When was the last time you jumped on a bed with friends? When was the last time you jumped on a bed with strangers? When was the last time you played childhood games? Cuddled in a group clad in coats and cloaks? Watched a couple kissing horizontally? Were read a bedtime story late into the evening, with snow falling gently outside?

The KW Institute of Contemporary Art in Berlin is hosting Die Matratzen, a week-long exhibit by Tobias Spichtig, with a nightly changing cast of poets and text-based artists reading their works aloud to an audience perched upon mattresses and sheets, sourced from friends and various collaborators of the artist.

Over the course of Spichtig’s installation, the mattresses are lived in and take on new forms, shifting from their original placement, absorbing the shapes and sounds of their dwellers and run-uponers. In one corner of a mattress, a tiny faded blood stain. Next to it, a rip from a Balenciaga heel, courtesy of that evening’s impromptu game of Tag. The sheets themselves have a collective abstract quality to them, marred with scuffs, prints, and static marks of movement. On view from above, the blocks of foam and springs morph into a perfectly assembled jigsaw puzzle, spanning the full space in its entirety, corner to corner. From here, one can clearly see that the work does not consist of objects in a room, it is the presence and experience of the guests that are on top of them that complete the work. It is an interactive performance.

Janna Shaw spoke with Tobias Spichtig on his opening night of Die Matratzen after a kickoff reading with Karl Holmqvist.

JANNA SHAW: I say this with a sense of peculiar intrigue: you seem a bit of a hoarder. Other exhibits of yours have also included immense amounts of furniture and appliances: tables, fridges, empty bottles of beer, etc. Is this habit of collecting (and later presenting) a form of personal sentimentality, or is it a questioning of use, and of our own existential placement?

TOBIAS SPICHTIG: I like images and objects. I would love to be both them all the time myself. The mattresses in particular are quite loaded and empty at the same time. It’s really abstract and it’s not at the same time. It’s always something more personal than any abstract level can translate. This is what I think objects have as their unique quality.

SHAW: What led you to the concept of archiving objects of rest, rather than curtains of privacy, or cigarette butts of habit?

SPICHTIG: These assemblages kind of stem from wandering through my own apartment during sleepless nights. When I get up and go to the fridge. When I sit at the desk. When I go back to the couch. The places I go when I’m thinking about things.

SHAW: You are a painter as well as a conceptual artist. How would this installation translate onto your canvas? What might that look like?

SPICHTIG: I think all painting is conceptual, and I think works of art are sooner or later about painting. The mattresses are something in between painting and sculpture. It looks like a painting once one looks at it from above or once it is photographed. There is a parallel that runs between objects in real life and painted objects—that parallel is quite abstract, but also where one imagines things. I recently did a series of paintings depicting sunglasses, and now I am working on abstract oil paintings that look a bit like ornaments. I am also doing some portraits.

SHAW: What else are you painting these days?

I recently did a series of paintings depicting sunglasses, and now I am working on abstract oil paintings that look a bit like ornaments. I am also doing some portraits.

SHAW: Do you place importance on sleep and dreaming, or is it simply a necessary function? What is your ideal bed situation? I’m talking look, feel, time, place, activities, smells…

SPICHTIG: I don’t like to go to bed. But then, I also hate getting up. I dream a lot. Sometimes I even sing during sleeping. Is there a medical term for this?

SHAW: There is a whiff here to the opening paragraph of Guy Debord’s 1967 The Society of the Spectacle:

“The whole life of a society in which modern conditions of production prevail, presents itself as an immense accumulation of spectacle. All that was directly lived has become mere representation. Commodities are now all that there is to see.”

There is something rather rebellious to the constructed situation of various mattresses on the ground, placed there for the simple purpose of observing others deriving pleasure. Do you think our society has lost touch with its primal pleasures in our pursuit of greater accumulation and distraction? Or does this world of influx only make us crave our instinctual joys more?

SPICHTIG: To be present with both body and mind, to be more without a screen than with, has become a huge luxury. I love that. I guess everyone craves to be IRL more and more. Reality is the biggest spectacle.

Click here to learn more about Die Matratzen, including it’s late night accompanied live reading program. https://www.kw-berlin.de/en/pause-tobias-spichtig/

Installation images courtesy the artist and Jan Kaps, Cologne; Photos: Tobias Spichtig

Drowning In Black Gold: An Interview of Evita Manji

January 17, 2022

shirt: Sportmax
top: Matoguo
glasses: Gentle Monster
necklace: Chanel via Vestiaire Collective

interview by Caroline Whiteley
photography by Matias Alfonzo
styling by Camille Pailler
set design by Matt Bianchi
casting by Alter Casting
hair by Tina Pachta
makeup by Nikolas Paroutis
nails by Camilla Inge

Evita Manji is an Athens-based artist and vocalist who implements their carefully constructed practice of sound design into live shows and productions. In addition to founding the independent music label, myxoxym, they have collaborated with numerous artists across various media. Their most recent release is a compilation of international artists with all proceeds going to ANIMA, a non-profit association active in the field of natural environment, with its main activity being the nursing and rehabilitation of wild animals in their natural environment. One of their more recent singles, OIL/TOO MUCH addresses the toxic effects of crude oil extraction on the planet and all its inhabitants as well as the exploitation of its laborers. A process akin to drowning and being burned alive simultaneously.

CAROLINE WHITELY: You are primarily known as an artist and vocalist, but what are some of your other chosen mediums?

EVITA MANJI: I'm doing 3D and graphic design on the side, and I really enjoy making bags and clothes. I generally love experimenting with all kinds of mediums and acquiring new skills. My latest obsession has been crocheting.

hoodie and jumper: Givenchy
leggings: After Work Studio
shoes: Abra

cap: Givenchy
shirt: Valentino
glasses: Gentle Monster

full look: Prada
hat: Evita Manji
earrings: Panconesi

WHITELEY: You designed the cover for BABYNYMPH and BAYLI's Clown Shit cover. How important is collaboration in your practice?

MANJI: Even though collaborating with others is not very easy for me, I really love doing it when it's with the right people and our visions complement each other.

WHITELEY: Why did you decide to start your label myxoxym?

MANJI: I started myxoxym because releasing my music through my own label and having total control over it made the most sense to me. It is incredible how accessible and easy it is to publish your own music nowadays, but it's not something that works for everyone! I'm not reluctant to release projects on another label in the future, maybe when a good opportunity comes my way, but I don't see myself compromising on my music and following instructions on how my music should be. Apart from releasing my own music, I wanted to use myxoxym in meaningful ways and support environmental causes that I felt didn't receive enough attention.

WHITELEY: What motivated you to put your charity compilation together?

MANJI: I was in Athens last summer during the wildfires, and the atmosphere was simply unbearable. There were ashes in the air for days, the sky was red because of the fires, and you just couldn't breathe. We weren't even allowed to leave our houses for days because of the toxic air condition. The devastation I felt inspired me to write my song “EYES/NOT ENOUGH”, and that's when we started putting togetherPLASMODIUM I. I always cared about animals the most and during the fires in Greece, I felt like it was the right time to start putting myxoxym's first charity compilation together to support the affected wildlife.

hat: Evita Manji
t-shirt & socks: Motoguo
skirt: Givenchy
shoes: Moon Boot

LEFT
necklace: Tétier Bijoux
dress: Yulia Kjellson

RIGHT
hat: stylist’s own
necklace: Bimbo y Lola
knit vest & skirt: Valentino
tights: Givenchy
shoes: CAMPERLAB

WHITELEY: You’re based in Athens. What would you say are some of the biggest challenges in the city's creative scene?

MANJI: There are certainly issues that artists are facing in the local scene. I would say the main ones are, first and foremost, a lack of interest and support from the government and the inability of the scene to sustain itself financially, which is also a result of the economy.

WHITELEY: Last year, you performed alongside Eartheater at Stavros Niarchos Foundation Cultural Center and Boiler Room. Would you say there's been an increased interest in the young underground scene in Athens at the moment?

MANJI: I don't consider myself an underground artist, and I believe none of my peers does, either. It's just the natural way things happen. You start small, and increasingly, people get to know and appreciate your work, and you end up playing bigger shows.

earrings: Panconesi
t-shirt: Christian Dior via Vestiaire Collective
denim: Richert Beil
shoes & bag: Abra

WHITELEY: Who are some local artists you're digging right now that should deserve more attention?

MANJI: My favourite ones are ice_eyes, (their sound design is just incredible), and of course, my extremely talented friends XOT33, BABYNYMPH, Raed Raees and FlokosH.

Temporal Vertigo: An Interview Of Nicolas G. Miller

January 12, 2022

Everett Sloane in Yohji Yamamoto S/S 2000
photograph courtesy ofstudio photography

interview by Isabelle Albuquerque
photographs by ofstudio photography

If you look up close and if you have an exceptional memory for Old Hollywood character actors, you will clearly make out the distinctive face of Everett Sloane with his signature wide-set eyes and crooked nose. Known primarily for his roles in The Twilight Zone, The Andy Griffith Show, and Citizen Kane, the actor, songwriter, and theatre director took his life by way of barbiturate overdose in 1965 at the age of 55. Here, he is immortalized and miniaturized by artist Nicolas G. Miller in the form of a bronze statuette. He appears to move with a brisk, yet cool stride walking down an imaginary runway wearing Yohji Yamamoto S/S 2000. In the following interview, Isabelle Albuquerque sits down with Miller to discuss the temporality of fashion, the process of sculpting in bronze, and the act of breathing life into the deceased.

Isabelle Albuquerque: How did art first come into your life?

Nicolas G. Miller: My first memorable experiences with art were of the work of my maternal great-grandfather, Orville J. Hanchey. He was a painter, educator, and all-around bon vivant. When I was very young, I was lucky enough to visit Orville at his home. He was already quite old when I visited and had retired from his post as Professor of Art at Northwestern State University in Natchitoches, Louisiana. He lived in a small house that was stuffed with his paintings and all manner of marvelous objects. Orville's paintings are delicately rendered watercolors of flower arrangements. There were two that hung in my childhood home. I recall staring at them often and wondering how he was able to make the petals of lilies look so beautifully diaphanous. And, to be honest, I still don’t know how he did it!

ALBUQUERQUE: Oh how beautiful. Thinking of the petals of his lilies makes me think also of the draping of the Yohji pants in your sculpture Everett Sloane in Yohji Yamamoto S/S 2000. I’m obsessed with how they fall. How the fuck did you do that?

MILLER: Thank you very much, Isabelle! The trickiest thing about sculpting my statuette was the clothing. The majority of examples I’ve seen of sculpted clothing are from classical art. In other words, it is all tunics. Not pants, lugged sandals, button-up shirts or high heels. I knew in this piece, since it was Yohji, the pants would be the main attraction. I aimed to keep the viewer entranced as their gaze glides along the surface of the sculpture. There is a technique developed in the 1990s by the automobile designer Chris Bangle when he worked for BMW called “flame surfacing”. The idea was to use compound curves to mimic the form of flames on the exterior of sports cars. The 2003 BMW Z4 stands as a good example. When a flame-surfaced automobile drives by at night, pools of light form along the compound curves creating a pleasing visual effect similar to watching a log burn in a fireplace. I was hoping to achieve this effect, but at the scale and speed of sculpture, particularly the Yohji pants.

ALBUQUERQUE: Of course, you flame-surfaced them. Ha! When did fashion first begin to emerge in your art?

MILLER: That is a very interesting question. I am a sculptor and sculpture is generally preoccupied with questions of space (scale, proportion, site, etc). Fashion, on the other hand, seems bound up with questions of time (seasonal releases, the cyclical recurrence of styles, etc). I have always been drawn to works of art that attempt to present contradictory terms. Fashion entered into my sculptural vocabulary as a way of asking questions about time and temporality within sculpture.

ALBUQUERQUE: Yes, exactly. And the way you connect to particular seasons and collections in fashion allows the work to both act as a time travel object and also have a discrete connection to a specific moment in time. Speaking of a specific moment in time—what are you wearing right now?

MILLER: I am at home and am wearing a black cotton sweatshirt. On the sweatshirt is a white screen print of an image of downtown Los Angeles. Two impossibly large palm trees are superimposed on top of the cityscape, and just above the palm trees are the words "Los Angeles, California." It is the sort of sweatshirt you buy as a souvenir on Hollywood Blvd., which is precisely where I bought it. Below that I am wearing black polyester athletic shorts manufactured by Kappa and designed for Napoli SSC, a professional soccer team based in Naples, Italy. It is the kind of outfit I put on without thinking too much.

ALBUQUERQUE: Ah! Yes! Superimposed palm trees forever. I love Hollywood Blvd and visit its souvenir shops often. Jon and I used to make posters for our music shows on top of old signed glamour shots from unknown actors. There is so much longing and loss in those images. What made you decide to work with actors who are no longer living in clothes made decades after their deaths?

MILLER: This piece is one in a series of sculptures of old Hollywood actors dressed in new clothes. Each of the actors were well known in the first half of the twentieth century. In their sculpted form they will all be wearing runway looks from the year 2000. It is important to me that the clothes were designed after the actors had passed away. This structure has an internal logic that reminds me of the logic of fashion, wherein two disparate moments are brought in close proximity to one another. I hope the impossibility of these combinations gives the viewer a sense of temporal vertigo. Vertigo is frequently associated with a sensation of spatial imbalance. It is often described as "the world around you spinning." Recently, I have the sense that the world around me is spinning, but through time rather than space.

ALBUQUERQUE: Yes. I know exactly what you mean. How does bronze hold time for you?

MILLER: As with so many materials the more I look into bronze the less clearly it signifies. On its surface bronze is meant to imply permanence. Yet the history of bronze sculpture in Europe is one of constant change and impermanence. Large, bronze public statues were erected to symbolize new world orders, but were often melted down to make weapons to fight wars. Despite the common sense that bronze implies permanence, it is far more plastic than one would first think.

In the act of making this piece at a foundry I was struck by a sense of eternal return. In the lost-wax process of producing a bronze sculpture, first the sculptor makes a maquette. The maquette is then destroyed in the process of making a silicone mold. Then the silicone mold is used to produce a wax version of the maquette. This wax version is encased in an investment mold (a hard concrete-like substance). Then the wax is melted out and bronze is poured into the investment mold. Finally the investment mold is destroyed in order to reveal the bronze. At each step of the process, the objects created in the previous step are destroyed. This gives the final product the effect of permanence, which reminds me of the logic of seasons and the return of styles in fashion.

I imagine the final resting place for my statuettes to be a domestic setting. Perhaps atop a mantel. Another common object that sits on a mantel is a clock. As time passes, the outfits sculpted into the bronze statuettes, and perhaps the actors too, will go in and out of fashion, not dissimilar to the way that the hands on a clock go round and round.

ALBUQUERQUE: Wow. Yes. I love thinking about the impermanence of bronze and the lost wax casting process. Even in the name of the process we have the word, lost. With the last few years in lockdown, I think we’ve all been thinking about lost time and life. The hands on the clock going round and round for real. How do you breathe time and life into people who are no longer with us? Since these actors were alive before scanning technology, do you work from photographs/film stills/collective memory?

MILLER: I sculpt in a 3D software called ZBrush. This software was developed to give the feeling of sculpting in digital clay. I learned a technique for sculpting portraits in ZBrush from a digital sculptor who worked at Industrial Light & Magic. When it came time to choose a subject, all of the other students in his course selected contemporary Hollywood actors. At first I thought this was simply in keeping with the general culture of "digital art," but there is a much more practical element to it. In order to sculpt a portrait properly in ZBrush, you need a great number of reference images. Preferably images taken from many angles.

At first, I thought I would sculpt one of the Fayum portraits from the 1st century AD. The Fayum Portraits were painted on wood and buried with upper class mummies from Roman Egypt. The depictions are truly haunting. Since the paintings were intended to be buried with their subjects, neither the painter nor the sitter imagined a future where the pictures would be seen by posterity. This idea of an image without a future feels so foreign to me. I quickly realized that sculpting from these images was too difficult and that the Fayum portraits are probably best left as paintings.

I then began working with old Hollywood actors. I make large collections of promotional photographs and film stills of each actor before I begin sculpting. What I realized when I started to manipulate the digital clay is how very different a face can look when shot under different lighting and with an assortment of camera lenses. My statuettes end up as montages of the faces of bygone actors—many moments condensed into one.

ALBUQUERQUE: Yes! You can really feel that in the work. Is there significance in the sculpture’s smaller-than-life scale?

MILLER: The scale is of utmost importance to me! In France, during the Art Deco period, there was a preponderance of small figurative sculptures—also known as statuettes. Many bronze foundries opened in order to keep up with the demand from the rising bourgeois class for bronze art. These statuettes were anywhere from sixteen to twenty-two inches and intended for domestic display. The economic structure of companies such as Susse Frères or LN Paris JL is very interesting to me. They both had foundries in the countryside and exhibition spaces in the city. Both foundries supported a large network of figurative sculptors by commissioning maquettes that they would sell in editions.

This moment was also ripe with promises of grand technological advancement. There was growing optimism around electroplating, which claimed to provide a thin seamless layer of precious metal atop any sculpted form. The fantasy was that it would remove much of the need for human labor from the process of making a fine metal sculpture. When I came across this moment in the history of European sculpture I was deeply struck by the similarities to our time, in particular the promises of 3D technologies and their applications in sculpture.

Susse Frères would produce beautiful catalogs for customers filled with photographs of their statuettes. I am making advertisements for posters and magazines of my statuettes as a way of drawing out similarities between the moment of Art Deco statuettes and my own work. I also want to allude to the possibilities for sculpture in a model like Susse Frères.

ALBUQUERQUE: Very cool. Now that you have released the little man into the wild, what are you working on next?

MILLER: Lupe Vélez in Hussein Chalayan S/S 2000.

ALBUQUERQUE: AHHHHHHH Cannot wait for her.

Thought Girl Winter: An Interview Of Nada Alic

January 5, 2022

interview by Annabel Graham
portraits by Paige Strabala

I first met Nada Alic in the fall of 2019, in New York, at a literary reading held at the Nolita headquarters of a women’s sleepwear brand. The small storefront was packed, and readers perched on the edge of a gigantic feather bed in the center of the room. Most of the guests were there to see a certain Instagram poet with an especially rabid fan base—I witnessed actual tears of joy when said poet opened her mouth—but it was Alic who captured my attention. Radiating her trademark blend of confidence, self-deprecation, and deadpan humor, she read from a short story in progress. In it, an anxious, painfully cerebral young woman questions “this whole business of being alive,” pursues an obsessive friendship with a woman named Mona, and considers the pros and cons of lightly grazing her hand across a stranger’s penis. At a cocktail party with her husband’s business associates, Alic’s narrator muses: “They all looked so vulnerable, so up for grabs; concealed only by a thin layer of fabric. I imagined them as windchimes waiting to be struck. The impulse wasn’t sexual, it was destructive. I just stood there, not touching anyone’s penis, quietly frightened by who I was and what I was capable of.” Suffice it to say that I was riveted.

Alic and I struck up a conversation after the reading, exchanged email addresses, and made loose plans to get together for a coffee next time I was in Los Angeles, where she lives. What followed almost immediately was a global pandemic, a government-imposed lockdown, and a 19th-century sort of pen-pal correspondence conducted over the entire year of 2020. Alic’s emails are just as surprising and enjoyable as her short fiction—witty, dark, vulnerable, sharp-edged; weird in all the best ways. The story she read that night in New York (featuring the penis-windchime simile that’s eternally burned into my brain) is now entitled “My New Life”—this past year, it was published in the literary journal No Tokens, where I serve as fiction editor. You can read it here.

2021 was a landmark year for Alic—she married her partner (Ryan Hahn, of the indie band Local Natives), and sold her short story collection, Bad Thoughts, to Knopf, in a two-book deal (her second book, a novel, is slated for release in 2023). The title Bad Thoughts stems from the eponymous Instagram series Alic created in 2020 during quarantine, wherein she posted bimonthly lists of Tweet-like aphorisms that were at once wildly humorous, razor-sharp, and deeply relatable. The stories in the collection—which will be published in July 2022—are brash and heady, breaking established rules of narrative and form. Like the Instagram series, they’re also delightfully funny. In one, the spirit of an unborn child hovers over the bodies of its future parents, willing them to copulate and bring it into embodied existence. In another, a woman’s musician boyfriend goes on tour, leaving her alone in their home for the first time ever; she proceeds to question all of her life choices and tumble down a frighteningly familiar Internet rabbit hole; chaos and body dysmorphia ensue. Alic is well-versed in the awkward, writing into our most neurotic, shameful habits and thought patterns with an unparalleled acuity.

For Autre, I sat down with Alic in her Mount Washington living room to talk about the holiness of humor, becoming an artist with no formal training, and the archetype of the eternal child-god. We’re real-life friends now—a true privilege!—but sometimes I miss our extremely long emails.

ANNABEL GRAHAM: What was your path to becoming a writer?

NADA ALIC: I came up in the 2008ish blogging era; a famously naïve and earnest era of the internet that had yet to be colonized by brands and pathological cynicism. I wrote about music, mostly. I loved music in such a pure and unselfconscious way. I had no ambition to become a writer; I just wanted to support my friends, go to shows, be in that world. Writing was my way in. It wasn’t until my late twenties that I started writing fiction. I would send short stories to my friend Andrea [Nakhla, who is a painter and illustrator], and she would visually interpret them with paintings and drawings, and we made zines together, for fun. Making zines feels incredibly wholesome and old-timey now—I recently had the humbling experience of explaining what a zine was to a 22-year-old. I continued writing short stories from then on, but I never thought of myself as a Writer, and didn’t until about five minutes ago. This was due to my core wound of not having an MFA and never once having lived in New York. I tried compensating for this by reading Twitter, submitting to literary mags, and attending a writing workshop in abandoned strip mall in North Hollywood. Each experience was like passing a test, and I’d emerge with a tiny crumb of belief in myself.

The paradigm shift towards becoming a writer was very slow; it was largely internal, but also required some external factors to align: getting an artist visa, saving up money, quitting my job, getting my own health insurance, finding freelance work to support me through the transition. Just a lot of boring, admin stuff. I felt like I had so much to prove. I still do. But the benefit of feeling like an outsider in the literary world is that it motivated me to work really hard. I felt like there was so much I didn’t know, so I had to seriously commit to the work and forge my own path in the absence of any formal infrastructure or connections or community.

GRAHAM: Did you read a lot as a kid?

ALIC: I enjoyed reading as a kid, but I didn’t grow up in a super intellectual environment. My parents were working class Croatian immigrants; they didn’t have the time for literature and art. That’s not to say they weren’t smart; they were and are far more competent than me in almost every way; they can build a house from scratch, hunt and prepare meat, keep children alive, etc. They could easily survive the apocalypse, whereas I will die within hours of losing my contacts. What they did give me was lots of free time to play, imagine, dance, terrorize my sister, etc. I didn’t start reading for pleasure until my early twenties; mostly just books I’d find in thrift stores. I remember performatively reading guys like Steinbeck, Bukowski and David Foster Wallace because pretentious boys in beanies kept referencing them. It wasn’t until I discovered contemporary fiction writers like Sheila Heti and Tao Lin that I realized what writing could be. Those writers made writing feel accessible and real and exciting to me.

GRAHAM: How are you finding the process of working on a novel? What are you encountering that’s more or less challenging than writing short stories?

ALIC: The story for the novel came to me fully-formed. I felt like I had to pay attention to it, because none of my short stories had come out that way. Writing the story collection was like feeling my way around in the dark. In a lot of ways, I was learning how to write through the process of writing the collection. I didn’t really have a plan or a vision other than “keep going” and “don’t be bad.” My biggest challenge has been sustaining the potency of the short story within a longer form. I don’t want to lose that; I still want every moment to feel funny and alive.

GRAHAM: How do ideas for stories usually come to you? Do you start with a particular element? An image, question, atmosphere, or character?

ALIC: I keep a notes document for random thoughts, ideas, dreams, etc. Often it’ll be about a humiliating or painful encounter that I’ve either observed or experienced, and I’ll want to diffuse it of its power over me. Then I’ll take that idea and stretch it out beyond its limits into absurdity. Like with “The Intruder,” for example, that came from a real experience I had mistaking a friend’s boyfriend for an intruder breaking into my apartment. I was really tired and overworked and somehow forgot I had [house]guests. I woke up in the middle of the night and saw a dark shadowy figure and panicked. I basically jumped out of bed and tried to defend myself before realizing what was happening. It was one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. In the story, the protagonist doubles down on her paranoia and submits to the fantasy that someone really is out there, watching her, waiting. Submitting to her delusions paradoxically gives her some semblance of control. Most of my characters suffer from some form of delusional thinking, and there’s a lot of humor in that. Humor is a useful device for confronting and overcoming shame, which is my life’s purpose.

GRAHAM: What’s your writing process like? Do you have any routines?

ALIC: I sort of cringe when people talk about their process as if they’re the ultimate authority on it. I remember early on, after I quit my job and committed myself to writing full time, I read a lot about what other people had to say about their creative processes and it really affected me. It just set me up to fail. It was a lot of like, “I wake up at 5am and write till noon, then I eat a cracker and stretch and keep writing till dinner…” I’m very suspicious of that kind of self-mythologizing. Most people who say they write every day are full of shit. Even if they do, who cares? Keep it to yourself! Stop bullying us! Process has very little to do with good art. Reading about how prolific a writer is has never once compelled me to write. I don’t know, maybe it helps other people?

I still don’t really have a routine. I make space for solitude and work every day, but sometimes life gets in the way and I try to forgive myself. The hardest thing for me was unlearning a lot of capitalist programming that had been burned into my brain from years of working in the corporate world. I had to learn to be okay with “wasting time” and letting go of my obsession with productivity. I’m very slow and inconsistent, but I also have this very dogged, Slavic commitment to the work in a bigger, cosmic sense. I feel like larger forces are at work, guiding me. Or haunting me, actually. I can’t really explain it.

GRAHAM: You write about the Internet a lot, and you started an Instagram series entitled Bad Thoughts. What’s your relationship to the Internet like?

ALIC: The internet is so seductive and shiny and infinite, so I have to take mini-breaks or block certain sites for a while in order to spiritually recalibrate. Sometimes I really do confuse it for reality and forget that I’m located in space and time, contained inside a body, etc. That’s when I need to just get up and pee and go for a little human walk outside, feel my blood move.

For Bad Thoughts (the Instagram series), I just had a lot of fear and I wanted to get over myself. When you’re working on something in private for a long time, it can start to feel too precious. I needed to break the spell and stop overthinking it. I just started sharing random thoughts that came to me in a quick and unpolished way. I knew I was going to feel embarrassed, but that was the point. I comforted myself by thinking, whatever, this isn’t my real work. But once I started doing it, it was like this portal opened up in my mind and ideas started pouring in. Not to be a witch or whatever, but I do feel like I was tapping into a spiritual plane through my subconscious mind. It was an interesting experiment. But like with anything, once I started taking it too seriously, or cared too much about what people thought, I knew I had to stop because I didn’t want it to become another “thing” that I did. The ego will identify with anything, even if that thing is meant to set you free. It’s like what Ram Dass says: “all methods are traps.” I might do it again when I’m a little more enlightened, who knows.

GRAHAM: What do you like, or not like, about living in Los Angeles as a writer and artist?

ALIC: I worked really hard to be able to move to LA and stay here, so I have this immigrant humility and gratitude that colors my entire experience of being here. Even my worst days offer this consolation of, “at least I’m in Los Angeles.” When you grow up in Canada, America is this mythic place that only celebrities and millionaires can move to. You’d take a day trip to Niagara Falls and be like, wow, I’m in America. It’s been eight years and I’m still walking around like, wow, I’m in America! So cool! Figuring out how to live here on my own gave me the confidence to pursue bigger things.

Most of my friends [here] are musicians and visual artists, and being surrounded by them helped accelerate my own creative ambitions. There was a safety to not being in the [center of the] literary world, too. I didn’t know any other writers, so I could just do my own thing. I had the freedom to experiment [with writing] without the pressure of turning it into a career. Writing professionally hadn’t even occurred to me; I was still driving three hours a day to and from my shitty office job and writing on the weekends. I think if I lived in New York, I would have been too affected by the competitive energy. Whenever I’m there I feel exhausted and out of place and I don’t know what anyone is talking about. I need to go home and sit in a dark room alone for a while to recover.

GRAHAM: Since the pandemic, my reading habits have changed so much—I have a much shorter attention span and much less patience, and I won’t stick with something for more than about fifty pages if I don’t find it compelling. I’ve found it a bit more difficult during this time to find books that grip me throughout, but yours did. It is literary and cerebral, but it’s also incredibly fun, and funny, and uplifting, which feels like the best kind of medicine right now.

ALIC: Thank you so much. I try not to ever take myself too seriously, and I knew I wanted to write something light and fun and enjoyable. A lot of people conflate Serious Art with trauma and darkness, and there is a lot of great art that emerges from pain, but humor and silliness feel just as holy to me. Life can be so brutal, and humor can really soften the blow. I can see how it can be a defense mechanism too—my inability to be purely earnest without adding a little wink to everything. I admire people who have to courage to write honestly about their lives. I know some people say art is not entertainment, but I really tried to entertain. I really considered the reader’s experience, and I wanted it to be joyful.

GRAHAM: Would you say there’s an idea or theme that’s emerged in your work, or something you keep circling around?

ALIC: Broadly speaking, Bad Thoughts deals with women who are sort of stagnating at the precipice of a threshold, stuck in their own thoughts, feeling estranged from themselves and the world. I recently read this book called Puer Aeternus (Latin for “eternal child-god) by the Jungian analyst Marie-Louise von Franz, who coined the term “Peter Pan Syndrome.” She mostly writes about men, but briefly mentions the female version of this archetype, which is called a “Puella.” These women resist crossing over various thresholds to adulthood, namely the more heteronormative milestones of marriage and motherhood. This represents a bigger resistance to confronting their own mortality. Especially with motherhood, which is the ultimate death for a Puella. As much as it is expansive and generative, it reduces a woman to her earthbound body. Her body undergoes a transformation, and she emerges changed. She becomes a new person with a new life. But who will she become? What is that life? I’m not making any moral judgements for or against, I’m more exploring the anxiety that comes with this human experience.

That anxiety has been amplified by the fact that we now conduct a large part of our lives online, on screens—it allows for this more disembodied experience of reality. We can happily live in the domain of the mind and of our online personas. There are many valid reasons for feeling stunted, or even disenchanted with the prospect of “growing up.” There’s a pervasive nihilism and hopelessness [when it comes to thinking about] the future; [sometimes even] an inability to imagine a future. I think a lot of people assume that only men grapple with [this], and women are just waiting around for them to get their shit together and give them a baby—but women struggle, too. Taking anything from the realm of the imagination or spirit into the material world is scary and limiting—like putting out a book. It’s a kind of baby. I can’t control what will become of it, and maybe that’ll be good for me.

AKEEM SMITH: No Gyal Can Test

November 18, 2021

interview KATJA HORVAT
images courtesy AKEEM SMITH
originally published in Autre’s Doppelgänger Issue (Spring 2021)

Akeem Smith maintains a pivotal role in preserving and archiving the visual aspect of dancehall culture. Smith, a Kingston-born, New York-based stylist, designer, consultant, and artist, is the scion, godson, and nephew of Paula Ouch, founder of House of Ouch—one of the most infamous and respected designers inside and outside the dancehall community. Smith started researching and documenting the depths of dancehall roughly fifteen years ago. His interest is primarily the role of women within the culture, and how their contributions stand at the very center of the movement’s legacy. Compiling a vast selection of images, combining documentary footage, found footage, flyers, garments, architectural artifacts, Smith created No Gyal Can Test, an ongoing project of exhibitions, installations, sculpture, photography and videos that unite his observations. They explore past and present representations of the community, issues of racism, political oppression, and gender identity. Smith often says this show/research project is made for the future; for other generations to tap into the legacy of dancehall. Akeem Smith's first European solo show, Queens Street opens November 18th, 2021 at Heidi, Kurfürstenstraße 145, Berlin.

KATJA HORVAT: Let’s just go in right away. My first recollection of "No Gyal Can Test" goes way back to 2012, I can't fully remember what it was, was it a party? But I do know Shayne [Oliver, founder and creative director of Hood By Air] DJed.

AKEEM SMITH: It was Shayne, yes, and Venus X, and DJ Physical Therapy. That was my first and only fundraiser. I just needed some money to go to Jamaica and start collecting the materials.

HORVAT: Buy your way in! 

SMITH: Jamaica is very economically driven. Even though I didn't make that much money that time, I made enough, and I wanted the people to see the value in their archive—that I wasn't trying to swindle them, and that I thought what they had and their story was worth a lot. On the Island, they're constantly reminded that dancehall is sort of this negative thing.

HORVAT: Even after all these years?

SMITH: Even after all these years, for sure. A hundred thousand percent, even more now, to be honest. 

HORVAT: It’s insane that it has had such an indelible influence on music and culture at large, but where it actually comes from, its legacy goes unappreciated.

SMITH: I think dancehall has given the country a lot of cultural currency that's allowed them to be respected globally—other than the Olympics. It's just a shame that it's still seen as a negative thing, but in my art and practice it is not my mission to sway anyone’s points of view.

HORVAT: Do you think religion and let’s say some socially “acceptable” norms have anything to do with it? 

SMITH: Yes and no. Dancehall is a nocturnal economy, so it's become a scapegoat for certain arguments.

HORVAT: Portrayal of women is also a sensitive topic when it comes to dancehall—not necessarily on the ground but more so when it comes to what others think of it: a whole degrading debacle. 

SMITH: Globalization is a thing, and some site specific culture customs aren't for everyone. I think it's super relative. People on the outside make assumptions. I see the dancehall space as this primal space, equivalent to nature, some behaviors are a mating call. The video piece in Soursop  honors that. The women in the videos are performing acts, self-caressing; they are appreciating their bodies.

HORVAT: You've been working on this project for fifteen years now? Has researching dancehall, the women in it, fashion, etc., influenced the way you work as a stylist and a designer? 

SMITH: I've never tried to bring dancehall to fashion or anything like that, so no. 

HORVAT: Okay, a lot has been written about where the name [of the show] comes from, but I want to know why you even went with it in the first place? 

SMITH: The name/saying was written behind a photo that my dad had. It was just a normal photo of one of his ex-lovers sitting in her bed. As to why this name, it was not even my idea to go with it, to be honest, it was Shayne’s, and this goes back to 2009. I liked No Gyal Can Test, but I wasn't confident in it. And he was like, Oh my god girl, you should just name it this, it's like already here. My motto, though, has always been to not look too hard for inspiration. I think it's always right in front of you. I don't feel you have to dig too hard to be inspired.

HORVAT: A big thread through No Gyal is House of Ouch. You grew up with them, Paula [Ouch] is your aunt and godmother, did their/her world shape yours?   

SMITH: Not in a way you would think. What did shape me was how they came up with ideas. When I was a kid, I really wanted to be a broadcaster. Dancehall, for me at that time, I thought it was cool, but I never thought it was something I wanted to do. With some dancehall people, you would see them and they would look like a million bucks at a party, and then you see them like two days later, you wouldn't believe that it's that same person. So, it always felt like a mirage, and I wanted something more, something that felt like real wealth.

HORVAT: That reminds me of drag balls; the ball fit versus real life. 

SMITH: I guess you can draw the comparison but I would compare it more to RuPaul's Drag Race. And I'm talking about men and women. They made such an effort. I think it had a countereffect on me, because now I want to look like a bum, but a bum with money. That's how dancehall affected me, it shaped my taste but not my world. It also shaped how I view women. 

HORVAT: Has it shaped how you dress women?

SMITH: No. When I do styling work, I think, what would I dress like if I looked like you. That's more of how I like to approach styling. Like, what would I wear if I had your body?

HORVAT: So, to go back to dancehall. Who was more celebrated in this on the ground, men or women? Because through the research that I was doing, I could find a bunch of stuff on people like Bogle or Colo Colo but not so much on women specifically. I mean, there are Queens like Carlene or Patra, Lady Saw, etc., but the representation just somehow lingers more on the man's side. 

SMITH: I don't know the exact answer for that but I assume that it's just so patriarchal here. I think men acted more as the spokesperson for dancehall back then, but maybe that's going to change. Let's see.

HORVAT: You think there's still time?

SMITH: Well maybe, a lot of the men that used to party in dancehall in the era that I highlight have transitioned [died]. Maybe something changes as far as knowing who was giving these unknown subjects of Black history a space. Whenever there's an opportunity for the dancehall patrons to speak, I give them that opportunity—to talk about how they feel, to be seen. I’d rather continue having them be a part of the speaking engagements.

HORVAT: Everything is always better when it comes from the source. 

SMITH: Exactly. It's better if it comes from them, rather than me saying how this is affecting me, or them, or whoever that may be. And I'm also not the dancehall academia like that—I like the anthropological part most. 

HORVAT: What about the whole anthropological system of it interests you the most?

SMITH: You know, we always look at old pictures, especially working as a design consultant/stylist. You're always researching images of people, places, things and a part of the job is world-building, so our imaginations run wild. There aren't a lot of first-person narratives when it comes to Black history and that is really important to me. It is about direct representation, not a representation of a representation. 

HORVAT: It can get tricky, though, as you don't always have the privilege to access the source. So, when it comes to that, you are holding onto a narrative that comes from some other narrative. I studied cultural anthropology and there were moments when I wanted to cover something, but I felt like an imposter, as it was not my story to tell, or even touch sometimes. 

SMITH: I get that, but you also gotta let it go. I don't mind looking like an imposter. With the dancehall stuff, people have wondered how I've gotten all this stuff and information; people have indirectly asked me if I'm code switching, it's been really funny. In translation, some think I'm acting straight, because dancehall is so homophobic, to acquire things...But I would never, ever do that. 

HORVAT: Homophobia and the macho perception in dancehall, dominance, what males should be, etc., is a whole other conversation. One would think things would change over time, but no. 

SMITH: Nothing has really changed. It is all so deeply rooted in the political system. It is not just that, though. Dancehall is also used profoundly as an excuse for any violence happening. With COVID right now, in Jamaica—there's been more than a hundred murders since January this year—and they don't have dancehall to blame it on, as there are no events obviously. 

HORVAT: In the ‘90’s your godmother [Paula Ouch], also moved to NYC because of all the violence and looting she experienced, right!? 

SMITH: Correct. Basically, the mafia started to tax their business. If you want to continue operating your business in Jamaica, you need to pay for your own protection. 

HORVAT: Was that post or pre-Belly (1998)?

SMITH: Pre-Belly.

HORVAT: And then for Belly, she came back to Jamaica. What was her role exactly? 

SMITH: She played Chiquita, who was an assassin.

HORVAT: So apart from fashion being pivotal in No Gyal Can Test through Ouch, you also brought a fresh element in collaboration with Grace Wales Bonner. You guys worked on the uniforms for the staff. How did that come about? 

SMITH: With Grace, we always wanted to do something together, but there was never a right moment until now. Apart from her being absolutely right for this collaboration on its own, she is also personally connected to Jamaica; her mom is English and her dad is Jamaican. So her trajectory and story are a big part of the investigation into the Caribbean diaspora that's taking place inside No Gyal, not her family specifically, but many like it. 

HORVAT: There are a lot of moving parts to this show and everything is very well rounded. From the uniforms with Grace, to the mannequin collaboration with Jessi Reaves, to the mock-up housing that was built from the stuff you collected on the island. That said, the videos are really central. 

SMITH: The two main videos are, Social Cohesiveness and Memory. Then there was the Reconstruction Act, that's embedded in the sculpture, and then there is Influenza. Then, one was called Queen Street… 

HORVAT: Is the latter the one that feels like a dream? 

SMITH Queen Street documents the first fashion show that I went to—it was my family's fashion show. The way it’s edited is sort of how I remember it. It's one of my first memories. So, it's a little bit hazy, and yes, can feel like a dream. You know, memory in general is something very weird because I feel like half of it is what actually happened and then the other half is made up in your head, and I mean that in regards to just about anything, not just this show. 

HORVAT Walk me through the editing process. 

SMITH To be completely honest, editing came from the curatorial team. I am the maker, that said, there were elements I specifically wanted to highlight, to show the duality of the dancehall world. I wanted to accentuate, to some extent, how the Eurocentric version of beauty is still very much present and is so specifically dancehall; the blonde hair, the blue contacts…. So I was more on that, but the show was brought together and mapped out by curators. 

HORVAT So one show is behind you, one is about to open. To think about the story you are trying to tell, what is one thing you want people to get out of it? 

SMITH I hope they can somehow connect what they are seeing to something in their lives. You don't have to come from this world to connect or feel things. I would love for people to see value in something that maybe they didn't deem as valuable before.

HORVAT I think you are onto something. It’s definitely not the type of show that leaves you dry. Anyhow, if you could pick one song that would serve as the soundtrack to your life, which one would it be?

SMITH Oh, Peaches "Fuck The Pain Away."

HORVAT If you could be any character from a film or a TV series, which one would you be?

SMITH I think Scooby Doo because he never actually spoke. He hasn't said a word yet he is still such an icon. 

HORVAT He's a mute protagonist. [laughs] 

SMITH Doesn't say a word yet he leads it all. Everyone seems to like this character for a reason they don't actually know. And I see myself in that way. I think people like me for reasons they don't even know.

HORVAT If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, which one would it be?

SMITH If I could just continue watching dancehall parties from the ‘70s to now, that would be good.

HORVAT What's your favorite memory as a child from Jamaica?

SMITH In my family, we're all part of different socioeconomic pockets, and I used to love being in the ghetto because that's where all the excitement was. There was always something going on. You never had a moment to yourself, but I loved that. I miss when that didn't bother me. Now, it kind of does, but there was a point in time when all the drama was fun.

HORVAT What's your favorite memory from New York?

SMITH I haven't had it yet. It's coming.

HORVAT What do you want to be twenty years from now? Where do you see yourself?

SMITH Hopefully just healthy and still working.

HORVAT Do you want to live in Jamaica, New York, or do you see yourself somewhere else?

SMITH  No, hell no. I don't know where I'm going to live, but hopefully I'm not bound to a place.

HORVAT What's your favorite flavor?

SMITH I like Great Nut Ice Cream.

HORVAT What's your favorite song from Lee "Scratch" Perry?

SMITH  Anything that he claims Bob Marley has ripped off.

HORVAT What do you fear?

SMITH  I fear being older, and reminiscing, and regretting not having as much fun as I would like.

HORVAT Where do you get your energy for work and for life?

SMITH Reality television.

HORVAT What's the best life advice that someone has ever given to you?

SMITH I don't know—keep on going. Don't stop.

HORVAT Do you ever want to retire?

SMITH No, I'm going to be like Cicely Tyson for sure. Like a thousand percent. She died three or four days after she did the Kelly Ripa interview. Still dolled up. Two weeks prior she was on set filming something. Yeah, that's my hope. Oh, I guess my goal is also to not be jaded.

Katja Horvat:  Are you scared of that?

SMITH Yeah, I'm scared of being jaded. I don't think I'm gonna be, though because I make an effort to not be.

originally published in Autre’s Doppelgänger (Spring 2021) with an accompanying conversation between Akeem Smith and Lee “Scratch” Perry. Purchase here. Akeem Smith “Queen Street” opens at Heidi Gallery in Berlin on November 18.

COCOBUNNY Founder Renée Parkhurst Shoots Petite Meller and Talks Bucket Hats

November 11, 2021

Photography Renée Parkhurst
Talent Petite Meller
Interview Oliver Kupper

OLIVER KUPPER Your main gig is photography, so naturally you spend a lot of time around stylists and the fashion world. How long have you been thinking about starting your own accessories brand?

RENÉE PARKHURST The idea for launching a brand has been cultivating in my mind for quite a while now. During the slowed down pace of 2020, the brand came into view as a high end bucket hat collection. With photography as my main gig over the past eleven years, I have been helping build other brands, magazines, and everything in between—so to use that knowledge and experience towards my own project has been so incredibly fascinating and really so much fun. All the tools being right in front of me and having the downtime during lockdown seemed the best time to put my head down and focus on COCOBUNNY.

KUPPER There is a long tradition of hat makers in fashion, why did you gravitate to making hats and who are some of your favorite milliners or hat makers?

PARKHURST I feel that hats are such a versatile and expressive aspect of style, and I’d realized that the bucket hat specifically has such an underutilized youthful and wistful silhouette that could also be worn up in a stylistic evening wear setting as well, the missing ingredients were singularity of design and the highest grade materials. Of course, almost every high end label has a high quality bucket hat, but I saw a wide open space in the market to focus primarily on these beloved pieces. I beyond love what Philip Treacy created with Alexander McQueen, all of those runway pieces blow my mind.

KUPPER The bucket hat is such a staple of 90s and 2000s fashion, what about the aesthetics and style of that era inspire you?

PARKHURST Those decades are without a doubt my go to. My first fondest memories are the early 90s era and my early teens in the 2000s.

KUPPER Where did you grow up and who were your earliest style inspirations?

PARKHURST I was born in LA and grew up in San Clemente. I think growing up in the midst of MTV music video culture really inspired me. Taking in daily at a young age what musicians of that era were wearing had a longstanding impression.

KUPPER What was the material sourcing like, you use materials like silk and faux fur, can you talk a little bit about the journey of crafting the perfect bucket hat.

PARKHURST Right now we have two faux fur pieces, two leather pieces, and two cotton pieces. Using the absolute top quality materials is extremely important and is what defines the brand, it puts it at the highest caliber. Our plush faux furs are from Italy, our leathers are the highest quality and texture, our cotton is all domestically grown, and all the bucket hats are lined with 100% black charmeuse. We’ve created immaculate sizing, and having the highest quality on top of that really makes it the perfect bucket hat.

KUPPER Where did the name of the brand come from?

PARKHURST COCOBUNNY came from a nickname of mine.

KUPPER One of the great things about bucket hats is their universality and democratic power. Who did you see wearing your hats and do you see them paired with a more relaxed look, formal look, or both?

PARKHURST Absolutely, I’ve seen from older men, women to children styling a bucket hat. I’m always noticing anyone in public with one on and it’s incredible to pay attention to this in every city. Anyone and everyone with a strong sense of identity I’d love to see in COCOBUNNY, wearing it in their own individual way. It can be completely styled into a relaxed look as it naturally has been, but I really envisioned it as a formal evening wear accessory, being an elevated key element of the look.

KUPPER Can you talk about the seasonality of the hats, will there be a seasonal collection cycle or will you make drops when you are ready to release a new collection?

PARKHURST I really opted out of the idea of seasonal collections from the beginning with COCOBUNNY. The pieces to me are timeless, and are in no way following trend patterns or seasons. Especially living in a place that has no change in seasons, I’ve forgotten what that concept is. Kidding, but I think it’s more valuable in my mind to keep them all as one ongoing archive. Aligned with the modality of music releases, I launched the brand with a small capsule collection of six similar to an “EP,” will continue to release “singles,” and then will later follow with a larger collection “LP.” I’m really allowing a no rules kind of approach to it all.

KUPPER What does fall 2021 hold for Cocobunny?

PARKHURST Currently I’m working on new designs at the moment that I’m extremely excited about. I’ve got a list of incredible talent I’ll be shooting in the meantime, and planning a few pop ups in LA and looking at Paris and Mexico City as well.

KUPPER What is your ultimate advice for young people to break into photography or to start their own brand?

PARKHURST To just start with any means that you’re able to, and don’t ever compare your work with anyone else’s. Avoid trends and create these things with the intention of something to keep for you, your story. Authenticity in it all will let it blossom.

CLICK HERE TO SHOP COCOBUNNY

Photography Renée Parkhurst
Talent Petite Meller
Stylist - Shalev Lavan
Hair - Virginie Pineda
Make Up - Gabrielle Alvarez
Production - Eyal Wand

Casper Brindle: Light, Glyphs and Portals To New And Strange Sensations

October 20, 2021

Casper Brindle portrait by Brent Broza, courtesy William Turner Gallery

interview by Oliver Kupper

In Los Angeles, light is often louder than the din of traffic, the sound of crashing waves, or the Santa Ana winds zephyrously careening through the palms. It is prismatic, a mystical hue of blue and amber—a reoccurring character in the cinematic vista of every tragically beautiful sunset. Artist Casper Brindle, who was born in Toronto in 1968 and moved to Los Angeles in 1974, captures this unique, transcendental illumination with his three-dimensional translucent boxes and paintings on linen. With his exhibition Light | Glyphs, which includes two new bodies of work that are on view now at William Turner Gallery in Santa Monica, Brindle has used a colloidal amalgam of acrylic and automotive paint to create supernatural keyholes into a dreamlike cosmos that harken lowriders, the abstracted horizons of Georgia O’Keefe’s Southwestern paradise, and the lush optical decadences of Light and Space artists before him, like Helen Pashgian or Larry Bell. Gradations of color take the viewer on a hallucinatory journey inward, guided by meditative symmetry. Brindle’s acrylic boxes are electric without a source of electricity; a fog of hot pink and cerulean matter—a single blade of an alternate color scheme slices a perfect, spiritual and monolithic wound through the center, like a beaming chakra glowing at the moment of enlightenment. What comes through is the rage of Lucio Fontana and the Jungian expressionism of Rothko’s color-fields, creating a distinctly California chill, a first-gear zen that drifts upwards like the curl of wild smoke into an id-like eureka of strange new sensations. We got a change to speak with Brindle on the occasion of his exhibition.

OLIVER KUPPER You grew up in Southern California, when did you first make the connection between Los Angeles’ unique atmosphere, and culture, to fine art?

CASPER BRINDLE I was in my early teens when I went to an exhibition at the Temporary Contemporary, now MOCA’s Geffen Contemporary. It was a show comprised by the pioneers of the light and space movement. I can’t recall the title of the show but I can recall walking down a hallway with tubes of light (which I assume was Robert Irwin) my eyes fluttered with excitement and my ears perked up to listen intently as mysterious sounds were played in different areas of the hallway making you look all around to see where the sounds were coming from. Directing you to look at different parts of the installation at precise times, comprised a detailed sensory experience. I remember connecting strongly with the experience of the exhibition and it opened my mind to what art could be.

KUPPER Why do you think the light and atmospheric energy of Los Angeles has inspired so many artists working in LA—can this atmosphere only be defined or interpreted through the mysterious language of art—not only fine art, but also movies?

BRINDLE I think there’s something freeing about working in Los Angeles. Maybe it’s the light, the weather, or the vast beauty or the combination. I think atmosphere has a great effect on your physiological preferences. I am attracted to bright, vivid colors. My color palette is like those of a traditional woven Mexican blanket! On the other hand, if it was raining and gray every day, I’m not so sure my choices would be the same or my disposition would be as light.

KUPPER Can this atmosphere only be defined or interpreted through art?

BRINDLE I think it could be defined as an experience also, living here in real time. A walk on the beach at sunset as a candy-colored low rider drives by with the smell of tanning lotion and indica tickling the senses. It is all part of the cultural atmosphere that is LA.

KUPPER What about car culture has inspired you so much—because car culture is synonymous with Los Angeles and there is a deep connection between your work and the Finish Fetishists?

BRINDLE I’m fascinated with materials, and the captivating effects different ones can have. I love the dynamic colors of the automotive paints that I use in so much of my work. The way the pearls and flakes of color refract under heavy clear coats of resin is mesmerizing to me. They have this chameleon-like quality, where the colors shift and change as one views them from different perspectives.

KUPPER You apprenticed with artist Eric Orr, what do you think is the greatest lesson you learned as an artist under his tutelage?

BRINDLE To take your profession seriously and to enjoy the experience of making art.

KUPPER Your work is definitely connected to the Light and Space—as well as the Finish Fetish movement—but you are removed by a few generations and you have worked within your own genre. If you were to invent a name for that genre, what would it be?

BRINDLE I’m taking suggestions, any thoughts? Seriously though, the artists who we think of as “Light & Space” artists, often had strikingly different styles and approaches, but we think of them together because they all began to do something rather extraordinary—they began to think of their work less as “art objects” and more as a “catalyst” for heightening our perception of the space around us, space that is very often defined by light.

So, while my work is also unique to my sensibility, it is also very much about engaging the viewer and leading them to a moment of heightened awareness, reflection, and curiosity about what we’re perceiving—all of those things that nature also inspires in us.

KUPPER Your new show exhibits two new bodies of work, Light-Glyphs, which appear almost sculptural, and Portal-Glyphs, which are painted on canvas. How do you think your work has evolved with these two new bodies of work?

BRINDLE They are a slight departure from my past work but they live in the same vein and are all part of the same trajectory over time. The Portal-Glyphs are painted using automotive paint on flat surfaces. With the Light-Glyphs, I’m now creating sculptural vessels for light to become a big part of the medium that interacts with the work internally. Light is a crucial component of the Light-Glyphs, more so than the paintings.

The new medium allows me to create more depth and use light not only for the surfaces of the paintings but use the space to allow a more dynamic effect.

KUPPER Can you talk about the colors you use—what comes first: the shape or the colors?

BRINDLE The shape usually is determined before I start a work. When I’m starting a painting, I like to surround myself with as many colors as possible so I can grab the colors needed as the painting progresses. Stopping and trying to find a color stops my flow. When the paint is right in front of me it doesn’t obstruct my flow and I can instinctively add and subtract as needed. I use a variety of colors and brands, and like mixing the paint colors, with their pearls and flakes.

KUPPER What are you hoping to emote with your use of colors—is there a psychological significance to the colors used?

BRINDLE I’m inspired by the infinite variety of color in nature, especially how different densities of atmosphere, diffuse light into a vast spectrum of colors and moods. As I’ve evolved as an artist, painting has become more instinctual for me and they often seem to paint themselves. The choice of colors is also personal and intuitive, sort of an ebb and flow. Hopefully the work evokes an emotion in the viewer, but that’s not a premeditated objective. The works are usually created in a meditative state and hopefully that translates to the viewer. However, I would never ask, or tell, the viewer how to experience my work—it’s always an individual experience.

KUPPER Can you talk a little bit about the relationship between the art and the viewer—what do you hope occurs through this connection?

BRINDLE I would hope the viewer has some sort of response to the work—that they might have some sort of moment of communion, if not captivation, where they slow down and take in the beauty and preciousness of a moment. Like I mentioned above, I have no specific agenda for how one views and reacts to my work—but do hope that it does touch, move or inspire some of them.

KUPPER Is there a tension between the painting and the three-dimensional works?

BRINDLE I don’t feel there is tension between the paintings and the sculptural work. They’re from the same family but speak through different mediums. The mediums are different so the process is different. The paintings are very intimate and happen with fast decisions. With the wall sculptures, (the Light-Glyphs), the intimate thoughts happen before the construction even begins - and then the logical, problem solving happens as the idea takes form.

KUPPER Does Los Angeles still inspire you?

BRINDLE It does, and as with most things, some days more than others.

CASPER BRINDLE LIGHT | GLYPHS WILL BE ON VIEW UNTIL NOVEMBER 5, 2021 at WILLIAM TURNER GALLERY, 2525 Michigan Ave. E-1 Santa Monica, 90404

Will Sheldon: My Small Super Star

October 20, 2021

*Untitled (Red Eyes) 2021 Acrylic on canvas 72 x 55 inches (182.88 x 139.7 cm)*

by Katja Horvat

Imagery Courtesy of Will Sheldon and Heidi
Photos of paintings Thomas Müller

“I will be whatever you want me to be,” kind of sums up the ‘My Small Super Star’ series and the first European solo exhibition by artist Will Sheldon. Sheldon’s latest work takes on ball-jointed dolls and brings them, or more so, strips them of any preconception one could have, allowing the viewer to perceive the dolls in a completely authentic way.

Sheldon’s inspiration for this series is a full circle moment over his obsession with German artist Hans Bellmer, who built a mannequin back in 1933 using ball joints, and used her as a model for his photography. Bellmer’s doll was completely manipulated and perversely grotesque. His work, and the dolls, at the time, were not well received by the Nazi’s, which prompted Bellmer’s move to Paris, where surrealists completely embraced him. Later on he published a book of over 100 BJD photographs that he took between the years 1936 to 1938, a book that started a whole (sub)culture of collecting and making dolls, with its biggest craze coming from Japan.

These days, a website called legenddoll.net is what got Sheldon’s attention and inspired the series the most. Legend Doll is a retailer where you can buy a completely set up doll or you could do a build-up, in which case joints are sold separately. The latter is where Sheldon got his inspiration for ‘My Small Super Star,’ as his dolls mostly have no hair, no eyes and appear with very visible joints. The eyes caught Sheldon’s attention the most as the empty socket mixed with the lightning used to photograph the dolls creates an empty yet radiating gaze, which is something Sheldon brings to notice in his paintings.

The dolls range in set up as much as they range in what they trigger and mean to people. From Agalmatophilia (sexual attraction to dolls) to Pediophobia (fear of dolls). From complete comfort to discomfort, and anxiety. Dolls simply cannot exist in a neutral middle and the same goes for Sheldon’s paintings. ‘My Small Super Star’ will definitely make you feel something, but it’s up to your psyche to determine where on the spectrum you are, and what you end up getting out of it.

KATJA HORVAT: Let’s start at the beginning. Why BJD?

WILL SHELDON: It all clicked when I started to go through a website that sells them. I was looking through these images and how people that are selling these dolls take pictures of them… It all really reminded me of being in college and doing still life in drawing classes—dolls were lit in the same way. I don’t know, there was just something about it that felt different, and also these dolls are basically the dolls that Hans Bellmer helped create. It all comes from him and I’ve been a big fan of his since I can remember; he is a big inspiration for how I draw and what I draw.

There is so much to the dolls, and it has been explored before—it’s not new, but I just became completely enamoured by the photos that people were taking of the dolls, to the point I ended up buying it and now painting it.

HORVAT: Show is called “My Small Super Star” which in a way already has a sexual innuendo on its own, but then the dolls itself could also easily be perceived as sexual very fast. Is there more to this or is it just the human perception and how we were almost taught to think and parcel things?

SHELDON: I think that the dolls can represent many things; one of them is perfection, and that specifically can be controversial for a lot of reasons. And also, simply put, people do sexualize perfection. That being said, when I look at them, I don’t think of them as sexual beings. I just like painting them. If they were real people, it would have been totally different.

There is this documentary I watched, “Married to the Eiffel Tower” where the protagonist, as said in the title, marries the tower. And I don’t know, through that doc you see there is an array of people who get more from the objects that we could ever think of. They just establish a different type of connection, and I think this whole thing is really interesting to see and tap into.

Also, what I found through following people that collect these specific BJDs I am drawing, is that they give them power and help them overcome certain issues. People place their own imagination through them and project their wishes onto them; for some it’s sexual but for many it’s just emotional connection and sense of comfort and care.

HORVAT: Dolls itself are not an easy subject, and people are usually very opinionated when it comes to them. Prior to making the work, did you ever think about the narrative it will be placed in?

SHELDON: I think some people will like it and some people really won’t, as the work is rather specific. There is a whole different range of emotions that paintings and the dolls can exude but that’s the point, that’s basically what the dolls are, they are a vessel that makes you feel a very specific way which connects to your own personal sense of being.

And as long as my work is a jumping off point and a lens for people to feel a certain way, good or bad, that’s great! However, people want to read into them, it's basically what the dolls should be doing.

Also, collecting real or BJD dolls is mostly deemed anti-social behavior, and that is a scary thing to many, not the doll itself, but more so what it represents and who these collectors supposedly are. There is a norm and then there are people projecting these normative ideals onto anything and everything.

*Untitled (Blue Corner) 2021 Acrylic on canvas 72 x 55 inches (182.88 x 139.7cm)*

HORVAT: Correct. To me the doll collecting most heavily connects to loneliness, which is a disease. Obviously the obsession ranges, but at the end of the day, all these people who are collecting either dolls or whatever type of objects, they are filling up a certain void, a certain pain in their life.

SHELDON: Exactly, and the more you feel lonely, the more you alienate yourself, unconsciously almost, but you are just so in your head that you go into this vortex that is really hard to get out of. And I would think it’s easier to fill a void with something that comes to you blank, with no real emotions and personality, as that gives you the freedom to project and make up whatever you need and are feeling at that moment.

HORVAT: One thing I really like is that most of your dolls are not named—paintings are untitled. As soon as you put a name on something, you create a certain narrative, and I think it’s very smart to leave that door open so each viewer can create a story that works for them.

SHELDON: I usually have a lot of fun naming my work, and at first I wanted to name them, but then I just thought that would take too much away from them, and it would bring too much of me into them. I want other people to feel any way that they want to about them, and if they had a name, they would immediately give the audience direction to go in.

HORVAT: The dolls tap into the hyperreality of this world. They exist in fantasy as much as they do exist in real life. It is hard to explain as there is this realism to them, but then again, the projection and how we place them and what they represent is more so a fantasy. Where do these Stars live in your world?

SHELDON: I think they live right where you placed them too—somewhere between fantasy and reality. I feel like the perfection ideals and how these dolls look creates a certain murkiness around them...

I mean, at the end of the day, the dolls are a fantasy. They are a vessel for your imagination to go wild. But they are also a lens, whether dark or not, a lens for something that exists in reality and it’s part of us now.

HORVAT: When making work, do you ever think about where the work may end up and who is the person who will live with it?

SHELDON: I do, but I try to keep that notion of where and how as open as possible, so I don’t put any expectations on myself or work. I would like to think that if you collect the dolls, you can also collect my paintings—I hope they speak to the same audience in some sort of way.

That being said, I don’t have a specific way I would want them to live or travel. I try to think that whatever happens will be the best for them. I kind of make things and figure the rest of the stuff later. I have a basic idea as to why I am interested in these things, but most of my work I truly only get years after I do it.

HORVAT: I mean, it’s just like everything else in life. Time is perspective—we act on impulse and then, after some time, it really hits you how some things were perceived or communicated.

SHELDON: Spot on! And I do get the interest thing and why I tap into a specific element or react in a certain way or maybe how I go about it, but sometimes it just takes me months or years to realize what a specific work actually represents for me/about me, and why it came out when it did.

HORVAT: The more you try to make it make sense, the more you get caught up in it. It is what it is, and sometimes that’s good enough. For the most part, it’s just hard to realize that when you are in it.

SHELDON: It used to scare me to not have the immediate understanding or trajectory, but now I just accepted the fact that it will probably take years for me to realize why I am doing it, so for the moment, my emotions are what’s guiding me and the reasoning part will come when it comes.

HORVAT: Most people know you as a tattoo artist. Does the work feel different when you are putting it on canvas versus putting in on a body? Would you tattoo someone with the doll imagery?

SHELDON: I would if someone asked, but it’s also not something I thought much about. But to me, everything I do stems from pure excitement, so somewhere along the way the two meet and there is not much difference to where the imagery is being placed. I am so excited that tattooing exists and we can stain our bodies. I am so excited that the dolls exist and people can make up for what they mean. So yeah, to bring it back, no to the first part, yes to the last. (laughs)

HORVAT: Lasty, what were you into as a kid? What do you think shaped your taste the most?

SHELDON: I think one of the main things for me as a kid, and what was most inspiring are the Guinea Pig films, which all feel like they were done by artists as they are just so creative and imaginative. The special effects and prosthetics used in the films are beyond, so much so that Charlie Sheen got Guinea Pig 2: Flower of Flesh and Blood banned in America. He was given a copy, and after he watched it, he was convinced it was a snuff film and totally real. He called the FBI, who then investigated the movie and the story behind it. The investigation was dropped once they saw a documentary about how the movie was made. But yeah, I would watch these movies all the time, and my mom would pass the TV and I would turn it off, and when she left, turn it back on, as you know, those movies are just something you can only do/have for yourself.

My Small Super Star is on view at Heidi, Kurfürstenstraße 145, Berlin until October 30, 2021.

WILL SHELDON
Artist
Born 1990, Hong Kong
Lives and works in New York, NY

*Untitled (Pink) 2021Acrylic on canvas 28x22inches (71 x56cm)*

Her Data: An Interview Of Maria Mavropoulou On Algorithmic Gender Bias

October 13, 2021

Maria Movrapoulou installation image, courtesy of the artist.

interview by Lara Monro

“Have you ever wondered why Siri, Alexa and Cortana are given female voices and names? How do machines see women? Can machines perceive diversity?”

Women currently occupy a minority of positions in the tech field. As a result of this, there is growing evidence that the gender imbalance affecting the tech sector extends to data science and AI. Gender and racial biases found in AI training data sets, algorithms, and devices have the tendency to reinforce harmful stereotypes that stigmatize and marginalize women on a global scale. With the increasing ubiquity of AI in our societies, such biases put women at risk of being left behind in all realms of economic, political and social life. Her Data is a group exhibition currently on view at Romantso, Athens that explores the role of data and algorithms in the current age of artificial intelligence through the female perspective, and focuses on how technologies used daily might affect our identities and ways of thinking. Curated by Katerina Gkoutziouli & Foteini Vergidou, the show includes the work of 4 female artists, Eli Cortiñas, Maria Mavropoulou, Mimi Ọnụọha, and Paola Palavidi. Each artist highlights the need for inclusive technologies due to the various ways that dominant technological narratives influence our experienced identities through social media, search engines and AI applications. Together these works raise questions about the tech industry and its collection and distribution of our data. They invite us to look deeper at the design of current technological systems, exposing how they work and the world views that they propagate. We spoke with Greek artist Maria Mavropoulou to learn more about her involvement in the show and how she investigates the algorithmic classifications of women according to race, gender, and age through the use of personalized ads.

LARA MONRO: Can you give me some background into your creative practice as an artist, painter, and photographer?

MARIA MAVROPOULOU: Well, it’s always difficult for me to describe my practice, since I always treat every idea I have in a different way. Even if photography is the main medium that I use, I constantly look for new ways to utilize it. During my studies at Athens School of Fine Arts I was trained as a painter before I switched to photography, so “starting from a blank canvas” is a problem I have to solve every time I start a new work. This means that I always try to find the most suitable medium and technique to express an idea, no matter if I’ll have to get out of my comfort zone. For example, the series Family Portraits was made as an interactive virtual tour, creating an experience for the viewer totally constructed out of still photographs. Another work that depicted loaders, titled “ Typology of Waiting'' was painted on canvases with thick layers of paint, and my latest series A Hollow Garden consists of screenshots and 3D scans.

Eli Cortiñas video installation. Photograph by Maria Mavropoulou

MONRO: Have you always explored the relationship between women and technology in your work?

MAVROPOULOU: As the connectible devices through which we access the internet started playing a more and more important role in our lives, I started exploring our relationship with them. As a user of these technologies as well, I felt it was an urgent need for me to contemplate deeper about this new landscape of possibilities they offer, as well as the darker parts of it. Since my MFA years, in 2017 the interaction of people with the devices they use to access the internet is the main theme of my work and I try to explore it from different points of view. The question, How do machines see women?, which is the subject of the exhibition, made me look at this condition even more closely from the female side and speculate further on the way that the algorithms discriminate users based on their sex.

MONRO: Can you explain how your contribution to the show examines this idea of how dominant technological narratives affect the way we experience our identities and the world through social media, search engines, and artificial intelligence applications?

MAVROPOULOU: Starting with the fact that machines do not "see" but are trained to "see" by their programmers, who are mostly white men, the work I am presenting, entitled “Through His Eyes” is essentially trying to reconstruct the image that the algorithm creates for me through the ads it presents to me. Observing the mosaic of sponsored posts forms an image that essentially reproduces (I would even say that it strengthens) the well-known female stereotypes, ultimately perpetuating the male gaze even through these new technologies. The female portrait with hidden features at the center of this composition [“The Average of Everything”] is a different approach to the same subject. How do algorithms view women? What exactly do they see? The fact is that the algorithms see an image of us that consists of numbers, preferences—demographics which are evaluated based on the statistics that the algorithm has accumulated from all its users, but also how it is ultimately trained to create a portrait of us to which we have no access—neither to the elements it holds for us, nor to the way in which it is formed.

MONRO: How do you navigate social media: do you feel you have a healthy relationship to it?

MAVROPOULOU: Maintaining a pretty successful account takes some time, effort and planning, but I see it as a part of my job as an artist to share the ideas I’m working on with my audience, and I really enjoy the communication and the feedback I get. I do spend some time online, but I feel that it’s not crossing what I would call healthy limits since it doesn’t put any pressure on me and I don’t bother being offline some days. Although, I admit that I enjoy browsing around for a while and discovering some interesting and inspiring stuff.

Video work by Mimi Onuoha. Photograph by Maria Mavropoulou

Created with the support of NEON, BIOS ROMANTSO, and organised & produced by VEKTOR Athens, Her Data is on view through October 14 @ Romantso, Anaxagora 3 in Athens

Le Grand Maître: An Editorial & Interview Of Lennart Sydney Kofi On The Modern African Dandy

October 1, 2021

LEFT suit: Moschino turtleneck: Versace scarf: Daily Paper earring: Alama RIGHT mesh top: Gucci shirt: Dries van Noten neckerchief: Falke — LEFT
suit: Moschino
turtleneck: Versace
scarf: Daily Paper
earring: Alama

RIGHT
mesh top: Gucci
shirt: Dries van Noten
neckerchief: Falke

photography by Lennart Sydney Kofi
styling by Peninah Amanda @ Liganord Creative Services
art direction & production by Eugenia Vicari
talent by Thiam and Jodeci @ IMG Models Worldwide
hair & makeup by Maria Ehrlich @ Collective Interest
processing by gOLab Berlin
retouching by the hand of god
photography assistance by Mark Philip Simpson
styling assistance by *Naomie Mahray***

shot @ Welcome Home Studio
with special thanks to Hakan Solak & Maria Ianniello

How did you discover your love of photography?

It didn’t happen from one day to the next. Photography was part of my life from as early as grade school, and when I realized that words in particular, but also music were not the universal language that I was intuitively searching for, I fell in love with photography.

What was it about fashion photography that drew you in?

This happened accidentally. I started studying photography and I dreamed of becoming a reportage photographer, traveling around the world and documenting life, but quite early on I learned that this wouldn’t pay my rent. My university had a lot of fashion students and I started making a business through shooting their collections. It took me some time to make my peace with shooting fashion. My thesis was about how clothing turns into fashion and what happens when you point a camera at it. This is actually a topic that still interests me and it has so many facets like fashion in relation to gender, sexuality, identity, society, and (sub)culture.

blazer: Hugo Boss shirt: Hérmes rings: Elhanati hat: Fiona Bennett — blazer: HUGO
shirt: Hérmes
rings: Elhanati
hat: Fiona Bennett

What do you look for when casting models?

To me authenticity is super important. This has to do with finding the “right character” for a certain project or topic. Since my early days in photography, I have been working with people from different subcultures because this is a huge part of my personal background, too. I have always wanted to give the people who are not usually represented in society, and especially not in fashion, a voice. I really appreciate that human diversity has become important in fashion photography, even if I sometimes question whether or not it’s just become a trend rather than a deeper understanding of society and what needs to be changed.

This shoot explores the concept of the African dandy. How would you describe this man and what was the inspiration for this concept?

A dandy by definition is someone who excessively pays attention to his or her physical appearance, in terms of dressing up. A dandy creates fashion, rather than following fashion trends and usually doesn’t pay much attention to secular affairs. This is a concept one would not necessarily expect to find in Africa (from a eurocentric/western point of view), as many people imagine Africa as a rather poor continent where people deal with existential worries. I liked the idea that the people we would often consider “poor” develop an attitude which allows them to free themselves and present in carefree and colorful ways. This is where a rich culture meets creativity and becomes a great way to express through fashion.

Dandyism is also a mindset in terms of not worrying too much about tomorrow, enjoying life and behaving gently. The African Dandy movement is called SAPE which means clothing in French but also stands for (Société Des Ambianceurs et des Personnes Élégantes (Society of Tastemakers and Elegant People). It started in Congo, when people brought the concept from France and turned it into something their own.

My background is also half African, so for this story, so many details came together on so many levels. The story is inspired by my intention to question the concept of fashion and an extensive search for my roots.

Has the image of the African dandy changed over time? If so, how?

It has. The movement was mainly carried by guys, in the beginning, now there are more and more females joining, calling themselves sapeuses.

Can you talk a little bit about your collaboration process with stylist Peninah Amanda and what you both were trying to achieve?

Peninah and I knew of each other, as we have some friends in common, but actually never met or worked together before. When I sent her the concept, she really felt the idea and we vibed immediately. She happened to be in Kenya at that time and she managed to bring a lot of props which helped us to densify the entire story. And sure, one goal was to feature African culture within the fashion world.

knit: Lecavalier shirt: Magliamo tie: Fumagalli pants: Karl Lagerfeld x Ize Kenneth shoes: Dr. Martens small bag: David Kossi gloves: Roeckl — knit: Lecavalier
shirt: Magliamo
tie: Fumagalli
pants: Karl Lagerfeld x Ize Kenneth
shoes: Dr. Martens
small bag: David Kossi
gloves: Roeckl

The Beauty In What Already Is: An Interview Of LML's Eponymous Designer Lucas Meyer-Leclère

September 28, 2021

interview by Hakan Solak

Behind every garment we wear is a story that imbues our attitude with its unique history. These stories become increasingly rich and complex when you combine and re-tailor vintage pieces from a pastiche of legacy fashion houses. Such is the case with Lucas Meyer-Leclère’s new collection for LML Studio, presented at the Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Berlin at Kraftwerk Mitte on September 7. A master of print design, hand painting techniques, and an overall maestro of the immersive sartorial experience, Leclère enlists a coterie of friends and contemporaries to walk the runway, personalize the garments, lend vocals, and to re-mix his chosen score. He sees himself as a stable boy in the fashion world, which isn’t so much a complaint as it is an omission of the potential for kink therein. Following the runway presentation for his most recent collection, we sat down with the emerging designer to discuss material, sustainability, our favorite Berlin-based style archetypes, and the importance of taking your time.

HAKAN SOLAK: What is the role of sustainability in the current fashion industry?

LUCAS MEYER-LECLERE: Sustainability is the only way we can create today without destroying the planet. We can already see the terrible damages of global warming and the lives that have been taken all over the world, even recently in Germany with the flooding. As for a creative response, I’ll give you an example. The advent of photography meant that fewer and fewer pigments were available for paint because investments were made in this new medium. Now that we all have smartphones, photographs are almost never printed, which means that printing and developing them has become increasingly more expensive. It is the same on a more tragic level with fashion and its labyrinthine system of global subcontracting and assembly. The problem is not fashion, the problem is the thirst for money and world domination. We know that if under the gold of your palace is the blood of the people, they are bound to fail one day or another. Because when you stop serving the people and you expose them to death by labor, you expose yourself to wrath.

SOLAK: How would you ideally like your brand to influence the fashion industry?

MEYER-LECLERE: I am not here to chop heads and start a revolution. A call for blood will never encourage love and respect. I am here to cut clothes that exist already and to show the harmony in diversity. The beauty in what already is. This is why I use clothes from Dior, Chanel, Berluti, etc. In the same way that some sculptors choose to work with marble [as opposed to other types of stone], high-quality fabrics often come with better cuts and craftsmanship—and I like excellence. When Karl Lagerfeld hired me to assist the person in charge of creating fabrics, I would paint tweeds on my little desk and make samples in the atelier of Cecile, the best chef d’atelier of the haute couture team. We didn’t create in a palace; it was small, in the attic, full of light with a view on the Colonne Vendôme. It’s the same space where Mademoiselle Chanel had her atelier. It starts there with the architecture, because a beautiful stone building is meant to last. We made it new and high-tech, and yet it’s also still the same. And that’s what I do: I take clothes whose structures are made to last and I make them to the taste of the moment.

I used Hermès bags and wallets for accessories because they are the only bags in the world that are not only beautiful and well-conceived, but they are made with a firm intention to last beyond their first owner. That’s why there are only painted labels in my clothes, or fingerprints, just like when Jeanne Lanvin first sold to the US. She would mark the labels with her fingerprint, so no one would be tempted to copy it. Although, I’m happy to be copied, and I like to fantasize that the clothes you saw on the catwalk could one day be in the hands of someone who will decide to paint them or cut them again, or make a towel out of them and give them a new life. It is a quilting. It is what one finds everywhere in the world, in all different shapes.

SOLAK: What were some of the key ideas behind this collection?

MEYER-LECLERE: The key idea in this collection was to take the time to enjoy. It took me three years to make. I made most things myself and got help along the way by wonderful people who generously gave their time to the whole process. Without all of this LML family, and the support of the Evangelical Church of Berlin who welcomed an atelier on the first floor of Parochialkirche, the Fashion Council, La Biosthétique and Mercedes, none of this would have seen the light of day. It was also to create without one firm concept in mind, but rather, react to each piece individually. I was also inspired by the models—most of which are my friends—who all have a strong fashion sense, or a sense of what they want; what fits them. It was important for me to ask them what they liked. I don’t see the point in putting something on someone just because it is my will. It would feel like a punishment; the opposite of what I want to do. I want to be the Frederick Der Grosse of fashion. Its king and its first servant, but I have a long way to go. I’m a stable boy at the moment, which is great because I love horses. You know, the hay, the dung, the leather, the whips ... there’s quite a bit of Berghain to it, and a lot of Queen Kelly by Eric Von Stroheim, who always inspired me. When I had to give show notes to the production team, I said the collection was a bit “Stroheim and David Bowie have gender fluid kids playing in Jackson Pollock’s atelier.”

SOLAK: Can you tell us about your casting and the role that it plays on your brand identity?

MEYER-LECLERE: The casting happened organically. I asked James to sing “Berliner Luft,” which I ended up recording myself on the “Concerto Grosso in D minor No. 5” by Scarlatti with Dauwd—who did all the transitions and mixing of the songs I selected for the show. I met Jeanette when I was seventeen and he was the darling of London’s fashion and party scene. He was the face of Boombox where I danced every weekend, drinking water with sugar (never alcohol). He made a perfect new Marlene; a Marlene Mapplethorpe. All the others are friends, or friends of friends.

My clothes don’t have sizes. I like that people have to try things on. We all know ready-to-wear is an aberration. I had my first leather jacket made when I was fifteen and the emotion of fitting my arms in a sleeve made just for me still vibrates with me today. That’s why Maja wore a jacket made for me by Huntsman, the best tailor of Savile Row, whose horsehair I took, and then I washed the Dormeuil wool. You can now wear it both ways and it has a flow aspect to it. The cut is so excellent that it kept its shape and the precise connection in the stripes. I also used a collar I had made at Budd’s as well as a shirt worn by Christian Stemmler who came to borrow the beautiful black leather jacket that I frayed from Berluti and ended up walking the show. My photographer friend, Mariam Medvedeva had just flown from Moscow and wore the dress I made for her. It was from a Margiela dress that I painted and cut out. We added her last minute. Jack, I met when he was sixteen. They were the actors of the show. They WERE the show. They reflected my taste for life, for people who love and respect freedom, for people who are independent.

There is this great meditation app by Sam Harris that you can get for free if you can’t afford it by sending an email. In today’s short meditation he said, “Remember that there’s no dress rehearsal for some future time. This is the live show,” and of all the live shows, Berlin’s is my favorite. This city has welcomed me and so many friends from all over the world. All us immigrants can be thankful for the German people of Berlin, and the ones who still fight for tolerance and respect, so we can breathe free singing “Berliner Luft.” Prost! [laughs]

SOLAK: What are your favorite Berlin archetypes of style? Is it like the raver, the Kudamm brand-bitch, the Marzahn Kommune garden girl?

MEYER-LECLERE: My favorite archetype of Berlin style is definitely the leather scene. To see gentlemen of all ages and sizes dedicating themselves with such refinement and sophistication to a fetish is fascinating. Karl Lagerfeld gave me a book that is still in my mind called Dressed to Rule by Philip Mansfeld. I came out of the show in a yellow coat I made for my final collection at Saint Martins where I used the reverse of a filcoupé jacquard that I had painted with oil paint, then ripped off. Underneath was the Soccer Jersey of England that I painted too. England brought me so much and I hope I live to see the day when it will be part of Europe again. Underneath was a lace top made of two laces I got from Sophie Hallette painted in lavender with metallic foil appliqué and fastened by hand-woven cotton braids. That was on top of the fabric given to me by Budd’s, the most exquisite shirtmaker on Piccadilly who has everything produced in England. The shorts were German workers’ shorts found at Halleluja Berlin. I had two pairs of socks by Falke. One pair underneath a fil d’Écosse in Burgundy. One purple pair on top in cotton, the color of the Protestant church where I was baptised on November 17, 2017 wearing these kinky boots that I found at Halleluja. I wore the perfume Duke of Burgundy, created by Max Buxton Moss for Rabbit Perfumers because I am from Dijon in Burgundy. Don’t say like the mustard. I’d rather be associated with Kir Royals and champagne—even if I don’t drink. It’s more festive. And that’s my archetype: Festival Berliners of any kind!

Tomorrow's Anxieties: An Interview of Jillian Mayer

August 21, 2021

Courtesy of SECCA and David Castillo Gallery photograph by Maximilian Lecki — Courtesy of SECCA and David Castillo Gallery
photograph by Maximilian Lecki

interview by Kelly Loudenberg

Jillian Mayer gets stuck in your head. I still find myself randomly humming the tune to her pop song, “Mega Mega Upload,” even though it’s been ten years since I first saw the video she made for it. Her short, catchy video “I am your Grandma” has a cult following on YouTube and TikTok and is so delightfully bizarre that it’s bound to be discovered by youngsters for decades to come. Her Slumpies, sculptural furniture designed to help people use their smartphones, are found in airports by travelers who don’t know her, only that her art helps them maintain comfort while staring into Instagram.

Her latest show, TIMESHARE at the Bemis Center for Contemporary Arts in Omaha, likewise wedges its way into your psyche. It leaves me feeling unsettled, yet inspired. It feels urgent but timeless as it examines the impending collapse of society as climate change throws our functional-enough world into chaos and turmoil. Her in-progress mobile bunker recalls the highbrow living spaces of Buckminster Fuller and Andrea Zittell, but also elicits the vibe of the RVs and trailer parks—the most economical but low-brow living spaces of the American landscape.

Who’s to say if the world ends, that you can’t take a shower in a shiny resin tub, covered in shimmer and pastels, and thereby maintain a bit of the soul-affirming glamour of the pre-end-times era? Her floating sculptures—functional in a world where all the ice-caps have melted—could literally save lives. I’ve been to prepper school myself, but I prefer Jillian’s whimsical, yet functional lo-fi take on how to survive with artistic flair once the shit hits the fan.

KELLY LOUDENBERG: Can you tell us about the art you’re making now and what led up to the work in your traveling exhibition, TIMESHARE?

JILLIAN MAYER: I explore how technology affects our lives, bodies, and identities by processing how our physical world and bodies are impacted and reshaped by our participation in various landscapes. My work used to focus more on digital and social media technologies, but I have expanded that to any technology that helps us adapt to our future selves.

In the simplest terms, my artwork generally describes tomorrow's anxieties. I tend to look at contemporary issues, like internet existence for the past ten years and the looming ecological and infrastructural collapse of the last four years. I do offer solutions and environments, and often function as some type of a "host" in my work, trying to shed new ideas for adaptive living. I tend to make artwork that has a consistent thread, which models how to subvert capital-driven modes of technological innovation, calling into focus ideas of value, dependency, adaptation, and communication.

After years of making work, I’ve been thinking about the real future, not our current understanding of the future, but rather beyond that; beyond the sleek aluminum and titanium. I am more drawn to the dystopias that have the grass that creeps over your broken solar-powered cars, the wild boars walking into your smart house with Siri telling them the hot weather, and rats festering in a pile of iphones on your self-disinfecting, hypoallergenic sofa.

I work in a lot of different mediums simultaneously. Videos, sculptures, online experiences, photography, installations—they are all fair game. It’s whatever will convey the idea and the serotonin boost best.

Courtesy of SECCA and David Castillo Gallery photograph by Cliff Dossel — Courtesy of SECCA and David Castillo Gallery
photograph by Cliff Dossel

LOUDENBERG: Your show TIMESHARE and the floating LAKE SCULPTURE comes from a long history of you exploring survival and prepper cultures. Where did this come from?

MAYER: I am from Miami and it’s one of the major cities that will be wiped out first by sea level rise. With our location and coastal nature, my life was defined by tropical storms and hurricanes. Floridians and many coastal residents are aware of the upcoming hurricane seasons as well as the predictions for our future based on weather patterns. We know the names of past hurricanes like former classmates we recall from school. We are familiar with cone-shaped predictions and color-coded emergency threats from nature. I grew up in South Florida with an immigrant father (by way of Cuba to Miami Beach) with most of his family already murdered in the Holocaust. So, there were always plenty of idioms available to me as a child about making plans and the weather or god laughing in your face. I think there is a relentless humor in much of my work and general point of view.

LOUDENBERG: When did you become so obsessed with weather? Was it through making art?

MAYER: In 2019, Hurricane Irma was predicted to crush South Florida and it became a Mandatory Evacuation Zone. As I was moving lawn furniture inside and strapping things down, I took a hard look at my body of Slumpie Sculptures.

My sculptures often live outdoors and are pretty large. So, I sort of just ride it out when it comes to natural disasters making landfall with the capacity of destroying my physical works. I can talk all day about hurricane feelings but I am trying to answer your question. Instead of relocating my sculptures, I just tied them to a tree. My landlord told me to write my name and phone number on them in case they fly away and land a few blocks down the road. I realized due to their foam core, they are more likely to float than sink.

I started thinking about all the people with money who were able to prepare for upcoming disasters, able to leave the state to another location. Around that time, a study had been done that stated that 40% of Americans do not have an extra $400.00 to cope with an emergency expense. As many South Floridians loaded up their gas tanks, boarded their homes, and filled up their cars with items from the store, I thought about all the people that just had to sit around and hope the storm would spare them.

I thought about all those who lived through Hurricane Andrew in 1992 and sat on their roofs waiting for FEMA to rescue them. I thought about the six feet of mud and salt water that made my childhood home unable to be entered. The roof provided safety, whether it was connected to a one hundred thousand dollar house or a $4 million house. The value was in the chance for survival in desperate times.

It led me to considering how in times of emergency, something like a Louise Bourgeois “Spider”—a canonical history and worth around $35 million—may save your life the same way that a broken down pickup truck can when the storm waters come flooding in. Value is in opportunity and chance.

LOUDENBERG: Have you taken survivalist courses? If so, what are some things you learned? Can you start a fire without a match?

MAYER: I went to Prepper Camp in Fall of 2020 in North Carolina. I was recording my talks with people while I asked them about the core essence of being prepared. Aside from practical survivalist info and homesteading rituals, I learned a lot about their community. The coordinators yelled at me to stop recording because they thought I was a dubious person but I kept trying to let them know I am an artist just doing research. They asked me “what kind of art?” and I said “mostly abstract sculpture.” They didn’t mean to scare me, they are just protective over their community. The only iffy thing is it seemed to be a Trump-heavy crowd.

LOUDENBERG: Do you think the problem is now at a scale that it can't be addressed?

MAYER: Here is the part where I won't pretend to be an environmental scientist, because I am an artist. But I do boast being an optimist. No doubt, humans create massive problems everywhere we go (ex: space junk) but nature redesigns itself, mutates, and carries on for various organisms … as it is the nature of nature.

I do tend to occupy a fatalistic nihilism position in my views. I think humans are on Earth until we are not. That might be from pollution leading to increased carbon loads and temperature issues, or a comet just smashing us to star bits.

Ultimately, humans are getting a chance at Earth. Earth will be around longer than humans. Earth will be fine and it's important not to get obsessed with an anthropocentric approach to existence. It is hard, and I get that, and I constantly have to check myself. But we are here, doing our silly human things, for a collection of decades, if we are lucky. Nonetheless, we are here for now and we, as the human race, try to figure out ways to survive. I am really happy I am alive and trying to make the most of it. Just wishing kindness and equality was in greater practice and I try to be a better human every day.

LOUDENBERG: Do you see humor and art as effective forms of change?

MAYER: Humor has always been an entry point for dialogue in my work and life. Hard and uncomfortable topics aren’t usually inviting, so if I can use a joke or any other device to wedge a beat and open up a conversation, I will. It's hard for us humans to face our mortality in a personal way. I do hope I die by way of mother Earth, rather than a car crash or something like that. I might be off topic.

LOUDENBERG: How and why do you choose your materials to construct your larger sculptures?

MAYER: I lean towards industrial materials that have associated functions. I describe my Slumpie sculptures as boats or surfboards in a material sense. Fiberglass, epoxy, foam. I get all of my foam donated and derail it from its single-use journey to the landfill. The foam I use was previously lining crates of boxes used for transporting art. I like that my artwork springs out of the circle of art detritus.

LOUDENBERG: What’s Next?

MAYER: Also informed by preparedness and survival is a Mobile Bunker Artist Residency I have been building with friends called “LOW RES.” Built from a converted twenty-foot trailer, the bunker is designed to be reliant on as few outside services as possible. It's a functional, off-grid, tiny home that feels like an art installation. Ideally, it is both a low-impact, off-grid artist residency and a mobile hub of anonymous, untraceable space for organizers and communities in need. The design of the structure draws inspiration from the tiny-house movement and survivalist bunkers.

To learn more about Jillian Mayer, follow her on instagram @jillian_mayer_

A Momentary Surrender: An Interview Of Artist Zoe Chait On Her Solo Exhibition @ Ramiken In Brooklyn

July 22, 2021

Zoe Chait
*projection reflected*, 2017-2020
Projections on aluminum panels
9:18

text by Summer Bowie

Capturing Sophie, the late, hyperkinetic pop sensation whose tragic and untimely death shocked and saddened millions around the globe, is like photographing the flight of a butterfly. The prodigious and pioneering musician and producer of avant garde electronic music began her career anonymously making cosmic waves with singles like “Bigg” (2013) and “Lemonade” (2014), worked closely with a number of artists from the notorious PC Music label, and in 2017 came out as a trans woman. Developing an intimate connection with Sophie at such an inflection point was the genesis of Zoe Chait’s Noise, a solo exhibition of portraits that capture an individual who has just emerged from the cocoon with a new and fleeting lease on life. Here and gone in a flash, two artists forge a bond under painfully short exposure. A loving elegy, besotted with adoration. Chait bears witness to the weight of the sublime and the value of the present moment.

You have extensive documentation of Sophie working, creating, living life. When did you first meet Sophie and how did this show come about?

I first met Sophie at the Women's March in LA, right after Trump was sworn in, in January 2017. I remember, she was wearing this big, pink puffer jacket and glasses. She was quiet and her eyes had a curious gaze. We didn't speak much, but walked through the crowd together with another friend, silently processing.

We really came to know each other later that year, when we became neighbours. I rented a room in a very special compound where she lived and worked at the time. It was a wild and beautiful home in the hills. We became close and I began to photograph her.

Mike [Egan], the founder of Ramiken, lived in the house as well while opening a gallery in LA. We shared a kitchen for many months and hiked the backroads of the canyon almost every morning. Over the years, we’d meet up when in the same city and reminisce about our times in that house. I would catch him up on my adventures living with different people and show him the photographs and films I was working on. At the beginning of the pandemic he called to ask if I wanted to do a show and we eventually landed on a group of portraits of Sophie.

What was it like collaborating with someone so intimately on a show like this?

With portraiture, no matter how close I am to the person in the photos or film, I’ve found it’s necessary for the subject to maintain distance from the final piece being created, especially during the edit.

No matter how real I want it to be or how honestly I want to portray the truth of a person, it ultimately becomes my experience of that person when I frame it.

Sophie was encouraging and understood the importance of letting go of the outcome. Her loyalty was to art, whatever it may be. I felt that from her in relation to this work. Even with the material so tied to her as a person, where naturally there could be self-consciousness and the instinct to edit, she supported what I wanted to do and appreciated the gravity of it. There was a lot of trust there, and I feel that how I saw her was one of the ways in which she wanted to be seen.

Zoe Chait
nude, 2020
Dye sublimation on aluminum
24 x 36 inches
Edition 2 of 5 + 1AP

Zoe Chait
echo park lake, 2021
Dye sublimation on aluminum
10 x 15
Edition 1 of 5 + 1AP

Zoe Chait
what dream, 2021
Dye sublimation on aluminum
30 x 40 inches
Edition 1 of 5 + 1AP

Can you talk about some of your inspirations?

Vulnerability is the most inspiring thing to me. Sometimes I feel we are living in a simulation of honesty and a performance of openness. When I’m able to witness a kind of raw truth in people and how they move through the world I want to follow that and learn from it.

Can you talk about some of the mediums that you played around with for these images; is there any connection there to Sophie herself?

Several of the images in the show are stills from video, for which the process of capturing the material is a different experience than the process of making the object. Sometimes the camera is very present in the interaction, and is a tool to go deeper, inviting the subject to share something that otherwise might remain interior. Other times watching through a frame requires a level of detachment with reality. I’m in an in-between state, physically there, but somewhat unnoticeable. I zoom into and meditate on micro vignettes playing out in a louder scene, searching for the intimacy I’d find in a private setting.

In the editing there is marinating and processing and translating the experience with materials that can come closer to representing the moment than a purely photographic documentation does.

For example, Touch is made with a delicate, tissue-like organza stretched over a heavy iron frame, which sets its surface away from the wall, revealing its transparency. The feeling is of something I can never fully grasp: held by a strong, heavy support but in essence soft, fragile, fleeting, elusive.

I also printed on aluminum with dye sublimation, playing with the way different surfaces reflect or absorb light. All the choices are in connection to recreating the feeling of the given moment.

Zoe Chait
party line, 2019
Lightjet C-print
41 x 29 x 1 inches framed
Edition 1 of 5 + 1AP

Zoe Chait
touch, 2021
Inkjet on organza, angle iron
27 x 46 x 1 inches
Unique

Zoe Chait
cheeky, 2019
Lightjet c-print
41 x 29 x 1 inches framed
Edition 1 of 5 + 1AP

Installation view

Do you remember Sophie’s coming out in 2018, because that was sort of a milestone moment?

In 2017, when “It’s Okay to Cry” came out we sat on her bed and cried, reading all the tweets of support, encouragement, virtual tears that had been looking for a release. I realized the impact of what she was making and how much the world needed it.

What did you learn from Sophie over the years?

She definitely taught me to push things to the edge and pursue what I believe in. Also, to constantly question the reality imposed by the structures outside, and instead listen deeply to what comes up inside; even if it’s soft and quiet, honor it, and live from there. Test the limits.

In her passing, these lessons have become part of me and redirected me in some way.

Can you say what you learned about yourself?

In the process of grief I’ve felt overwhelmed by the concept of life itself. I’m reminded of how delicate and fragile it all is. It’s essential to honor the impulse we have to create, to be the way that makes us who we want to be, to live in love and to support in any way we can.

Do you have a memory of Sophie that would describe her well?

I vividly remember a trip I took from my sister’s in Connecticut to visit Sophie at her Airbnb in New York for a few hours in 2018. We hardly spoke but everything was said. A momentary surrender. A new comfort in her body, nude beyond the skin. Breasts illuminated in soft afternoon light diffused by tall buildings. A lime green shirt with cherries on it, discarded on the floor along with a pack of Capri’s. A cigarette inside with Ben. Siblings holding hands. The case of the missing Juul, solved.

Zoe Chait
soft, juul, 2017
Dye sublimation print
10 x 19 x 1 inches framed
Edition 1 of 3 + 1AP

Zoe Chait
lubricate, 2018
Darkroom C-print
13 x 15 x 1 inches framed
Edition 1 of 3 + 1AP

Installation view

Zoe Chait
motion, 2017
Dye sublimation on aluminum
3 7/8 x 6 3/8 inches
Edition 1 of 7 + 1AP

Noise is on view through July 24 @ Ramiken 154 Scott Avenue, Brooklyn

To Erase a Cloud: An Interview Of Jim Longden Following The Release Of His Debut Short

July 12, 2021

interview by Lara Monro
photographs by Domino Leaha

The London-based artist Jim Longden has released his debut short, To Erase a Cloud. Shot on 16mm film, the twenty-minute piece is “a sort of crash-course to the introductions of filmmaking.” To Erase a Cloud delves into the harsh realities of grief. The poet and actor Sonny Hall, a good friend of Longden, plays the painfully tormented, reckless and broken main protagonist, John Little.

The opening scene shows Little living a depressing existence in his dirty apartment; drinking dregs of empty beer cans and lighting half smoked fags as the early morning sun seeps in. We catch Little staring at his reflection in a cracked mirror; a symbol for his fractured state of mind and the result of his self-inflicted isolation spurred on from the loss of his mother.

We meander from the realities of Little’s daily existence, which includes taking a drunken cab to his mother’s grave, robbing a porno from the local off-licence, and surreal dream sequences that question the perception of Little’s reality. The poetic filmwork was made by Longden during the height of the covid pandemic. Although it may seem a desperate state of affairs, Longden manages to find beauty in the bleakness. As the saying goes; without darkness there is no light. To Erase a Cloud highlights humanity’s resilience to carry on.

On a recent trip to Italy, Longden was shot by the Italian photographer, Domino Leaha for his interview with Autre. He is currently traveling around Europe, writing his next film.

LARA MONRO: Can you tell me about your most recent filmic work, To Erase a Cloud?

JIM LONGDEN: It’s a film about a young man being at that age when he should be passing the stage of the growing-but-stained teenager he was before, and to now be at the stage of finally entering adulthood. He is in this awkward middle, between his teenage angst, and his ongoing frustration and bitterness for the world and it’s ways. His mother not being alive, and him not being around her often during his younger teenage years, has left the character in this wayward mould of growing and developing. The character has a menacing side to him, but holds this poetic, and theatrical demeanor at the same time. We see the raw sides of his persona, but also hear from the mind which he holds.

We shot it in the year 2020; during the time of the pandemic. The film held this atmosphere of being set in an almost deserted ghost-town area, which resembled points of reality near to those times. I had written and directed the film when I was twenty, it was to me, a sort of crash-course to the introductions of filmmaking. The shooting was a three-day experience which I learned a lot from. I found the possible perception of the more experienced members of the team interesting, because of the fact that they were seeing people acting on screen for their first times, whilst also being directed by a director who had never directed before! I see the film almost as being the equivalent to a student film, a directorial debut. And, in that sense, I am pleased with the outcome.

MONRO: The main protagonist is the poet, Sonny Hall. How did you come to cast Hall in the film?

LONGDEN: Sonny has been a friend of mine for years. I knew he would be able to also help me with parts of the writing within it. And, he held a willingness to do things on camera, which I felt other’s may not have felt comfortable doing. Those stunts like him running into the car door of Benny Benson, and him punching the mirror after slapping himself as he faces it, were tough to see for certain people. When doing the rehearsals for that scene of him and Benny, he kept diving into the damn door in the run-throughs, we did not have a stunt supervisor present at any moment. He ended up limping for a few days after, but it was good to see this devotion from him.

MONRO: To Erase a Cloud feels surreal in the moments when we find ourselves inside the tormented mind of the protagonist. Can you tell me more about these creative scenes and your treatment for these?

LONGDEN: Trying to make this film as good as it could be, while sticking to a very low budget was tricky. The access we had to certain locations was limited, so I had to almost treat it as if it were a theatrical story being told on the stage. I think the cinematography matched what sort of themes and styles we were aiming for. The music too, in my eyes added this blanket to the film. We used music made by Matt Elliott for the soundtrack. I had been a fan of his for years from when Sonny introduced me to his music. I also added in two guitar pieces I had created for the original score.

MONRO: Was the film mainly script-based or did you rely on improvisation?

LONGDEN: The story was mainly script-based. At a certain point, we had just enough time to fit in a newly thought up scene, which we rushed to film. And at another point, a scene we planned had to be cut due to it not working. Scenes like the Benny Benson one, had many improvised lines on his part, and certain movements as mentioned previously, could only be performed once, due to others being worried about the rightful code of health and safety. There are a lot of give and takes, sometimes they help, sometimes they don’t. The opening dance scene was an idea Sonny came up with, and on the day we were only able to film it in two takes.… Within a moment like that, the outline of the scene is there, but the rest is out of control, it is up to the subject to perform. We spent quite a while tweaking, adding, removing, changing things in the script, but at times, that could make one’s mind go around in circles. So, in that sense, I had to be careful and trust my instinct.

MONRO: Do you have a favourite scene, or are there any that stand out most to you for any particular reason?

LONGDEN: I liked the writing in the scene where we enter the mind of Johnny Little. I also enjoy watching the dream sequence he has.

Film still

MONRO: It seems you mainly work with film and photography. Have these always been your preferred mediums?

LONGDEN: Yes, they have. I had swerved within different lanes after leaving school, to survive and to keep myself busy. But, when I was younger, I wanted to become a professional football player. And when that dream faded, I was saved by the thrill of wanting to take photos and make films.

MONRO: Are there other mediums you would like to introduce into your creative practice?

LONGDEN: Maybe joining a Gypsy guitar band or something?

MONRO: Your website also features clothing. When did you first venture into fashion, and can you tell me what CAPO stands for?

LONGDEN: The clothing is merely merchandise, which is how I am able to keep my stomach full.

MONRO: You left school at sixteen to follow your creative pursuits. Did you face difficulties infiltrating the creative world as a self-taught artist/filmmaker?

LONGDEN: I wouldn’t say difficulties, I was more just upset at the fact that I didn’t know who to trust. I didn’t know what was real or not. I didn’t want to play snakes and ladders. I was at a blossoming, but vulnerable age, and didn’t want to have the blood sucked from me. I wanted to stay true to what I believed in, but at the same time, I needed to be able to move forward. It was an experience, that’s for sure.

MONRO: Are you working on anything else at the moment?

LONGDEN: Over the past few years, I have been taking photographs for a book I want to create. It holds the working title, Where You Are When You Don’t Know Where You Are?. I really look forward to being at that blissful moment when I think the book is ready and complete.

I also started writing passages, for what can maybe one day become a book. I am not certain of this happening any time soon though, I think I need more time to develop my writing before releasing it. But, it’s in motion, currently holding the working title of, Memoirs of a Balloon.

Transgenesis: An Interview Of Agnes? Following Her Transition Cum Durational Performance

June 15, 2021

interview by Lara Monro

Agnes? has made waves in London with her most recent exhibition, Transgenesis. Spending twenty-three consecutive days in the abandoned Belsize Park leisure centre, performing for eight hours straight, Agnes? has welcomed visitors to watch in awe as we see her transform into a larger-than-life, human-octopus creature, a form that symbolizes both life and death. Transgenesis, meaning one or more DNA sequences from another species being introduced by artificial means, is explored by Agnes? through her experience of transitioning from male to female. Since beginning her transition, Agnes? has explored the symbolic connotations behind water and its relationship to her experiences of ‘mutating’ from one being to another, using the liquid to wash down her hormone drugs, an action that is simultaneously transformative and destructive all in one swallow.

Agnes? takes the viewer on an immersive tour of their brilliant mind, sound-tracked by the sinister yet serene sound design of Portamento. As if walking into an abandoned leisure centre off a quaint residential street isn’t exciting enough, she leads you down a womb-like tunnel with fetal sculptures lining the silicon path into a room laden with white sand, beautiful, sea-creature-esque sculptures, and a large sculptural water feature that looks as if it could be Poseidon’s crown. From here you pass the changing and spa treatment rooms up to the next level where Agnes? is suspended, genderless — half-human, half sea creature — above the empty swimming pool, breathing meditatively with arms moving gently and instinctively. A visual and sound overload, it is a powerful work of art as we observe Agnes? embracing perpetual self-transformation.

The exhibition was organized by Arturo Passacantando, Tommasso de Benedictis (The Orange Garden) & Charlie Mills, in partnership with Harlsden High Street.

LARA MONRO: Did you have a process when entering into your transformative state for the eight-hour-a-day performance?

AGNES?: My performance began when I let Agnes? live through me. To become is a constant process of construction and deconstruction. I had to accept destruction in my life in order to embrace the creation of a new being. When I arrived in London, I decided to start my hormone therapy to feel the transformation in my own body. I was ready for the performance. I knew I was going through a process of self-destruction and pain that would lead me to a new life.

My routine started with a destruction: anti-androgen. I would wake up and take a pill to block the production of testosterone. Then liquid breakfast, stretching, and pilates. I remember feeling like a kid not wanting to go to school, but had no other choice. Getting ready for the performance, entering in the costume, sticking my microphone with super glue, wearing my mask, gloves and ready for 8 hours of holding my breath. In and out, inhale and exhale and my testosterone was being blocked. While the audience experienced the creation of a hybrid post-human creature, my body was physically experiencing a real change.

My routine ended with a creation. Right before going to bed, I would take estrogens to induce female traits into my body. And repeat for twenty-three days.

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photograph by Stephen White

MONRO: Are there any viewer responses to your performance that really stood out over the twenty-three days?

AGNES?: One of the most beautiful things about my performance was the connection I created with each viewer. I stood and shared a moment with them, and everyone was so different. I received almost four thousand visitors through the twenty-three days, the show went viral on social media. Some days the room was filled with people, all quiet, all connected with me, holding breath, being mesmerized and shocked by the divine creature in front of them. Other times, the room was empty and I would feel the emptiness inside. The energy of the room really changed according to the visitors, they were a fundamental part of the performance. I also had special visitors that I would see repeatedly and with whom I made a special connection. One man came almost every day. He would stand in front of me and dance for hours. It was sweet, it felt like he wanted to give me strength.

Someone cried, someone laughed, someone looked at me for one second and then left, others came for one picture or believed I was a robot.

MONRO: Can you tell me more about the importance of water for your creative practice?

AGNES?: Water is an element of becoming, of infinite possibilities, and transformation. It is an element that changes and mutates, that creates and destroys. Human beings have a very controversial relationship with it. We learn to swim before walking, we gestate in amniotic liquid, and share all our interaction through liquid movements. Everything and everyone is regulated by watery mutation. Water is the element that connects us all and allows us to become whatever we want.

I grew up by the sea, in my father’s boat. He is a sailor who navigated the world. I always had his image in my mind. However, I am still afraid of the sea and its mystery. I never had the control of it like my father does. When I dive underwater I feel in my own habitat, it brings me back to the womb. This is the experience I try to recreate with my installations and performances, the same experience of being inside the mother’s womb. In the amnios everything is possible, we are genderless, hybrid creatures yet to come.

MONRO: Do you feel the performance has been important for you and your transition/transformation into a new being?

AGNES?: To take hormones was a tough choice and was for me an organic process. I didn’t know I would do it until a few weeks before installing my show. When Covid happened, after a long self-analysis and catharsis, I realized I was Agnes? and suddenly had an urgent feeling and instinct to let her live. So I started to transform and change myself, my appearance, my behaviors, my way of talking. I was questioning what would Agnes? say? How would she dress? What would she do? Slowly I became Agnes?. Together with this change and break from my past I also had a strong break with my practice. I needed a transformation, so I dropped what I was doing and took a completely different direction. From ceramic I went to latex and wax, from creating plants, I started to create tentacular creatures. The octopus was the symbol of my transformation, a fluid genderless creature that has the great capability of transforming and adapting.

I started to create a laboratory where scientific experiments on hybrid creatures were going on. I was questioning my own origin. While I was going to the doctor to know more about hormones and transitioning I was also reading about octopuses and their self-destructive behaviors. Everything was so deeply connected that I felt powerful. My work was leading my life and my life was leading my work. Everything made sense. One day, I looked at myself in the mirror and I knew I was ready to transition. So, I went to buy the medicines, but I waited until coming to London to start the therapy. It was important to me to arrive in London because it has always been my gestational place.

The day I arrived, I introduced myself for the first time as Agnes?. Hearing that name felt empowering. I realized not only was I Agnes? as an artist but also as a human being.

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Positions Of Power: A Conversation Between Ferrari Sheppard & Michèle Lamy

June 8, 2021

photographs by Amanda Demme

Ferrari Sheppard is an enigmatic, multi-disciplinary artist whose practice defies classification, and lives firmly at the center of a three-dimensional venn diagram. Likewise, the work of Michèle Lamy is as fluid and instinctive as it is crystallized in her unmistakable and ever-expansive character. She is not just a maven of fashion, design, and art, or an innovator of music and former restaurateur. She is a cultivator of community and expression. Sheppard is not just a painter, writer, photographer and music producer. He is an activist who has worked to provide relief aid in Haiti, shape economic policy and development in South Africa, and shine light on the Israel-Palestine conflict. It makes perfect sense that the two of them would fortuitously meet at Mr. Chow’s while stepping outside for a cigarette. Sheppard’s recent solo exhibition of paintings, Positions of Power, at UTA Artist Space is a testament to the mistreatment of a generation for profit by the criminal justice system. They are love letters to those who carried the weight of the “war on drugs” and risked it all in pursuit of freedom in the United States. Their structural composition is the result of an almost unconscious, improvised dance. A process that the artist refers to as “walking while painting.” The figures are laid heavy with dark brown and black pigments that visibly absorb light, and are gilded with a reflective gold trim, creating a balance that feels harmonious and befitting. At the center of the gallery’s main space lies a brutalist, three-pronged elmwood bench of mythical giant proportions. A place to put everything down and spend some time with the work. A creation that could only come from the collective minds of Michèle Lamy and Rick Owens. And the perfect place for these two chameleonic masters of material, sound, and ceremony to discuss their work.

MICHELE LAMY: I just wanted to start with one thing because your show made me think of this Matthew Stone saying, “Optimism is the new cultural revolution.” We talked a lot when we were smoking at Mr. Chow outside, but I think it’s interesting because we never met before that. When did you start this?

FERRARI SHEPPARD: Oh yeah, what was it, like six years ago, I was travelling around Africa, different countries, we were in Marrakech, and all Addis Ababa and Yasiin Bey could talk about was “oh, Michèle, Michèle, Michèle.” He loves you. When he and I met, he didn’t even know I made music. I was a general artist, and I did photography, I was writing—I did all of the arts, and he was a fan of that, and obviously I was a fan of him, and he discovered my music by accident because he heard me playing it one day. That’s kinda how I prefer my relationships. Any serious relationship that I’m in, be it creative or whatever, I want it to happen organically. I never really push to know anybody because I feel like if you are meant to know them, and they are meant to be in your life, then they will come. Like you. It happens naturally.

LAMY: Yeah, like this bench that we’re sitting on. It wasn’t really planned. It was just sort of a surprise and it happened.

SHEPPARD: Yeah, but that’s the whole thing—I obviously know your work, and it’s truly impactful and powerful. So, when I heard we’re gonna be doing something—you could’ve never planned this in a million years, but it works, and I think that that is part of the cosmic connection between artists. When you were making this bench, it lived in so many homes, it already had a show, so I just think that’s interesting.

LAMY: Yeah because it’s very now, what you are painting. When I was talking about this optimism, you have this dark background, but then there is that touch of gold on top of it. You might call this a reference to power, but it makes you think about what is underneath, and that’s why I was thinking of that optimism. I don’t know if you think power and optimism go together, but I think it goes.

SHEPPARD: In life, we go through stages. So, you have your childhood, and you have your teenagehood—that moment right before you become an adult, some people call it teenage angst. You look at the world and you want to make it better, and a lot of my world is almost crystallized in that moment because I think that there is some truth in that angst and in that discomfort. With the work, I’m always searching for that balance between something that is extremely legible and also just teetering on the edge of honesty, and like you’re saying, optimism is just bursting full of passion.

LAMY: That’s how we think of you.

SHEPPARD: I do this thing—I don’t have a name for it other than I would describe it as walking while painting. There’s been different artists who have done action painting, and I guess this is my version, where I literally have the music playing, and I’ll just walk past really fast, make a gesture and walk away without thinking, because I know that brings forth the truest expression of myself. It’s almost like reading someone’s subconscious, like this is what’s really there because I didn’t have time to form it, or to overthink, or anything; it’s just a moment.

LAMY: But you have so much to say, which is why I was so excited when you said you were doing a solo, because already you have so much in there. And we miss the music because I’m sure there is something that calls for it even if all those moments you flash them on the wall, but then we know, and I think we have to express it, because you are a young artist and you have so much more to say.

SHEPPARD: I just think that subject matter is a really interesting thing for me because I look at some of my predecessors, like Matisse and Picasso, and I think that scholarship was built around their work. Sometimes, I think being an artist from my culture, there is always something deeper to be said about where all of this is coming from. Really, I always had a desire to make what I was experiencing with hip hop, and life, and the crack epidemic. When I was young, I grew up at the apex of the crack epidemic, so we had the police knocking down our door, tearing apart our sofa, looking for drugs. Next morning, I had to go to school, and that’s what I thought was normal until I went to college, and started talking to different people from different backgrounds. I’ve been shot at five times in my life—and this is nothing to be celebrated—it’s really amazing that I made it through all of that, but I feel I have a duty to tell a story, and not always in a stereotypical type of way. My experiences are fine art; they can be translated into fine art in the same way as Picasso’s stance on the Franco regime leading up to World War II.

LAMY: Do you think you are going to make them move with some kind of video? I want to see them moving. Do you think you are getting there, or you have an instant and you flash it on the canvas?

SHEPPARD: It is, and you asked about the medium, like you know, video. I felt so much like an infant in this where I’m just discovering my hands and my legs where I’m like, oh, I can do that, and I can do this. Even with the installation piece, this is my first installation. I was always intimidated by installation. I never tried it because I was always, “the paintings, the paintings!”

LAMY: It’s very clean, in a way. I’m sure your second or your third installations are going to be a little more chaotic.

SHEPPARD: I want to try different things, and it just dawned on me that once an artist gets out of what I guess you would call the starving artist period, which is really hard, you can experiment. Now you have resources. Every day, I wake up and I’ll wonder if I could do this, and how much does that cost, and it’s okay because I can pay for it now. Being this emerging artist, that is one of the few things I find enjoyable about it.

LAMY: So, how did you come here, to such an institution for your first solo show?

SHEPPARD: This is actually my third solo show. I know some of your readers might read this and feel a way, but I’ll say the truth. For me, I don’t like group shows. I did a few group shows, but what they have turned into today is something that I’m just not really interested in. I see that the focus is not so much on the art anymore; it’s on the curator. There have been shows where I don’t even know the other artists’ names. I’ll just know the curator.

LAMY: Yeah, but aren’t you pleased to be part of something with other people even if you do not know all of them?

SHEPPARD: For me, it would have to be something really special. I’m working on a project right now; I can’t talk about it too much, but I will say it’s with Interscope Records for their 30th anniversary. They have come and asked some of the most influential artists to come in and reinterpret their catalog for their covers, so that’s a good group show.

LAMY: Exactly. But we see you, you are big there in the mix.

SHEPPARD: I have to first respect the artist, and not to say that I don’t respect any of the artists doing group shows, but I can stretch my wings more when I do a solo show. There’s a responsibility that you don’t have with a group show or art fair. You may have a little booth, and you do two things, but with solo shows, you have to have a narrative, and it has to come together. Even if it’s chaotic, or through feeling, you are creating a whole experience.

LAMY: I understand. It’s like the runway shows are important for designers, and when you think about the people, the commercial thing is important always, but there is the thing that you have to put in a few space or image, and everything you have together that time. I understand this feeling, and I understand the thing with your solo show.

SHEPPARD: You have really blended fine art and fashion, would you agree?

LAMY: We have Rick Owens, who is a designer and also starting we did furniture for our house, as you said, I took it for a while but it’s very much in a spirit that we have created together and I’m placing it, first more mingling with people…

SHEPPARD: You’re the liaison.

LAMY: I’m a liaison, because I want to see that we are always interacting with people, and I always wanted to be savvy and figure out how it all works, because this is how I see us moving forward. So, something like this bench is a gesture—it’s not a collaboration.

SHEPPARD: It’s beautiful. This bench brought the show to another level. We were going crazy. I wanted this sofa that was long, and you don’t want it to look cheesy, and here, it was the perfect fit.

LAMY: When they asked me of course, three days before the opening, I was really scrambling to figure out what we could do, and then we found this crazy guy who drove to the storage unit in upstate New York to get this big part, but for some reason, the two heads were in the Rick Owens booth at Saks Fifth Avenue. So, he had to get all the pieces together and then drive them here in two days.

SHEPPARD: Thank you. This is so beautiful. I didn’t know that.

LAMY: Are you planning to do something around your name? Ferrari Sheppard is such a combination of words.

SHEPPARD: I always say that my name fits me, but it is a contradiction. You got the Ferrari, but my middle name is Elite, so Ferrari Elite Sheppard. I always joke that I probably couldn’t become a janitor because I had to live up to my name.

LAMY: What was your mother thinking?

SHEPPARD: My father named me, but my mother had some strange ideas. She wanted to name me Rashid something, and my father said, “No, this is going to be a different kid.” So, he came up with Ferrari Elite Sheppard, and somehow it flows.

LAMY: When you came in, you told me that you wanted to look like Jim Morrison today. Where does that come from?

SHEPPARD: I love Jim Morrison in terms of style, because I’ve made clothes before, like when I was living in Zanzibar, I started to make clothes. Zanzibar is a beautiful island, it’s a mixture of so many cultures: Swahili, French, Portuguese,etc. And they have what’s called Kitenge cloth. That’s for the men, and it’s just beautiful patterns, and sometimes they have letters or messages in Swahili across it, but I started taking these things and making designs with overlapping collars and different leisure suits from the ‘70s, and stuff like that.

LAMY: My friend Jamaal was in Zanzibar and brought back a fantastic gift, those shoes that are made from old tires. So, I had those tire shoes and they’re great for running in the sand. So then, Virgil said they have this Nike workshop in London where they choose designers to modify the Air Jordan. So, they asked me what kinds of material I needed. I said, “I need tires, I need inner tubes, and I need somebody to cut them because I don’t want those guys to sue.” So, anyway, we changed the sole of the Air Jordan. Of course, nobody at Nike picked up on it, but Virgil sent me one of his books and there was a picture abstract of it.

SHEPPARD: Just to circle back to what you were talking about with the optimism I have. On a day-to-day basis, I might fuss about anything, like this is wrong, oh my god, blah blah blah.

LAMY: But that is optimism. It’s not that you think nothing is going to happen. You push it out.

SHEPPARD: I think I need that. I need little moments of doubt to overcome. The scary part about our personalities as artists is that we need adversity. If everything went right for me, I wouldn’t know what to do. I need a problem because then I can solve it.

LAMY: There is optimism, but there is also revolution. We don’t want the revolution when people should be celebrating. We want to push our spirit, and this is what is going to change people’s minds. Already, we are going into a world where we should talk about the positive, and especially for the little things, when people talk about the vaccine, it’s just to say what’s bad about this thing. Don’t you think that we should celebrate that there has been a vaccine in one year? That’s what I’m talking about, and it’s what I feel with you. We have to push it and express it in a way that will show hope and beauty.

SHEPPARD: I definitely agree. I used to be on Twitter, and it’s like this black hole of fucking negativity. You get caught up in this shit, so I killed my Twitter last year, and it was the best.

LAMY: So, be on Instagram. Even better.

SHEPPARD: But Instagram, you put a little caption; it’s more of the photos.

LAMY: Yeah, it’s nice to put a photo and a sentence.

SHEPPARD: And be done with it. You don’t have to argue with it. The last ten years were very interesting because we saw different social media revolutions like the Arab Spring, Me Too, Black Lives Matter. Unfortunately, it’s the nature of the beast where they end, and they move, and we just move out and announce the next thing. I think that we’re approaching a time when we are going to use social media as a tool, but we’re going to step away from it and actually bring in material aspects. What I mean by that is, when I think of James Baldwin, he did numerous interviews and he broke different grounds, but there are physical books to show his work, you understand?

LAMY: Yeah.

SHEPPARD: There’s physical manifestations of Michèle Lamy and Rick Owens, so I think it’s important for younger people, and I’ll always tell younger people: make stuff, do stuff in the real world.

LAMY: But, of course. The text and image is a way of communicating something that you see out in the world, but that should push you to do more.

SHEPPARD: Yeah, but I have to be honest, being a Renaissance man didn’t work out well for me initially, and I don’t know why. In my mind, you have to be honest with yourself. I said, “Ferrari, out of all the things that you do, what do you feel that you are the best at? This was before I broke through, and I been painting since I was about two, three years old, so my first show—this is ridiculous—my first actual show was in kindergarten. I’m not lying, you could ask my mother, it was selected to be in the Art Institute of Chicago Children’s Exhibit. My mother still has this picture, and it’s funny, it was a man in a skirt. I was a little baby, and I was like, this man should have a skirt on. I support my digital artists out there and everything, but I think there is something majestic about a painting that lives with you. Right there, and if you have this in your home, you have my DNA. My actual skin cells are being transferred if I touch the painting. I’m living with the painting. That’s beautiful to me. If I was to get a Degas, I would say he lived with this, he touched it. That’s tactile, and I enjoy things like that.

LAMY: You think that your paintings are going to evolve to be more abstract?

SHEPPARD: My ultimate goal is that—I went from figurative realism in the natural world, to rejecting that completely, to absolute abstraction. The first works that I ever sold in my life were abstract. I sold to this guy, Yusaku Maezawa, who bought the $110 million Basquiat. He started to buy my work, and he liked it. It was abstract, and I had no idea that I was going to go back to three-dimensions.

LAMY: Okay, where did you meet this guy?

SHEPPARD: He was just on Instagram.

LAMY: You see?

SHEPPARD: I was so inexperienced that I didn’t know how to price my work. I had a friend that was friends with Julie Mehretu and she said twenty-five thousand. I was like, “You sure?” And she was like, “Yeah.” And he bought three pieces. That helped build my studio. Art is the only place I’m safe, and that’s why I always run towards art. No matter what type of day I’m having, I can go, and I can say this is where I’m safe. When I was coming up, it was the worst time, all my friends were dying, and we were in the city barely surviving, but on weekdays, I got to go to my art class and I would just escape. My teacher, her name was Ms. Sokoloff, shout her out, she would put on the Beatles, Bob Dylan, or whatever, and free paint. Just go crazy.

LAMY: Fantastic story.

The Parapsychic Sculptor: An Interview Of Corin Johnson

June 3, 2021

interview by Lara Monro
photographs by Mattea Perrotta

Artist Corin Johnson has spent over thirty years traversing the art world with his exceptional stonemasonry and wood carving craftsmanship. Corin has collaborated with some of the world's most renowned visual artists including Paul Noble, as well as focusing on his own practice (which includes drawing, modeling, and unique stone, marble, and wood carvings), the work is varied with a unique and colorful story behind each piece. Recently, he has found himself locked down in his studio with the musically-acclaimed Nick Cave. They met in the ‘90s when the musician reached out having seen a bust of himself created by Johnson; a commission by a Cave fanatic. During lockdown, the duo have formed a creative bond and partnership.

Confident with his craft, there aren't many materials Johnson hasn't mastered; marble, resin, wood, and ceramics, to name a few. His creations range in both size and style as do his commissions: from large-scale marble portraits and restoration projects that include the Clarkson Memorial, a celebration of Thomas Clarkson, a central figure in the campaign against the slave trade in the British Empire, to salvaging intricate antique tiles. His own projects include kitsch porcelain bird sculptures and a wood carving of his beautifully large and shaggy sheepdog, Charlie.

Growing up, Corin was introduced to the Spiritualist Church through his Grandmother. His interaction with mediums was informative as he recalls members of the congregation foreseeing his future working as a sculptor. While he no longer follows the Church, his fascination with Parapsychology has been hugely informative in both his personal and professional life. Regular Zoom meetings with mediums and guided meditations leave him with strong symbolic imagery, which help to harness his spiritual and creative growth. Johnson’s effortless eccentricity is encapsulated by all of his unique philosophies and ideologies, and perhaps exaggerated by his love for different stones and the varying qualities and powers they hold (he often finds different types in his jacket pockets).

Situated in South London’s Camberwell, Corin’s home and studio, both within a 5 minute walk of one another, are evident displays of his personality. Inviting Autre to document both, we explored the art works sporadically placed in his pink entrance hallway, blue sitting room with solitary piano and kitchen, where opera music plays and tea mugs with cold coffee from yesterday are set amongst Mexican Masks he picked up on his travels in Oaxaca. Every now and then, faint sounds of the painter decorator upstairs are heard over the radio as Corin speaks about his relatively unknown practice and love for collaboration with others. To accompany the interview, Autre partnered with the American visual artist, Mattea Perrotta, who documented the interview with her film camera.

LARA MONRO: Did you jump straight into sculpting and stone carving from school?

CORIN JOHNSON: I left school and didn't want to do an arts foundation course. I wanted to learn the skills and not just the theory; to understand how to be a good draftsman and how to create sculpture. I actually went to a career centre and they said to me that someone had been looking for sculptor apprentices. They set up a meeting and I went to work for them. I still use them to source my materials today. It is here that I met Faith Tolkien, the granddaughter of J. R.R Tolkien. While I already had a bit of experience with stone carving, she taught me so much more. The sculptor, Michael Black introduced me to Faith. He also became a mentor of sorts when it came to my sculpting career. He created the big empress head sculptures around the Bodleian Library and worked with lots of weird and wonderful metals. One of my first sculpture jobs was working with a woman called Rachel Shorter. She had transitioned from a man to a woman. Before she went through the change, Rachel had been a stone carver. She had a huge amount of knowledge around the craft. It was hard back then to be taught the sculpture skills. She really showed me the ropes. She had a basement where she made dresses for dolls. It was a pretty niche and unique experience. She would occasionally lace my food with a bit of magic mushroom.

MONRO: How long have you been in London?

JOHNSON: I've been here for a long time, about thirty years — mainly in the South. I used to be in Kennington. My first place was in Russell Square, a nice squat. It's all very posh now but it was more rough and ready then. Near Great Ormond Street. I went to art college in Kennington.

MONRO: Who did you start out working with when you took on stone masonry and artist collaborations?

JOHNSON: I used to work with a guy called John Buckley who did these mad sharks coming out of roofs — he does mad pieces. Skellington lovers is one of his new ones: a smashed up old barn in the middle of the countryside. It is a cool thing to come across.

MONRO: You seem to work with a number of varied materials. Which is the main one you find yourself regularly returning to?

JOHNSON: I always seem to return to stone.

MONRO: You work with a lot of other artists. How do you separate your practice with the collaborations?

JOHNSON: I find it organic. I love working with different people and ideas. I find it a bit boring having one idea. I like the collaboration and how it provokes and develops ideas and visions. Each project is my project too — I always put my heart and soul into it. I’ve worked with Paul Noble on a number of series. His turds, for example, were for the Turner Prize. He came to me with the idea and had made some maquettes that we changed and developed a little bit. I work with clay, wood, resin, anything really — a bit of bronze here and there. I see it as a form, rather than the material. I do love stone and marble. I enjoy natural materials and wax. I do quite a lot of mold making as well.

MONRO: Do you find it difficult going between mediums say stone and marble and then wax or wood? Do you have to switch your brain to different modes for the varied materials you work with?

JOHNSON: A little bit. It takes a while to get into the flow of working with a certain medium, I guess. To get good at it, it takes a day or two sometimes to get back into the flow. I find that with stone — you work away at it and suddenly the flow is there. It just clicks and almost feels like it does the work itself.

MONRO: Do you find it a cathartic process?

JOHNSON: Yes, but like anything, it has its highs and lows.

MONRO: Over the years you have worked on an abundance of projects and collaborated with a number of artists and institutions. Can you tell me a bit about where your work has taken you and who you have worked with?

JOHNSON: I spent time on Indian reservations, worked and lived with sculptors in Africa, California, taught at a sculpture school in China and London, and worked amongst some of the best Italian marble sculptors in Italy (Pietra Santa) to produce sculptures with Paul Noble. The project with Paul was for Gagosian Gallery and nominated for the Turner prize. I also worked to make a huge limewood meditation tree for Ibrahim El-Salahi for Somerset House a couple of years back. I also used to work with the top letter carver / calligrapher called Richard Kindersley. What I learnt with him stuck and I ended up doing the memorial for the Labour prime minister, Harold Wilson, for Westminster Abbey and worked as part of a team of three on Lady Diana’s memorials at Althorp. I have worked very successfully with the Architect Peter Inskip on very classical projects for many wonderful grand houses. I have done quite a few animal projects, a huge, red stone fox outside a museum near Lewis, a pair of Ounces in Country Derry and a pair of Yale’s for St John’s College Cambridge (I also did a series of about 8 gargoyles for them).

I have also worked with Nick Cave. I designed and sculpted the infamous Nick Cave Warracknabeal Equestrian Monument Marquette. This was meant to be placed in his hometown. It was shown in a few exhibitions.

MONRO: How do the collaborations come about? They seem very organic.

JOHNSON: With Ibrahim El-Salahi, I was showing with Vigo Gallery, doing a series of kitsch granny statues of birds in block marble. They knew I was in an exhibition with Marcus Harvey — he was curating a show and asked me to do a piece, at Kings Place, so I did a massive wood carving for that and they saw the work and asked if I’d work with Ibrahim. With Paul Noble, he put the word around for marble sculptures and came to my studio. Then Nick came about because a guy I was living with asked me to do a wooden head of Nick. He was growing weed and his best mate was a huge Cave fan. He commissioned me to do this head and somehow Nick saw it. He found my dad's number, called him, put me in touch, and we met.

MONRO: I read that you and Nick met in a club?

JOHNSON: I met him one night in a club. I was with a girlfriend and we had had a bit of a tiff. This guy came up behind me and said, “Corin, do you want a drink?” He invited us to his table and that’s when he first talked about doing the horse sculpture.

MONRO: You have been working with Nick at your studio over lockdown?

JOHNSON: Yes, on a ceramics project! He first came to the studio to make work for his online store, Cave Things, then we started experimenting, and our creative collaboration began to grow organically.

MONRO: Where do you get your material from?

JOHNSON: From all over! Sometimes I buy the wood green or at timbre yards, or other sculptors will give me material. The one with the couple was given to me. The marble I use is from Italy, usually. The ones I did with Paul were from there — we travelled together to Italy and chose the pink stone. I’m doing another big pink marble piece at the moment actually. Made a cat for Susie Cave recently for her fashion label.

MONRO: Your house is filled with beautiful art and trinkets. Can you tell me a bit about where they have come from?

JOHNSON: I was lucky enough to meet an artist called Peter Snow when I moved to London. He was a painter, professor of art at the Slade, and a set designer for theatre: he did the first Waiting for Godot with Beckett and he introduced me to lots of wonderful artists including Craigie Aitchison, who I collaborated with. I have drawings by Euan Uglow, Georgina Starr, Paul Noble, paintings by James Johnston (ex bad seeds musician), Harry Pye, Rudolph Valentino, and John Buckley.

MONRO: What do you think of the art world?

JOHNSON: Generally, I don't find it that easy to be a part of. There seems to be a lot of politics, but I can't complain too much. I have worked with some of the biggest blue chip Galleries and it has always been enjoyable. The collaborations have been good, but your talent isn't necessarily nurtured unless you are selling. The money-driven, commercial side is quite tough. I would be keen to work within the arts more, if I can, as my own entity! It would be nice to dip my toe in!

MONRO: You were introduced to the Spiritualist Church by your Grandmother. Would you say that your interaction with this alternative faith has influenced your work?

JOHNSON: Yes, I definitely think I have taken much from Spiritualism and that it has influenced my work, kind of like the healer sculpture. However, I wouldn’t call myself a Spiritualist. More accurately I would say I have always been interested in Parapsychology; always looking into different faiths such as Buddhism, Sufism and reading about different esoteric teachers like Gurdjieff, Paramahansa Yogananda, Paul Brunton, as well as reading about things like cases of people remembering a previous incarnation or learning about tribal beliefs about things like ‘Dreamtime’ exploring and ancestor spirits, such as American-Indian beliefs.

I think the more moral (following the teachings of Jesus) side of being brought up with Spiritualism might have encouraged me and fed into some of my public work, like the statue of St. Andrew for Exeter College Oxford, the two statues of Christian martyrs on the front of Westminster Abbey, and the panel for Wisbech of Thomas Clarkson.

MONRO: What are you working on at the moment?

JOHNSON: I am currently working on several projects, including another collaboration with Edmund de Waal and am assisting Nick on the ceramic sculpture project I mentioned before. I have also done six studies of Grace Jones that are in her private collection. I am a judge for QEST that is the Queen’s charity for supporting artists, makers and people who want support starting up with interesting careers. I recently produced a series of multi-colored marble birds (including a pair of budgies, a goldfinch and a magpie with an egg) that were inspired by old-fashioned granny ceramics (Beswick birds). These were mainly shown with Vigo Gallery. I also recently created a limestone hare, which is currently with Messums Gallery.

Queer Blood America: An Interview Of Artist Jordan Eagles Who Is Battling Blood Inequality

June 3, 2021

Queer Blood America, 2021 10.75” x 8” x 2.75” in. original 1982 Captain America, blood of queer man, collection tube, blue nitrile gloves, plexiglass, UV resin — ***Queer Blood America***, 2021
10.75” x 8” x 2.75” in.
original 1982 Captain America, blood of queer man, collection tube, blue nitrile gloves, plexiglass, UV resin

interview by Oliver Kupper

In the face of a national blood shortage due to the COVID 19 pandemic, the FDA still continues its discriminatory policy that place limitations on gay and bisexual men from donating their blood. In 1983—at the dawn of the AIDS crisis—a lifetime ban was implemented. In 2016, the policy was updated to allow gay and bisexual men to donate blood only if they have been celibate for a year. In 2020, in the face of a dire blood shortage, the policy was updated to three months. There are currently no celibacy requirements for heterosexual blood donors. For artist Jordan Eagles, blood is a source of fascination, power, spirituality, and a source of life—particularly queer blood. Incidentally, blood is also a medium in a practice that amplifies the call for blood equality. On the occasion of Pride Month and ahead of World Blood Donor Day, New Discretions presents QUEER BLOOD AMERICA, a continuation of Eagle’s body of work that juxtaposes American superhero comic books and vials of queer blood. In his newest work, the artist places a vial of queer blood into a laser cut section of an early AIDS era Captain America where the hero "Battles Baron Blood!" with the blood of a queer donor. The work has been digitized into two unique NFTs, which are available now on Foundation. In the following interview we talk to Eagles about his exploration of blood and blood equality.

Oliver Kupper: At the heart of your practice is the amplification of the idea of blood equality, and at the same time, blood inequality. When did you become so fascinated with blood?

I like that you use the word “fascinated” because there is, without a doubt, unique properties and energy in blood that is captivating. I can remember, even as a young child, always being wide eyed at the doctor’s office watching the blood move through the tube. It was, and still can be, so mesmerizing and beautiful. I began working with blood in 1998 as a way to explore the connection between the body and the spirit. It was a very philosophical journey trying to better understand where inside my body the soul lived and what part of me was purely flesh, or if it was all actually connected? These early works raised a lot of questions about existence and preservation. The concepts behind the queer blood works, specifically addressing discriminatory blood donation policy and blood equality began in 2013.

When did you first align the idea of using blood in your work with the iconography of comic books, particularly the role of the super hero?

February 14, 2018. It was the night of the Parkland shootings. A few days before that I had received from eBay an original copy of an Action Comics from 1971 were Superman is getting a blood transfusion from the citizens of metropolis. I did not buy the book with any intention of making art with it. I just was attracted to the cover of Superman vulnerably laying eye closed and lifeless with massive tubes in his arms and with what seems like an infinite line of people willing to try and save the hero. But the night of that shooting, maybe because it was also in Florida, it brought back many emotions from the Orlando massacre from only a couple years prior where in addition to the horror and tragic loss of life, so many LGBTQ individuals couldn’t even donate blood to help save lives in their own community.

That night it just came to me in a momentary flash that I should enlarge the comic book cover to be larger than life-size, turn it grayscale and splatter it with blood and not use any resin, no preservation, just let the blood seep into the paper and dry. I didn’t realize at the time that this initial work would spawn a new series of appropriating other pop-culture and historical documents, each with a unique narrative relating to blood donation and HIV/AIDS, and pairing them with blood from particular LGBTQ+ donors would create new entry points for policy conversations.

So often communities come together during tragedies and heal together through the selfless act of blood donation. Heroes save lives of people they often don’t even know. And this is so true with blood donation. Sharing your blood with somebody in need, someone you probably will never meet, is a selfless and heroic act.

One of the editors of the Superman plot, Dorothy Woolfolk, stated that kryptonite was introduced into the storyline because she felt that Superman’s invulnerability was becoming boring—why do you think comic books have taken on these strange reflections of society?

Generally speaking, there is something very appealing about mystical superpowers and how heroes usually triumph over the evil villain. Because comics are created by artists and writers (and editors) and are often dealing with the issues of their time, even when it is very subtle or intentionally subversive. I am most interested in how an image or storyline, paired with a certain donor’s blood, can serve as a prompt to reexamine history and consider the current moment.

The celibacy requirements for blood donations are astonishing, that even in the face of a national crisis and blood shortage, the FDA is essentially saying that they would rather let people die instead of accepting queer blood—while at the same time forcing queer men to essential divulge their sexual activity—what does this say about the politics of human rights?

The FDA’s blood donation policy has always been discriminatory. Even when they changed the policy in 2016, from a lifetime ban to one year of celibacy, it had no basis in science. Even with further modifications during the most recent pandemic, the changes are still not rooted in science. It is clear that there is such an inherent fear of queer bodies and our fluids, that the stigma and illogical terror clouds scientific judgment.

Speaking of politics, the current head of the FDA, Janet Woodcock, was in charge of a lot of the early trials for an AIDs vaccines, but it seems like there were tons of regulatory roadblocks and barriers with their trials, particularly politically motivated regulatory barriers, do you have hope in her leadership when it comes to blood equality and the hopes of finding an AIDS vaccine?

It will be amazing when an HIV/AIDS vaccine is fully developed. It is fantastic that there is treatment and preventative measures available such as PrEP, but a vaccine will be amazing. I am particularly encouraged that Dr. Demetre Daskalakis, who is a blood donor in the Blood Mirror sculpture, was recently appointed as the CDC’s Director of the Division of HIV/AIDS Prevention. He is a visionary in this field.

What is your advice for people who want to take an active effort in breaking down the stigmas around blood donation, especially blood donated by gay and bisexual men?

Is there blood being donated by gay and bisexual men? I think the policy, for all its recent change, is completely designed actually to NOT have gay blood enter the supply but to make it seem more accommodating.

Understanding some elements of science is important, such as someone who is HIV+ and undetectable cannot transmit HIV through sex. A lot of people don’t understand what that’s all about. Breaking down the stigma around HIV/AIDS is a good start. Ultimately, looking at person as an individual and recognizing our common humanity is crucial.

Can you talk a little bit about the NFT, is this the first time you have created an NFT—what do you think about the future of digital art and the blockchain, especially in regards to activism?

QUEER BLOOD AMERICA (PRIDE) and QUEER BLOOD AMERICA (Black/Red) are my first animation and NFTs. They are based off a new work in which a Captain America, from 1982, is laser-cut to hold a tube of queer blood preserved in resin. With animation, I’m excited that I can represent blood in a new way, that I can’t do with my physical works, yet the source is real blood. It is also interesting to me to work with something so organic in a digital universe. I’m very intrigued by this very particular cultural moment and connecting it to a social justice as a way to open more dialogue about these crucial health and equality issues. This is all unfolding rapidly and it has great potential, beyond being another way to express oneself, but to connect with organizations and an international community.

Click here to explore QUEER BLOOD AMERICA.

Honoring The Murkiness: An Interview Of Estefania Puerta & Abbey Meaker On Curating The Ephemeral

June 1, 2021

Brian Raymond Tree Hollow Composition, 2021 Maple tree hollow strung with harp strings, processed thru OP1, eh95000, and Sponge Fork Run time: 10:00 — Brian Raymond
*Tree Hollow Composition, 2021*
Maple tree hollow strung with harp strings, processed thru OP1, eh95000, and Sponge Fork
Run time: 10:00

interview by Summer Bowie
photographs by Abbey Meaker

Is it in our nature to make art? Is art inherently ephemeral? Is there a boundary between art and nature? How can we look to nature as a blueprint for the art that we make? These are all questions that come up as I consider Land Chapters, the inaugural exhibition by Artist Field, a platform for projects that respond to and engage with natural environments. Curated by Estefania Puerta and Abbey Meaker, this exploration of the boundary between nature and self is a deep dive into the works of 16 artists split into three chapters. The first chapter is comprised of installation works that can be found deep in the woods of Richmond, Vermont on the Beaver Pond Hill Property. The second chapter comes in the form of a tape with recordings from six different sound artists. And the third chapter is a print publication with text from seven additional artists. All together, these works serve as an attempt to embrace all of the hard-to-pinpoint expressions of art within nature that so often fall under the towering shadow of negated space left by the Land Art movement.

BOWIE: How did the two of you meet and what was the inspiration behind Land Chapters?

MEAKER: I can't remember how we met, but I've known of Este and her work for years now. We live in a small community and her work has always stood out to me. We connected more deeply when I interviewed her on the occasion of her first solo show in New York. She talked about 'romancing wounds' and we discovered a shared obsession with psychoanalytic theory, specifically Julia Kristeva's work. More conversations about art and books led us to Land Chapters. She asked if I wanted to co-organize a show on her and her partner's land, and it seemed like the perfect setting for Artist Field's inaugural project. Collaborating with Este on this has been so natural and thrilling.

PUERTA: I became aware of Abbey through the amazing work she was doing with Overnight Projects. I wasn’t living in Vermont at the time and it was so refreshing and exciting to see independent curatorial projects that Abbey was doing from afar. It gave me hope that maybe Vermont could be a site of contemporary art and critical thinking and not just a place for hermits and landscape painters.

BOWIE: What can we learn from the Land Art of the 20th century, both positive and negative?

PUERTA: I think the Land Art category is vast and uncontainable in many ways, The overlaps tend to be that it involves earth materials that were traditionally unconventional to the art world at the time, a form of negation to the commercialization of objects and materials via their eventual decay or change in organic composition, exploration of spaces outside the white cube as sites for installations, and a questioning of worth/value in the materials used to produce art.

From these general standpoints, came so many different approaches. I think the Arte Povera movement paved the way for artists to open up their practice to the kind of multimedia, materially dense, and organically varied forms we see today. It has allowed bigger questions around how we deal with materials that are not meant to be controlled and it has continued the discourse around the boundaries of what we consider art and where we deem it to exist.

With that said, so many histories have been erased in the categorization of “Land Art,” as though these American men in the ‘60s were the first to create objects, installations, and spaces with earth material. Abbey and I really feel that addressing this kind of erasure and inherent violence to the way that white western art categorizes such a dense history with so many people, so many species, so many territories is a type of critical reckoning to anyone interested in contending with “Land Art” today. I’m not saying that we by any means filled this gaping hole with this exhibition, but rather that we quickly felt that attempting to categorize “land,” “nature,” “human relationship,” was in many ways at the risk of erasing and conflating something that truly feels uncontainable. And we felt it important to honor that murkiness and the wide web that it can create across people, instead of continuing to pretend that Land Art was a movement that mostly centered itself around cis white men performing heroic acts of intervention onto a vast landscape.

I think it is possible to address this movement and the ways that it subverted the art world, while simultaneously opening up the conversation about the erasure of many people, especially BIPOC, queer people, and women in its history.

Lily Consuelo Saporta Tagiuri Sun Belly; The Big Star That Feeds Us, 2021 Mixed wood scrap, aluminum, paint, and plaster 1.5 x 3 feet — Lily Consuelo Saporta Tagiuri
*Sun Belly; The Big Star That Feeds Us, 2021*
Mixed wood scrap, aluminum, paint, and plaster
1.5 x 3 feet

BOWIE: This exhibition takes place on unceded land of the Abenaki Nation. How has their relationship to the land informed your approach to this project?

PUERTA: It didn’t and nor are we at all any authority to speak on behalf of the Abenaki people and their relationship to the land. We dedicated Land Chapters to the Missiquoi Abenaki in the humbled acknowledgement that they are the original protectors of what we call today, Richmond, VT where the exhibition partly took place. Our acknowledgement of their existence, of the fact that this land had been violently colonized and taken from the Missiquoi Abenaki does not give us any privileged insights or knowledge of their existence and continued ways of living on this land we call Vermont today. What has informed our approach to this project are the ways in which giving space and power to the different names and histories that a land holds feels like a more honest uncovering of the entangled and ultimately complicated relationships any of us have to what we call home, land, nature, history, relationship.

We look towards the histories here on this piece of land we are standing on as a starting point, as a way to say, “there is so much more here,” but we of course are not the arbiters of any culture and believe in the sovereignty of the Missiquoi Abenaki people to define their own terms and speak for themselves.

BOWIE: Both of you create work that explores your relationship to nature, but in very different ways. Abbey, can you talk a bit about that relationship and how it’s captured on film?

MEAKER: My work reflects a deep curiosity about atmospheres, the feeling or intangible qualities of a particular place, its history, the influences that inform it. How these mysterious aspects are connected to my own intangible spaces, memory, and sense of time. Cinema, photography—these are imaginative ways of seeing, of creating a dual sense of place, a feeling that within this world, there is another more illusory place. Curiosity about whether one’s interiority informs the atmosphere of a place and how it is translated visually. I work with film because of its materiality; it becomes a physical record of a time and place, absorbing the light and energy of a particular moment. For me, this primeval phenomenon is experienced most potentantly in the natural world.

In a more traditional sense, I’m interested in natural compositions found in forests, particularly floodplain forests, which I’ve spent the last year and a half exploring. Each year the rivers flood, and the trees are sculptured and re-sculptured by water, a knowable conducting force that influences the growth of the Silver Maples and Ostrich Ferns. A curiosity about the ways in which we influence and are influenced by ‘the land’ is at the core of my practice and of Land Chapters.

BOWIE: In contrast, Este, your sculptural works are made from a combination of natural materials and found objects. Can you talk about the role of nature as both subject and medium?

PUERTA: Nature in my work is about questioning what we deem as natural and alien, how our own bodies and earth can be our home and our prison, and all the slippery contradictions that nature holds. How it can heal us and kill us, how it both provides for us and takes us away. Nature has felt like the perfect archetype for the ways in which language fails us because language tries to hold clarity and structure in a way that nature cuts through and becomes excessive and complicated.

More formally, I am really interested in using that same kind of slipperiness to how we identify and name something and what its purpose can be. I tend to blur elements of nature both in its operations and appearance into body-like structures that also incorporate furniture materials, found objects, as well as more conventional art materials. These forms become proposals of bodies/environments that have evolved from the social ills of our world to become their own self-sustaining, migratory, empowered agents. They become their own worlds just as much as they become their own bodies. Nature is a reminder of how much we can adapt and how much we must protect ourselves.

BOWIE: What was the curatorial process like?

PUERTA: It was really organic and everything felt like it clicked into place so perfectly! It was a collaboration between Abbey and I, thinking of artists and writers who would lend a unique and important perspective around the curatorial prompt that was basically about addressing their relationship to nature in whatever way each person identified.

We had very little back and forth with the contributors and made it clear that we had complete trust in what they were making, and wanted to be open to their exploration. In our invitation we were explicit about the ethos behind this project being about a more gentle response and collaboration with the land around them, instead of the historic, heroic interventions and every artist we invited already worked within that ethos.

Letting go of a certain expectation felt important early on and embracing total trust and availability for conversations is a more natural way that Abbey and I work as curators. Both of us being artists, we intimately know the work and intention that goes into an art practice and the kind of freedom and support that is needed to nourish that practice.

At the end of the day, we love artists and wanted to make sure our contributors felt that love and support. I think that is important to say, because often a show solely focuses on the type of work an artist makes, or why they make it, but how is that artist doing? Are they feeling supported in their practice? Are they truly being valued? How do we make the curatorial process one of support and not one of extraction for the artist? There are so many behind-the-scenes dynamics, and so often artists are the ones that suffer the brunt of a lot of hustling and feeling slightly demeaned along the way. Our process was slow, deliberate, immensely grateful, and apologetic if we felt a bump on the road. And we feel that that deliberate intention is felt in the project. Of course, every artist and writer contributed something that far exceeded any expectation we could have.

Enacted prompt from Angus McCullough and Ashlin Dolan Contact Kit, 2021 Birch bark, grape vine, stone, moss, typed instructions in a plywood case 20 x 16 x 6 inches — Enacted prompt from Angus McCullough and Ashlin Dolan
*Contact Kit, 2021*
Birch bark, grape vine, stone, moss, typed instructions in a plywood case
20 x 16 x 6 inches

BOWIE: There’s such a multi-sensorial aspect to the curation. Works that you can see, hear, smell, and taste. Was the sensory aspect something you were considering in the curatorial process?

MEAKER: There’s something about being outside in a natural setting that attunes our senses to the world around and inside us. We wanted the experience of the work to reflect this. To attempt to communicate that we belong to this place; it doesn’t belong to us. We are part of this vibrant ecosystem, not separate. This is the throughline of Land Chapters.

PUERTA: And yes! So many senses involved. Lily Consuelo Saporta Tagiuri contributed Sun Belly, a functional solar oven and artwork that beckons us to collaborate with the sun as our main source of heat and cooking potential. Recipes were also contributed by Lily and will be included in the Land Chapters publication. We will be baking sun bread in the oven and offering it to visitors.

The sound pieces will have their own designated listening spots scattered around the property where you can hear the sounds inside trees, a cabin, in a hole in the ground, and within the ferns.

The writing pieces in the publication also hold many senses. Sonia Louise Davis contributed a score to be performed by anyone anywhere, which is rooted in deep listening and feeling yourself in a space. Honestly, each piece beckons a couple of different senses at once, and I echo what Abbey said about just being in a natural setting; your own body is a heightened orb of senses where the heat of the sun will emphasize the smell of the chanterelles and the echo of a sound piece in a tree feels like a distant howl.

Jordan Rosenow Four by Eight, 2021 Galvanized corrugated steel, rebar 4 x 8 x 4 foot units (dimensions variable) — Jordan Rosenow
*Four by Eight, 2021*
Galvanized corrugated steel, rebar
4 x 8 x 4 foot units (dimensions variable)

BOWIE: Abbey, you’ve curated and presented work in a number of untraditional locations. I’m thinking about a former coal plant, a former orphanage, an airstream turned library, a corn field on the cusp of reverting back to a wetland. Why eschew the white cube?

MEAKER: I have nothing against the white cube, per se. It has its place, particularly in a commercial sense. I can appreciate that in this setting the work has a clean platform, visually and conceptually. But I am personally interested in and excited about ephemeral, experiential artworks, when the setting creates a larger context and more holistic experience.

The first show I ever organized was in the orphanage you mentioned, An Order. I had spent three years exploring and photographing this space, which had sat untouched for 30+ years. My maternal grandfather and his brother lived there in the 1920s. I never met either of them, so the process of being in this space was a way for me to piece together an unknowable history through the act of making pictures. At the end of my time there, I was curious how other artists might respond to this place: what would their line of thinking be if they approached it with more critical distance than I had?

BOWIE: What are the challenges and benefits that come with presenting work this way, as opposed to hanging a frame on a wall?

MEAKER: In this case, working in the woods, a half mile up an old logging road, we mostly had to contend with the elements; the changing environment informed the timeline and many of our decisions. We started planning this in January when the land was inaccessible with snow, and now, within just a couple of weeks of sun and rain, the ferns have unfurled and everything is wild and lush. One of the most meaningful aspects of Land Chapters has been connecting with this place in such an intimate way, coming to really know and see it change over seasons.

And the challenges have less to do with location and more to do with the lack of institutional support, especially here. It’s a real hustle to organize a group show like this, to navigate the logistics of a unique site, insurance and liability waivers, fundraising to pay artists, designers, promotion etc. If you don’t have enough support, much of your energy, attention, and resources are going to the mechanics of the exhibition. It becomes more challenging to balance curatorial responsibilities with organizing. I don’t know that I’d have it any other way, though. It allows us a certain freedom, as we are not beholden to donors or collectors. Artists can experiment and push their practice in ways they may not have otherwise. All that said, we have been so lucky to have a tremendous amount of community support. Friends and colleagues have generously donated their time and talent to help with design and aspects of organizing that two people simply can’t manage on their own. It has truly been a collective effort.

PUERTA: We had to think about nature as our collaborator and saboteur. Ruben Ulises Rodriguez Montoya’s work, for example, has a sculpture that is made of cat bones and we have to be very diligent about when it is installed and when we must bring it back into the cabin because a coyote or other animals would absolutely destroy it. Not to say that Ruben may not be interested in this potential collaboration, but it does become a question of how do we protect the intention and how much do we allow our surroundings to take over, and each work addresses that differently.

Ruben Ulises Rodriguez Montoya Tres Tristes Gallos pa el caldo de las tres de la tarde, 2021 Yucca husk. All sourced material from the Rio Grande River, in an area that borders; Texas, New Mexico, and Juarez, Mexico. — Ruben Ulises Rodriguez Montoya
*Tres Tristes Gallos pa el caldo de las tres de la tarde, 2021*
Yucca husk. All sourced material from the Rio Grande River, in an area that borders; Texas, New Mexico, and Juarez, Mexico.

We have another artist, Devin Alejandro-Wilder who uprooted a cacti cluster from Texas and sent it to us to be transplanted in the woods of Vermont. With their piece, it was very much the intention to actually root a non-native plant into the soil of Vermont and see what would happen, see how much care and maintenance it would need, see how it would respond to its new surroundings and how its new surroundings would respond to it. So much of Devin’s piece is about this type of migration and otherness that occurs when introduced to a new space, a new territory that has been historically deemed as “unviable” for you. So, we document their piece often, notice how it changes and adapts, and are mostly humbled by the resiliency of this plant and the symbolism it holds.

BOWIE: This project is a lot more expansive than just an exhibition. There are installation works on view, a book, and a tape of field recordings. Ultimately, what do you want people to take away from this work?

MEAKER: We see Land Chapters as one exhibition, experienced in three unique spaces, or chapters: installations on the land, the book, in which there are contributions from artists who are not part of the installations, as well as the tape of sound works. They are all connected by the curatorial prompt Este and I provided, but are unique spaces experienced differently, with different senses. For those that are able to experience this project, we hope it finds its way into your own relationship with the world(s) around and within you.

Devin Alejandro Wilder T R A N S P L A N T, 2021 Nopales/ Opuntia engelmannii var. Lindheimeri, soils (native and mixed), pea gravel, rocks, cardboard 36 x 36 x 50 inches — Devin Alejandro Wilder
*T R A N S P L A N T, 2021*
Nopales/ Opuntia engelmannii var. Lindheimeri, soils (native and mixed), pea gravel, rocks, cardboard
36 x 36 x 50 inches

Land Chapters is on view June 4-6 @ Beaver Pond Hill Property in Richmond, VT. Contributions to the exhibition include installations by Devin Alejandro-Wilder, Angus McCullough, Ashlin Dolan, Ruben Ulises Rodriguez Montoya, Jordan Rosenow, and Lily Consuelo Saporta Tagiuri; recordings by sound artists Wren Kitz, Ivan Forde, Brian Raymond, and Stephanie Wilson; and text by Chief Shirly Hook, Alan Huck, Wes Larios, Travis Klunick, Sonia Louise Davis, and Rachel Vera Steinberg.

CATEGORIES: ART / FASHION/ CULTURE / MUSIC / FILM

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Trans Day of Visibility 🏳️&zwj;⚧️ Our platform has and will always and forever be inclusive 🏳️&zwj;⚧️ AUTRE means OTHER in French. A simple, ubiquitous word that encompasses the millions of people who represent the ‘other.’ Currently, t

Trans Day of Visibility 🏳️‍⚧️ Our platform has and will always and forever be inclusive 🏳️‍⚧️ AUTRE means OTHER in French. A simple, ubiquitous word that encompasses the millions of people who represent the ‘other.’ Currently, the ‘other’ is under attack. Every voice can be a form of resistance. Visibility is a form of resistance. #transdayofvisibility

Just announced Barry Jenkins teams up with @a24 for “Be My Baby” on the life of Ronnie Spector to star @zendaya . In 2017, @mrpharmacist72 interviewed Ronnie for the pages of AUTRE. They talked about EVERYTHING, including their iconic hairdos: “We were healthy and had all this thick hair, we didn’t know what to do with it. I love Bridget Bardot, so I would try to put it up and tease it. Some things were you wanted to look like certain people, at least I did. All three of the Ronettes, whatever I would do they would do. It’s like the Cleopatra eyes. Everybody went nuts when we started wearing the eyeliner. We slowly got into our own groove.” #zendaya #ronniespector #bemybaby #a24

We are very saddened and shocked to learn of the passing of @laeyeworks founder and designer Gai Gherardi. She was a transformative creative force among the sprawling fabric of Los Angeles, but her influence spanned the world. She was an unwavering champion of LA artists and queer rights. Her office was an incubator—not only of eyewear, but also turtle eggs, proving her love for the more than human world. Her bright simile and enthusiasm for life made everyone feel loved and welcome. Her bold and playful designs made her eyewear instantly recognizable without the need for a forward facing logo. Her frames were worn by the impaired who wanted to be seen with crystal clear vision. She and l.a.Eyeworks have been major supporters since issue one. We wouldn’t exist without Gai’s support and influence. Their legendary ad campaigns, many of which were featured in interview magazine and later Autre, featured burgeoning icons like Peewee Herman, Sharon Stone, Andy Warhol, and more. For the 40th anniversary of LAEyeworks we devoted 40 pages to exploring the history of this seminal brand. In a conversation with @greggormanphoto , who photographed most of their most iconic ad campaigns, Gherardi told us, “We were seeing this huge array of faces. And, you know, it was goodbye ‘70s! And off came the hair, and out came the face. All kinds of things were happening.” She also told us that the campaign, which later focused on LA artists with an inventive sense of worldbuilding, wasn’t about celebrity, but “interrogating celebrity.” Everything was an intellectual exercise in rebellion and resistance. She will be deeply missed. #laeyeworks #gaigherardi

DOOM (and hope) on PARK AVENUE. @anne_imhof ‘s largest performance to date on view at @parkavearmory the until March 12th. “For me, there are no boundaries between life and work. The biggest dream is to be together in a space and have the most exciting time you can—that’s the universe. This is why I am doing the live work.” @anne_imhof in conversation with @nadya for AUTRE FW24 Citizen Issue #anneimhof #doom

Last week, friends and collaborators from the global creative worlds gathered at Sunset, the subterranean nightclub beneath The West Hollywood EDITION for Autre Magazine and Jeffrey Deitch’s annual Frieze Week kickoff. DJs Mr Pharmacist and Saturn Risin9 got guests dancing beneath hundreds of glittering disco balls while rising Franco-American duo Faux Real played a brief but energetic set. Special thanks to @omgregory Photos Oliver Kupper #friezeweek2025 #friezela #losangeles #artweek #dance #nightlife

Autre Magazine and Jeffrey Deitch Gallery kicked off Frieze Week in Los Angeles with an intimate dinner at Ardor in The West Hollywood EDITION, followed by an afterparty at the hotel’s subterranean nightclub, Sunset. Guests enjoyed luxury sipping mezcal Perro Verde paired with a vegetable-forward menu. 🔗 in bio Special thanks to @omgregory and @purplepr #autremagazine #jeffreydeitch #sharonstone #honeydijon

Today is the day. The legendary @bjork releases her powerful and immersive concert film Cornucopia on @appletv 7PM PT “From the jagged, volcanic, icy fjords of Iceland, Björk Guðmundsdóttir—known simply by her stage name Björk—has descended on the world of popular music over the past five decades with a sensual, otherworldly presence. Her music is constantly of the moment but also seemingly years ahead of its time with a starkly alarming prescience, especially regarding the human impact on nature and the climate. Today, she presents Cornucopia, streaming on Apple TV, a cinematic encapsulation of a “digital theater” tour extravaganza that is the culmination of dozens of shows across multiple continents.” #bjork #cornucopia

“Two weeks before my home was destroyed by the Eaton Fire, I created a video of a man racing through fire. At the time of its creation, I was not concerned about fire, and yet only days later, I would be racing through a fiery landscape of my community. Fire has since defined my life. I believe art comes outside of time, from the place of dreams, where experiences occur outside the tedious march of causality. It can be divinatory, but I do not care to burden it with this kind of heavy meaning. I prefer to make and enjoy art without the technology of meaning, remaining in a liminal state as I work. Living in this state, however, has been one of the greatest challenges of my life.” @rosssimonini on autre.love #eatonfire #losangeles #wildfire

For David Lynch, cinema was a magic lantern with which to project all our darkest dreams and desires. His ambition wasn’t fear, but transcendence using the endless possibilities of sight and sound provided by the celluloid medium. Only a few auteurs have tapped into this psychological live wire. Each scene was a high voltage testament to his cinematic vision: violent, desirous, mysterious hallucinations come to life on the silver screen. The audience becomes a ghost watching down or up or into the characters who haunted us as much as we haunted them. His films were mirrors facing mirrors facing infinity in a tunnel of dreams. We were the shore and he was the ocean bringing us relics of our subconscious; artifacts from our id jutting up from the sand dunes of our memories. We loved David Lynch because we could peer over the precipice without falling. And if we did fall, we fell in love, lust, heartache. The pangs of death were palpable. We were lost in the smoke. Lost in the revery. There was no way out but through. #davidlynch

“Keep your eye on the donut and not on the hole.” David Lynch enters the ethereal realm to join Angelo Badalamenti. Photographed together in 2016 #davidlynch

We are alive and safe from what will likely be one of the most destructive fire events in modern history. Vesuvian in its enormity and historicity, but also in its lessons on living close to the proverbial volcano, these fires have impacted everyone we know. Our psychic wounds will last forever. Beyond the misinformation and politics, it is important to understand that the era of the pyrocene is at our doorstep. There is no more pontificating, no more waiting, no more what ifs, no more when. The megafires are here. It is only: what now and why? Yesterday, we experienced the devastation firsthand. We broke through multiple barriers to reach the Pacific Palisades only to find the neighborhood entirely in ruins. A family home gone forever. We sifted through the ashen remains of books still smoldering, the ghosts of hundreds of homes glowing toward an orange horizon, burned to the studs. Most everything was unrecognizable. A few flames were burning what was left. In 2019, we spoke to fire ecologist and world authority on chaparral brushfire, Richard Minnich, who spoke to us in depth about how and why these fires have become so massive and so destructive. Rapid changes in climate are part of the equation, but so is one hundred years of fire suppression policies and our collective delusions of ecological grandeur. This fire event was decades in the making. Ecologists, scientists, climate predictors all saw it coming. To live in paradise is to know all things eventually come to an end; to enjoy the memories. Now is the time to heal, to be with family, to help those in need. “Everything goes, everything comes back; eternally rolls the wheel of being” #lafires #palisadesfire #eatonfire

Starting off 2025 with LOVE. 🔗 in bio. Over the last few months, @stefswoods and @ryanmolnar visited five couples in and outside of Berlin, each “each living their own unique love story” to explore what love means to them. Here are Roman and Norman at their home in Brieselang. Their romance started nearly two decades ago when Norman, a spiritual guide and healer, had a last minute cancellation and Roman filled the slot. When their eyes first met, they both experienced what they describe as a “loud silence” accompanied by an “intense flow of intimacy.” Direction & Styling by @stefswoods Photography by @ryanmolnar Words by @cameronworsley Producer by Austin Huq Casting by @camerondavid__ Hair by Noriko @norinorinorikohair Make up by @anri_omori @erika_leadbeater

In our latest culture war, Pippa Garner was already a decorated veteran, fighting both church and state with biting wit and whiplash ingenuity. Discussing her gender reassignment surgery in Brussels in 1993 with @hansulrichobrist in AUTRE SS23 Utopia Issue: “For me, the sex change thing was a material act. I never had a sense of being born in the wrong body. I had what they call a vaginoplasty. Now, part of me is European [laughs].” Philippa Venus Garner (May 22, 1942-December 30, 2024) #pippagarner

PIPPA VENUS GARNER (May 22, 1942-December 30, 2024). Appearance on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson demonstrating the Half-Suit. 1977. #pippagarner

PIPPA VENUS GARNER (May 22, 1942-December 30, 2024) Revolutionary, ahead of her time, and beyond prescient—she saw the world before it happened. We were lucky enough to feature her in our SS23 Utopia Issue. An interview with @hansulrichobrist : “You know, I’m just at an appliance, like that radio over there, or the car sitting outside. The body that I was assigned to, I didn’t pick it. I didn’t say I want to be white, middle class, and heterosexual. So, if I am nothing more than another appliance, why not have some fun with it?” Photographs by @jesperdlund at her home in Long Beach, California #pippagarner #utopia #rip

interview by Janna Shawphotographs courtesy the artist

interview by Caroline Whiteleyphotography by Matias Alfonzo styling by Camille Pailler set design by Matt Bianchi casting by Alter Casting hair by Tina Pachta makeup by Nikolas Paroutis nails by Camilla Inge

interview by Isabelle Albuquerquephotographs by ofstudio photography

interview by Annabel Grahamportraits by Paige Strabala

interview by Oliver Kupper

interview by Lara Monro

shot @ Welcome Home Studiowith special thanks to Hakan Solak & Maria Ianniello

interview by Hakan Solak

interview by Kelly Loudenberg

text by Summer Bowie

interview by Lara Monrophotographs by Domino Leaha

interview by Lara Monro

photographs by Amanda Demme

interview by Lara Monrophotographs by Mattea Perrotta

interview by Oliver Kupper

interview by Summer Bowiephotographs by Abbey Meaker

interview by Janna Shaw
photographs courtesy the artist

interview by Caroline Whiteley
photography by Matias Alfonzo
styling by Camille Pailler
set design by Matt Bianchi
casting by Alter Casting
hair by Tina Pachta
makeup by Nikolas Paroutis
nails by Camilla Inge

interview by Isabelle Albuquerque
photographs by ofstudio photography

interview by Annabel Graham
portraits by Paige Strabala

shot @ Welcome Home Studio
with special thanks to Hakan Solak & Maria Ianniello

interview by Lara Monro
photographs by Domino Leaha

interview by Lara Monro
photographs by Mattea Perrotta

interview by Summer Bowie
photographs by Abbey Meaker