The Art of Impossible Perfection: Demna’s Final Couture Statement at Balenciaga

“I have come as close as possible to being satisfied in this endless pursuit of impossible perfection,” writes Demna in his farewell to Balenciaga couture, marking the close of a transformative decade at the helm of one of fashion’s most revered maisons. The 54th Couture Collection is not merely a finale; it is a culmination—a poetic, exacting thesis on craftsmanship, silhouette, and legacy. Shot across Paris and laid bare in both look and making, the collection fuses the radical spirit of Cristóbal Balenciaga with Demna’s own uncompromising vision for the future of fashion: personal, sculptural, and exquisitely strange.

A corresponding film directed by Gianluca Migliarotti—known for his documentary O’Mast on Neapolitan tailoring—offers rare access into the meticulous inner workings of the House’s couture ateliers. In it, premières, tailors, and designers narrate the multi-layered labor behind each garment. The documentary traces the making of corseted gowns, reconstructed archival silhouettes, and collaborations with legendary artisans like Maison Lemarié, William Amor, and fan-maker Duvelleroy. It is a film not just of fashion, but of devotion—a love letter to the human hands that define couture.

The collection opens with a tribute to “La Bourgeoisie,” a term once synonymous with conformity, now mined for its elegance and severity. Tailored jackets bear tulip lapels that frame the face like armor; high collars evoke both Medici nobility and Nosferatu’s haunting grace. In Demna’s hands, bourgeois tropes are recoded—pierced with irony, elegance, and a commanding silhouette. “Garments are sculptural and intricate in their construction,” he notes, “while embracing minimalism and reduction in their architecture.” This paradox—maximal form through minimal means—runs like a seam throughout the collection.

Corsetry, once an instrument of feminine discipline, is reengineered for comfort across ten different looks. An airy pink debutante dress in technical Japanese organza, a diva gown encrusted in black sequins, and a draped one-seam gown conjure Old Hollywood glamour as seen through a funhouse mirror. These are not nostalgic recreations—they’re cinematic hallucinations. A “mink” coat made from embroidered feathers, worn by Kim Kardashian as a tribute to Elizabeth Taylor, is paired with the actress’s actual diamond pendant earrings, on loan from Lorraine Schwartz. Over 1,000 carats of custom jewelry glimmer throughout the collection—white diamonds, Padparadsha sapphires, and canary yellow stones—turning the runway into a constellation of light.

Other garments are grounded in quiet subversion. A silk bomber jacket becomes as featherweight as tissue; a summer taffeta blouson transforms into businesswear via sleight of hand. One standout detail: 300 kilometers of tufted embroidery used to create trompe-l’œil corduroy pants, a feat of excess that reads as effortlessness. “They’re the first ‘corduroy’ pants I want to wear,” Demna says, with a wink toward comfort as luxury.

A standout thread in both the show and its documentary is tailoring—specifically the collaboration with four family-run Neapolitan ateliers. Nine suits, developed as “one-size-fits-all” garments measured on a bodybuilder, are modeled on a diverse cast of bodies. “It is not the garment that defines the body, but the body that defines the garment,” Demna writes. This democratic inversion of couture’s traditional ethos suggests a radical inclusivity. Migliarotti’s camera captures the intimacy of fittings, the choreography of needle and cloth, the philosophy of hands that have stitched for generations.

Heritage and transformation are braided throughout. A 1957 floral print from Cristóbal Balenciaga’s archives resurfaces on a sequined skirt suit. A replica of a 1967 houndstooth look once worn by Danielle Slavik, one of the house’s original muses, becomes the “Danielle” suit. Each is a memory made tactile. The finale gown—a seamless guipure lace sculpture shaped using millinery techniques—embodies the house’s entire language in a single garment: restraint and drama, memory and innovation, body and architecture.

The accessories deepen the message. Logos on bags are replaced by the wearer’s name, subverting the idea of branded status. Duvelleroy fans, recreated over nearly 200 hours of craft, flutter like time machines: one from 1895, another from 1905. Flower brooches are crafted from discarded tissue paper and silk, offering waste a new role as adornment. Even the couture sneaker—handmade using traditional shoemaking techniques—feels like a manifesto: this is couture for the street, couture for now.

Demna’s voice is not the only one heard. The soundtrack of the show features the names of his team—an act of collective authorship, a rare moment of ego dissolution in a field known for solitary genius. This final gesture is perhaps the most emotional: a house, after all, is not built alone.

As Demna departs Balenciaga couture, he leaves behind not a collection, but a philosophy. Couture is not anachronism—it is resistance. It is an art of slowness, of refusal, of obsessive care in a time of disposability. “This collection is the perfect way for me to finish my decade at Balenciaga,” he writes. “The ultimate minimal sculptural gown…represents everything this House stands for.”

What does Balenciaga stand for now? In this collection: freedom, contradiction, legacy, reinvention. A house haunted by its past, electrified by its present, and—through the ghost stitch of every seam—already dreaming of what comes next.

Encounters at the Barbican: Giacometti x Huma Bhabha

Special Guest Star, 2016. Huma Bhabha. Clay, wood, wire, t-shirt, acrylic, tin, paint brush, White Tailed Deer horns, and steel. Overall: 39 3/4 x 94 x 13 3/8 inches. Image credit: Kerry McFate. Courtesy of the artist and David Zwirner Gallery

text by Poppy Baring

The Barbican’s Level 2 gallery reopened in May with a joint exhibition featuring sculptures by Alberto Giacometti and Huma Bhabha. Encounters: Giacometti x Huma Bhabha features works, some of which are nearly a century old, that explore the human figure, the trauma it faces, and the process of survival. This ‘dialogue across time’ allows viewers to examine the artists’ responses to human vulnerability, violence, and displacement, and is the first time Bhabha has exhibited her work at a public London gallery.

The entrance upon arrival is currently home to four titan-aged bronze sculptures made by Bhabha. Debuted in New York last year, where the artist currently lives, these figures are being displayed in Europe for the very first time. Continuing inside, visitors encounter “The Glade” (Composition with nine figures), created in 1950 by Giacometti, a small tabletop sculpture that marked a significant shift in Giacometti’s practice. These supremely thin, isolated figures were created to capture people as they were, vulnerably themselves, on the street. 

Alberto Giacometti holding Three Men Walking, 1940s, Photo: anonymous, Silver print on paper, 11.9 x 17.2 cm, Archives Fondation Giacometti. © Succession Alberto Giacometti / Adagp, Paris 2024


Giacometti’s observation of individuals “coming and going...unconscious and mechanical... each having an air of moving on its own, quite alone,” inspired how Bhabha approached the composition of the exhibition. She sets sculptures up as groups and allows visitors to potentially cross paths with these works, as though the space were a public street, bringing a sense of life and interaction to the statues. The message becomes progressively clearer, as phantom-like, vulnerable figures gradually replace fragmented works. Collectively, both these artists’ work point to conflict and highlight its effects as human life becomes increasingly disfigured.

This exhibition is entirely suited to the Barbican. As far as Giacometti is concerned, he made some of his most significant pieces at the same time as the Barbican was under construction. Art and architecture made in this post-war period are often considered a response to the brutality of the Second World War, and both Giacometti’s work and the gallery, at that time, proposed a new (not so fresh) perspective on what it means to live and be human. The non-materialisticness of the work and the space that surrounds it creates a mass of meaningful beauty that explores a way of thinking where art is deemed crucial to living.

The Encounters: Giacometti x Huma Bhabha exhibition is on view through August 10th 2025 at the Barbican, Silk Street, London, EC2Y 8DS.

 

What Should it Be, 2024, Huma Bhabha. Painted and patinated bronze and concrete pedestal. 44 3/4 x 31 x 31 inches. Photo credit: Kerry McFate. Courtesy of the artist and David Zwirner Gallery


 

Paris Couture Week Predictions Through the Lens of Charles Worth's Current Retrospective @ the Petit Palais

Unlike other fashion, Paris moves through layers of history and a continuous dialogue between tradition and change. But in today’s challenging and ever-changing economic and political climate, what can we expect from this trendsetting city next?

 

Worth & Bobergh, Robe à transformation, vers 1866-1868.
Faille verte et tulle de soie. Philadelphia museum of Art, États-Unis d’Amérique.
© 125th Anniversary Acquisition.
Gift of the heirs of Charlotte Hope Binney Tyler Montgomery, 1996, Philadelphia museum of Art.

 


text by Kim Shveka


As Haute Couture week descends on Paris, the city reasserts its place as the center of gravity in fashion, the stage where elegance is both performed and consumed. The newly opened Charles Worth exhibition, Worth, Inventing Haute Couture, at the Petit Palais deepens this position, reminding us that Paris’s fashion dominance is not merely current. It is layered with history, narratives, and unbreakable foundations that were built since the 15th century. Worth is cited as the father of Haute Couture; he altered the way to view fashion, from practicality to a status of art. He created a system that is defined by exclusivity, artisanal craft, and aesthetic authority that helped distinguish Paris as a city where fashion is understood not only as clothing, but as culture. The aim was not just beauty, but distinction—an aesthetic nationalism that still echoes in the way French fashion is marketed and perceived today. From this foundation, figures like Coco Chanel, Christian Dior, and Yves Saint Laurent built empires not only by introducing new silhouettes but by shifting the paradigm of femininity, luxury, and modernity. The designers didn’t just reflect French culture; they directed it to the rest of the world.

The other fashion capitals each carry their own codes. London is where fashion is pushed to its most conceptual edge. New York delivers commercial clarity and cultural speed. Milan prizes structure, refinement, and a family-driven approach to legacy. But Paris continues to present itself as the stage where it all connects—the final act, the definitive voice. Its claim to be the capital is not just symbolic; it is structural: the power, the history, and the industry still move to the Parisian rhythm. And yet, that same stage is now caught in a cycle that resists disruption.

Alongside the grandeur of the maisons and the ritualistic anticipation of the shows, there’s an unsettling pattern repeating itself in the background. In the span of a few months, many of the major houses in the fashion industry have appointed new creative directors, reshuffling the same names that have long been in circulation. With every season, the game of musical chairs intensifies, and what once felt like an exciting leap now looks more like a closed loop. The question is no longer who gets the chair but whether there are any chairs left for those who have never had the chance to sit in one.

This past year has seen dramatic shifts across the Parisian landscape. After years of dominating Balenciaga with a confrontational, minimal lexicon, Demna left the house and was swiftly appointed at Gucci. In his place, Pierpaolo Piccioli, formerly of Valentino, took over creative direction at Balenciaga, signaling a sharp pivot from shock to softness, from provocation to romantic craft. At Dior, Jonathan Anderson, who had already proven his capacity for reinvention at Loewe, was named creative director for the entire house, including menswear, womenswear, and couture, a role no one has held since Christian Dior himself. Sarah Burton, once the artistic director of Alexander McQueen, made her debut at Givenchy with a recalibrated take on femininity anchored in tailoring and strength. Meanwhile, Glenn Martens, already at Diesel and Y/Project, was announced as the new face of Maison Margiela following John Galliano’s departure, with a highly anticipated debut planned for tomorrow.

 

Gazette du Bon ton, Entre chien et loups, 1912. 24,7 × 19,2 cm. 
Palais Galliera, musée de la Mode de la Ville de Paris. CCØ Paris Musées / Palais Galliera, musée de la Mode de la Ville de Paris.

 

On the surface, this looks like change. But beneath the headlines and the hashtags, it’s the same logic that’s been quietly driving the industry for years. None of these appointments were about discovering an unheard voice or matching a designer with a house based on his aesthetic affiliation; they were about bankability. The equation is simple and cynical: if a designer has already succeeded commercially, they can probably do it again. A recognizable name promises brand buzz, social media traction, and a fast return on investment—all in a fragile market where luxury sales are under pressure and leather goods are expected to do the heavy lifting.

This tendency has made the creative director role more of a function than a vision. It has also made the path to that role narrower than ever. The doors that were once open for young designers with new ideas are now closed by default. It is not that the industry doesn’t want new voices; it simply doesn’t leave them enough space to develop, to fail, or to prove themselves beyond a single collection. With every appointment handed to a designer who has already made it, another seat is taken from someone who hasn’t.

The expectation is that each new director will immediately stabilize revenue, secure brand loyalty, and carry the weight of legacy while still offering something “fresh.” But freshness is difficult to fake, and even harder to maintain when everyone is rotating between the same houses. The result is a kind of creative fatigue. Consumers may still buy, but the cultural impact of each new collection grows weaker.

 

Worth, Manteau de cour porté par Franca Florio, 1902. Palazzo Pitti / Galleria del Costume , Florence, Italie. 
© Museo della Moda e del Costume, Palazzo Pitti, Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence. Ministero della Cultura.

 

John Galliano’s recent departure from Maison Margiela deepens this dilemma. His Artisanal Spring 2024 was arguably the most talked about in years, precisely because it evoked a time when a fashion show was true art, when fashion shows aimed to move, not sell. Yet, such significant shows appear so rarely now. And with the latest wave of appointments, they seem even less likely. Why, then, are even the most profitable luxury houses struggling to produce that level of artistry? Can a system so driven by metrics and performance indicators ever make room for true creative vision again? These new directors may bring efficiency, consistency, or even spectacle, but they don’t replace what the industry is truly missing: a sense of forward motion. The biggest luxury brands carry immense responsibility; they dictate trends and set the standard. Yet, they consistently fail to raise the bar, to truly innovate, and to genuinely make us feel something.

This is the paradox Paris finds itself in. The city still holds the world’s attention, but it is no longer opening doors the way it once did. Couture Week is the moment when fashion is meant to step outside of commerce and return to craftsmanship and conceptual purity. But even here, the same logic applies. Trust is placed in those who have already delivered profits, not in those who could shape the future if only given the platform.

What is missing is not talent. It is the willingness to take a risk on someone who is not already on the circuit. The problem is not just that the chairs are constantly changing; it’s that they are being filled in a closed room. The game is being played by the same few, while others wait in the wings for a door that may never open.

As the week unfolds and the collections are unveiled, Paris will once again claim its position at the center of fashion. But unless the industry begins to create space for new perspectives, it risks becoming a hall of mirrors. The reflection is beautiful, but it does not move.

 

Nadar, La comtesse Greffulhe, 1886.
Procédé photomécanique, 29 × 16,8 cm.
Palais Galliera, musée de la Mode de la Ville de Paris.
CCØ Paris Musées / Palais Galliera, musée de la Mode de la Ville de Paris.

 

Worth, Inventing Haute Couture is on view through September 7th at the Petit Palais, Av. Winston Churchill, 75008, Paris.

The Arrival of Untitled Art Fair In Houston Reveals A Hidden Historical Art Scene

Mark your calendars for September 19. The Lone Star State is an up-and-coming art destination.

The Menil Collection, Modern and Contemporary galleries. Photo by Caroline Phillipone


text by Karly Quadros


Houston may call to mind NASA, BBQ, and hurricanes, but just beneath the surface of one of America’s most diverse cities, a vibrant art scene is emerging.

On track to become the third-largest city in America within the next decade, Houston is a city on the rise—quite literally. It’s a place where bigger is always better and change is constant. Leaving very little in the way of historical architecture, the city finds itself perpetually busy building the next bigger and better thing. There’s no single racial or ethnic majority. Instead, the city attracts everyone from French art collectors to Sudanese refugees, a fact that’s produced a richly diverse food scene.

But it’s Houston’s art scene that’s attracting international attention. With Untitled Art, Houston making its debut in Houston on September 19, director Michael Slenske and executive director Clara Andrade Pereira are bridging the gap between the city’s historic institutional art world and contemporary audiences.

Half a century ago, a booming oil industry fueled Houston’s art scene while the rest of the country was sinking into recession. Two significant investments in the city’s institutional art infrastructure—the construction of the Contemporary Art Museum Houston and a multimillion-dollar renovation to the Museum of Fine Arts Houston—signaled a push to establish Houston as one of America’s artistic centers. A local art scene cropped up around the Lawndale Alternative Art Space at the University of Houston (now the Lawndale Art Center), founded by sculptor James Surls. Meanwhile, other standout artists, such as Julian Schnabel and Robert Rauschenberg, were developing their distinctive styles in Texas. Then a mid-80s oil bust interrupted the scene’s boom. Now, there’s a renewed effort to finish what Surls and Harithas started and put Houston on the international art world’s map.

The Menil Collection campus. Photo by Grant Gay

The foremost underpinnings of Houston’s art scene stem from one family. Billionaire collectors and patrons of the arts, Dominique and John de Menil, formed the backbone of Houston’s fine art world, encapsulated in the Menil Collection. The couple’s story reads like something out of a spy novel: Dominique, an oil heiress to an oil company, married John, an investment banker from a family ennobled by Napoleon, only to be forced to flee their home in Paris through a Spanish port on a steamer bound for Cuba in 1944 when the Nazis invaded. The couple eventually settled in Houston, a small city on the Gulf of Mexico with a barely nascent art scene. Dominique credited the lack of art in the city as the exact reason why she began collecting in the first place.

The de Menil’s private collection reflected an adventurous and forward-thinking mindset. As early champions of Max Ernst, they mounted his first solo museum show in the US (Ernst’s portrait of Dominique, done when he was still an unknown artist in Paris, hangs in the first room of the Menil Collection to this day). 

The collection reflects their diverse and eclectic tastes, encompassing everything from Surrealism to Pop Art to ancient artworks from Africa and Oceania. From Magritte to Man Ray, Henri Matisse to Joan Miró, and from Hans Bellmer to Bruce Davidson, the Menil Collection, which became a museum in 1987, rivals any private art collection across the country. In a city that is notoriously concrete and sprawling, its campus is a cool and calm patch of green space in the heart of Montrose, a walkable neighborhood humming with the trill of cicadas and the chirps of grackles. In addition to its core collection, the campus is also home to the Menil Drawing Institute, the Cy Twombly Gallery, and the Dan Flavin Installation at Richmond Hall.

Dan Flavin Installation at Richmond Hall. Photo by Sarah Hobson

The Menil Collection is notably abutted by the Rothko Chapel, a nondenominational worship space featuring fourteen Rothko murals rendered in solemn purples and blacks that were characteristic of the artist’s final years before his death. Initially intended for the Catholic University of Saint Thomas, the church’s streamlined result, with its octagonal structure and moody ambiance, was a little too modern for their taste and became a much more expansive space, serving as the backdrop for everything from human rights award ceremonies to a music video by Solange Knowles. The space, like much of Rothko’s work, possesses a timeless quality and a nearly endless capacity to encourage reflection, inward movement, and calm.

In any other city, it would be hard to match the Menil Collection, but the Museum of Fine Arts Houston (MFAH) is a standout, not just regionally, but globally. Stretching over three sunlight-filled buildings, the museum houses works from nearly every ancient, modern, and contemporary art luminary imaginable (really, I eventually gave up on taking notes after several pages listing iconic pieces from Impressionism to Surrealism to Pop Art and everything in between). 

James Turrell, Caper, Salmon to White Wedgework, 2000

Even the walkways between buildings are works of art. You can easily escape the humidity by stealing away between galleries in a luminous light tunnel designed by James Turrell. Patrons can pop between multiple immersive art exhibitions, including a Yayoi Kusama infinity room and the pulsating Chromosaturation MFA by Venezuelan artist Carlos Cruz-Diez, before tucking in for a Michelin-starred lunch courtesy of chef Alain Verzeroli at Le Jardinier, the museum’s fine dining alcove, which overlooks a sculpture garden created by Isamu Noguchi.

Yayoi Kusama, Aftermath of Obliteration of Eternity, 2009. Courtesy of the museum and Yayoi Kusama

Just a two-minute walk away is the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston. Currently on view until March 29, 2026, is Across the Universe, by Houston-born artist Tomashi Jackson. Rooted firmly in archival and historical research, Jackson excavates the troubled histories of democracy, exclusion, and law in the South. Incorporating a wide range of techniques across painting, printmaking, fiber art, and sculpture, she employs juxtapositions of color and material such as dust from Greek marble quarries, voting pamphlets, and river soil to interrogate the calcified layers of history. In 2026, the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston will host a four-decade-long survey of conceptual artist Mary Ellen Carroll.

The Menil Collection, main building galleries. Photo by Hung Truong

Despite the institutional dominance in the city, Houston is also home to one of the most innovative art residencies in the country: Project Row Houses. Founded by a small collective of Black artists and community leaders and helmed by MacArthur Genius Award winner Rick Lowe, the logic of Project Row Houses is simple: strong communities and great artwork are only possible when people’s basic needs are met. Lowe and his collaborators restored thirty-nine shotgun houses in Houston’s Ward back in the ’90s. They award fellowships to artists who live and work in nine of the houses for a period of one year. Tomashi Jackson had a formative fellowship there, as did Sam Durant and Whitfield Lovell. Beyond the residencies, Project Row Houses offers a residential program for young single mothers, after-school programs, and entrepreneurship programs to encourage Black-owned businesses. The entire enterprise is what Lowe calls “social sculpture,” an artistic practice that’s inextricable from political action and community engagement.

A new generation of artists and community organizers has taken up this mantle, including Amarie Gipson, founder of The Reading Room. This hybrid space combines a library, community center, and art gallery. The Reading Room celebrates Black visual culture in all its forms, from art and design monographs to film screenings to community conversations. It includes everything from literary salons devoted to Octavia E. Butler to documentaries on West African cultural repatriation.

Other fixtures, like Adam Marnie, are making waves in the independent publishing world with F Magazine and its accompanying art gallery and indie publishing house, also called F. The gallery has showcased Houston contemporary art stalwart Mark Flood and even collaborated on a sprawling monograph titled The Origin of Mark Flood (2022). Marnie’s wife, Rebecca Matalon, is a curator at the Contemporary Arts Museum, where she is currently working on the Mary Ellen Carroll retrospective.

Meanwhile, lovers of outsider art have no shortage of things to explore. There’s the Orange Show, a carnivalesque fever dream devoted to the restorative power of citrus, created by postman Jeff McKissack in 1956. Or there’s the Beer Can House, a folk art installation created in the late ’60s by John Milkovisch, who adorned the exterior of his home with flattened beer cans and caps. Why? “I got sick of mowing the grass,” he once said.

Houston is a town of endurance. In a city beset by extreme weather and perpetual change, the art that crops up around the city is a testament to the creativity of Houstonians. As Untitled Art Houston approaches in the fall, it’s important to remember John de Menil’s response to a New York friend who once decried Houston as a cultural wasteland.

“It’s in the desert that miracles happen.”

The Menil Collection, Allora & Calzadilla's Graft. Photo by Caroline Phillipone

Stitched in Place: Do Ho Suh at the Tate Modern

The Genesis Exhibition Do Ho Suh at Tate Modern © Tate Photography (Jai Monaghan)

text by Poppy Baring

Do Ho Suh’s first major London exhibition at the Tate Modern showcases decades of his work that touches on themes that bring the importance of home back into audiences’ hearts. The title of the exhibition Walk The House derives from the Korean expression Hanok regarding a traditional house that can be packed up, transported and re-assembled across space and time. Originally from Seoul and now living in London, Suh has lived and worked across many continents. Walk The House involves impressive ghostly fabric structures, time-worn graphite rubbings, and intricate drawings that are to be experienced physically but also ask viewers to look introspectively at their own inner worlds.

The overwhelming size of some of these works contrasts against meticulous drawings and delicate watercolors and while the former risks overshadowing the latter, this contrast is precisely the point. By juxtaposing the grand with the intricate, Suh shows that memory does not exist at a single scale. We remember our homes and their rooms, while also holding onto the small elements that fill them. Perfect Home: London, Horsham, New York, Berlin, Providence, Seoul 2024, presented for the first time, demonstrates this well and is at the heart of this emotional experience. Here, Do Ho Suh outlines his current home and partners this with architectural features from previous spaces he and his family have inhabited. 

Rubbing/Loving Project: Seoul Home, 2013–2022 is the first and one of the most powerful works exhibited. Newly reconstructed but made over several months, the large-scale wall installation was created using a practice which in itself is meditative. The artist’s childhood home was covered with Hanji (mulberry paper) and gently rubbed with graphite capturing its structure and all its blemishes, which were enhanced by the elements the paper was left exposed to. This process mirrors how we recall our own homes—not as exact images, but through textures, sensations, and fragments of detail.

Do Ho Suh Nests, 2024. Courtesy the Artist and Lehmann Maupin New York, Seoul and London and Victoria Miro. Photography by Jeon Taeg Su © Do Ho Suh

Visitors continue to move through the colorful corridors of Nests, 2024, where Suh stitches together rooms, hallways, and entryways from buildings in Seoul, New York, London, and Berlin. These liminal spaces, often passed through without thought, become the focus, transformed into a fluid architecture that defies the logic of solid buildings. These in-betweens embody the shifting nature of memory and migration, like walking through the echo of a home that never fully was, but somehow feels known.

Suh’s films: Robin Hood Gardens, 2018 and Dong In Apartments, 2022, underscore the ever-changing layout of cities like London and Daegu. They show built environments as malleable living things that continue to be loved, destroyed, rebuilt and changed alongside the rest of us. This rich and colorful exhibition and the themes it touches on are as relevant as they have ever been with pieces reflecting on how political unrest coat our memories of time and space. Home is something to be reminded of and while some reviews have suggested the exhibition feels overcrowded, perhaps that is not far off from most people’s lived experience of where and how they live their lives.

The Genesis Exhibition: Do Ho Suh: Walk the House is on view through October 19th 2025 at the Tate Modern, Bankside, SE1 9TG.

Autre "Desire" Issue Launch and Signing With Mia Khalifa and Nick Sethi At Dover Street Market Paris

A queue snaked around Rei Kawakubo’s transportive forest installation all the way to the streets of Le Marais for Mia Khalifa and Nick Sethi at Dover Street Market Paris’ Rose Bakery. Photographs by Oliver Kupper

Autre Desire Issue Dinner Celebrating Vaginal Davis at The Golden Phoenix Inside The Provocateur Hotel In Berlin

Following a signing event at Voo Store to celebrate Autre magazine’s SS25 Desire issue, a private dinner was held for Vaginal Davis at The Golden Phoenix, located inside the Provocateur Hotel in Berlin. The dinner was organized by Autre magazine and brought together a small group of invited guests, including artists, writers, curators, and members of Berlin’s queer creative community. The atmosphere was informal and intimate. photographs by Oliver Kupper

A Preview of the Creative Incubator Inside the New Museum’s Expansion

DEMO 2025 offers a glimpse inside the work of NEW INC, which helps tech savvy creatives craft immersive VR art, community hubs, and everything in between.

Image courtesy of Nathalie Basoski

text by Karly Quadros

Now I’ve been known to get down to some strange tunes, but it’s not every day that I find myself strapped into a pair of headphones listening intently to a rock. 

I’m seated at one of four wooden desks arranged in a square around a sapling in the atrium of WSA at 180 Maiden Lane. The building is all elbows, intricate metal scaffolding from floor to ceiling and a tangle of indoor foliage overhead. To my left, I’m flanked by an enormous man with an enormous coffee with his eyes closed, communing with a craggy chunk of ore that’s over 2 billion years old. To my right is a little girl with a black ponytail, scribbling intently in a notebook, headphones twice the size of her head.

The sonic installation is from Bay Area and New York City musician and technologist Dan Gorelick. Rocks are the product of hundreds of millions of years of eruption, erosion, compression, and transformation—with his technological interventions, Gorelick has managed to squeeze all that time into just a few seconds of sound. 

He is one of 115 creatives who presented work and spoke as part of NEW INC’s DEMO 2025 festival, running now until June 22. Beginning in 2014, NEW INC has served as the New Museum’s “creative incubator” for everything from immersive art to innovative proposals for third spaces, providing around eighty artists and entrepreneurs working with new media each year with creative and professional mentorship. Now, with a permanent space on the way in the New Museum’s futuristic new digs on the Bowery, designed by OMA and Shohei Shigematsu and Rem Koolhaas, DEMO 2025 was a peek inside NEW INC’s next chapter.

Things these days are fraught for emerging artists and creatives working at the porous boundary between art, design, and technology—and heaven forbid the work have any components that are socially, environmentally, or politically-oriented. As the Trump administration takes ruthless aim at the curatorial independence of museums and other cultural institutions, opportunities for exhibition, funding, or mentorship have diminished, whether out of actual lack of resources or fear of retaliation. Meanwhile, the future roles of museums as more than white rooms full of aging paintings has been called into question.

“It’s core to the ethos that artists are thinking about the real world impact of what they’re making, and they’re thinking from the onset about the audience in the reach of their projects,” said Salome Asega, director of NEW INC and DEMO 2025.

Asega, herself an artist, was a NEW INC fellow in 2016 where she received mentorship for her collective nonprofit PWRPLNT, a space for young creatives engaging digital tools, social justice, and innovative storytelling. Her team received mentorship and the assistance they needed to formalize the project including help developing a fundraising strategy and mentors to join the advisory board. 

Other artists found a home in NEW INC with work that was too unconventional for traditional art world channels.

“[My brother and I] were raised in and culturally came up in the art world. We speak the same vocabulary and look at similar references,” said Sam Rolfes of Team Rolfes, a DEMO 2025 presenter. “But because that ground was largely infertile for the kind of things we were trying to do, we had to find and create new spaces.” 

Five years later, in a full circle moment, Asega became the director of NEW INC. She grew the incubator’s showcase from a small day in which fellows would display their work for a select group of curators, investors, and philanthropists into a three-day festival with installations for the public lasting the entire month. And, of course, admission is free.

“There were never really wide funding opportunities for some of the ideas in our programs,” said Asega. “This has always been us creative problem solving with our members. Even in this moment we’ll continue to do that. We’ll continue to think and dream up new opportunities for sustainability.”

Other presenters from the festival include a kinetic sculpture from MORKANA, a rice cooker symphony by Trevor Van De Velde, plans for an innovative relief hub for NYC gig workers by architect Elsa Ponce, an augmented reality app documenting Black life in Pittsburgh by Adrian Jones, and radical screenprinting from Secret Riso Project. In between interactive installations, viewers were able to catch Collina Strada creator Hillary Taymour talking with writer Kimberly Drew about integrating environmental advocacy and brand strategy or cultural critic Whitney Mallett discussing digital brainrot aesthetics with David Lisbon, curatorial assistant at the Whitney Museum, and Bri Griffin, community designer at Rhizome.

“We’ve always been a program that has embraced the new, the unknown, the not yet named,” said Asega.

NEW INC’s DEMO 2025 showcase installations are on display at WSA at 180 Maiden Lane now until June 22.

Re-Collecting the Past with Benjamin Freedman's Positive Illusions

Image credit: Benjamin Freedman


text by Karly Quadros

Every morning, I swipe open my phone to check the weather, and there, nestled in the top right of the screen is a little box with one word: memories.

Today, it’s a point five picture of me and two friends lounging in the grass at a music festival (Eliana is a blur, Ashley is caught mid laugh.) Yesterday, it was a picture of my ex from a few years ago welding his motorcycle pipes, sparks flying around his bare torso. My “memories” are clustered, sometimes by vacation (my recent reporting trip to Argentina), sometimes by person (my old roommate Sheila dressed as a table for Halloween), sometimes by arbitrary day (a particularly good estate sale haul followed by a post-tears selfie and a thumbs up.)

Are these my memories?

Canadian artist Benjamin Freedman has been wondering that too. How does technology shape our relationship to the past? It’s something he explores in Positive Illusions, his new photo book – but wait, are they photos? Freedman’s artwork is rooted in the language of photography, but the images themselves are 100% digital, CGI renderings of a 1999 road trip his family took to a coastal cabin in Maine when he was eight. The images are warm and hazy, all telephone wires and glowing TV screens. They’re indebted as much to William Eggleston and Paul Graham as they are to any digital artist. They unfold just like a memory, snapshots of details – ants climbing on a watermelon, bubbles floating in the breeze – all from the slightly shorter, slightly canted perspective of a child taking it all in.

A snapshot of a picnic table covered in toast, eggs, lemons, and a spider.

Image credit: Benjamin Freedman

Some of his memories are quintessentially ‘90s. There’s the time they went to Blockbuster and his parents asked the video store clerk if I Know What You Did Last Summer would be too scary (it was.) There were the hours spent playing boardgames like Monopoly and the Game of Life. And then there were the more universal moments: watching telephone poles and McDonalds arches disappear through the car window on the freeway. Or there was the time he got heat stroke on the Fourth of July and watching the fireworks from the cabin window.

Notably, Freedman actually did have evidence of the trip in a form that those who lived through the era are probably most familiar with: grainy handheld video, home movies-style, that his father, a pharmacist by day, photography enthusiast by night, took. One of his early memories from the trip is trying to grab the camera out of his father’s hands and take photos of his own, one of his earliest memories of wanting to be a photographer. He waited until almost completing the project before he looked back over this footage, lovingly archived in the family home by his mother. As with all memories, there were similarities and slippages: a different kind of car, a different room layout.

“Positive Illusions has become more true than the documentation that my father made in some ways because this is how I remember the past, and how we remember the past is core to who we become,” said Freedman.

The whole project creates the sense of safety and wistfulness that only comes from a child being on the brink of adolescence. But it also paints the pictures of a culture on the brink, the last gasp of the pre-digital world.

Image credit: Benjamin Freedman

As one aesthetic influence, Freedman cites the early-CGI graphics of 90s educational tools, a design style affectionately dubbed “utopian scholastic.” Think edutainment programs like Reading Rainbow or the Eyewitness Book series, all computer-generated models of school supplies like pencils, clocks, notebooks, and rulers, erupting and spiraling around nature like animals, clouds, and oceans. 

“It was born out of optimism around the Internet, it being this utopian space where we can connect,” said Freedman.

In the ‘90s, at the end of history, there was optimism about interactivity and technological capabilities in the Information Age. Our ability to photograph and access those photographs at the swipe of a fingertip revolutionized the act of memory-making, but it also shortened our attention spans and distorted our senses of truth. With the advent of social media, an internal schism had formed – many began to watch themselves from the outside, preparing to capture the perfect photo, the perfect memory before it had even happened. This is the uncanny place that memory occupies in our digital world.

“When working on the project, I was thinking about illusions, simulation, and memories being these spaces that we haunt, that we visit, that have these moving walls. Uncanny memories are uncanny places,” said Freedman.

For Millennials in particular, nostalgia became a major cultural touchstone (“only ‘90s kids will remember”). It also became an aesthetic anchorpoint. In the early years of Instagram, filters made to look like Polaroids and faded Kodak prints proliferated. These days, hope of returning to a pre-digital innocence is long gone, but nostalgia is still more salient than ever. I find myself scrolling through the archives of my Camera Roll with regularity, literally re-collecting the images of my past (or, at least, the ones I’ve managed or chosen to capture, anyways.) Freedman, who was in a long distance relationship at the time he was making Positive Illusions, says that yearning for a time passed subconsciously suffused his work.

“I was a little bit obsessed with nostalgia, the desire to go back in time, to make different decisions, the naive desire to play with the past,” he said.

The title for Freedman’s book comes from the PhD thesis his mother was working on at the time of that fateful 1999 road trip to Maine. (“I’m sentimental,” he joked, “A mama’s boy.) Freedman recalled the sound of her acrylic nails clacking on the keyboard, her face bathed in the glow of the cabin’s personal computer while she worked, sometimes until midnight. Her work was centered around the psychological concept of “positive illusions,” a form of self-deception. People who score highly for positive illusions remember the past more fondly than when it actually occurred. It’s a distortion, yes, but also one that she found leads to more contentment.

“I think I overwrote some memories,” confessed Freedman. “In the process of making [Positive Illusions] I started to fantasize about a childhood that maybe didn’t happen to me.”

So what do we lose in our technologically guided recollections? What do we gain? Freedman said that, as large language models proliferate and AI continues to unsettle the art world, working on the project allowed him to find some kind of happy medium between tech and art. Barreling into this future, we’d all be happier believing that the past is through with us once and for all. But maybe that’s just an illusion too.

Image credit: Benjamin Freedman

Submerged Dreams: Read an Interview of Ethereal Harpist Xiaoqiao →

Photo credit: Erika Kamano

As a child, London-based artist, harpist, vocalist, and model Xiaoqiao spent summer days watching water lilies on a pond near home in Hefei, China. These early moments of  “fluid and empty” time beside water have leaked into her earthly music characterized by angelic vocals, fluid harp, and electronic effects. Her debut EP, Weltschmerz, composed of four songs— “Lethe,” “Magnolia Dream,” “Weltschmerz,” and “Fleur de Sel—” flows through lost and re-encountered memories. 

Each song, vibrating with contemporary sound effects, reimagines ancient feelings— tales from Greek mythology and Taoist parables. In “Lethe,” Xiaoqiao reflects on the Greek river of forgetfulness in the Underworld. Her second single and title track of the EP, “Weltschmerz,” comes from one of Xiaoqiao’s poems and her interest in Renaissance polyphonic choir. “Magnolia Dream,” her third song, references one of Xiaoqiao’s favorite childhood stories, Zhuangzi's Butterfly Dream— a tale about a man who is not sure whether he dreams about being a butterfly or if the butterfly dreams about being him. “Fleur De Sel,” Xiaoqiao’s final piece, honors her studio cat, Fleur, whose recorded purring sounds appear on the track itself. 

Here, Xiaoqiao dives into her first glimpse of a harp in a music store, the making of her otherworldly music video, “Lethe,” and existing between London’s fashion and live art scenes. Read more.

Watch Y-3's SS25 Campaign Film from Moni Haworth and Petra Collins →

Moni Haworth and Petra Collins have always focused on the liminal spaces of American suburbs: teenage dreams confined to bedrooms, silhouettes pressed against Venetian blinds, cut-and-paste condos spiraling down culs-de-sacs like soap in a drain. The two longtime collaborators have teamed up once again for the campaign of another collaboration, Yohji Yamamoto and Adidas’ Y-3 Spring/Summer 2025 collection. From the simultaneously sporty and delicate Regu Mary Jane to Petra’s doppelgängers, duality takes centerstage. Autre caught up with Moni Haworth to talk about crafting the dreamy world of Y-3’s new collection. Read more.

Holly Blakey Premieres A Wound With Teeth and Phantom at Queen Elizabeth Hall

A Lyrical Meditation on Memory, Loss, and the Mythology of the Self

Holly Blakey: A Wound with Teeth & Phantom. Photo Credit: Natasha Back

text by Lara Monro

This April, choreographer and director Holly Blakey returns to London’s Queen Elizabeth Hall with the UK premiere of A Wound With Teeth and Phantom—a poetic double bill that moves through the fragile space between remembering and forgetting, intimacy and distance, body and absence. Following their world premiere in Paris, these works arrive charged with raw intensity and emotional precision, further cementing Blakey’s status as one of the most vital voices in contemporary movement.

Blakey’s work resists easy categorization—existing in the liminal space between film and stage, commercial and avant-garde, sensual and sacred. Known for her signature blend of tactile immediacy and cinematic movement, she has choreographed for Florence and the Machine, Rosalía, and Harry Styles while creating radical live performance works at institutions like the Southbank Centre. Her choreography is a language of desire, distortion, and dissolution.

A recipient of a UK MVA Award for Best Choreography (Florence and the Machine’s Delilah) and a nominee for Best New Director, Blakey has collaborated with Gucci, Burberry, and Dior while cultivating a singular performance vocabulary. Her return to Queen Elizabeth Hall follows the five-year evolution of Cowpuncher and its sequels—culminating in a sold-out Royal Festival Hall performance with the London Contemporary Orchestra.

A Wound With Teeth

How do we reconstruct ourselves in the absence of memory? In A Wound With Teeth, Blakey unflinchingly explores forgetting—not as loss, but as a space for reinvention. Dancers navigate a world on the brink of collapse, summoning monsters, myths, and fragmented selves in place of what has been erased. Inspired by Blakey’s own experience with memory loss, the piece unfolds like a fever dream—part elegy, part invocation—hovering between the rational and the uncanny.

Phantom

If A Wound With Teeth is an act of forgetting, Phantom is a ritual of remembrance. Ten dancers move with aching precision through a liminal space of grief and endurance, their bodies caught in a choreography that feels like sacred rite. Set to an atmospheric score by Gwilym Gold and costumed by Chopova Lowena, Phantom transforms the pain of Blakey’s personal experience with miscarriage into a visceral, collective reckoning. It is not about healing, but confrontation—a raw engagement with the weight of what we carry and the echoes we cannot silence.

This double bill marks a deepening of Blakey’s artistic vision—starker, more intimate, and defiantly vulnerable. Both works exist in the space beyond language, where memory is fluid and the body archives feeling.

Part performance, part séance, A Wound With Teeth and Phantom offer no easy catharsis. Instead, they leave us suspended—in awe, in discomfort, in recognition. A necessary, unflinching experience from one of choreography’s most transgressive and transcendent voices.

Holly Blakey: A Wound with Teeth & Phantom. Photo Credit: Natasha Back

Premiering at Queen Elizabeth Hall, Southbank Centre from April 9–11 in London.

Noah Davis and His Painted Lines Between Reality and Fiction

Walk through Noah Davis’s scenes of timeless, raw sentiment at the Barbican

Noah Davis, 1975 (8) 2013 (c) The Estate of Noah Davis Courtesy The Estate of Noah Davis and David Zwirner

text by Maisie McDermid

Paintings make space for imagination in a way photographs almost can, but cannot. This distinction lives between a photograph Noah Davis’s mother, Faith Childs-Davis, took in 1975 of a boy jumping into a crowded pool and a nearly identical painting Davis created in 2013 of the same scene. As both a photographer and a painter, Davis’s eye wandered between the two manifestations of a story. 

Up close, one sees how the people Davis’s mother captured on camera appear above and below the water; while, in Davis’ painting, cyan blue water covers the underwater legs and fluttering arms. One captures truth, and the other captures what can be. 

Noah Davis at work, Los Angeles, 2009, Patrick O'Brien-Smith

Davis (1983 - 2015) began painting in high school from his hometown of Seattle, Washington. While later studying film and conceptual art at Cooper Union in New York (2001 - 2004), Davis began also exploring the unique position of a camera in front of a scene. In 2004, he moved to LA to pursue his own artistic education and began working at the bookshop Art Catalogues. He referenced artists like Caspar David Friedrich, Mark Rothko, Romare Bearden, and Kerry James Marshall as he developed his own sharp talent for merging history with fiction.

In 2012, he and his wife and fellow artist, Karon Davis, co-founded the Underground Museum, a heart-center for the historically Black and Latinx neighborhood of Arlington Heights in Los Angeles. Although the museum — slash studio, slash residency site, slash exhibition space — is temporarily closed, its legacy continues to illuminate Davis’s commitment to his people and the responsibility he felt to capture their beauty. Davis had curated 18 exhibitions by the time of his untimely death in 2015. 

The Barbican’s Noah Davis retrospective — which includes 1975 (8), the photographed and painted boy jumping into water — encourages a close reading. Through its chronological showcasing of over fifty of Davis’s paintings, sculptures, and works on paper, the exhibition communicates Davis’s evolving interests in politics and current affairs, everyday life, ancient Egypt, family history, the racism of the American media, art history, and architecture. His characters, some fiction and some not, tell stories of normal days in communities, but in this normalcy, Davis discovers magic. 

“Noah Davis believed in the power of art to uplift others, and if you spend time with the often surreal and fantastical aspects of his paintings, you will see that he also believed that life — against hardship and violent histories of racism — could also be otherwise,” curator Wells Fray-Smith said. While his paintings of Black communities dancing, resting, swimming, and playing, certainly capture what is; they also capture what can be. 

Opportunities to see Davis’s work have remained rare up until now. The first and only exhibition of Davis’s work in London was in 2021, and there has never been an institutional solo show that showcases the breadth of his work. Today, his work feels all the more timely. “We are living in a world of dehumanization, crisis and upheaval in which there is a drought of love and connection. This exhibition, full of love, hope and humanity, felt like it needed to be now,” Fray-Smith said. As the Barbican emerged from a post-war context with a belief similar to Davis’s — that culture can powerfully transform life — the institution hopes to bring people together through Davis’s art and create challenging and delightful spaces for debate and reflection. 

“Davis’s approach to making exhibitions was often both deeply serious and hilariously funny, choosing combinations of artists and themes that contained lightness but asked profound questions,” Fray-Smith said. The exhibition features loans from public and private international collections, while also extending the retrospective visit to a multidisciplinary program of related events like figure and portrait drawing workshops and a speaker series from Claudia Rankine, Jason Moran, and more. Some notable pieces from the showing include: 40 Acres and a Unicorn, 2007, a painting that references the unrealized order that formerly enslaved families freed during the American Civil War would be given ‘40 acres and a mule,’ and Seventy Works, 2014, a selection of painted collages, which combine images of friends, anonymous figures cut out from magazines, newspaper clippings, and modernist sculptures.

“In Painting for My Dad, as we see a man on the precipice between this world and the next, we also notice that the rocks on which he stands are painted thinly. We can see instances of the canvas underneath washes of veiled paint. It’s the black, starry abyss beyond that has substance, texture, opacity, as if to say that this infinite beyond is the real thing,” Fray-Smith said.  

Noah Davis’s retrospective is a large-scale showing of the many convergences of fiction and reality people experience daily — where the truth lies somewhere in between. 

Noah Davis will be on display at the Barbican until May 11, 2025. Tickets are available on the Barbican website.

A New Story Every Day: Read Our Interview of l'Area's Edouard Chueke →

The Center of Le Marais’s Social Scene Is A Mom & Pop Restaurant/Bar Serving Lebanese/Brazilian Fusion & Drinks Until Late.

 
 

L’Area tonight, like every Saturday night, has spilled a crowd of well-dressed twenty-somethings out onto the streets. The rain comes down in a light haze, and smokers rotate in groups out of the doors. Some women’s fur coats are being flattened by the rain that rolls off the edges of their slanted umbrellas. The smokers hug the small, flat green face of l’Area and step away from the windows, from which you can see, behind and around them, a growing crowd inside the bar.

L’Area, during the day, is a quiet restaurant that serves Lebanese and Brazilian food on a side street between Bastille and Le Marais. The food feels home-cooked, comforting; it’s rich curries and shawarma, black rice and pita bread, citrusy ceviche, and a cold glass of white wine. You can’t go to l’Area and order just one thing—a meal at l’Area means a table covered in plates.

But at night, l’Area becomes something else—an overflowing bar where you can start or end your night, a refuge from the rain, good drinks and good music, but also one of the hearts of Paris’ youth scene. L’Area attracts artists, students, musicians, and, during fashion week, half of everyone who’s left their afterparties. It’s designed for conversations, for making connections. At l’Area, you can find a photographer for your brand, a writer for your magazine, or a date for next Saturday.

Inside the bar, the soft light feels as if it could all be from the glow of candles. The walls are mostly covered with thick white paint that thins in some important places and cracks in others. On each wall, there are mirrors, tchotchkes, and photos and paintings in thick and thin frames. The bar’s counter is long and shining and turns at one end to meet the wall.

The wall behind the bar has a splash of blue and green tiles. There are glass shelves covered in glass bottles and aluminum cans and corks and towels and art and busy hands and other things that a bar should or shouldn’t have. And the bar’s counter itself is covered in action and movement, the knocking of glass on the counter, the shifting of elbows under thick coat sleeves.

I move with the crowd as the room thins and then pushes out into the bar’s barely larger backroom, filled with a traffic jam of tables, benches, chairs, and people. You have to step over and squeeze past creaking wooden chairs with skinny iron legs. Boot heels catch on coats, elbows brush against the shoulders of drinkers, and backs press against backs. A small projector sends a faint blue glow—cut through by the shadow of the spinning ceiling fan’s blades—against a screen blocked by pots of flowers, a glittering silver lava lamp, and an enormous glass vase filled with coffee beans. Wine-soaked cushions and a floor sticky with Saint Germain lick the soles of boots and Puma runners.

The restaurant's owner, Edouard, steps into the backroom and lights his cigarette from a candle placed on a countertop. Edouard has silver hair and skin that looks like it has spent most of its life smiling. He wears a sweater knit tight like l’Area’s weave of tables and chairs. It is my first time back in two years; Edouard remembers my name.

There is no l’Area without Edouard. You would be hard-pressed to find a kinder man in Paris, and if you did, he would be nowhere near as cool. Edouard creates the culture of l’Area. When he can find a break between pouring drinks and hugging friends, he will pull you aside to connect you with someone he wants you to know. And all night, until the bar closes, through every backhanded glass, late reservation, and declined card, he keeps smiling.

I caught up with Edouard the next day. I sat at the counter as he paced back and forth behind the bar. I had to follow him with my phone so the recording would stay clear. Read more.

Doc Fortnight 2025: Breaking Reality, One Frame at a Time

At MoMA, Memory and Desire Collide in a Cinematic Exploration of the Real and the Imagined.

 

Marlow Fazon Featuring Yesterday. 2025. USA. Directed by Isaiah Davis. Courtesy the filmmaker

 

text by Eva Megannety

Doc Fortnight isn’t just an exhibition—it’s a provocation. MoMA’s annual nonfiction showcase has long been a space where documentary defies its own rules, and 2025 is no exception. This year’s lineup fractures, distorts, and reimagines the boundaries of nonfiction, blending memory, identity, desire, and upheaval into something more elusive—more intimate—more true. From legendary filmmakers like Errol Morris and Stanley Nelson to bold newcomers rewriting the language of documentary, these films dissolve fact and fiction, turning the camera into an accomplice, an intruder, an unreliable narrator. Among the exhibition’s most daring offerings is Doc Fortnight Shorts 4: Memory and Desire, a selection of films that probe the slipperiness of recollection and longing, proving once again that at Doc Fortnight, truth is never simple.

Prelude (2025, USA, dir. Jen DeNike)

Memory is a fragile thing, a collage of images and emotions that flicker and fade—except when celluloid steps in to hold it still. Prelude is a quiet, aching elegy where letters, family photographs, and the misty Scottish countryside form a bridge between past and present. DeNike crafts a dreamscape of longing as a daughter tries to reconcile her mother’s slipping mind with the secret history of a love that once burned bright. It’s an act of cinematic grace, a requiem for the things that time refuses to keep.

Blue (2024, Romania/Portugal/Hungary/Belgium, dir. Ana Vîjdea)

Some families suffocate with love. Some let it spill out in bursts of anxiety and control. In Blue, Ana Vîjdea delivers an unflinching portrait of Rodica, a Romanian mother scraping by in Belgium, desperate to keep her children close. Shot in tightly framed interiors that feel like walls closing in, the film pulses with the kind of intimacy that verges on claustrophobia. Love here is not soft; it’s a grip that doesn’t loosen, an embrace that lingers just a little too long. Vîjdea, ever the documentarian of human fragility, finds the tension between devotion and possession, between wanting to hold on and knowing you must let go.

Marlow Fazon Featuring Yesterday (2025, USA, dir. Isaiah Davis)

Isaiah Davis has never been one to shy away from the body—its textures, its violence, its aesthetic possibilities. His latest work, Marlow Fazon Featuring Yesterday, is less a film than a living, breathing installation, a visceral meditation on Black masculinity that pulls from sculpture, music, and the language of fetish. Leather, metal, horrorcore, and the yearning croon of Boyz II Men collide in this dissection of identity, power, and nostalgia. It’s raw, provocative, and formally daring—a theatrical reworking of Davis’ own past installations that reminds us how history, both personal and cultural, is always being remade.

Freak (2024, USA, dir. Claire Barnett)

Some films look like they shouldn’t exist—like you’ve stumbled onto something you were never meant to see. Freak feels that illicit. Shot in jittery, voyeuristic camcorder footage that trembles with tension, Barnett’s film pulls us into the obsessive push-and-pull of young love, where devotion looks an awful lot like self-destruction. It’s raw, nervy, and unsettling, stripping intimacy down to something almost holy—if holiness could be found in jealousy, insecurity, and a love so intense it borders on madness.

School of the Dead (2025, USA, dir. Hannah Gross)

“We need a dead(wo)man to begin.” Helene Cixous’ words haunt School of the Dead, Hannah Gross’ spectral, elliptical debut. A film about absence, inheritance, and the ghosts that shape us, it plays like a séance conducted through cinema—casting Sierra Pettengill as both subject and specter, searching for something in the vast, ancient landscapes of Alberta. History, personal and prehistoric, folds in on itself: the voices of lost mothers, forgotten texts, and the echoes of Clarice Lispector all bleed into this hypnotic, shape-shifting hybrid. Gross makes grief tangible, a thing you can almost reach out and touch before it vanishes into the frame.

If Doc Fortnight 2025 proves anything, it’s that nonfiction cinema is no longer bound by objectivity—or even reality. The festival’s most striking moments weren’t just about documenting the world as it is, but about reshaping it through memory, desire, and the slippery nature of truth. Films like Prelude and School of the Dead blurred the line between personal history and poetic reconstruction, while Freak and Marlow Fazon Featuring Yesterday pushed intimacy and identity to their rawest extremes.

The hybrid and avant-garde works showcased here reject the notion that documentary must simply “capture.” Instead, they challenge—contorting time, bending form, and questioning whose stories get told and how. This isn’t just a shift in style; it’s a radical redefinition of storytelling itself, one where fiction and nonfiction are no longer opposing forces but inseparable collaborators.

Leaving the exhibition, I found myself reconsidering what it means to document something. Is truth what we see, what we remember, or what we choose to believe? Doc Fortnight 2025 suggests it might be all of the above, and that’s precisely what makes this era of nonfiction cinema so thrilling.

A Steamy Night of Readings with Camille Sojit Pejcha and Substack

Last Tuesday, New York’s literary world descended on a Wall Street bath house for a midnight reading on desire.

text by Karly Quadros

There’s rarely a good reason for any self-respecting writer to be in the Financial District at 10:30 pm on a Tuesday, but here I am at a Russian bath house, standing behind a girl complaining loudly on the phone about how she’s definitely over her situationship this time. It’s a fitting start to the real reason that I’m here: a late-night reading on the topic of desire from some of New York’s seamiest and funniest writers, hosted by writer Camille Sojit Pejcha and Substack.

At the tail end of my first frigid New York City winter, I’m ready for a schvitz and a soak in my red Coca-Cola vintage one piece. It was an apt fashion choice: the decor had a distinctly 80s flair, all blue tiles and decals of mermaids and tropical fish. Amidst a modern sauna renaissance, the focus is less wellness and more third space. Clusters of attendees bounce on pruny toes between the sauna, bar, and a large central pool where the readings take place. The hot tub is packed to the brim while the rest of us paddle placidly in the pool or perch on its edge sipping orange juice and house-made vodkas infused with horseradish, lemon, black currant, and raspberry.

Bath houses have been around since as long as humans have lived together. The sauna’s simple, woody engineering helped people escape brutal Norse winters. Russian and Eastern European immigrant communities carved out their own little piece of New York City with homosocial bath houses where potbellied men socialized and sweated it out together in between cold plunges and traditional beatings with prickly oak branches. In the 20th century, bath houses became iconic for their status as gay cruising grounds. But, as Sojit Pejcha reminds me, before all of that, in ancient Roman times, public baths were community spaces, closer to libraries than bedrooms. With this reading, organized in collaboration with Substack’s Matt Starr and Sophia Efthimiatou, she was blending the two.

Featuring performances from Sojit Pejcha, Brontez Purnell, Cat Cohen, Mary H.K. Choi, Jaboukie, J Wortham, Liara Roux, Old Jewish Men, and Sherry Ning, the readings are occasionally erotic, often funny, always revealing. They detailed desires that were passing or all encompassing. The desires were sometimes existential (wanting to be beautiful), sometimes specific (wanting to be let into the Delta Sky Club.) Like an extension of a dream where you have to give a speech only to realize that you’re not wearing any pants, many of the writers, performing in swimsuits, took on the things they’re a little embarrassed to want in the first place. 

Sojit Pejcha riffed on the misbegotten workplace dalliances of her early twenties. Cat Cohen tore through several poems on everything from $400 Zoom psychics to wanting to be so tiny and thin she could ice skate on the crust of crème brûlée. Others wrote about wanting things they feel they should probably be a little more ashamed of but aren’t, like Brontez Purnell taking on relapses and near-death experiences. Mary H.K. Choi channeled her irrepressible lust for affordable health care through Luigi Mangione’s delicately shackled ankles. And then there was Jaboukie who fantasized about a kinky threeway with Senate Republican leader Mitch McConnell and his remote control buttplug-wielding wife.

Maybe it’s the humidity or the smell of smoked herring that’s gone to my head, but the night is shaping up to be, if not exactly sexy, then much more revealing. With authors and audience alike in nothing but their skivvies, there’s nowhere to hide. Considering the avalanche of hand-wringing thinkpieces about how Gen Z is too prudish, I think to myself that those authors clearly didn’t show up here.

Sojit Pejcha, whose newsletter Pleasure-Seeking focuses on desire and sexuality with a gonzo, anthropological aplomb, agrees. She points to a collective burnout in the face of the overzealous sex positivity of the 2010s, in which dating apps gave rise to a particular kind of casual sex and corny brands Urban Outfitters were hawking vibrators as a quick path to empowerment. Ultimately, however, that promised sexual empowerment was just another way for brands to leverage human desires to sell products. 

“I think it’s worth interrogating what shapes our desires, what social conditions we’re responding to and why we think things are subversive,” said Sojit Pejcha. “Brands and dating apps marketed sex as a source of liberation for women–but failed to close the orgasm gap. Between this and the conservative cultural turn, there was a sense that sex positivity wasn’t all it cracked up to be, and sex negativity almost seemed subversive.”

With this event and her newsletter, she’s refocusing the conversation on pleasures and vulnerabilities both transgressive and ordinary. “So much of the conversation is about how atomized we are, how isolated and sexless we are. I think part of that is true, but at a certain point, complaining about it online is not helpful,” she said. “My role is to seek out sexual culture where it exists in the real world.”

If the event’s near instant ticket sell out and 300 person waitlist is any indicator, the appetite for spaces that are sultry and silly isn’t just existent – it’s ravenous. Spilling out into the night, still March brisk but no longer wind whipped January, I can feel the thaw coming.

Images courtesy of Anna Maria Lopez

Nam June Paik: Rear Window Offers a Posthumous Glimpse into the Mind of a Master

Micki Meng’s gallery viewing encourages viewers to look above, behind, and below Nam June Paik’s allegorical work

Photo credit: Graham Holoch

text by Maisie McDermid

Friends Indeed, a storefront gallery between San Francisco's Chinatown and Financial District, is housing a Nam June Paik dollhouse. Tangled cords drape from the house's backside, with ten miniature, '90s TV sets placed into its windows. The pixelated footage loops four scenes from Alfred Hitchcock's classic Rear Window, teasing visitors into thinking they're glimpsing into private moments inside the plaster-painted dollhouse. 

The sculpture, like the film, is about a stranger peering into private spaces, says curator John Morace. "It becomes a kind of hall of mirrors." 

Paik, widely known as the founder of video art, grew up in Seoul, Korea. From a young age, he studied piano and composition, later moving to Japan where he studied aesthetics at the University of Tokyo with a focus on composer Arnold Schoenberg. After further music history studies at Munich University and a brief return to Tokyo – where he bought his first Sony Portapak and joined the avant-garde art movement, Fluxus – Paik emigrated to the United States where he lived in New York City and eventually died in Miami, Florida in 2006. Although most of his art manifests in digital formats – video sculptures, performances, installations, and television productions – his paintings and drawings also reveal his interests in how humans connect.

Rear Window (Hitchcock Dollhouse) is one among three other Paik pieces – Untitled (small painting with film strip jewelry), Untitled (Toy Robots), and Untitled (Allen Ginsberg) – being showcased at Friends Indeed. Visitors walk through the space opening closet doors and peeking behind black curtains at either one of Paik’s detailed paintings or a laser-generated, neon photograph. The works vary in their approaches to perception and play. All – including the six others available for viewing upon request – are on consignment from the owners and available for sale to other collectors or institutions.

In its voyeuristic slant, Rear Window (Hitchcock Dollhouse) combines questions both Hitchcock and Paik ask of viewers who stare into the “windows” of either a screen or a house. "Rear Window itself is a very interesting film because it is about viewing and viewership – who's viewing whom, and under what circumstances. This is one of the themes that Paik has always worked with – how we communicate and how information is passed between people," said Morace. 

Photo Credit: Graham Holoch

Between Alan Ginsberg's vibrating, laser-generated photograph and the toy robots splattered onto a doodled canvas, Paik made art silly, professionally. He celebrated tasteful fun. 

"What a subtle little thing for him to show us," Morace said, reacting to some inch-sized black brushstrokes at the bottom of Untitled (small painting with film strip jewelry). "You know, he's communicating in his Fluxus way by mixing media that was around him. Paint, jewelry, life, and art are all together in this one tiny piece. Look at those little black birds on the bottom, they are a motif he's used in many works – like flying TVs – and it links beautifully to his entire body of work." 

In other public displays of Rear Window (Hitchcock Dollhouse), curators have concealed the many wires, dials, and plugs spilling from the house. "It's like an octopus of cables with all sorts of different colors and widths, and you're like, oh my god," Morace joked. Paik envisioned the lives of his sculptures beyond their years. "He had this theory that if the technology improved, and his piece was going to be up again, you could move the technology forward. So if it went from cathode ray tubes to LCD screens, you could update it as long as it didn't affect the work's physical manifestation." But Morace and co-curator Mickie Meng, unlike other curators who may have likened the “guts” to a distraction, believe the “guts” are the piece’s purpose. Viewers, therefore, peek into the principal theme of peeking. 

The combination of both video and traditional fine art in Nam June Paik: Rear Window’s collection is what makes the showing of these four works – which have never been displayed together – particularly interesting. Not all of Paik's work buzzes, flashes, and sparks. Some of his most sincere art exists on paper. After suffering from a stroke in 1996, he spent much of his remaining decade in a wheelchair. 

"His dealer at the time, Holly Solomon, visited him in the hospital and brought him paper, crayons, and these oil stick colors to give him something to amuse himself. She was doing it to say, ‘Hey, you are still you, and you can go on,’" said Morace. His drawings draw-up dimensions through his use of layering and pressure shading techniques. Untitled (a small painting with film strip jewelry) features a bedazzled film strip with empty photo slots. Paik used the spaces to fill in his own storyboard: a blank face in one, a smiling face in two, a mysterious face in three, and two faces in the fourth above the word "kiss." Even on canvas, Paik could tell a moving story.

"I hope the work nudges people to think about art in a broader way than is typical of many people today when they're really focused on painting. I encourage people to say, 'Wow, I can get some pleasure, enjoyment, and some satisfaction from seeing this video, these sculptural objects, and these weird hybrid paintings with toys stuck on them,’" said Morace.

Nam June Paik: Rear Window will be on display at Friends Indeed from March 13, 2025 to May 02, 2025.

Balenciaga's Beautiful Dark Twisted Maze For Winter 2025

 
 

Balenciaga’s Winter 25 collection redefines the standard, transforming familiar garments through an intricate exploration of dress codes and proportions. Presented in a backstage maze, the show itself mirrors the creative process—lines blurred, structures inverted, and everyone in the front row.

The collection dissects traditional businesswear, reshaping archetypes with precision. Four standard black suits, identical in cut but distinct in attitude, embody duality, while a deconstructed pinstripe suit and a maxi-skirt pairing challenge sartorial conventions. Outerwear follows suit: streamlined coats, maxi trenches, and a back-to-front quarter-zip nod to historical couture while integrating modern sensibilities. A sheepskin parka references Balenciaga’s 1951 Semi-Fitted line, and a voluminous hoodie echoes the grandeur of the house’s 1967 wedding dress.

Structural ingenuity extends to daywear, where push-up corsetry and anatomical tailoring reimagine standard pieces. Sweater dresses cinched with oversized safety pins, “Luxury” hoodies lined with superfine cashmere, and crushed Dyneema® shoppers demonstrate the brand’s commitment to craftsmanship and innovation.

Technical sportswear under the Balenciaga I PUMA collaboration evokes minimal yet refined streetwear. Swimdresses in water-sport spandex contrast with oversized opera coats in faux fur and nylon puffer. Accessories blend function with subversion—convertible Business Bags, hands-free pouches, and distorted formal footwear subvert expectations. Horoscope necklaces, faceless Geneva watches, and modular ski-goggle-inspired eyewear reinforce the house’s penchant for playful irreverence.

Balenciaga’s Winter 25 is a rigorous exercise in deconstruction and refinement, twisting the familiar into something unexpected while remaining true to its essence. A study of standards—redefined.



Color Vision: Read Our Interview of Master Printers Guy Stricherz & Irene Malli →

William Eggleston 
Greenwood, Mississippi (red ceiling), 1973

Phillips is set to present Color Vision: Master Prints from Guy Stricherz and Irene Malli, a landmark series of auctions celebrating the unparalleled artistry of the dye transfer process. The first auction, happening on March 18, 2025, will feature the master prints of William Eggleston, including his Los Alamos portfolio and the highly sought-after "Magnificent Seven" large-format dye transfer prints. These works, crafted by Stricherz and Malli at Color Vision Imaging Laboratory, represent the pinnacle of color photography, offering collectors a rare opportunity to acquire the definitive prints from one of the most influential printers of the past four decades. I sat down with Guy and Irene to discuss the rare and fleeting magic of the dye transfer process in anticipation of next Tuesday’s auction at Phillips. Read more.