Jenevieve Aken

“trying to shape the story and give voice to things that must change.”

The photographer Jenevieve Aken is a storyteller. Though Aken often turns to self-portraiture, her work is never merely autobiographical. Rather, she takes on the role of both subject and photographer to tell stories that others recognise and see themselves in. As well as using her own experiences as the basis of her projects, Aken also reinterprets the stories of others, fictional (in Great Expectations, she fashions herself as ‘Miss Aken’, a play on Dickens’s Miss Havisham) and real. Her series, Sanctuary (2017), for example, sees Aken delve into the story of Elvira Orlandini who was raped and murdered in her home village of Palaia, Italy, in 1947. As Aken explains in her interview with NR, she was taking part in an artist residency in the village when she learned of the brutal tragedy of Elvira. Through a series of black and white images, Aken conjures up the spirit of the murdered woman, granting her a second chance at life. For Aken, the series is not just about Elvira, however; by depicting herself as defiant – and, crucially, alive – Aken seeks to shift the story away from victimhood to a tale of survival. As Aken explains of the series on her website, the despicable nature of assault on women’s bodies is shown “naked and exposed for the viewer to feel and see, to experience the vulnerability of women.”

In her first photography series, The Masked Woman (2014), Aken explores the complexity of navigating womanhood in Nigeria, where she is from. The photographer plays with the depiction of an independent, professional woman (which Aken, herself, is), and in doing so, circumvents the male gaze and the stigmatization of sexually free women. In some ways, Great Expectations (2016) is a mirror reflection of that first series in which the character of ‘Miss Aken’ spends her life, jilted and still wearing in her wedding dress, at home – forever in limbo. But if these series grapple with the degrees to which women are free to choose their futures, Aken’s series, Monankim (2017), highlights the absence of choice (and voice) that comes with entry into womanhood. Here, Aken (this time, not subject, only photographer) shines a light on the rituals of female genital mutation – the series takes its name from the word used to refer to the process by the Bakor people, a group of minority tribes from Cross River State, Nigeria. By depicting young women preparing to undergo the highly stigmatised procedure, Monankim is a reminder to Aken, born into one of the Bakor tribes, of the ritual she was able to avoid. In essence then, Aken’s work shines a light on the balancing acts that many try to navigate; the illusion of freedom is, oftentimes, just that. 

NR: As a photographer and storyteller, what are some of the key aspects, features and details that inspire you to create a project around a particular story?

JA: I am constantly inspired by what I read, what I see, what I hear from different people and their experiences. I also get inspired by what is happening around me and my experiences; sometimes I get inspired just by myself, in my solitude. I guess that is what inspires me to create a relevant project around a particular story. 

How do you find the stories that you focus your work on? Especially in the case of Elvira Orlandini, how did you find out about her life and decide to create a self-portrait project around it?

I am constantly researching, reading and listening. I am always fascinated by stories – I think that is what helps me to find ideas to tell stories. Especially in the case of Elvira Orlandini’s story that I was told in an artist residency I was involved in Italy, in a village called Palaia in Tuscany. I lived there for one month. I heard and listened to Elvira’s tragic story about how her beautiful life was cut short by an unknown killer and how her ghost still roams the village and in the bush. And I also saw her grave by the roadside where her body was found, which was close to where I stayed. Elvira’s story dominated my mind, and that inspired me to create a story around her through self-portrait performance. Elvira’s story still resonates and [like her case], this is still happening to women around the world, begging or negotiating for their life.

“Some who are dead like Elvira’s spirit still linger on earth, looking for justice.”

In your work, especially The Masked Woman, you are both the subject and the viewer/producer – how do you navigate the representation of gender and identity by playing both roles on either side of the camera?

It wasn’t easy navigating this and playing both roles on either side of the camera. In The Masked Woman, which happened to be my first self-portrait series project as a young photographer, I was still navigating with my lens and how not to be passive or overlooked as a show-off or being sensual. Rather, I followed my intuition, and I chose to capture the attention of the viewer to avert the overall male gaze by facing it head on with my own actions and choices that explore the representation of gender and identity through a performative lens.

In the series Great Expectations, you are the character of ‘Miss Aken’, whose married life you imagine. Do you create detailed back stories for your characters in order to take on their role? And how do you connect with these characters? 

The Great Expectations series is a reference to the iconic novel by Charles Dickens, and I was inspired by the eccentric character of Miss Havisham. I was connected and drawn to the effect that her having been jilted at the alter had on her character, and how this affects wider society. That inspired me to play the role of ‘Miss Aken’ through self-portrait performance, where I model myself alongside the character of Miss Havisham by reinterpreting and (re)creating the story of Great Expectations

“in a contemporary African society, addressing the huge emphasis placed on marriage as an institution, where happiness, love, friendship are all afterthoughts; marriage first.”

In what way does storytelling allow you as the storyteller to engage with the real-life issues that inform your work? How did you decide to approach social commentary through an artistic style? 

I think for me it’s about the location of the idea; if I am able to trace how I have come about a narrative that I am obsessing about, then I find that I am able to map the story and give it honesty and approach it competently. For example, with the story about Female Genital Mutilation, Monankim, I am eternally grateful that my parents decided not to subject me to this trauma; I am aware that it was common in my hometown. I knew many young girls and women that were scarred in my community as part of this ritual of womanhood but

“I wanted to understand how to evolve that culture and the sort of intervention it would take to change things and end this harmful traditional practice.”

Monankim is a series in which you do not feature in front of the camera – when it comes to making photographs, what are the compositional elements you look for? And does this change from taking a self-portrait versus a portrait? 

I am very certain about my compositional elements when it comes to photographic image making. Both self-portraiture and taking portraits start from the aesthetic thought processing and intention. After, comes some of the things I look for, like the type of lighting as all my photographs are taken in natural light. I look out for the kind of spaces that fit the image idea and then comes the combination of arrangement of framing and positioning myself or my subject. 

At the heart of your work are societal issues/failures that women must confront and deal with (often alone or in silence). How does your work celebrate the struggles of women? And how does this empower both you, as the artist, and the viewer?

“Silence; many women often find themselves sitting alone with their thoughts and problems and without the language or community to help them to better understand.”

Society dictates that we observe and conform, and this is the root of my work: the sitting alone, contemplating alone and trying to shape the story and give voice to things that must change. So, I try to celebrate this because it is important, but my works is rarely ever celebratory but rather reflective and burdensome.

Credits

Images · Jenevieve Aken
https://www.jenevieveaken.com/

Chantal Elisabeth Ariëns

“It is in the nature of the mind to make something out of nothing, so an empty state allows the mind to rest and opens doors at the same time.”

It might have taken Chantal Elisabeth Ariëns ages to pull herself out of the state of chaos and into the utopia of emptiness, but such a transition defines what she produces today, from photographs to prints. Relieving certain emotions to provoke certain memories ushers the multidisciplinary artist into conjuring her most reflective essence, giving a home to the works of art she treasures the most.

From her reverence for water as a distilling element of life to the reminiscence of her sister’s youthful time, Ariens personifies the glory of existence: the stillness in dancing, the melancholy in capturing the relics of a passing, the times when realizations ask her to carry on.

I would love to learn more about your career transition. You first worked as a dancer, having studied at a ballet academy in Tilburg. You also modeled and assisted photographers. Why did you switch to photography? When did you realize it was time for you to hold the camera yourself?

I grew up with classical ballet and studied at the ballet academy, so my whole life was surrounded by ballet. But

“my dream to dance in a company like the NYC ballet fell apart.”

I started to look for something that could replace my passion for ballet. This was the quest. For a period, I started working as a model, where I got inspired by photographers I worked with and started to assist some photographers.

I am also a print-maker. I felt the need to create with my own hands, to give my prints more depth. I went in search of a craft technique that would allow me to do so, and this led me to the photopolymer etching technique. I love the tactility, the structure, the scent, and countless shades of black. The work itself is very intense and slow; it brings me to a more quiet part of myself and makes me more aware of how gratifying craftsmanship can be.

Delving deeper into your photographic philosophy, how did your ballet, photo modeling, and assisting experiences help shape your photography? What nuances from these backgrounds do you use in your practice today?

Dancing had been a way to express myself since a very young age. This was replaced by my love for photography. My father was a gifted photographer and a photo teacher in addition to his day job. He taught my sister and me how to print our own photos.

“Working as a model became the second part of my photographic education.”

It was wonderful to be able to learn from so many photographers, through their own ways of creating images, especially in the fashion world. Then, my process became different after working for magazines.

I felt the need to create from within after my younger sister passed away. I had to let go of concepts or themes to find out where my journey would take me. Gradually, I realized how everything turned out to be personal, including my relationship with the models I work with. I like to create an intimate atmosphere for the models to make them feel comfortable and be themselves.

I prefer to work with models with a background in dancing as they often move freely. It is important for me to make real contact in order to create images that move. They become personal from the moment I started to create my own world from the inside.

The inspiration of your works stems from the subconscious, a state of emptiness. How do you perceive an empty state? Is it meant to be filled, or just be left their void? 

In the past, it was not easy to enter an empty state of mind overnight. It took me years to be able to let go, meditate, and practice. It is in the nature of the mind to make something out of nothing, so an empty state allows the mind to rest and opens doors at the same time. This is where it became possible for me to dig deep and create my personal work, by letting it be void with all that will come up in a natural way.

As you have written: these images arise by giving space to emotion and exploring where the connection lies between emotion and memory. Emotions and memories are stored in the subconscious. For you, what is the connection between emotion and memory? What kinds of emotions and memories do you want to evoke?

For me, memories come with certain emotions, so bringing up certain memories can evoke certain emotions. I try not to evoke these emotions as I prefer them to arise in a natural way. It is by giving space that they will find their way. For me, photography is about connecting to the landscape, the people, and myself. It is about creating my own world.

Let us go through a few of your works. Where Are You reminisces about your younger sister, a time when you saw her everywhere. Would it be all right if you guide us through your state in this series?

Where Are You #1: The image is taken by the moonlight, imagery of Taoism, and the yin energy that brings the viewer within. The feeling brought me to remember the memory of my sister drifting away.

Where Are You #4: In my dreams, I was running fast to see glimpses of my sister. When I saw a figure running, I thought it was her.

Where Are You #11: I know it is not her, but it is the vague figure that is moving towards me that makes me think it is her.

Where Are You #20: Ever-changing clouds, floating on air.

Where Are You #18: The sea, the waves, the clouds, the sun behind the clouds, the rays of light coming in. Here, there is a play between the dark and the light, the light and the dark. I was fascinated by it: it moved me in ways, it made me feel emotional, it lulled me into it, and it connected me to the ones I lost.

Unfinished #2: Here a teststrip of Marijn, I started photographing with her and still do, she became my muse.
In this image she reminds me of my sister, Nathalie.

Monologue Intérieur seems to be a photographic conversation between who you are and what you feel, an inner monologue associated with thoughts, fears, and emotions that come and go. Have you ever latched on a single emotion and found it difficult to let go? 

The inner monologue is often associative. Thoughts, moods, feelings come and go. I try to catch these in order to be moved by the image. It is not only about my feelings, but my models’ as well.

Nude photography can be a complex subject to me. It is about finding the purest and most liberating expression of strong femininity. It is combined with the inner monologue, transforming the images into layers of stories.

Water as a purifying, transformative, and healing gift of life. In Healing or drowning, water becomes the symbol of existence, the power of connection, softness, surrender, and forgiveness. When do you seek healing? Is it hard to surrender yourself to the flow of the universe? How do you forgive – by forgetting?

I seek healing especially in times of grief and turbulence like the last one and a half years, where we have all gone through certain waves.

“Surrendering to the flow of the universe is a never-ending challenge.”

For me, forgiving is not about forgetting. I think it is a process that experiences ups and downs, highs and lows like waves that come and go, trying to find the angle of compassion for others. I think these bring in the softness, the healing part, for others and myself.

You quote T.S. Elliott as part of your artist’s statement. “So the darkness shall be the light. And the stillness the dancing.” How do you relate to these words?

The words refer to my own process that started with the death of my younger sister. I went through deep grief, a depressing period, trying to find the light. This is why I started my series  ‘Where Are You’ with specks of black and bright white. 

If I had to go to a deeper layer of myself, I think I would uncover stillness while finding my way out, accepting that nothing will ever stay the same and that love never dies.

What’s next for Chantal?

I’m looking forward to some wonderful collaborations in Japan, Italy and Sweden and a period as Artist In Residence to be able to do research, experiment and deepen my work.

Credits

www.chantalelisabethariens.com/

Omar Apollo

Honing a Kaleidoscopic Vision

Omar Apollo appears, shoulders upward, in the bottom corner of his screen connecting to our Zoom call from his phone. Behind and above him is what appears to be a vast, vaulted wood ceiling. The twenty-four-year-old singer is calling from the San Jacinto Mountains in Southern California, where he’s currently holed up. “I went on this hike yesterday,” he enthuses, “we were super high up to the point where you felt kind of high – it was really weird because the oxygen was different up there. I got a little scared, but it was great.” At the top, he met an eighty-something year old man called Bjorn who hikes up the mountain a few times a week on the lookout for fires nearby.

The story of Apollo’s expedition the previous day comes up in our conversation in the context of style. “Right now, I’ve been on a kind of tactical thing, [I’ve] been dressing like a really cute hiker,” a fact corroborated by an Instagram post on his feed featuring a pair of Salomon trainers. But reaching the top of a summit (and then recounting the experience with breezy nonchalance) could also be an analogy, of sorts, for the singer’s career. Back in 2017, Apollo uploaded ugotme, a moody-yet-slinky two-minute bedroom jam to SoundCloud. It amassed tens of thousands of plays quite literally overnight, catapulting a twenty-year-old first generation Mexican American fast-food worker from Indiana into another universe.

In the four years since, ugotme has had over 1 million streams on the original upload alone. And, when we speak, Apollo is in the process of finishing up his debut album which will follow on from Apolonio, last year’s nine-track mini album. The singer is tight-lipped about specifics but does reveal that it is “honestly amazing. Like my best shit.” Alongside getting the album wrapped up, Apollo’s got a load of other bits to take into consideration; rehearsals, vocal lessons, preparing for tour, and so on. No wonder he’s spending some time in the Californian mountains – a moment of calm and clarity amongst the chaos, perhaps. That said, being on the move (and being on tour in particular) is something that Apollo says he thrives on. “I just can’t stay in the same spot; I feel like tour made me like that.” After the San Jacinto Mountains? Maybe Tennessee. “I just gotta finish this album.”

Compared with the production of Apolonio, the singer now has greater freedom to travel where the wind takes him. Apollo was forced to record the bulk of his last project from the constraints of his Los Angeles home when lockdown was imposed in early 2020. “I’m Amazing – I made a day before they announced that there was going to be a lockdown for two weeks.” Apolonio draws on Apollo’s wide-ranging sounds, exemplified by the equally wide-ranging names that feature – from Kali Uchis and Ruel, to Bootsy Collins and Albert Hammond Jr of The Strokes. Sure, it was his first project signed to a major label, but it’s an impressive and delectable record to come out of a year that seemed to put a stop to a lot of releases. But then, Apollo is used to making music from home, or at least in his bedroom. As a teen, he taught himself how to sing and play the guitar via YouTube videos. Nothing seems more fitting, then, than having Albert Hammond Jr arrive at his home to record Useless, on which Apollo fills a Julian Casablancas-shaped hole.

Following on from two EPs, 2018’s Stereo and Friends from 2019, Apolonio was a clear demonstration of Apollo’s potential, namely his ability to move with ease from lo-fi bedroom jams to funky pop. But, in some ways, Apolonio was stilted by the pandemic. “When I went back to play my first show it was really strange,” he recalls. “It was really strange ‘cause it was the first time I didn’t feel confident. It was like, ‘Oh my gosh, I haven’t toured this album. It’s my first time playing these songs…’” That first show was to smaller audience than he’d been performing to before the pandemic, but it would allow the singer to get back into his groove. Performing is something that, lack of shows due to the pandemic aside, comes easily to Apollo who says that he naturally loves being on stage. “I love the attention I get from it.” More than that though, he refers to being on tour as a sort of ‘normality’ compared with lockdown when days feel like little more than “filler days”. “When I was on tour, your whole day is set up for you for like, a month and a half, two months. And you feel really accomplished – like you did something.”

Apolonio is, at times, incredibly sexy, and at others, heart-wrenching in its angst. His music captures the emotions of a twenty-something, caught up in conflicting feelings of lust, longing, rejection and, at times, a cockiness. Want U Around (featuring Ruel), for example, is a glorious example of Apollo’s falsetto crooning melding with the funk-infused beat, contemplating unrequited love with heart-breaking precision. Meanwhile, album opener I’m Amazing is, as its title implies, of an entirely different variety. Given the vastness of his range, then, it’s little wonder fans go mad for him. With hair that changes colour like a mood ring, and an enviable, if eccentric, wardrobe, Apollo cuts the figure of a twenty-first century pop star. For the interests of NR’s theme this issue, I’m curious to know: how does Apollo grapple with the theme of ‘identity’ and who he is as a person through his music? He pauses for a while, figuring out how to respond. “I feel like I can have my own identity, but the way I’m perceived, I can’t control it. So, my identity is skewed in my head,” he says. “I have an idea in my head, but that might not translate.”

Apollo’s response is one that would, I imagine, resonate with many. The singer is old enough, just, to have grown up alongside the invention of so many digital technologies and platforms that have changed our experiences of the world. A lot of internet searches for Apollo bring up results for Reddit pages, for example, on which fans discuss, in minute detail, a certain aspect of a song, an outfit or elements of his life. The disconnect between who you think you are and who others think you are, is one Apollo says he has a weird experience with. For instance, he mentions having friends who are perceived as mysterious but are, by their own admission, “just quiet.” When it comes down to it though, Apollo states that he is “trying to make shit that moves me, and then these feelings are either subconsciously there or I dig for them and put them in songs.”

When it comes to making music, Apollo says that he has to find the time to write. It’s not productive for him to take the approach of saying, “‘Oh, I’ll make music when I feel like it.’” But he takes inspiration from his surroundings. “There’ll be some things that stick with me that you forget, and there’s some things that will stick with you that I forget,” he points out. “That’s kind of what I get from music.” I’m curious about the fact that it’s so hard to pin Apollo’s music down into one genre; is this an effect of how we find and listen to music now? Apollo isn’t so sure it’s a reflection of that. It’s less of case of overlapping genres, than seeking out different artists who encapsulate an emotion, a feeling, that he connects with. It’s more important to him that he can ask and answer, “Is this the best I could do at this moment in time? Did I put my heart into this?”

No matter how much Apollo might find inspiration in the things that surround him – a snippet of a conversation, a scene from a film – the outcome also relays a personal experience. And that, in part, seems to be where his listeners and fans really connect with Apollo. He recalls encounters with people who connect a love song he’s made with the loss of a friend. “It’s amazing that people can take things how they want to take them, consuming them how they want to consume them.” In contexts like that, it doesn’t matter so much how someone else interprets Apollo’s words; the emotion is conveyed in one way or another. “Obviously, you can have an idea, an identity, but the way it’s perceived, you can’t really… everyone’s point of reference is different.” 

Only Apollo can truly know who he is. But his personal style and the kind of visuals he uses give a good guess at what kind of performer he is. The cover of Apolonio, for example, takes Lenny Kravitz’s 2003 album, Baptism, and transforms it into a Prince-esque lilac, resulting in a coalescence of the two performers, as iconic for their hits as their style. But what does style mean to the Apollo? “I’ve gotta look how I feel so that takes time. I’ve got to be feeling amazing.” Growing up, the singer would often get his clothes from thrift stores – not always out of choice, but necessity. But style isn’t something that can be bought. Case in point? Apollo recalls being in elementary school and his elder siblings coming to him for advice on what to wear, to which he’d respond things like, “Nah – you’ve gotta change that, that looks ugly!”

So what about style as a performer? “Once I started touring, I started seeing my silhouette more on-stage and I started seeing pictures of myself and I was like – I need to figure out what I really like.” Apollo has a “show ‘fit” that he’ll wear on stage and then a “post-show ‘fit” because he doesn’t want to leave a venue wearing the same thing. Which means there’s also a pre-show getup too. Little wonder you can find articles online titled, ‘You Don’t Have to Know Omar Apollo’s Music to Appreciate his Impeccable Style’. Whilst true, I’d argue that browsing through Apollo’s back catalogue of music videos is a much greater introduction to the singer’s wardrobe than a static slideshow of (admittedly impeccable) images gleaned from social media.

Take, for example, the video for Kamikaze from last year, in which a blue-haired, patchwork jacket-clad Apollo emerges from a field of maize that somehow dwarfs the 6”5 singer. The premise of the video sees Apollo and friends hanging out over the course of a sun-drenched day, which transitions through dusk and then to night; the mood changes as darkness descends and rose-tinted memories fade into a murkier sense of the reality. Lyrically, the song sees Apollo reminisce about a past relationship, detached from the painful emotions and angst that came with it at the time. For the video, though, Apollo returned to Indiana to film with his friends. “It was a lot of fun, especially going back home and [shooting] scenes on streets that I grew up on.”

219, the area code where Apollo grew up is immortalised on Dos Uno Nueve, a Spanish corrido (a traditional Mexican ballad narrating a story) that positions his upbringing alongside his life now in Los Angeles. He hasn’t forgotten the times when the family had little to eat, but now he’s enjoying baguettes of the diamond kind. Apart from Dos Uno Neuve, Apollo sings for the most part in English. But he confirms that future projects, including his upcoming album, will feature songs in Spanish more prominently. How does he differentiate between singing in the two different languages? “Sometimes in Spanish, I’m a lot more open to flexing,” he laughs. “I’ll surface the ego for a sec and talk shit for two minutes.” Dos Uno Neuve is that, with a triumphant twist; using the medium of a traditional folk song to tell the tale of the child of immigrant parents who transcends the small-town (and small-minded, the song implies) mentality he grew up with.

“A lot of the music I consumed when I was younger was reggaeton when I was probably 11 or 12,” Apollo recalls. “It was very, very dirty and it just stayed with me,” he adds, “in my head I gotta be a little dirty bitch!” Apollo would get his regular dose of reggaeton, waiting in the carpark outside church for his mum. “She’d come out like, ‘Turn it off! Turn it off!’ I used to call radio stations – I was really creepy – and be like, ‘Hey, can you play this song…’” The influence of reggaeton on Apollo comes through on the 2019 single, Frío, and shows, once again, the singer’s ability to adapt his voice according to the subject of his lyrics or the language of choice. It also demonstrates the duality of Apollo’s dirty and deep side. That said, the most-liked comment on the video for Kamikaze describes “crying and twerking” simultaneously whilst listening.

Ahead of the release of the singer’s debut album, Apollo’s next single is Bad Life, featuring Kali Uchis. Back in January of this year, Apollo shared a 1:06 snippet of the song on social media, and it’s release now will surely satiate those who have been waiting a full version since then. It’s a slow jam, heavy on the reverb, that in some ways captures that early sound of ugotme. You can hear Apollo’s musical development in full effect – complemented flawlessly on Bad Life by Uchis’ silky vocals. Their ability to harmonise so well is what makes this song. “That’s what I love about it too. It’s like a really pretty tone together.” Apollo and Uchis are close friends, and perhaps it’s that connection that allows the song to “glue” together so well. “It’s just really nice to see the song get amplified by her,” Apollo adds. “I love her voice and she always has really great ideas.” And, Apollo enthuses, “it’s going to be a really sick introduction to the sound of the album.”

Credits

PHOTOGRAPHER · LE3AY
CREATIVE DIRECTORS · NIMA HABIBZADEH AND JADE REMOVILLE
FASHION STYLIST · SHAOJUN CHEN
SET DESIGN · YAO LIANG
PHOTOGRAPHY ASSISTANT AND LIGHT TECHNICIAN · SEH NOON
GROOMING · STEPHEN MOLESKI
INTERVIEW · ELLIE BROWN
SPECIAL THANK YOU TO · ROB CHUTE AT TOAST

Abiboo Studios

“sometimes the planning is just a roadmap to set the initial building blocks for the society to evolve”

Science fiction is in at the moment. In October we’ll be trooping to the cinema to watch the film adaptation of the Dune saga, which is to sci-fi what Lord Of The Rings is to fantasy. The viral Ice Planet Barbarians Kindle novels, an epic romance series about blue alien boyfriends, has been picked up by Penguin Random House. Even on Netflix the new Korean drama Squid Game, which blends together horror and near dystopian sci-fi in a nail-bitingly binge-worthy package, is currently number one in the whole of the UK and worldwide. And in 2054 they are going to start building a sustainable city on Mars.

Oh wait, that one isn’t fiction, it’s actually going to happen. Or at least that’s the aim of ABIBOO Studios who have teamed up with SONet to design Nüwa, one of five cities proposed to be built on the red planet, with the first colonists set to arrive in 2100. Built into the slope of the Martian cliffs near Tempe Mensa, “the steep terrain offers the opportunity to create a vertical city inserted into the rock, protected from radiation and meteorites while having access to indirect sunlight.” The city will be connected via high-speed elevator systems, and everything from schools to farming to indoor parks will be available to the citizens. To get there you will need to spend one to three months on a shuttle and tickets will cost a whopping estimate of $300,000. No need to worry about the return fare though, once you arrive on Mars you will probably be there for good, so it’s certainly not a journey for the faint-hearted. NR Magazine joined ABIBOO founder and chief architect Alfredo Munoz in conversation.

Nüwa is an incredibly exciting project and it has been stated that the things that can be learned during the conception and creation of this city could be applied to issues on Earth. However, is there not a risk that these solutions will never actually be implemented on Earth, especially as there are already solutions to issues here that still haven’t been fully implemented such as renewable energy etc, and the majority of resources will be focused on the space race and cities like Nüwa?

So there’s obviously always a risk of the innovation not being implemented, but there is definitely the opportunity to implement it. And that’s where the learning that we can do by thinking out of the box and implementing it back on Earth is very valuable. Let me give you one very simple example. When we were working on the solution for finding the most efficient way to generate food on Mars, we developed hydroponics technology, which in concept is a technology that allows farming indoors. It’s highly efficient. It has been going on on Earth for a while, but recently it’s become quite common in the US.

It’s not possible to have an animal-based diet on Mars. The reason for that is that they require a lot of space, which obviously on Mars, it’s tricky because we cannot have them all outside in the environment. We need to treat that spaces where animals would be in a similar way that we would treat the spaces for humans, with the right pressure, the right oxygen. This is very expensive to build and very expensive to maintain. So it was not realistic to consider a diet based on animals. The team of life support experts proposed a solution that was mainly based on algae and insects.

When we analyse the area that we needed per person to farm the food that humans would need on Mars, we were talking about a little bit more than 100 meters per person. That means that in 100 meters per person, we were able to generate all the food that future Martians could need. Okay. Now, let’s look at Earth, on average, every person requires 6000 m² for farming. So if you compare a 6000 m² per person versus 100 m² per person, there’s a huge gap. That means that we could use more efficient technology for crops and for farming and we could reevaluate the type of diet that we have on Earth. It can liberate a lot of space on Earth where we can actually plant trees or nature. That could help a lot with climate change.

So, yes, there is always a chance that the technology that’s developed for space will not be implemented on Earth, but sooner or later, if it actually brings value, it will be implemented.

How do you think culture would potentially evolve within these cities on Mars and what might those new culture’s look like and involve? 

So culture is very connected to how we live in the cities. One of the key aspects for us was to create a sense of identity, a sense of belonging. When we designed the city, we were very clear we were not designing a temporal settlement. We were aiming to create a city where people will go and live and die, and have families. So a sense of belonging and identity is critical, and that is part of what we think will drive local culture.

Another thing that I think is very important is the sense of community. So Mars is a very harsh environment. It’s not like Earth, where we change our environment as per our needs. On Mars, we will need to adapt to the environment. So that means that in such a harsh environment, we actually need to rely on each other much more than we do on Earth. On Earth, we used to rely on each other much more. Then as centuries passed and culture changed especially Western culture, we became much more individualistic. But we think that given the harsh environments on Mars, society will have to rely much more on their neighbours.

“We will need to look after our neighbours and our neighbours will need to look after us. If that trust is broken due to the harsh environment and challenging conditions on Mars, everyone might be at risk.”

That has a critical impact on how culture would be, because again, we ambition that culture must be more gregarious, where people will be not so focused on their own self, but also where the sense of community will be even higher than on Earth.

I imagine that there would have to be some kind of like a law enforcement system or some kind of punishment system. How would that work in such a small community to rely on each other?

Definitely, and that’s something very interesting that we still need to explore. We are currently at the state where we conceptualise the main ideas of the city. We are currently developing it from the architectural and engineering point of view, and the schedules that we are talking about are quite large. We might be able to start construction of the city on Mars by 2054, which is almost 35 years from now. So there is a lot of other analysis that needs to be done in conjunction with a multidisciplinary team of experts that might add some of those questions that you are asking.

There is always the risk of somebody not behaving properly and that has to be included in the way that the city functions in the same way that we are thinking about hospitals, the same way we are envisioning a location. It has to be considered what type of law will run on Mars. Maybe this is an organic process. Maybe the first settlers will have to find a way to organise things with some inspiration from some things that work on Earth. But then at some point, the society will have to be self-autonomous over there, and they will make their own decisions.

For this project there were included proposals for economic models, forms of government and dedication systems and the question was asked “Since we have the chance to start over, would life on mars be better than on earth?” However Nüwa will still retain many capitalist elements, “We envision a system that will combine the private sector – we’ll have our own economy and currency that will incentivise entrepreneurship”. Why not implement forms of true socialism or communism, as capitalism is already failing us here?

Sure, innovation will be critical. Settling on Mars will require levels of innovation that we are not even used here on from people on Earth. So we are not aiming for the city to have huge differences of wealth. Indeed, we do ambition that people might have more wealth than others, but not the extreme situation that we have here on Earth.

And when we look into the past at communism, humans find a way to look into their own personal interests without looking for the good of people. Right. I live in the US. I appreciate capitalism as a way to encourage innovation, and I think controlled capitalism is something that facilitates innovation. What is not good is that when you have monopolies that take over the market and new entrepreneurs cannot provide the innovation, that is not true capitalism. However, on Mars, we believe that intellectual property and an opportunity to generate value to society should be rewarded through recognition in society and through wealth among others.

But have you not considered creating a society that wouldn’t use money? Because then you would do away with the issues of some people having more and some people having less. Instead, you could come up with other ways to incentivise people to be innovative?

There are a lot of opportunities to continue exploring in this space. So again, we are architects and scientists, but it’s important for us to have people from different fields to add value to the project. We worked with a multidisciplinary group of experts that went from astrobiology, economy, life support systems, planetary design. So we have a very large amount of people, but that was only the first step, right. There will be a lot of opportunities to continue evolving so, going back to what we were talking about, it could be possible.

And definitely, there is something to investigate with that. But we don’t see, at least as of now, the harm of rewarding it through a certain level of wealth, because ambition is part of who we are as a species. We are the human species, wants to strive for a better life and wants to strive for a better thing for themselves and for their community. We ambition that Mars could be a great gateway for the scientific community to be recognised as they deserve. And that is connected again with innovation, connected to culture.

We’ve seen designs for Nüwa but there are also four other sister cities such as Abalos City which would be located at Mars’ north pole and Marineris City in one of the biggest canyons in the solar system. How might the designs of these cities differ from Nüwa?

Yeah, so we did not expand too much yet about the alternative cities but I’m going to explain first why there are many different cities. One is access to resources. In our case, we ambition self-sufficient, sustainable cities on Mars. That means that we are not relying on resources from Earth to operate or build a city, only in the very early phases. The rest will all be constructed from local resources on Mars. There are a lot of resources on Mars but they are in different locations. Therefore, we need to have a small set of settlements to be able to access those resources. Secondly, we must consider safety or resiliency. What happens if there is a problem, an emergency or something that is not expected in one city and everyone is in danger? We need to secure everyone and move them. Somewhere far enough away so they can be safe. And if you combine those two situations, we thought that to create a safe, long-lasting culture and colony on Mars, we needed to split it. And in this particular case, we split into five different cities.

We think that providing an open platform for creating identity is important as well, so different cities will have different cultures Some of them might be very different from each other, and that again connects to the sense of identity. Why do some people like London and others like New York because they are different, right? It’s not only about the culture of the people living there, but also the physical environment that makes room for that culture. It’s all interconnected. So we think that a successful permanent colony on Mars will be divided into different settlements, and all those settlements should have some type of unique identity

As life on Mars would require 10x more energy to support than on earth it has been stated that, even with the aid of technology, life there would involve an intense lifestyle and settlers could be contracted to spend 60-80% of their working lives contributing to the city. One cannot help be reminded of the song The Fine Print by Stupendium, which went viral during the pandemic, that talks about indentured servitude to corporations in space. As the price of a one-way ticket is estimated at $300k and would no doubt require a loan for the majority of people, what would prevent similar such issues from occurring in Nüwa?

So I’m not aware of the reference that you were mentioning. That $300,000 was a very quick estimate to premature to know what will it actually cost? That number was more of an academic level calculation based on today’s numbers. Is moving to Mars going to be easy or cheap? No, but you don’t need to go to Mars. If you don’t want to go to Mars, feel free not to go to Mars. Some people decide to move to very remote areas, and some people prefer to live in a nice, comfortable place in the Mediterranean, it’s is a personal choice, right? We can all choose what we want to do with our lives.  So some people might be more inclined in going to Mars despite the harsh environments.

But it’s going to be an extremely tough life, probably not appropriate for most of the people that live on Earth. Those that want the sense of adventure, the sense of exploring a new frontier in what being human is, and to be pioneers in what is next for the human species. Those are the ones that might be willing to go to Mars and have a very tough life. Again, it’s not easy not only because of the amount of work that will be required.

So again, if somebody wants to go to Mars for a holiday, probably that person is not going to be welcomed by the community because that’s not a person who is going to contribute.

We do ambition again, that the city is owned by the people, not by corporations. Again, there is a lot of room for development on this, but we think it’s important for the citizens to own the city and to own the proceeds associated with potential trade that might happen in the city. Obviously, there would be a lot of trade going back and forth between Earth and Mars.

But yeah, it’s not going to be easy, or cheap, or safe. And it’s not going to be pleasant because the diet is going to change, and the environments that we are building, which we think is amazing and so spectacularly beautiful, but they’re different to what we are used to. We’re not going to see the ocean, or nature, or have the opportunity to walk around without the suit.

“It’s only for certain people in the same way that in the fifteenth century some people were willing to risk their lives to travel west. In America we had the opportunity to explore new frontiers, and that will be only for some people that want to do it.”

I’m curious because you said that if you don’t want to go to Mars you don’t have to. But historically speaking, a lot of settlers and pioneers were people who were forced to go. If you look at Australia, a lot of people who were settled there were often criminals. It was the same with America. So I wonder what kind of people you would imagine would settle on Mars?

In this particular case, we ambition more people with vision, people that have a strong sense of community, a high appreciation for science. Which, again, if you actually look into the background of astronauts, they usually have a very high appreciation for science and for exploration, for adding some contribution to the history of humankind.

But in that particular case of settlers in the past, it was always connected to commerce. If you look at the reason, maybe not in Australia, but in the America the main reason why people were willing to go was commerce. And that’s where we see there is some room for the private sector to add value not only to the scientific community, but also tourism and mining. So there are opportunities that will come, associated with commerce between Earth and Mars, that could support some people to go.

Could a city like Nüwa be built on earth and would it be a viable economically and environmentally sustainable alternative to cities we have at the moment? 

Yeah, so some aspects could be implemented on Earth. One of the critical characteristics of Nüwa is that is in a vertical cliff. One of the reasons for it is to compensate for the pressure, because the pressure outside on Mars is very low but we wouldn’t need to do that on Earth. Radiation protection is also very important, but here on Earth, we don’t have that problem.

The magnetism on Earth protects us from that radiation. But we see problems with climate change, with temperature rising. In some areas, the temperature is becoming so high and that’s going to continue to increase, so living on the surface might become very complicated in the future. So we do see some room to implement some of the solutions that we will implement on Mars. In that case, as of now, we are working on building a small version of the solutions on Mars in extreme environments on Earth.

So you build a small building in order to learn from it, to adapt, and change things as needed in order to be able to modify whatever is required. So you can continue improving the solution. So that is something we are currently working on. So we ambition building some parts of the Nüwa city here as a way to achieve an additional level of research and development. Also with the possibility of adding tourism, the scientific community could come and start experiencing on a very small scale how society could operate on Mars.

The interior living spaces are obviously quite uniform and modern in design. However, it has also been mentioned that maintaining the good mental health of the people within these cities is imperative. As humans find expressing individuality important would there be scope to customise their living spaces or would that require too many resources? The same goes for fashion and other things like that?

Definitely, that’s a very important point. And we are currently working on that aspect. We do ambition customisation. That is very important again, to the sense of identity. We want to feel a sense of belonging, but we also want to feel that we are not one among many.  We have our own personal taste that has to be respected.

Similar to how we do co-living here on Earth or when you go to a dorm. You have private areas that are small, but you can customise a lot in your own space. Then all the common areas are public where you incentivise the social aspect of the community and where you have much more space to enjoy than in your private space.

Also with fashion, we are now working on the next round of designs where we are thinking about how fashion could be. If you wait a few months, you will have more opportunities to see how things are coming together.

What other ways do you think people will be able to express their identities within the cities?

Arts. We are giving a lot of importance to that. We think that self-expression will be an essential aspect of society on Mars. Again, the advantage here is that Mars is not going to be in isolation. It takes 20 minutes to communicate between Earth and Mars, so there will be a lot of communication and interaction between the Martians and the people living on Earth. Right. So there will be a lot of room for again transfer of ideas because life on Mars will be so different, people on Earth can learn a lot from the experiences that Martians will have.

The use of AI and robotic technology will be integral to life on Mars, however, have you considered how people’s relationships with AI and robots might have changed in the future and how that might affect cities like Nüwa? 

Definitely. We are working a lot on the next wave. I was telling you that in a few months you will be able to see the next round of exciting solutions for colonies on Mars that we are working on. And this question that you are raising is very connected to that.

“We see that AI and robotics will be essential for the survival of Mars, and therefore the relationship with humans will evolve. To consider robots not so much as tools, but as an emotional beings that we relate to.”

In Japan is very common that they don’t see robots as objects as we do in the West but instead see a type of soul associated with the robots. And we envision that not only on Mars, but in the near future. The relationship between artificial intelligence and humans is going to evolve or transcend from a pure tool to an emotional connection. I mean, the movie Her is a fun example. As we will not be able to have many animals on Mars robots could become the next type of pet where we have a very close emotional attachment.

I imagine because it’s like such a harsh environment, having that companionship would be essential for the good mental health of the people there.

Definitely. We think that the tools that robots will provide will not only be rational, they can also be emotional. And the communication with Earth as well. Again, remember that we are talking about the hyper-connectivity among the citizens on Mars and with the citizens on Earth as well.

Do you envision people being able to control the robot from different cities as a sort of way of online dating?

That’s again is something we might need to see what happens organically. Sometimes we can’t plan. As architects, we are good at planning, but sometimes the planning is just a roadmap to set the initial building blocks for the society to evolve. The local architects, the local politicians, the local engineers and the local artist will have to find their own way to live. That’s the beautiful part, right? To leave it so open. That allows for innovation locally. And that rounds up our conversation about how important innovation is going to be for the future Martians.

Credits

Images · ABIBOO STUDIO
https://abiboo.com/

Agnes Questionmark

“This is my dream, of being a new creature, half-human, half fish, to be a hybrid, something that can’t be recognised or put in a box.”

During May of this year, while we were just emerging out of a third lockdown and entering a world that was both forever changed and somewhat the same, something else, or rather someone, was also in the midst of transformation. In an abandoned health centre in Belsize Park the art installation/performance Transgenesis curated by The Orange Garden and Charlie Mills, was taking place. Over the course of twenty-three days, Italian artist Agnes Questionmark (Agnes?) climbed into the body of a giant octopus sculpture, which took up the entirety of a drained swimming pool, and stayed there for eight hours every day until the exhibition was over. 

For Agnes Questionmark (Agnes?) the start of the exhibition was also the start of her transition from the gender she was assigned at birth. However, she also considers herself trans-species, stating that her “dysphoria is not only gender-related but of species too. I wish I could find a hormone that allows me to become an octopus.” The sea plays a big part in Agnes Questionmark (Agnes?)’ work, she grew up on her father’s boat and being underwater is a comforting experience for her, which she has likened to returning to the womb. NR Magazine joins the artist in conversation. 

Your father was a sailor and you grew up on a boat. What was that like and how do you think those experiences have influenced your artwork specifically?

I grew up in my father’s boat. At the age of three, I discovered the underwater world holding his hand and at the age of eight, I dived for the first time by myself. The experience of being underwater was always a comfort zone, a familiar place where I would feel at home. I would fish and hunt, explore the fluid element with my body, feeling part of that habitat.
Being completely submerged was what I liked the most. In that precise moment, which only lasted a few seconds, I would feel at peace. Under the water, where sound is muffled, where sight is blurred, where touch is slimy, my body becomes light, my skin soft, I feel a sense of belonging, it’s like going back to the origin and falling into the arms of mother sea.

When my mother told me that, before she gave birth, I would hide in the womb, I realised that I had an unresolved relationship with my mother’s womb. I realised that my whole life I was trying to go back into my mother’s womb. I am trying to recreate that sensorial experience, being into the amniotic liquid, in the placenta. And the place where I felt closer to my mother’s womb is under the water.
Through my art and my performances, I am creating the feeling of being inside my mother’s womb, to perhaps solve my relationship with it.

I also grew up by the sea and one of my favourite games was to grab a big rock and sink to the seafloor to see how long I could hold my breath for. You stated that “Underwater was always a safe place, a place of comfort.” Did you ever play similar games and do you consider your artwork an extension of the play and exploration the ocean encourages in our childhood?

Holding myself with a rock underwater is still my favourite game. I can now hold my breath for about two minutes, so I have lots of fun holding myself with whatever I find under the water. As I said before, while I am underwater I remind myself that I am still in the womb. I like to watch around me and feel part of the habitat, I would look at the fish and pretend to talk to them, I would look at the rocks and pretend they are part of my house.

Your performance in Transgenesis lasted eight hours a day for twenty-three days. How did you cope with such long performances and did the experience affect you after the exhibition was finished?

Transgenesis was a ritual of self-destruction that announced the beginning of a new transformation. The day I started the performance was the day I started my hormone replacement therapy (HRT). While my body was standing at the top of a giant octopus, inside my body a real transformation was taking place. I was changing in real-time in front of the spectator. Even though the changes were not visible I would feel them. Since the first day I felt my body differently, touching myself felt different, my mood was different and my body began little changes that only I could perceive. Alas! I could not enjoy them because I was trapped and chained in the octopus. Every day I had to stand for 8 hours and perform.
It was devastating, an extreme action that consumed all my forces and all my energies. I felt exhausted, the more I would keep going the more I would feel the pain. I needed this process of destruction, I needed to die, to let a part of myself decay in order to flourish a new being. 

After the performance, I felt like a new person. Agnes? Was finally born and my new life began. It was the most dramatic ritual I could ever stage and I decided to share it with everyone. The show went viral, more than four thousand people booked themselves in and walked along my installation. There was a sort of peregrination towards the octopus. Everyone wanted to come see the great mother.

Over the course of the twenty-three-day performance that you did for Transgenesis you must have seen a lot of visitors. How did they normally react to your work and what was the most interesting reaction you witnessed?

Most visitors couldn’t believe their eyes. I immediately felt that I created something out of normal by looking at their faces, they were all scared but somehow enchanted by me. The experience was sublime, in a romantic view of a tragedy happening in front of their eyes, like a shipwreck. The viewer was contemplating a suffering being from a safe position, but they were still scared of falling, they wouldn’t get too close, they wouldn’t talk too loud, they would carefully choose their movements, they were all attracted by me but also very frightened. The energy in the room was very dense, all day there was a constant flux of people entering in the dark and loud space. Sometimes I would rest, sometimes I would be very angry, sometimes I would be calm and quiet. Often the spectator determined the energy of the room, I would perform with them at an unconscious level.
One day, a lady came right in front of me, she looked directly into my eyes and we looked at each other for a long time, I was repeatedly moving my arms back and forth following my breath, slowly she started synchronising my movements, it felt like an instinctive reaction to the connection we established. We performed for some minutes, together, moving our arms, looking directly in our eyes without touching but still connecting.

 A man used to come every other day, he used to sit down in front of me with dark sunglasses and watch me for hours. No movements, he would just sit down, listen and watch me perform. One day towards the end of the performance he stood up and started dancing like crazy. At that point I was exhausted, it was almost 8 hours of performance, but suddenly I felt all the energies recharged, he gave me strength and I started to perform with him, I felt like laughing and screaming but I could just express myself through my arms and my breath. Later on I discovered he was the singer of R.E.M.
Since the show was completely free we had the most disparate range of audience, from kids to adults, young students, to curators and gallerists, bougie of the neighbourhood or those who lived or were just lost on the street. An old woman came twice, I recognised her because she was holding the same plastic bag, she was messy and dressed as if she just came out from a Tim Burton movie. She wasn’t scared at all, she immediately came close to me, she came very close until she touched one tentacle. She was the one who came closer and stood up next to me and watched me from a very close distance. At first, I was scared because I felt vulnerable, I felt I had no vantage point towards her, she made me feel tiny and shy even though I was a giant octopus 5 metres tall and 9 metres long…

Your work is very personal and explores your transition. Do you think that the pandemic and subsequent lockdowns have allowed people more time and freedom to explore their own gender identity?

Yes, of course, statistics say that gender transition triplicated after Covid. I don’t think it was a matter of having more time to reflect and think but rather we were forced to face our own body because we were left alone with it. There was no opportunity to escape or avoid ourselves, no places to hide. Alone with our bodies, so we all had to find new relationships with ourselves and new compromises.

You have spoken of how your work explores the scientific, particularly in relation to the body. Do you think as technology advances the use of cybernetic body enhancements will become commonplace? Is that something you would potentially explore in the future? 

I was always interested in re-shaping and re-exploring my body. I feel our body is a potential machine in constant transformation. Watching my body changing radically through medicines is inspiring me to transform it at an even deeper level. Gender transition is the first step towards my cybernetic future. My next step would be exploring the possibility to expand my senses towards other beings in the sea, and therefore use extensions of my body to connect with them. 

You have stated that your dysphoria is not only related to your assigned gender but mainly caused by your assigned species. Recently there has been a rise in popularity in non-human x human relationships in media. Do you think there is a collective desire for marginalized groups to move away from ‘humanity’ and escape post-capitalist patriarchal trauma by becoming and embracing the otherworldly? 

Fascination with the non-human is becoming more popular and of a trend. Human prostheses, body extensions, claws, tentacles, tails, we dream of becoming a post-human creature to transcend our humanity and become something new. This is my dream, of being a new creature, half-human, half fish, to be a hybrid, something that can’t be recognised or put in a box. I am tired of being a human, my body is not representing what I feel. I feel more connected to the sea, I wish to talk with its creatures and connect with them and perhaps create new bonds. For this reason, we should rethink our way of communicating and relating to the world and start creating new ways of communication, starting with ourselves and our bodies. If we want to be post-human we ought to destroy our notion of being human and see ourselves as a potential being in constant transformation.

You have spoken often about wishing to return to your mother’s womb and your connection with female octopi who die when they become mothers. Do you consider yourself to have a fascination with the concept of motherhood and do you consider the creation of your artwork as a kind of birth?

The concept of the womb is the one of gestating life. I feel like my art is a womb, my studio is a placenta where things and beings are born. It’s a place that destroys to reshape itself, that kills and gives birth, like the mother. The mother has always been the figure of life and death at the same time. This is why we are all scared of our mother because we know she can kill us.

What advice do you have for young creatives looking to explore their identity and what does identity mean to you?

Identity doesn’t exist, gender is a construction of society. So forget about everything you learned and do whatever you like. You make your own rules. Be a rock star, be a rebel, don’t give a fuck about anything; don’t listen to anyone, follow your instinct and make lots of mistakes.
I always remember that I have the agency of being whatever I want to be, and If you want to be an octopus I am proof that you can do it!

Are you working on any projects at the moment and what plans do you have for the future?

I am transforming at a fast speed, everyday I am a new person. So my work is changing very fast too. I see and feel things differently, so I am enjoying my transformation and letting my new ideas come out. There are lots of projects I am working on at the moment, one of them is in collaboration with a great Greek artist who is also a trans-pieces queen so we are making something very special together.

Kayra Atasoy

“if I don’t experience and understand the moment I’m capturing, I can’t capture it properly”

Dissatisfied with Turkish society’s attitude towards the country’s contemporary youth culture, photographer Kayra Atasoy captures the power and momentum of techno and rave culture in her project ‘Blame the Youth’ and uses the medium of photography as an outlet to explore and express aspects of her own identity. The ongoing project is inspired by the autonomy of the Berlin rave scene – a subculture that Atasoy resonates strongly with. Atasoy captures candid moments of these subcultures in her own country, that reflect the honesty and sense of freedom that she values most about these underground collectives.

‘Blame the Youth’ not only reflects the angst of the photographer, but also serves as a kind of visual manifesto for Turkey’s emergent youth culture, who Atasoy claims is simultaneously overlooked and criticized by the country’s older generation. The series features the influence of rave culture from overseas and how social spaces have been reshaped during the Coronavirus pandemic.

In the early hours of the morning, when time is irrelevant and all limitations disappear, Atasoy observes everyone’s true selves. It is in these magical moments that she is able to investigate her own identity through the lens.

NR Magazine speaks with Atasoy to learn more about the inspiration behind the project and what it is like being part of the subcultures she documents.

What initially attracted you to photography as an artistic medium?

For me, photography is a profession that offers immense excitement to my life.

A camera provides me with all the power of capturing, interpreting, and reflecting my point of view of a single moment, which is an amazing feeling. My way of truly living and experiencing life is through observing. Regardless of the topic, I always feel the strong urge to observe and watch. This is one of the main reasons I chose photography as an artistic medium. I love to observe life, and I love reflecting on the way I perceive it. Photography is my way of communicating my own perspective.

What’s been the biggest lesson learned from creating your series ‘Blame the Youth’? Have you discovered anything about yourself in the process?

One of the main things I learned was how various aspects of my life such as my environment and my mental health affect my work directly, and how this happens without me even realising it. One of the biggest takeaways I got from ‘Blame the Youth’ was that it helped me to fully understand what I want to do with my life.

Could you talk a bit about how you feel Turkish society blames the youth?

Unfortunately, I think we are a minority in Turkey. I believe the ‘youth’ that has been blamed by society is representing a minority. This isn’t something I’m always reminded of, as I’m always surrounded by this ‘minority’. Our struggles, our ways of having fun and creating aren’t understood by the rest of Turkish society. I think ‘Blame the Youth’ is a unique resource. It doesn’t matter where I take my photos; I could take photos for this project in Turkey, Germany, Spain, etc. The places where I feel this sense of ‘blame’ changes of course. I’m not a professional – I’m still trying and learning. Most of the support I get for my work is from abroad. This is obviously really motivating, but at the same time, not getting the same support from my own country is a bit upsetting. Even though I’ve got appreciation and encouragement from the people around me, my work doesn’t get the overall support I hoped for from my country. ‘Blame the Youth’ is a project where the name and the photos both contradict and complement each other. I believe that this juxtaposition reflects the current attitudes towards Turkish youth culture within our society. In Turkey, people are used to being judged and blamed. We don’t feel safe the second we stray from our circles. We learn to live by the rules, limits, and judgemental looks. I think my work documents all the moments where society feels it has the right to judge us. It’s not only about the parties, alcohol, and drugs – it’s also about the way we dress and the way we choose to live. As I continued to travel and explore, I realised that the way I choose to live makes it hard to live peacefully in Turkey. As I’ve mentioned before,

“I’m not the best with words, so even though I can’t stand up to this problem verbally, I try to communicate my principles visually through my photography.”

Do you set out with an aim in mind for shooting, or is it more a case of enjoying the freedom of the moment? I imagine it makes more sense to go with the flow and to fully immerse yourself in the moment when photographing techno and rave culture. And is living in the moment important to you?

I’d say yes, as the foundation of my photos is rooted in being in the moment. I am always looking for ‘the moment’. Observing and capturing spontaneous moments gives me much more joy and excitement compared to setting up a shoot. It might seem like I’m missing out on the moment while trying to photograph it, but this is my way of experiencing that moment. I have a strong desire to show my interpretations of things. When I take photos for ‘Blame the Youth’, I don’t just stand back and observe – I experience the same moment with the people I photograph, and I think this has a great influence on that desire. I strongly believe that if I don’t experience and understand the moment I’m capturing, I can’t capture it properly.

“Even though it might seem like I’m just a bystander, I see myself as the main character living in that specific moment.”

Are there any particular aspects of the techno and rave scene that influence you the most?

The first time I experienced techno music was in Berlin. It was the first time I was introduced to this music culture, and it had an immense impact on me. After that, I started reading, researching, and listening to it more. After scratching the surface, I discovered that these rave scenes have so many levels to them. The rise of techno music after the fall of the Berlin Wall, empty factories were being taken over to host illegal raves and there was a lot of rebellion amongst the people who were separated by the wall – this affected me deeply. I realised how the rebellious nature of techno music correlates with Berlin’s history. Just like ‘Blame the Youth’, I also realized how these things are rooted in a specific frame of mind, and not solely about partying. This led me to give more thought and understanding towards the meaning of music and I began to watch people even closer. Even though techno and rave scenes don’t have the same history in Turkey, I wanted it to reflect the rebellion and suppression within itself.

How has your work been received in Turkey? Do you find your way of working to be controversial or rebellious?

As I mentioned before, my photographs haven’t received a lot of recognition in my country. Even though I took those photos in Turkey, I felt more understood by other countries. This is quite an upsetting situation, as I believe my work honestly reflects Turkey’s reality. To put it another way, despite Turkey’s prejudice and ignorance, we are here, and we will always be here. Our struggle isn’t built on our desire to be completely accepted. We just want to live freely and not feel any guilt or shame about it. I want to do my job freely and have fun doing so. For those reasons, I consider my work to be both controversial and rebellious.

“It’s a struggle to just live and to make ourselves seen.”

Do any aspects of your own life influence your work?

My life and the photos I take are pretty much integrated, and I love that. I’m a part of the culture that I try to photograph. When I’m photographing, I capture myself in some of the shots. I won’t work on ‘Blame the Youth’ forever, so I like to experiment with different ideas, and will continue to do so. I think ‘Blame the Youth’ will represent a culture and an era that will live on forever. I want to reflect on life the way I experience it. I don’t want to share a moment if I haven’t experienced it.

There is a story and a continuation of subjects in my work. The people I photograph are a part of my life, so I’m able to shoot them in a rave scene, and also capture them at home in a completely different atmosphere.

You’ve mentioned that Berlin is a big inspiration for your work, and how you felt a different sense of freedom there compared to being in Turkey. Could you talk a bit more about that?

In Turkey, it is hard to live as a woman, and it is even harder to stand on your own as a female artist. When I was in Berlin, I felt safer, and I had the chance to observe different subcultures. The government-supported techno parties are incredible. I think that was the reason I always considered Berlin to be my inspiration. I bought plane tickets to Berlin when I first got the chance. I stayed there by myself and got an incredible opportunity to observe. Every time I came back to Turkey, I just felt increasingly restricted. One of the biggest reasons for this was feeling judged – another core aspect of ‘Blame the Youth’. We were always told that we were doing something wrong.

“Being able to confidently say ‘I’m a photographer’ isn’t an easy thing to do in Turkey. That’s why I don’t feel like I truly belong in my country.”

How has the pandemic affected youth culture in Turkey? Have you found it a struggle to stay creative and inspired?

Two years ago, just when I started to recognise my career growth, the pandemic hit. Around that time, ‘Blame the Youth’ was getting recognition not just from Turkey, but around the world. When we were quarantined at home, it was a real struggle to find motivation. I forced myself to be motivated for a couple of months, and I realised that the potential of ‘Blame the Youth’ extended beyond the streets, clubs, and parties. The people I photographed were still the same, and so they would continue to be a part of this culture regardless of time and place. During the lockdown, I began to photograph moments of distress that we all felt. Throughout this period, I tried some work, but despite how much I tried, I found that I was always better at capturing an instantaneous moment. Even though I was working on editorials, I was only fully satisfied with these instantaneous little moments I captured. The lockdown provided us with a break to be introspective I turned my camera away from the chaos around me, and focussed on fewer interactions, fewer people, but still the same audience.

You’ve discussed capturing ‘magical moments’ – what do these moments look and feel like to you?

‘Magical moments’ are the moments where people are being their true and spontaneous selves. They are when I capture people dancing without the fear of being judged or watched. The photos I take are divided into two groups: the people who know that my camera is on them, and the people who don’t. When people are aware that they are being photographed, it disturbs the truth and the spontaneity of the moment. When people aren’t aware of the camera, I’m able to shoot pure moments that I define as being ‘magical’.

What are your favourite moments to photograph?

Probably the moments I capture without overthinking – they end up being the best possible moments. When I’m out there with my camera I’m always in a rush: observing, running, dancing – there’s only an instant between observing and shooting. I usually realise later that I pressed the shutter button at the perfect time, to capture a moment that I wouldn’t have been able to capture if I pressed the button even a second earlier. These are the shots that turn out to be the most satisfying ones. These are the shots where the subject is completely in their element, unaware they are part of this perfect moment. I always want to capture reality, but from my perspective.

What do you have planned for your work in the future?

After graduation, I would love to create a path that enables me to travel more and experience different cultures. I will be spending this winter in an analogue studio’s darkroom in Budapest for an internship. I’ve also received exhibition offers from London. If everything goes according to plan, I will spend around two weeks in London for this. I want to create deeper levels of meaning with ‘Blame the Youth’, whilst also observing new cultures and new people. I will eventually head back to Turkey, but for a while, I just want to travel and shoot. I want to be able to make a living through my photography. I can’t picture myself doing anything else.

Credits

Discover Kayra Atasoy’s work here www.kayraatasoy.com
Images KAYRA ATASOY

Claudia Andujar

Andujar often applied Vaseline to her camera lens, used flash devices, infrared film, and oil lamps to create visual distortions

The Barbican’s latest exhibition explores the work of Claudia Andujar, a Swiss-born Brazilian photographer and activist who has spent her life documenting and defending the Yanomami, one of Brazil’s largest indigenous peoples. Through a collection of over 200 photographs, an audio-visual installation, and a series of drawings by the Yanomami, the exhibition explores Andujar’s relationship with the Yanomami that spanned five decades, and details periods of direct activism amongst the indigenous communities.  

The exhibition is housed in The Curve, featuring powerful photographs from Andujar’s first six years living with the Yanomami and explores how the photographer used her camera as a tool to drive political change. At a time when the Yanomami’s territory and way of life is being threatened from continued illegal mining and the spread of Covid-19, the exhibition holds particular significance: it shows how Andujar dealt with visually interpreting a complex culture, and how her art serves to amplify the voices and struggles of the Yanomami.  

From the start of her career documenting the Yanomami in the 1970s, Andujar’s photographic approach differed greatly from the traditional documentary style of her contemporaries. The photographs she took during this period experiment with a range of techniques to visually translate the shamanic and ritualistic culture of the Yanomami. Andujar often applied Vaseline to her camera lens, used flash devices, infrared film, and oil lamps to create visual distortions of light streaks and saturated colours that imbue her work with an ethereal quality. The exhibition also features a series of more sober black-and-white portraits of the Yanomami that focus closely on their faces and bodies, using an intense chiaroscuro to create a strong sense of intimacy. 

By the late 1970s, Andujar had reached a pivotal point in her career. With the Amazon region opened to deforestation and invasive agricultural programs, entire Yanomami communities were destroyed. Andujar deepened her commitment to the Yanomami struggle, and in 1978 she helped found the ‘Commissão Pro-Yanomani’ and began a campaign to protect their homeland. Andujar’s artistic career at this point was abandoned in favour of using photography solely to raise awareness for the cause.

As a photojournalist and a European, Andujar’s project is still a complex one: it cannot be wholly separated from the history of the colonial gaze on indigenous people. Yet it is clear that she has been welcomed by the Yanomami – films, drawings and texts by the community leader Davi Kopenawa throughout the exhibition demonstrate. It is without a doubt that Andujar’s work powerfully captures the struggles of the indigenous peoples and delivers both a unique peek into the lives and worldview of the Yanomami and a potent condemnation of the violence enacted on them.

‘Claudia Andujar: The Yanomami Struggle’ is on at the Barbican Centre until 29th August. Discover more here barbican.org.uk  

Auroboros

“Agender and body inclusive, the clothing line is establishing a community evolving around the limitless nature of digital”

What could questionably be the most important aspect of contemporary fashion, if not its attempt in shaping the light of tomorrow, or, as others would say, the future?

In light of the countless issues and social discrepancies, the role of fashion cannot detract itself from accountability any longer. Being the second most polluting industry worldwide, and probably one of the most disregarded powers in promoting cultural, political and ethical change, nowadays fashion has landed onto a battlefield that requires much more than it used to. Producing clothes, projecting a vision: time requires engagement, it expects creative voices to speak, and bring light to what more than ever should matter now, change. So here I am, hoping for a brighter tomorrow that I ask myself, what is the ethics of the future? Where should fashion be standing within such instances?

The correlation to luxury not only became to represent a myth, it has rather bonded itself to an idea of culture which cannot survive within time. What we are experiencing is a crisis of values, where the reward of luxury is nothing, but individualistic. Looking back at the etymology of luxury, it is clear that its original meaning of ‘abundance’ cannot fit within the contemporary scenario anymore. The act of consumption of the rarefied can no longer withstand, rather, one should question what it could eventually mean today. With the advent and unprecedented development of technology and digital platforms, how can luxury fit within the cyber realm and culture? Digital currency, digital art, the world of NFTs is slowly redefining the meaning of luxury. People are investing in it, they are questioning the principles of its value, making implications that could dismantle our preconception of worth.

Striking attention this spring is nonetheless the digital creator AUROBOROS. Member of The Sarabande Foundation by Lee Alexander Mcqueen, the uprising high-tech brand is deconstructing the boundaries of fashion, placing itself under the spotlight as the first-ever digital fashion house.

The founders Paula Sello and Alissa Aulbekova, respectively digital designer, and director of visual communication, have been merging forces in bringing to life the first brand blending physical haute couture to digital-only ready-to-wear design. With innovation at the core of their project, the designers are morphing their sci-fi and nature inspiration, to project the wearer into another world, into other realities: to take the physical experience onto unexplored territories.

Two are the lines the brand is currently covering: physical couture and digital RTW. The first, focused on innovative science, employs never-used-before materials in correlation to temporality. Designing pieces that grow over a longer period of time, the brand’s couture creations project patterns from nature onto the wearer’s bodies, transcending the evolution of the materials from the very first stages of their conception, to their growth and final disintegration. On the other hand, AUROBOROS’ RTW line is instead debuting on a full-digital basis: capping material wait to 0, and addressing luxury to a much wider audience. Agender and body inclusive, the clothing line is establishing a community evolving around the limitless nature of digital: a domain where body diversity and disabilities can be fully represented, bringing self-expression to an innovative brand new stage.

AUROBOROS allows the wearer to encapsulate the garment onto any visual source. it allows materials exchangeability, including fire, jellyfish, metal: in other words, a limitless asset of opportunities. Not only is RTW being deprived of its infamous idea of luxury, the brand is also actively opening it to a wider dialogue, demonstrating the power of technology in generating utopia rather than dystopia.

As pointed out by the designers, digital fashion should not dictate, it should rather push us to explore identity, and reconnect to nature. Imagine a world where anything could be worn: with creativity being the only limit, it is within such instances that luxury is pushed to an idea of experiencing something that you would have never thought of before.

With this in mind, how could consumerism accept the digitalisation of fashion to become the ultimate luxury?

Dropping their debut collection this June during London Fashion Week in official tech partnership with the Institute of Digital Fashion, the brand’s hopes fall within the understanding of their creative process as an effort in creating a new world, rather than a mere digitalisation of a tangible experience. What this seems to be all about, is to suit fashion to the customer, erasing its impersonal contemporary status. AUROBOROS has successfully demonstrated the necessity for accessibility, but, most importantly, has opened up a discussion that has been required for a long time. How we engage with technology is what will define our future.

Credits

Images · AUTOBOROS

Atelier Caracas

“we consider it an exercise in design and investigation to see what can happen when you decontextualize architecture’s components”

Founded in 2015 by Julio Kowalenko and Rodrigo Amas, the Venezuela-based architecture studio Atelier Caracas explores a range of formal, aesthetic and cultural attitudes across the realms of architecture, furniture and fashion. The studio claims strong influences from found objects and pop culture and utilises them to craft captivating spaces that are charged with the energy of the city of Caracas. 

Submerging their visitors in other-worldly and carefully stylised spaces, Atelier Caracas works with a unique vision, emboldened with colour and personality that speaks to the passion and creative vision of the studio. 

NR speaks with Julio Kowalenko to learn more about the studio’s innovative projects 2020: A Spa Odyssey and Fun Maze.

You mention that Atelier Caracas operates as a platform that spans across furniture and fashion – how much do these elements inform your architecture?

We like to think of architecture as a medium through which we communicate our ideas towards contemporary problems. These problems could be related to anything, not necessarily just architecture. Although we’re both architects, we’ve always shared an affinity for fashion design and furniture – it’s an important source of inspiration for Atelier’s design process.

There is a sense of freedom behind fashion design and furniture that we envy (in a good way). This freedom trespasses the boundaries and formalities of the architectural practice and focuses on expressing ideas about social, political and cultural issues – we try to channel this in each one of our projects.  

Jan Kaplický once said “We don’t want to be fashionable architects, but we are interested in the idea of fashion”. That’s exactly how we feel.  

What would you say are the main influences from pop culture on your creative practice?

We embrace pop culture in a very Venturi/Scott Brown kind of way, in that we have a fixation with ordinary things. We like to state that our architecture doesn’t always come from architecture itself, but rather emanates from ordinary or simple things. Every time we approach a new design, whether it is a piece of furniture, a building or even a garment, we always have mood boards that are a compilation of images, sometimes very incoherent, but once forced to coexist on the same canvas something starts to appear – a new language, a new construction detail, a new possibility that might have once been thought as a flaw or failure.

80s Punk flyers, NBA logos, Mid-Century Venezuelan Architecture, Shiro Kuramata (among other design heroes); these are all things that for us, in terms of hierarchy, have the same weight as references when it comes to conceiving architecture. We like to think that things carry a DNA – whether that be a texture, a chromatic palette, or a certain detail of a building – that we like to extract and construct into our own universe.

“It’s a sort of clinical dissection of popular imagery as a design strategy.”

One of my favourite projects of yours is the 2020: A Spa Odyssey. What attracted you to Stanley Kubrick’s film or science fiction in general, and were there any other conceptual inspirations?

When we were asked to design the spa, we were told explicitly to “make something out-of-this-world”, we took that very seriously.

Immediately we started searching for and filing images related to outer space exploration and science fiction. NASA, Isaac Asimov, Akira and related cinematography became constant reference sources in our studio during the design process. It wasn’t long before we knew that 2001: A Space Odyssey would be the definitive reference pool for inspiring us during the development of the project.

The dissection of the film became a fundamental part of our design process, even to the point that the Spa’s name is a play on words. Studying Kubrick transcended into something greater, and we understood the project to be a succession of scenes that use colour, light and symmetry to engage with certain sensations and things the filmmaker applied in many of his works. Ever since we did 2020: A Spa Odyssey, we utilise this in all our designs. 

What was the process like when creating the furniture for the spa?

A tight budget and “outer space” artifacts didn’t seem to be synonymous at all. This led us to the idea of conceiving furniture made from ready-mades.

With the ‘other worldly’ theme we wanted the furniture to underscore and exalt the project’s narrative potential. Thus came about the idea of a ‘meteorite’ floating in space for the reception desk. Something heavy like a rock lightly posed and acting as a fulcrum disturbs the notion of gravity in space and throws the viewer off balance and out of the immediate environment, which is a very busy area of Caracas.

Our approach is particularly scenographic when it comes to designing space and furnishings. This project, with its obvious cinematic reference, was the perfect opportunity to test all our ideas about generating a narrative through design. 

Are there any subtleties of the design of the spa that you’re particularly proud of?

Something that pleasantly surprised us was the visual and spatial effect of the translucent plexiglass panelling. It gives off an indefinite boundary and a ‘spacey’ vibe to the massage cubicles.

Also, considering that the Spa is located in a particularly busy area of the city, we’re very happy that the project acts as a pleasant hermetic bubble, an airtight space isolated from the noise of the city and where the often-polluted environment seems to simply disappear. 

How much does the Venezuelan landscape impact your work?

Very much, in every single way. For us, Venezuela and above all, Caracas is an ever-present muse. Born in the 90s and growing up in the 2000s we’ve been through a lot of political and social turmoil. We consider this to be a formative and educational phase in our lives.

Living in Venezuela has taught us that good design has no limits when it comes to budget and scarcity of means. 

Understanding landscape as something that can transcend into a cultural concept, we’re very proud of our artistic and cultural legacy, and we seek to express that in our work. The presence of small gimmicks and intentional references within our projects (what we like to call architectural quoting) serve as small respectful homages to the masters of Venezuelan architecture. More than a ‘copy-paste’ kind of architecture, we consider it an exercise in design and investigation to see what can happen when you decontextualize architecture’s components. 

“We never did our post graduate studies, so this is also our way continuing to study architecture.”

Another design of yours that stood out to me was the Fun Maze. What were your aims and inspirations for the project?

Fun Maze is a motor therapy and rehabilitation centre for children with mental disabilities, so our main goal was to humanize the doctor’s consultation office, to eradicate the cubicle and use it as a way of promoting alternative ways of socialising amongst visitors. 

The idea was to create an infrastructure that transforms therapy spaces into lineal parks where parents, therapists, pets and children can reimagine how their bodies can relate to and interact with scale, light and space. 

In terms of inspiration, this project has two main references. First, we intentionally evoked the universe and code of forms in John Hejduk’s architecture, especially his exercises and explorations in Diamond House C, where a series of biomorphic volumes have a dialogue with an orthogonal space system, creating residual spaces for phenomenological narratives. And secondly, creating a covered boundary space with the dimensions of a long corridor immediately recalled the architectural work of our deceased professor and mentor Joel Sanz, especially his exercise on “El Techo de Sol/Techo de la Lluvia” (“Roof of The Sun/Roof of The Rain”), and his seminal project “Casa de mi Madre” (“My Mother´s House”).

How important was shape and colour when designing this space?

For us, colour and form held a key role in the design process. Having a space with no windows forced us to be precise about how we utilized natural light. The roof, the coloured biomorphic volumes and the terrazzo flooring were crucial in how sunlight enters the building and can then be reflected through the different therapy modules.

Since we were on a tight budget, we started experimenting with textures with similar materials. The whole project derives from variations of cement stuccos that take on different textures at different times of day under natural light. The sunlight hitting the interior walls generate a range of chromatic and sensorial experiences.  

The pastel colour palette was also used for both psychological and functional reasons. Through our research we found that bright colours boost creativity, productivity and self-awareness, and as a functional aspect, it helped to reflect sunlight and generate a fresh environment inside.

What’s next for Atelier Caracas?

We’re currently finishing a lot of projects that we’ve had under construction, so hopefully this year we’ll be publishing some of them on several digital and printed platforms. 

We’re also planning to launch our second furniture collection with design gallery Studio Boheme by the end of this year. We can’t reveal anything yet, but as a teaser all we can say is that it is called VENUS. 

Credits

Atelier Caracas was nominated for the Royal Academy Dorfman award in 2019. Their work has been featured internationally in Domus, Architectural Digest, Dezeen, Frame, Divisare, Vogue and more. 

Images · ATELIER CARACAS
https://ateliercaracas.com/

Danny Augustine

“I’m guilty of having quite a short attention span”

Raised in East London, artist and printmaker Danny Augustine explores ideas of identity in his work, primarily addressing topics of race and gender politics. Danny works predominantly with the medium of print but has a unique and painterly approach to his projects, toying with different narratives that prompt his audience to think about modern society’s views and obsessions surrounding race, gender and sexuality.

NR speaks with Danny, discussing his background, influences and how he has navigated his artistic career.

What attracted you to first start working with print?

First, I wanted to be a fashion designer, then a photographer, then a filmmaker and then finally a painter. The problem was that I wasn’t great at any of those things. I’m guilty of having quite a short attention span. I always want to work big, and I want instant gratification, so print works really well with appeasing those traits.

You grew up in Hackney, how has living in East London impacted your work and you as a creative individual?

I’m of the generation where I ever so slightly missed or was too you young to realise what was going on in regards to the YBAs, but the water mark was clearly visible. Coming from a Caribbean family and growing up in Hackney I felt gave me the licence to push and become an artist – there’s never been a doubt in my mind.

Are any other locations inspirational to you?

Berlin and Venice – those places rock me every time I visit.

Your work deals mainly with ideas about gender and identity, does exploring these narratives come naturally to you, or is it a struggle to express them creatively at times?

I think my work ends up talking about or outlining those points on its own. I didn’t realise it was happening until I had a bit of hindsight. I think it’s pretty natural still.

“I’m not sure why it’s like that but I’m happy that the work walks out on its own and is what it is.”

What’s your usual process when designing and printing a piece?

I usually start with an idea and instantly start to build a collection of works that explores that. I like to think about it like how a fashion designer builds a collection for a new season. I hardly ever just make a singular piece.

What other artists inspire you?

Tim Mara, Eduardo Paolozzi, Frank Bowling, Cy Twombly, Francis Bacon, Kate Gibb, David Hammonds, Billy Childish. I have loads more: Hockney, Louise Bourgeois, Lucien Freud. We’re in an incredible time because so much has passed and there’s a lot to look back on for inspiration.

How have you navigated the past year in the pandemic as an artist?

Minus the horror stories that people went through during this time, I found I was able to concentrate on making loads of small prints and send them to people who wanted them, no charge.

“Knowing when it arrived and how it cheered people up, I felt happy that I was able to connect with people for no reason other than being able to make something and then send it out.”

Have there been any seminal experiences that have impacted your work or your practice?

Having my son was an incredible thing. When he was born, I knew I wasn’t going to make anything as beautiful as him (cheesiest thing I’ve ever said). My work has changed since having him – I think it’s possibly more grown up, but I won’t know until I start working more.

What does your body of work aim to say in terms of confronting issues about gender and identity politics?

I don’t think it aims to say anything, but perhaps it prompts the viewer to possibly say something.

What was it like transitioning from studying Fine Art to specialising in your printmaking MA? 

It was nuts, I probably wasn’t ready for it. Maybe I should have had a year between them rather than going straight in, but at the same time I think I had to be thrown straight in after university. I had to learn the language pretty fast.

Are there any particular figures you draw the most inspiration from?

I think probably Cy Twombly and Lucien Freud. As soon as I open a book my brain goes crazy and thoughts and ideas start flooding in.

Are you working on any projects at the moment?

Yes, I’m working on a few large screen prints mainly dealing with colour and abstract forms leaning heavily on a specific way of printing.

Credits

Images · DANNY AUGUSTINE
www.jealousgallery.com

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