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Lolo Y Sosaku

“alienated while completely connected at the same time”

Their work move between different languages such as sculpture, installation, kinetic art and painting. The modus operandi: to constitute itself as a subject, and from its mechanic materiality, to point to transcendence, to mysticism and to the unknown. Encompassing installation, drawing, painting, sculpture, performance, sound and video, Lolo & Sosaku’s wide-ranging practice explores the capacity of creating new meanings through the association of the objects, the surroundings and the spectator. Taking inspirations from ancient Greek sculptures, from Dada and Bauhaus School to Jean Tinguely, Alexander Calder and Jean Dubuffet, Lolo & Sosaku soon altered the traditional artistic practice concentrating on the possibilities inherent in the materials they used often metal, wood, glass, incorporating music and sound. Electronic music is certainly the highlight of their inspiration as a complex language translated into sound installations and sculpture compositions. Shapes, lines, materials and sounds are assembled together into motion sculptures that perform taking their own voice in an unpredictable continuous transformation Exploring many artistic horizons and redefining boundaries, their interest is the energy and the hidden forces that guide life in our technological age.

Lolo, Sosaku! You guys. Truly beautiful to meet you last week. So, lots of things were said and I thought of some recap key ideas that stayed floating around. I would start with SONAR, in which you just performed a few days ago.

Given the present pandemic context, you have just been part of the (first ever) virtual edition of SONAR, where you live streamed from your studio in L’Hospitalet.

How did this situation feel? How did you conceive producing this piece to fit an iPhone screen?  (Modern times…)

Lolo: We felt in a way alienated while completely connected at the same time. Is the digital streaming behind this or is it a more global thing related to the current situation? Maybe both, yet we are anxious to be back to physical exhibition dynamics.

Sosaku: Visualizing our work through phone screens was conceived as an amplified version of our usual visualization mediums or supports, always having in mind that the spectator completes the artwork, even from the other side of the screen.

L: Our piece Concert for four pianos is an audio piece interpreted by non thinking machines installed in four pianos, they are sound sculptures that generate different textures and audible rithms. With this sounds we composed a sound piece with Sergio Caballero and thats the piece we presented in Sonar, putting up three shows for a reduced audience from our studio and a concert that was showcased for the whole world from Sonar’s live plataform, it was a great experience.

We understand our artwork as something that happens between a gap in what we conceive as the “present”, where concepts of space and time are no longer a unified continuum and act as separated entities.

S: We feel comfortable working in this temporal space.

L: With the years, we have created our own reality, as Arca coined it the last time he was in the studio. “A world within a world”.

Do you have hopes that our future may shift back into a less technological reality, in a sort of resistance act, or do you encourage the exploration of technology in this sense?

L: We are living in really particular times, exposed to constant sudden changes, in an accelerated way. The Anthropocene, the current geological time according to Paul Crutzen, is characterized by the visible and signicative influence of human behaviour in the planet… for some theorics it goes back to the industrial revolution… inexorably this age would evolve into the Post- Anthropocene, which, in conversations with Maike Moncayo, we differ in how it will take place, given that for her it will be the communion of human-machine-nature, forging a new ecosystem of renewable energies and a way back to the natural equilibrium of the holocene. Our vision is a bit darker given that we believe that we will evolve to a kind of machine – human symbiotic being, to survive climatic changes and death, where nature will be in a second plane or extinguish, given that it wont be necessary.

When we met, we talked about your artwork’s translation from the physical, tangible world into the two dimensional language of video or photography.

You mentioned a particular experience with Disco, where the audience thought you were presenting a 3D render, when actually there was an actual disc and a whole physical effort behind it.

Did this experience transform how you conceive future artworks?

S: To forge Disco, a huge human physical effort was necessary. Lots of months of hard work interpolated with unplanned difficulties. It was a great adventure, and I was working sick for the whole of the production.

L: Disco is a site specific project that works in dialogue with MentalStones, a permanent installation by Tito Diaz, which is situated in an olive field in the Delta del Ebro area, far away from civilisation. To our surprise, when we published the first images of the project, we received several reactions which interpreted that the artwork was a 3D render. We had put so much into it that the final piece looked artificial, like a render…

Even though Disco exists in the intersection between sculpture, land art and video art, we had never imagined that the audience would interpret it as a digital artwork.

S: We think imagination is sometimes digital.

L: It is a constant transformation… the digital looks for the organic, the real mutates into a digital language. We are exposed and immersed in a constant digitalization of everything, I wonder if Disc would have actually been a digital render, would it be real?

As sensible subjects, what interests would you say you pursue or dig on through your practice?

L: We see autonomous intentions in the behaviour of some of the machines we create, which escapes any logic understanding, as if they acquired a soul-condition, or something like it.

S: When we did the theater piece we had various press conferences… conventionally, actors also assist to this conferences so we took with us Tipo P, one of our sculptures, which was the protagonist of our piece. I was with him for many days, travelling by metro and taxi to different places, and a really close nexus evolved.

L: Tipo P did really bad in the first interviews.. as if he were nervous. He changed attitude once he was in front of cameras… thank god he did really good in the actual performances.

S: Yes, he’s a really good actor.

Being that you come from so far apart (literally, Japan-Argentina) the fact that you have found each other and created this artistic communion, to say, feels like a magical encounter, your artwork, this synergic creative act, like an alchemic process. Do you believe in chance?

Have you ever thought about how your paths could have shifted if you had not ran into each other?

S: We’re really close friends and we sort of like the same stuff.

L: The first time we met (early 2004) we could barely communicate because we practically didn’t speak english… and naturally we started creating stuff and working together… we developed our own language and work methodology which imprints itself in all of our work.

S: Now we work in the same ways as in the begining, but in bigger projects. 

Lolo: Nowadays when I think of that first encounter, in like how this unexpected chain of events brought us together, I feel very grateful.

S: Yes, if I think about that I feel as if an exterior force had joined us in some way.

L: Maybe that is chance, two independent processes that converge… Lucrecia, you were asking if we believed in chance, we do believe and we implement it in lots of our artworks, maybe the most evident one would be Panting Machines.

S: We build machines that have as an objective to paint or draw, and though we are very present during the process, they paint what they autonomously desire to paint, and when there are more than one of them, lots of times they collide, change paths and generate new lines and shapes, mixing their traces.

L: There’s a whole narrative revealed in chance.

This issue of NR has the concept of Change as its main trigger. It is obviously a word that resounds in all of us given the pandemic context, in any of its multiple consequences. If you would be able to propose, within a utopian scenario, activities or rules for a different society… what would you suggest, if anything? All valid. And… calling on utopia, would you recommend any readings, movies, or tracks that have triggered your imagination, your conception of life or reality?

S: Create a new civilization, without violence, where everyone has access to everything.

L: In the conversation we had before this interview, we really liked something you asked regarding the spaces we use to install our artworks, which are generally abandoned spaces or spaces in which our artworks establish dialogue or modify them, you were asking if we had thought of building an entirely new space that would not only host our pieces but be an intentional enviroment for them. We could do the excercise of replying to this question with the creation of a utopic social space, a place where there are no physical limits, where anything you can imagine is possible.

I’d recommend the amazing documentary “L ́homme a mangé la terre”, by Jean- Robert Viallet

S: Yes, I’d say also the last book by Yuichi Yokoyama “New engineering”.

Credits

www.vimeo.com/loloandsosaku
www.instagram.com/loloysosaku
www.loloysosaku.com

Lolo and Sosaku’s work has been exhibited and performed, amongst others, at 
Museo Reina Sofia (Madrid, Spain), MACBA Museum of Contemporary Art of Barcelona (Barcelona, Spain), PSA Museum Power Station of Art (Shanghai, China), MIS Museu da Imagem e do Som (São Paulo, Brasil), Fundation Gaspar (Barcelona, Spain), Fundação Casa França Brasil (Rio de Janeiro, Brasil), Sónar (Barcelona, Spain), Matadero (Madrid, Spain), Palace of Culture (Iasi, Romania), MAVA Museo de Arte en Vidrio de Alcorcón (Alcorcón, Spain), O Art Center (Shanghai, China), Luis Adelantado Gallery (Valencia, Spain) and Instituto Cervantes (Milan, Italy).

Designers

  1. Lolo & Sosaku by Cecilia Díaz Betz
  2. Stellar, 2017
  3. Studio view, 2020
  4. Untitled, side A Painting Machine 68cm x 56cm x 10cm x 8cm
  5. Piano I image by Silvia Poch – Lolo and Sosaku (Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1977 and Tokyo, Japan, 1976 ) investigate the possibilities of sculpture as an expanded field. The nexus that unites his works is the search for an object in contact with his surroundings and with the spectator. An object that seeks friction and tension.

Jamel Shabazz

“The creative eye is more important than the camera”

The acclaimed street photographer, Jamel Shabazz, first picked up a camera as a teenager at school in Red Hook, Brooklyn, in the mid-1970s, set upon making images of his friends and classmates. Shabazz was no stranger to the medium; his father was a professional photographer whose collection of photobooks were made available to his son. Black in White America (1968) by the photojournalist Leonard Freed, was one such book that had a profound impact on the young Shabazz.

After a stint in Germany with the US Army in his late teens, he returned to find the New York he left behind in a very different state of mind. Racial tensions and violence were on the rise, and crack cocaine was just beginning to seep into the foundations of daily life. In that moment, the impression that had been made on Shabazz by photographers, like Freed and Gordon Parks, became clear, as he turned his camera onto the people that he’d grown up around in Brooklyn and New York. By making images of the people that weren’t usually photographed, Shabazz sought to heal growing divisions – countering animosity by taking the time to talk to the people he stopped with his camera; giving them the chance to express, and be, themselves. Shabazz refers to himself as a conscious photographer, using his practice to enrich and improve the lives of those around him. And as he explains over email, this has made him acutely aware of his ‘personal responsibility as an image-maker, [creating] images that shed light [on the communities he documented], while combatting the negative stereotypes that were often being presented in the media.’

There remains a critical importance to the images Shabazz made from the 1970s through to the 1980s, of a city, and its communities, lost to racist policy-making and rampant gentrification; in 2020, it’s not difficult to make the case for why. But for all the social injustice that underpins Shabazz’s work, there’s something else of equal importance that the photographer has long been commended for. A casual glance at the photographer’s work and it becomes clear that the subjects he turns his camera on have one thing in common: style. In that moment that the photographer clicks the shutter, his subject become all that matters in the world, regardless of what’s going on behind the scenes. ‘Time and motion is frozen,’ Shabazz notes; and the poses, the gestures and the dress of the people he captures become take centre stage. As he explains of the editing process, Shabazz looks for ‘images that speak to the soul, inspire joy, or simply provoke thought and reflection.’ 

You refer to your work as being the positive medicine to counterbalance negative stereotypes of the Black community; how do you feel that you have been able to achieve this? 

There has been much grief and anger since the start of the Covid-19 crisis, as well as the endless incidents of racial injustice and police misconduct. My daily postings on my various social media feeds have provided me with a great space to share images that bring joy and reflection to the viewer. I receive numerous responses on a daily basis to these posts, from people around the globe, writing to tell me that it brings them joy and hope when my images appear on their feeds. It is in that process that,      

“I feel that I am able to counter negative stereotypes, while also providing a form of visual medicine and relief from the daily stress of life in 2020.”

How did becoming a street photographer change your relationship with the cityscapes of New York? 

During my stint in the military overseas in Europe in the late 1970s for three years, I read Claude Brown’s book ‘Manchild in the Promised Land’. His depictions of, and personal experience navigating through, New York, intrigued me and informed my interest in exploring the vast landscape of my city. As a result, I was inspired to come home and venture out into the city to document what I saw, and that is exactly what I did upon my return, in 1980. During the first half of that year, I travelled throughout the five boroughs, seeing first-hand the beauty and diversity of one of the greatest cities in the world, all while documenting it with my camera.          

In 2018, you received the Gordon Parks Foundation Award. How did it feel to be recognized as continuing his legacy? Did that recognition change how you perceive your work? 

Receiving the Gordon Parks Foundation Award for documentary photography was one of the highlights of my career. The accolade served as an indicator that the work I have been doing for so many years had been recognized. For me, the award was a symbolic being passed on to continue to work in the spirit of Gordon Parks; to use my camera as a weapon to fight against injustice and the misrepresentation of images that harm communities of colour along with those who are struggling around the world.  

The camera is your weapon of choice, but what determines the type of camera you use? 

At this stage of my life, any camera that has the ability to record an image is fine with me. I generally carry a basic Fuji X100 with a fixed lens and my iPhone. The creative eye is more important than the camera. 

In an interview from last year for Afropunk, you mentioned your aspirations about being a curator; what does this role involve for you and how do you intend to realise this?   

“During my travels, I have met countless aspiring photographers who have created amazing imagery, but never had an opportunity to showcase their work in an art gallery.”

Having had my own work in a gallery, I felt it was my responsibility to aid those photographers I’d met, to help them gain traction. In 2008, I got such an opportunity, when Danny Simmons asked me to curate a group show in his space at Corridor Gallery in Brooklyn, New York. I was honoured by the invitation, and gathered around 20 photographers for a show that was called ‘Positivity’ – the theme being centred on positive imagery and how artists can come together using the global language of art to make a difference in the world. The exhibition was a success and helped set the stage for the next generation of image makers. Just last year, I was granted another opportunity to curate an exhibition – this time at Photoville in Brooklyn. I reached out to my good friend and comrade Laylah Amatullah, who served as co-curator, and we produced an exhibition entitled ‘Perspectives’. That show consisted of 12 gifted documentary photographers from diverse communities, all with important work and voices. The images that were selected dealt with issues ranging from Albinism to various protests. The objective of the exhibition, like the previous one I curated, was to bring new visions onto the scene whilst also addressing pressing social issues. Presently, I am working with a curator in London to bring the concept there, with the inclusion of 12 European artists that share similar concerns. 

Do you look at your photography through the context of the present day or through the eyes you took it at the time? 

Considering the challenging times we are living in, where life as we once knew it has changed, I find myself revisiting a lot of my earlier images and reflecting on a time period when life was very different. For me, there was a time before both the crack and AIDs epidemics and then the war on drugs, which opened up the flood gates to mass incarceration. As a witness who documented the early 1980s I saw a lot of hope and promise. 

Your work is inherently social; how has the coronavirus pandemic affected your ability to take photographs and connect with people on the street?  

When the Coronavirus hit this country, I had to re-evaluate my whole approach to the craft. Even just having to contend with wearing a mask has had some challenges, and the mandatory requirement for everyone to wear one has led me to fall back and redirect my energy towards revisiting my older work. For the past few months, I have been scanning thousands of negatives from the 1980s and 1990s, reliving moments that are long gone. That whole experience has rekindled a flame inside and brought me great joy. However, I do miss connecting with ordinary people on the streets, but today I am embracing Zoom and using that as a platform to bridge the gap and maintain some degree of normalcy during these uncertain times.   

Your photographs capture people’s legacies within an image, especially those who often go without recognition or acknowledgment in society, and especially within the context of New York during the crack and AIDs epidemics. In light of the coronavirus pandemic which has disproportionately affected poorer, unprivileged communities, and also as the BLM resurgence has provoked us to recall the names of those whose lives have been taken, how do we, going forward, meaningfully capture the legacies of those who are no longer with us? 

The struggle continues and we need all hands on deck like never before to be proactive in the fight for freedom, justice and equality. I am greatly concerned with, not only the future of this country, but the world itself, in these very troubling times we are living in. I also feel that the larger global artist communities must raise their voices, along with their level of creativity in order to address the ever-growing problems that are facing the world.

Photos

  1. A time before change
  2. Black in White America
  3. The Gatherings

Jack Johnstone

NR x Toga 

Credits

Photography JACK JOHNSTONE
Fashion NIMA HABIBZADEH and JADE REMOVILLE
Hair SHUNSUKE MEGURO   
Make-Up SEUNGHEE YOO  
Models LUARD from Premier Model Management and LARA from Nevs
All clothes featured from TOGA including an exclusive coat from the TOGA x BARBOUR collaboration

Tomihiro Kono

“it was something I grew into loving”

Tomihiro Kono, a hair stylist and head props creator, currently based in New York City, is best know for his outstanding work with designers such as Jil Sander and Junya Watanabe. His launch of his own book ‘Head Prop’ is a ‘documentation of distinctive head prop work produced’ by himself. Not only does Tomihiro produce ‘visually striking head designs’ but ‘designs that focus on functionality in the beauty of form’. Kono has grown to become the master of a genre he created from himself.

I understand that your career started in Japan, where you worked as a hair stylist. But how did the idea of creating wigs and head props appear in the first place? What was the starting point for you?

I started my career as a hairdresser in Osaka, where I studied basic hair skills. Four years later I had gotten seriously obsessed with geometric haircut techniques and decided to master the method. I ended up working in a few different hair salons in Tokyo and acquired the best haircut skills. In 2017, when I branched into session styling, I moved to London. I started head props originally to satisfy my own creativity but I’ve always been obsessed with new hair and head creations. The act of hair styling and designing head props are, according to me, closely related to each other. They go hand in hand. Therefore, as a hairstylist it’s also my responsibility to keep working with hair designs in order to grow as a creative.

Was this all a part of your childhood dream or was it something you grew into as you got older?

When I was a young boy I wanted to become a veterinarian, which is quite different from what I do now. So I would definitely say that, as I got older, it was something I grew into loving. Even during the beginning of my career as a hairdresser I wasn’t dreaming about working abroad as a session stylist. I have just always been focused on doing the best I can and working hard. This is where it has taken me.

From a creative point of view, what was it like to grow up in Japan? Did the Japanese culture become a strong source of inspiration to you or was it just an influential cultural background?

Personally, I always got more inspired by the Western cultures. But when I moved to London I started to find more understanding of my own background. I think that the Japanese culture used to be something I would just take for granted. After moving to London, I created a Geisha inspired portrait series. This is a classic example of our distinctive heritage, which I’m proud of.

Many successful people have said that having access to a big city is always an important part of your career. After living in both London and New York, two of the largest fashion capitals in the world, what do you think is the most significant difference between the designs you’ve produced in each city? In what way did the city affect your work?

I believe that my first choice of city was the right one. London has a great hair culture, especially the avant-garde style with its young creative- and punk influential spirit. It’s a city where people really appreciate originality. For me,

“working in London was a mix of crazy dark, romantic goth and experimental design, which was very satisfying from a creative aspect.”

But I do think that New York is the best place to establish oneself. I always try to adapt my work to the city I’m in and its current fashion trends. Therefore, since I moved to Manhattan, my work has been quite clean and modern.

The line between most creative subjects and art is often very blurred. Do you consider yourself to be an artist? If so, did you always feel like one or was there a significant moment in your life when you realised that you wanted to become one?

If there is one hairstylist that could be called an artist, I might be that person. But that is not how I see myself. However if I could choose, I would much rather be the only one than the best one.

By being involved in the fashion industry, you are constantly surrounded by the idea of beauty and how it should be presented, but in what and where do you personally find beauty in the world?

Personally I find beauty in the world of nature, music and old Japanese films – which I like the aesthetics in.

Working with craftsmanship and creating each design by hand must be very creativity challenging from time to time. What is currently your biggest source of inspiration? When you lose track, where do you go to find it?

At the moment, my source of inspiration comes from wigmakers around the world. That is the subject I will build my new project around. Luckily, I never feel like I “lose track” so I always just keep moving.

What motivates you to grow and do better?

I motivate myself to be original at all times.

A lot of people tend to seek comfort in hiding behind their hair, do you ever feel like your bold and fearless style comes as a shock to people? Would you say that this is a part of the purpose for you?

My designs tell a story of what I do in life, if that tends to shock people, I take it positively. I know what I have done in the past three to four years is completely different to what most other hairstylists in this industry do. I personally like both natural hair styling and over-the-top head prop design at the same time, because I feel confident in both shadowing trends and being original at the same time. Whilst working in the fashion industry, you’ll always have the choice to create a trend as well as following a trend. So if head props become something that inspires upcoming artists and they want to follow that, or even keep building on this path I have created for them, that is something that would be very interesting to me.

Have you seen any good examples of how people have adapted your creative work into their everyday lives?

Except for my friends, wearing my creations on an occasional night out,

“I never think of my head props as being used in people’s everyday lives. I see them as head art.”

What is your best piece of advice for the people who want to follow your footsteps?

Be creative and work on building your originality. If you want to be a hairstylist and make head props as well, you need to learn about the basics of hairstyling, then play with your imagination from there on. This is how I started my career and I hope that my story can be helpful for young artists who want to pursue their dreams in Fashion.

You have worked with some of the biggest names in the current fashion industry and has had your work published in the most influential magazines and online platforms in the world. Now, just a couple of weeks ago you had your very first book launch as well. Where do you see yourself going from now on?

I never really expected my first book to get so much attention! It was a big surprise for me to see that people are curious about what this book was all about. I created the concept one year ago and I haven’t changed anything since. Towards the end of the process, after having had several meetings with some very talented good publishers, I decided to publish the book myself, because I wanted to keep the creation as pure and personal as I possibly could. I consider the release of this book too both mean the end of one chapter and the beginning of a new one. What’s next for me? Well, as you go, your career establishes your style and, for now, I have a lot of wig making to do. Hair will keep me busy for a while.

Credits

‘HEAD PROP’ by Tomihiro Kono is a documentation of distinctive head prop work produced by Hair and Head Prop Artist, Tomihiro Kono from 2013-2016.
Available to buy now with pink vinyl cover exclusively at www.konomad.com

Designers

  1. Copyright Tomihiro Kono
  2. Copyright Tomihiro Kono
  3. Copyright Tomihiro Kono
  4. Copyright Tomihiro Kono
  5. Copyright Tomihiro Kono

Theresa Marx

Credits

Photography Theresa Marx
Fashion Lucy Upton Prowse
Hair Abra Kennedy
Make-Up Marie Bruce
Model Simona from Storm Models

Designers

  1. Blouse Jacquemus Trousers TOGA Pulla   Shoes Jacquemus
  2. Dress TGCN Skirt Teatum Jones Boots TOGA Archives
  3. Blouse Jacquemus Trousers TOGA Pulla   Shoes Jacquemus
  4. Dress Roberts|Wood
  5. Dress Roberts|Wood   Boots TOGA Archives Jacket TOGA Pulla
  6. Jacket Angel Chen Dress Rokit Vintage   Trainers Filling Pieces
  7. Skirt (worn as a dress) Grand Bassin   Gloves Monika Bereza Trainers Filling Pieces
  8. Dress TGCN Skirt Teatum Jones Boots TOGA Archives
  9. Jacket TOGA Pulla Shirt Wood Wood   Boots TOGA Archives

Rachelle Mendez

Displaying swaths of the urban landscape as unoccupied while revealing layer upon layer of seemingly blank architectural elements, is ultimately what I aim to execute in the composition of my photography.

Spatial distancing creates leading lines with maximal scale. Suggesting a confrontational viewing experience I choose to frame the composition with elements bleeding off the edges; a nod to the confrontation we navigate through in our environments every day.

When I’m out shooting these urban landscapes in Southern California, I’m looking for bold colors and a dramatic blank surface, but the interest comes in the layering of those elements and how space or lack of space can create an organized, almost painterly, chaotic abstract.

Through bold composition that runs from edge to edge, these photographs are my attempt to push something into nothing and still be whole. The question remains, how far can it be pushed?

Credits

Photography and words RACHELLE MENDEZ
www.photoinspo.com
www.instagram.com/rachelle.mendez

Hania Rani

“Creating makes you free wherever you are stuck”

When pianist and composer Hania Rani’s sophomore album came out in May and in the middle of a global pandemic, its title, Home, likely took on greater significance than when it was conceptualised. The album has been described as a ‘metaphorical journey’ through notions of the home; about places that ‘become our home sometimes by chance, sometimes by choice.’ The ambiguity that comes with calling a place ‘home’ is something that Hania surely knows well, dividing her time between Warsaw, ‘home’ home, where she studied classical piano at the prestigious Fryderyk Chopin University of Music, and Berlin, where she now works. As a result of the pandemic, she explains, this is the first time since she was at school that she has stayed in the same place for a long period of time. Hania has been at her parents’ house in Gdánsk, where she grew up, and where she first took piano lessons. The return to her childhood home, during which Home was released has led Hania to re-evaluate the album; ‘I guess we have all changed a bit.’

Back in late March, shortly after lockdown in the United Kingdom had been announced, the presenter Mark Coles profiled Hania for BBC Radio 4. ‘In difficult, troubled times I usually turn to music,’ he notes, ‘each night this week, at the end of the day in lockdown here at home, I’ve sat in the dark after everyone’s gone to bed, […] I’ve poured myself a drink and reached for [Hania’s first solo album, Esja], and lost myself in its simple, minimalist beauty.’ The gentle sounds of Hania’s music certainly provide a soothing experience at a time of upheaval and uncertainty, but also buried in both Esja and Home is a sentiment that allows you to be transported elsewhere. Esja, notably, is named after a mountain near Reykjavik, where Hania travelled in 2017 to record what would become this first album. The process of creating music, Hania explains, can ‘bring you to places that you could never buy a ticket to,’ no more so than when travel is largely not an option right now. ‘Creating makes you free wherever you are stuck at [that] moment,’ she adds, but it’s ‘not enough’ to use music purely as an escape. 

Hania came to prominence when Esja was released last April through Gondwana Records. Esja was not just a classical record – not even, strictly speaking, a classical record. A keen interest in the way the piano functions, as a mechanical object, and an appreciation for other genres, like jazz and electronica, gives Esja an ever so slight rawness. This surfaces in moments of sustained reverb, or in instances when the piano can be heard creaking beneath Hania’s craft. These subtle elements mark a deliberate distinction between Hania’s musical training and her role now; ‘As a classical pianist, I was just a performer. As a ‘neo-classical’ [pianist], I am a composer who also performs her own music.’ She likes the lack of limits imposed on neo-classical compositions, as it’s ‘[closer] to the values that I believe in.’ Those values, which begin to appear on Esja, take the forefront on Home. Hania has described her latest release as being the second part of a book, where Esja was the ‘musical prelude to a real plot.’ 

The transition from Esja to Home is immediately apparent on the album’s opening track, ‘Leaving’, where the piano makes space for Hania’s vocals. The addition of vocals and other elements that appear on the second album, including drums, guitar and synthesisers, confirms Hania’s transition away from classical music proper. It’s a shift that has been on the horizon for a while, too: ‘I have been experimenting with new things for years, but when I signed to Gondwana Records, we all decided to release a solo piano album first.’ The process of creating Esja afforded Hania the opportunity to try things out in the meantime, tracking her progress and maturing her style. Home is, therefore, a record that has been a long time in the coming. Hania describes the process of making Home as involving layers. For the opening song, ‘Leaving’, which was composed in 2018, she consolidated the piano composition and vocals into stems, ‘[editing] each layer a lot [until] I was happy with the result.’ This has become a familiar technique for Hania because of the endless possibilities it affords. Outside of this production process, the layering approach proved helpful in working out the sounds on the album more generally. ‘Each of the new elements came to me naturally,’ and each element was tried, recorded, and evaluated – from the double bass and the drums, to the string quintet that appears on ‘Tennen’ towards the album’s end.  

Credits

Photography MARTA KACPRZAK
www.haniarani.com www.music.apple.com/gb/artist/hania-rani

Cassi Namoda

“I think colour brings so much energy and vibration”

Cassi Namoda takes archival images, memories and ruminations, and transforms them into vividly rich paintings, weaving an overarching theme throughout. Sometimes, there’s a clear narrative that informs her work, but at other times it can be a looser concept that has been on her mind.

Though many of the scenes and the characters within her paintings are imagined, they are drawn from concrete anecdotes. Take, for example, the character of Maria who often appears in her paintings. Maria embodies the way in which Cassi confront the history of her home country, Mozambique. Cassi saw a similarity between Ricardo Rangel’s photographs of downtown Maputo in the latter half of the twentieth century, and the work of European expressionists in the 1920s, where artists like Edvard Munch and George Grosz depicted scenes of a ‘very fucked up Europe’ at a period of turmoil and debauchery. Maria became a way for Cassi to explore this moment in Mozambique’s history, at a time when the country was going through revolution and dealing with its colonial past. Through the Nightly Bread series, Cassi depicts Maria’s navigations through the seedy underbelly of the city in a way that felt personal to her, given its proximity in recent history. There’s humour in these works too, in which, like Grosz, Cassi deliberately adds a twist on a serious scene – where, for example, Maria has spilled a glass of wine.

Those subtle, but carefully considered, symbols are also evident in the cover Cassi painted for Vogue Italia’s sustainability issue in January this year. The magazine commissioned eight artists to each design a cover for the issue, as a statement against the huge impact that fashion shoots have on the environment. Maria appeared on the cover, with a mosquito hovering sinisterly above her head; a symbol of how disease is an undeniable implication of the climate crisis that is not often contemplated. These issues have been preoccupying Cassi for a while, and as she explains below, the darkness that our future may hold is something that informed the work for her recent exhibition at the Pippy Houldsworth Gallery in London. The show’s title, Little Is Enough For Those In Love, was derived from an East African proverb, and its exploration of the polarities between ‘joy’ and ‘pain’ have taken on new meaning in the context of the current global pandemic we now find ourselves faced with.

In light of what’s currently happening, your recent exhibition at the Pippy Houldsworth Gallery touched upon the balance between joy and suffering, which is something that we’re all suddenly forced to confront. 

Totally, and it’s fascinating to see how the West is adjusting, in relation to the rest of the world. At the end of 2019 and the beginning of this year,

“I had this sense of anticipation that we were entering biblical times.”

It felt as though the Pippy Houldsworth show was preparing for this. As artists, we might be okay or not, depending on how the market swings but, ultimately, it’s just art. I’m very aware of that, and for me, art isn’t about the currency. Instead, it’s about expressing a narrative so, in that sense, nothing’s really changed for me. But, it’s more a case of the impact it’ll have on daily negotiations – like, do I need this expensive yellow ochre, or should I just get this other cheaper one? I hope that this might become something beautiful, in terms of a discovery process. The Pippy Houldsworth show healed me in a way, so that I could be prepared for something to happen.  

Did you anticipate this change when you were making the work for the show? 

Well, I had my show, The Day A Monkey Is Destined To Die All Trees Becomes Slippery, at the François Ghebaly Gallery earlier in 2019, and there was an ominous presence in those paintings, with bold black lines and colour blocking. But, when it came to the Pippy Houldsworth show, it felt as though we needed something else. I wanted to be very sensitive. There were two directions my work took in the lead up to the show. There was the work I made while I was in East Hampton in early Autumn; I would take walks around 7am with my dog, and

“what I noticed was this slight melancholy that comes when seasons change, and I think, a part of human nature is having trouble accepting change.”

So, it felt quite cathartic to massage in the new season – and so, my work was more compositionally about the landscape, with a more detached gaze upon the figures. And then, in November, I did a residence in Oaxaca, Mexico, and there’s something so vibrational about the earth there. I was faced with challenges, logistically, where I was out of the comfort zone of being able to call people to deliver canvases or paints. Also, I mainly paint with acrylic, but it’s very dry in Oaxaca, so my paint was drying on the brush; intuitively, I’d brought a retarder with me, but I still needed to work in an immediate way. So, in the show, there’s these two styles of painting. There’s the very magical, illusive paintings – so you have the beach scene with the couple getting married, and then you might have something like the Mimi Nakupenda painting, with couples dancing and a lot of energy in the air. 

You’ve got two upcoming exhibitions (one at Nina Johnson Gallery in May, and the other at the Goodman Gallery in the Autumn); do you know what you’ll be doing for these shows? 

Yeah, I do. The Nina Johnson show most likely won’t open up in a physical sense, but it will still hang. There will be 8×10 inch paintings, and the show is called Dog Meat, Cat Meat, God Knows What Meat – it’s a little bit humorous because I wanted to do something that was dark, funny and also random. There’s no real narrative behind it. I want to do paintings of women that are in my life, so I’m using this time to do something that I’ve always wanted to do. I can’t paint them in the flesh now, but I’ll get friends from all around the world – Kenya, South Africa, New York – to send photos of themselves to paint from. And then, I’ve also been exploring medical imagery, in the sense that black bodies have been sold under the gaze of medical research, that never actually served the female body, but was instead a form of slavery. I’ve been researching Millie and Christine McKoy, who were these conjoined twins born into slavery in 1851 and were, by the age of 2 being exhibitioned around the world. I wanted to give them a renewed agency, so that they can now be part of the black community so that we can remember them in a more intimate way. And, then, I might also paint a random scene from a Djibril Diop Mambéty film that is special to me – so, the process is really open with this show, it’s more communicative of everything I’ve been thinking about. 

As for the Goodman show, it will be a lot more narrative based. The show’s called To Live Long Is To See Much, which is very much about what we’re going through right now. I want to call my elders and ask for advice – like, what do we do in this situation? It’s such a strange time we’re living in. So I thought about this Swahili proverb, to live long is to see much, and I wanted to take an archival approach,

“looking at everything that I’ve found so fucking bizarre in slavery, in colonialism, and in the projection that black is bad. I thought about how the Christian epistemology of the world that we live in is actioned through a white gaze, and I want to question that.”

Why hasn’t that been challenged? I’ve also been looking at Pointillism, and then, after spending some time in Kenya, I realised that there’s this African Pointillism here too – it’s called Tingatinga, and I grew up with that type of painting! So, I am ruminating now on how I can combine some sort of folklore with a classical aspect of painting, because I love painters like Joaquín Sorolla and Paul Cezanne. But,

“there needs to be some duality; I want to make these beautiful paintings but also tell the truth.”

Do you consciously group series of paintings together with certain colour palettes? 

I think colour brings so much energy and vibration. I definitely think I work with colour more consistently when I’m working on a show, much more so than when I’m painting in my studio for painting’s sake. I think there’s something spiritual in the process of negotiating with the paint that exists in a body of work. So, yeah – it’s something I’m very aware of and it’s super intentional. With the Pippy Houldsworth show, I wanted to convey healing through soft yellows, light blues, violets and pale greens – and then maybe some stronger colours like red. I feel like red is a very religious colour, and I’m relating colour to John Mbiti’s writings, where he talks about religious objects, like for example, a rock, in traditional African culture. And to me, a chair can be a religious symbol, so when Maria is sitting on a red chair, that’s her religious object. The red chair has become an ongoing symbol in my work. More recently, the symbol I’ve been using is this orange, reddish circle that ends up in the upper right of the canvas – sometimes the left depending on the composition – and that was there in a lot of the Pippy Houldsworth work. It’s a tool that draws you to the upper right corner and it’s a symbol that feels warm. When it comes to narrative, I think about the palette in its totality because, for me, I feel like it’s part of the story.  

Photos

  1. Little is Enough for Those with Love/Mimi Nakupenda, 2019 acrylic on canvas 167.6 x 233.7 cm, 66 x 92 in Photographer Mark Blower
  2. Family Portrait in Gurué, 2019 acrylic on canvas167.6 x 121.9 cm, 66 x 48 in Photographer Todd-White Art Photography
  3. Sasha And Zamani’s Fruitful Earth, 2019 acrylic on canvas 188 x 152.5 cm, 74 x 60 in Photographer Mark Blower
  4. Visit From Ancestor, 2020 acrylic on canvas 101.6 x 76.2, 40 x 30 in Photographer Thomas Mueller
  5. Young Woman makes a dress in Quelimane, 2020 acrylic on cotton poly 101.6 x 76.2 cm, 40 x 30 in Photographer Mark Blower

Mari-Ruth Oda

“I’ve always had this desire to belong somewhere because I never really have”

There is a calming serenity in the sculptures of Mari-Ruth Oda, and the importance of the natural world is made abundantly clear in the organic surfaces, shapes and curves that can be found in her work. This makes sense, given the influence of the Japanese principles of Shintoism on her practice – that there is something inherently divine about nature.

Having been based in Manchester for a number of years, Mari has recently left the city that was rapidly changing for the worst behind her, opting for a new way of living, ‘in the middle of nowhere on the Llŷn Peninsula of North Wales’. The move, which Mari explains she had been considering for a number of years without never quite making the leap, makes sense for someone so invested in the beauty of our surroundings.

No more is this made clear than when she describes the personal relationship that people can build with objects and natural formations that can be found anywhere – an ‘odd-shaped boulder on the beach; I bet loads of people will have a different name for it, or way of referring to it.’ Mari’s consideration for the characteristics of the natural world, of a ‘pebble on a beach that just makes you think, “Ah, that’s a comforting shape,” translates into her approach to the materials she uses in her sculptures. Discussing the process of sanding clay, she describes the way in which bits of grit and grog emerge at the surface – simultaneously revealing the process and the constitution of the material. And it is through this process that the intentions of Mari’s work are conveyed; that the ‘material composition gives rise to visual composition.’ 

I suppose it may be too early to say but, what influence do you think your new surroundings in rural Wales will have on your work?

We’ll see, but I think having the beach really close by will have a massive effect, because I’m already looking at pebbles and stone. I’ve not done a great deal of stone sculpture – in fact, it was my first time working with stone last year when I was commissioned to carve a water feature for Chelsea Flower Show. It’s an area that I’d like to go into a bit more. I started off in ceramics, but the move to Wales meant I couldn’t take my 3 phase kiln – and I was also already starting to move away from ceramics. There’s been a lot of letting go of the old, and we’ll see what the new brings, to be honest. But the light is amazing here, which was one of the driving forces behind the move. In Manchester, as my work was getting bigger and bigger, I needed a ground floor unit (because relying on lifts in an old mill wasn’t great), but the windows are often covered in the ground floor studios around the city. I just really craved an abundance of natural light and there’s a lot of it here, which is amazing, so I’m really looking forward to making work in the light. 

Am I right in thinking you moved around the world a lot growing up? 

As a youngster, my dad worked for the UN so we tended to move around – though I’ve not moved as much as some people in the same situation might. I’ve always had this desire to belong somewhere because I never really have; wherever I’ve been, I’ve always been a foreigner – even going back to Japan, I’m not that ‘Japanese’ because I’ve not lived there for such a long time, so there’s a lot of the contemporary culture that I don’t know or understand. I’ve always longed to belong to a land, and hopefully, this move to the countryside will be it. 

Does that yearning for belonging manifest itself in your work at all? 

I think, what it’s made me do with my work, is strip it back to the basis of my emotions. I’m not so much swayed with culture – I don’t have a real drive to do social commentary for example – but I think that’s because I’ve shifted from one culture to another and recognise that it’s something that can be quite transient. Nature has always been inspiring to me; who isn’t touched by an amazing sunset? That awe of just being hit by a beautiful view, or even just seeing the shape of a shell; there’s a lot of inspiration that can be found in that. When I went to art college, I kept being asked what I was trying to express. I had been quite sheltered, and I didn’t have much angst; I didn’t recognise anything that I needed to express. I came to realise that I didn’t need to express angst, and that came to be what I did express. At my degree show, I got a lot of comments about the work being contemplative and calm, and I thought, yes: why can’t that be the expression? 

“I started looking to sculpture as an expression of an energy or a certain emotion that I want to convey.”

What informs the choice of materials you work with? 

I’m still in search for the ideal material to work with. I began to find ceramics quite restrictive in the way I was working and, of course, the kiln was a constraining factor for the size of the work. I would have had to compromise the smoothness and the uniformity of a piece, and having to fire it in segments wasn’t something I was prepared to do. I had this attachment to the idea that the clay comes from the earth, that I was moulding the earth to make these shapes, which is such a romantic idea. I realised that it was more of a hindrance for me than an expression. I recently did a project for an old people’s home in Japan, and the client specified using fibreglass resin, which I really dislike the idea of, in terms of the environment and the toxicity for the person using it; but, in terms of what it can do, functionally, it’s the perfect thing. From my experience of seeing my parents approach older age, I can see what really benefit these spaces, and I wanted to create a shape that was comforting and enriching – and this took over trying to perfect the use of material. In that instance, it was better to make something that would enhance the lives of the people using that space. So, I’ve given up being an idealist for the time being.

I realised that I’ve just got to give to my work what I can. 

So, is site specificity important in your work?  

That always helps. I do work both ways, where I make what I want for an exhibition, that will then eventually end up in someone’s house. But I do a lot of site specific work, or commissions where I know the people who will be having the work, and I actually find that, when I have a site in mind, that makes my intentions easier to define. It’s a bit clearer that way – and more of a collaborative process. Going back to the Japan project, for example, I was working closely with the landscape architects and my work had to be in line with their vision. I find that really exciting because, as a maker, I end up spending a lot of time on my own, stewing in my own energy. So, to have that input from somebody else gives me the opportunity to shake it up a bit. And in terms of energy, I’ve done work where I’ve thought that, in that particular space, something invigorating would help and so I’ll make a sculpture that has a lot of movement; the emotions that I want to portray can really change from work to work. What I find interesting with the creative process is that if you have an intention, something that you want to express, the creative force works to bring that about. Having a certain site and the intentions for what that space needs gives the maker another dimension to work in, which is exciting.  

Is there anything that you think is important for viewers when they experience your work? 

No, not at all really. I think the freer you are of preconceptions, the better. I’d rather someone intuitively understood it, or not. Of course, each person has their own experience that they bring with them when they look at a work. I had a piece of work that I was told an astronomer had bought because it reminded them of the stars. What it was, was a piece that had white specks in it that were revealed by sanding the material, so it was like the universe – that’s how the person took it. That’s a very specific way to engage with the work, and a very personal way, and I think that’s a really important thing. When you have a piece of work, you want to bond with it in your own way and that’s not something I can dictate. I can say what it’s been inspired by, but maybe sometimes that’s a hindrance rather than a help. 

Credits

Isabelle Young

Northern Italy

I am always making up for lost time in Italy. I grew up Italian but have never lived there. 

My family are from Turin with their roots extending across Northern Italy and to England, where my Nonna  rst moved in 1948. Everything always feels so urgent when I am back. I see too much to take in and capture. Architecture plays the lead, and I am drawn to its towns and cities, focusing on fragments. Classical details; modernity; industrial Italy and upright stones.

What draws me to certain Italian cities is the fact that I can still see and photograph the country my family’s generation grew up around because, in a large part, it still exists. 

The upheaval surrounding the Italian landscape and Italian society between the seventies and eighties is one I perceive as still visible, and have actively investigated in my own work within a contemporary context.

Credits

Photography and words · ISABELLE YOUNG
isabelle-young.com
instagram.com/isabellelyoung

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