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Chela Mitchell

“I love things that make me feel small”

Ever since she was a child, the New York-based art advisor Chela Mitchell has loved beautiful things. ‘I just was in awe of the world,’ she tells me over a video call. Growing up in Washington DC, her exposure to art came via the Smithsonian Museums and there, it was the large-scale works she was, and still is, drawn to; ‘I have a very strong and dominate personality and I love things that make me feel small.’ Vast artworks, towering architecture and huge fashion gowns are what catches Chela’s eye; ‘the drama, the theatrics – everything – that’s where my love for art stems from.’ Art, in whatever form it takes, is a ‘supreme form of self-expression; one of the most important things we get to exercise and experience. You can put something on and tell people who you are without saying a word – and that’s art.’ 

Chela has been an art advisor for the past two and a half years, launching her company, Chela Mitchell Art, in August 2018, after a career change from luxury e-commerce. It seems quite a leap, but it’s not the first time she’s taken a big decision on a bit of a whim. A couple of years ago, Chela had been working as a personal stylist in her hometown, DC, a city far better known as the bedrock of American politics than a fashion hub. She was styling local politicians and high-level executives, but it lacked the drama and the theatrics that she craved. But when it came to making the shift to more editorial styling, Chela found that she wasn’t getting call backs. ‘I did some research and was like, “Oh – I need to intern!” And I don’t think I’ve ever shared this before,’ she explains: ‘I did the craziest thing ever, and I took an internship in New York for three days, and then had a part-time job at the mall for four days, and I would travel back and forth from DC to New York weekly.’ This continued for a year – a year she remembers well for the B&Bs she’d stay in and crying, a lot. 

Ever since she was a child, the New York-based art advisor Chela Mitchell has loved beautiful things. ‘I just was in awe of the world,’ she tells me over a video call. Growing up in Washington DC, her exposure to art came via the Smithsonian Museums and there, it was the large-scale works she was, and still is, drawn to; ‘I have a very strong and dominate personality and I love things that make me feel small.’ Vast artworks, towering architecture and huge fashion gowns are what catches Chela’s eye; ‘the drama, the theatrics – everything – that’s where my love for art stems from.’ Art, in whatever form it takes, is a ‘supreme form of self-expression; one of the most important things we get to exercise and experience.’ 

“You can put something on and tell people who you are without saying a word – and that’s art.”

Chela has been an art advisor for the past two and a half years, launching her company, Chela Mitchell Art, in August 2018, after a career change from luxury e-commerce. It seems quite a leap, but it’s not the first time she’s taken a big decision on a bit of a whim. A couple of years ago, Chela had been working as a personal stylist in her hometown, DC, a city far better known as the bedrock of American politics than a fashion hub. She was styling local politicians and high-level executives, but it lacked the drama and the theatrics that she craved. But when it came to making the shift to more editorial styling, Chela found that she wasn’t getting call backs. ‘I did some research and was like, “Oh – I need to intern!” And I don’t think I’ve ever shared this before,’ she explains: ‘I did the craziest thing ever, and I took an internship in New York for three days, and then had a part-time job at the mall for four days, and I would travel back and forth from DC to New York weekly.’ This continued for a year – a year she remembers well for the B&Bs she’d stay in and crying, a lot. 

She persevered.

“I just really don’t believe in the word no. ‘No’ might mean ‘not right now,’ or ‘not this way,’ but it doesn’t mean you’re not supposed to do this.”

Chela says this with the confidence of someone whose sheer determination to break through into a notoriously difficult industry paid off – securing an internship with Vogue Japan under the stylist, Giovanna Battaglia’s first assistant, Mecca James-Williams. That led to a promotion as second assistant, before she later moved on to work at Net-A-Porter for two years. Looking back on that period, Chela exclaims that it gives her a headache just thinking about; ‘I was 27, you know, it’s pretty old to be interning’. 

Why make the transition from styling into art advisory, after all the hard work it took to get to a coveted position that many can only dream of? To Chela, it was simple;

“You know, when the universe wants you to change, it makes you uncomfortable – and that happened to me.”

She was feeling marginalised, underappreciated and was being subjected to racism at work. ‘Every day was a battle, and I just decided it was a battle I didn’t want to fight.’ The industry revealed its true self, and as Chela succinctly puts it, Black women are on the moodboard, but not in the boardroom. 

And so, she did something crazy – again – resigning from her job, with nothing lined up other than the belief that she’d work it out. ‘I just kind of jump and figure out the parachute as I’m falling,’ Chela explains. Two days later, she was offered a freelance styling gig out of the blue, enabling her to continue supporting herself and her family. At the time, she had a dream to open a gallery space – an idea that a friend dissuaded her from, suggesting instead to make use of the connections she’d built up in the fashion industry and start off in art advising. ‘That was a Thursday; I had the logo and my website up by the Sunday.

Taking the decision to launch Chela Mitchell Art was, without a doubt, the right one – but it hasn’t always been easy. Chela found herself experiencing imposter syndrome, and questioning who would take her seriously as an art advisor. People don’t listen to Black women, and ‘people don’t listen to dark-skinned Black women, especially.’ In the early days of CMA, when she hadn’t yet gained any clients, Chela was able to appreciate her time as a stylist with a fresh perspective. Where she’d felt so uncomfortable and unwelcome in the fashion industry, she now knew that being in the art world really was where she was supposed to be. And so, when it came down to it, her approach was thus;

“I had to put myself out there, which was hard for me but like, you don’t want to be the advisor that no one’s ever heard of.”

In the two years since the launch of CMA, Chela’s built up a clientele of artists and collectors; clients whose identities she’s very protective of. She tells me of a famous actor that she met at an art event who, after hearing about CMA, asked to use her services; my introduction to Chela came via an Instagram comment left on the feed of a luxury brand, noting that it was through her that the client collected art. I daren’t ask and she’d never divulge, but this much is clear: she’s now had enough exposure to the ins and outs, ups and downs, of the art world and market to sniff out its bullshit.  

Central to her practice is transparency; it’s important that everyone’s needs are being met. ‘I have to make sure that artists aren’t being taken advantage of, and to make sure collectors aren’t being taken advantage of as well.’ There’s the risk that a collector’s net worth is only a Google, and a potential price gouge, away – or that a collector may ask for heavy discounts from an artist. Either way, Chela finds it disrespectful, and attributes her maternal instinct to ensuring nobody gets short-changed. In an episode of the Cerebral Women Art Talks Podcast in early 2020, she mentioned not being driven by the money side of the art market; but isn’t the art world more driven by the financial worth of a piece than its artistic value? ‘Now listen,’ she tells me, ‘I like beautiful things. I like luxury and I think it’s very important to know what my ancestors didn’t have, so I’m very honoured to know what it’s like to travel, to eat the best, to wear the best.’ But she’s not driven by money to the point of fucking people over. ‘It’s not my currency at all.’ 

By virtue of working with emerging artists, as an art advisor, selling is part of the territory. A lot of advisors get into the business to sell one piece for, say, $40 million and call it quits. ‘I think it’s very disgusting and that shit repulses me – I feel good when I know an artist has a wire transfer coming their way’. Especially when that’s a Black artist or an artist of colour – even more so when they’re breaking into the art world without the support, or understanding, of the people around them.

“There are a lot of artists whose families don’t believe in their practice or what they’re doing and so, when they’re paid for it, they’re validated.”

To those who think being an artist is not a “real job”, Chela has only one thing to say; ‘it’s a real job, I’ve seen the funds, okay, it’s a real thing. They’re living, they’re sustaining themselves, and what they’re doing is important.’

My call with Chela happened in early August, when the reverberations of the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement in the United States, and globally, were still being felt. And the genuine heartfelt anguish that was being vocalised and shared throughout the world was met, in various instances, by individuals, institutions and corporations across the art and fashion industry who sought to deflect responsibility by jumping through a series of damage control media campaigns. How did Chela feel to watch the reaction in the art world? ‘I haven’t heard the conversations per se, where people were scared – I don’t think I’d be privy to that information – but I can feel it.’ Or, see it happen in real time: ‘You know, to wake up one day and 30 white women in the art world are following you – are you glad, or are you confused? The number of apologies I’ve received via DM from people I work with is another thing like, should I be happy or am I confused? Even though George Floyd died this year – guys, where have you been? Where were you when Trayvon Martin died? This has been going on since the inception of slavery!’ There is uncertainty in the art world – that much, Chela is sure of – and it’s a good thing.

“I’ve really been enjoying watching the art world have to rethink the way that it operates and ask some uncomfortable questions and explore uncomfortable truths.”

Now, she thinks people feel safe enough to speak out against a gallerist or an institution for being racist or discriminatory in a way that, even a year ago, they’d fear for their career or the threat of being blacklisted. She’s pragmatic though; ‘if it took years and years to build this behaviour, it’s going to take a long time to dismantle it – but we’re starting.’ Chela believes that the real change comes from within ourselves. 

If you want to be treated fairly, make sure you’re treating people fairy every day; if you want to be respected, make sure you respect people every day.’ It’s a matter of re-evaluating the way we look at art, and artists – and acknowledging the fact that art is treated as a commodity the same way that Black people were, and are to this day, through the prison-industrial complex. With mass-incarceration, comes free labour.

“When you sell art at auction, do people think about the fact that 400 years ago, Black bodies were sold at auction?”

Chela’s found one way to challenge the stability of the gilded cage that the art world has built for itself – or rather, it found her. As a female, Black art advisor, she’s regularly contacted by young people on Instagram who want to get into the profession. How does that feel? ‘I did not anticipate that, and it just feels wonderful.’ It’s an honour, she says, that people feel comfortable to reach out to her and for that, she’s especially grateful, considering she didn’t have anyone there to guide her into the space she now occupies. One thing she’s keen to address is the mentality that there is only ever enough room for one Black person operating in a space at any time. That’s something she’s witnessed as an art advisor – and she deconstructs the absurdity of that concept by likening in to the ice cream aisle in a shop. No matter how many varieties and brands of ice creams there are in one freezer at any given time, they all have something valuable to offer; ‘Ben & Jerry’s ain’t worried about Häagen Dazs! We’re all put on this world to give something different, in a different way.’

A short profile on Chela and her art advisory was featured in Forbes at the end of last year. In it, she mentions reading an article in the New York Times on the history of a small, but dedicated number of Black art dealers and gallerists who’ve been pushing back against the toxically-white art world for the past 50 or so years. Their contributions to the art community are important, but still, not much has changed; Chela herself only knows around five Black advisors. The article includes an anecdote in which art dealer, Joeonna Bellorado-Samuels, recalls attending an industry dinner where the daughter of a well-known collector presumed she was an artist – the palatable (or profitable?) role that a person of colour can have in the art world. “Art dealer” was her fourth and final guess, compounded by confusion and, perhaps, a tremor of fear. 

Earlier this year, Chela launched Komuna House, an art club for people of colour that is everything that membership clubs like The Wing are not. The millennial pink, Instagram-friendly inclusivity espoused by The Wing has, in recent years, been exposed as a distraction from the regular racist, classist and discriminatory conduct that its employees and, alas, many of its paying members, are subject to. ‘I just wanted to create a place where we wouldn’t have to deal with that,’ Chela explains – the programme of events is centred around artists and collectors of colour, and though anyone’s able to join, she wants to be ‘very, very clear’ that Komuna House will exclude the white gaze. She hopes to use the platform to build a community, to foster professional networks between artists and buyers, and ultimately, to ‘weaponise’ members with the knowledge and power necessary to transform the art world for good. Komuna House launched in March, and so it predates George Floyd’s murder; ‘I didn’t know the importance of what I was doing – I mean, I did – but I now understand it differently as the year has progressed.’ 

To Chela, the artist of our era whose work embodies the powerful potential that art can have is the painter Kerry James Marshall. She describes his work as being ‘brilliant beyond measure,’ in terms of its technical and cultural significance. She recalls walking around his 2017 retrospective, Mastry, with her mouth wide upon, unable to speak the whole time. ‘I’m from south-east DC, and there’s so much shame from being from there’. Through Marshall’s work, marginalised and impoverished communities, like the one Chela grew up around, are given agency. The projects are often depicted as scary places where drugs use, crime and violence are rife; and while Chela contends that those things may be true, there’s a sense of community that’s hard to find elsewhere – communities that come together with all they’ve got to make it work for everyone. Chela’s original plan to open a gallery is something she still dreams about every day, and she knows exactly how the space would look. Of course, 2020 has thrown any short-term plans up in the air for the foreseeable future – but that’s no bad thing. She hopes to have conversations with artists, to get a real understanding of what an ideal gallery should be. As she points out,

“if I open a gallery with the industry’s current business model, how am I creating change?”

What she does know, is that it will be a space for everybody, free from the fear of judgement. There are only so many times you can walk into a ‘very well-known gallery’ for an exhibition of a Black artist, ask for the price list and be made to feel like you’re crazy. At Chela’s gallery, you can be, and do, what you want. ‘And I think that’s why I have to make a space because that’s the kind of energy we need now more than ever.’ 

Chela Mitchell Art (CMA) provides art advisory to private, public and new collectors looking to navigate the contemporary art market. With experience as a collector and a deep understanding of the industry, Chela is able to assist clients in all aspects of building a fine art collection.

Research and knowledge of the contemporary art world is the core of our commitment to our clients and positions us to help collectors acquire works of art from emerging and established artists. From artist studio visits to auctions, Chela Mitchell Art is able to secure the pieces that our clients need to build their collections.

Credits

Chela Mitchell Art is a member of the New Art Dealers Alliance (NADA).
www.instagram.com/chelamitchellart
www.chelamitchellart.com

Designers

  1. Lunga Ntila
  2. Alanna Fields

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

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

Justin French

“The beauty of creating imagery is that ideas do not have to be completely finished or expertly manufactured”

When did you start taking pictures?

I began taking images professionally around 2014. A friend recommended me to a brand that needed a photographer to get imagery during NYFW and for the next two seasons I covered most of the backstage activity. From there I just continued photographing friends. 

How do you find the balance between the vision you have and the mediums you are using?

I don’t really think so much about it, I usually just have the idea and find a way to achieve it. The beauty of creating imagery is that ideas do not have to be completely finished or expertly manufactured, they simply need to be developed enough such that the image can be executed, the rest is up to viewer imagination.

What inspired your style of work?

A combination of classic and modern photography, as well as fantasy and documentary photography. Most often I’m reading, listening to music or watching films and a particular aspect about something within that content will inspire me to create.

Where do you get inspiration from? 

I draw lots of inspiration from cultural imagery and films, also lots of inspiration for me comes from music and songwriters. Helps me to imagine and develop visuals.

What is the process behind a photography, if there is one?

There is a certain emotional intensity I strive to have present in my work. Much of that is achieved by trying to establish some level of comfort between myself and those I am working with.

Would you say that there is a main thread connecting all your photographs and if so, which is it?

I believe the tie that binds the imagery together would be this aspect of aspiration to the images. I feel as though however serious or playful in tone the images appear, there is a level of strength and honour present in each.

What kind of talks would you like to hear around your photographs? 

I am really excited when I hear diverging dialogues regarding my imagery, my intent is to create impactful imagery that can conjure reactions like nostalgia, comfort, amusement, familial, imagination, and also possibility.

Darby Milbrath

“I see my art as a collaborative spiritual practise”

The significance of the theater in Darby’s art practice began in childhood and later into a profession as a contemporary dancer. Her commitment was primarily to the technique of the late pioneer, José Limón, which is based on the falling and recovering of a human body. It explores the adaptability of a body in space, indulging and resisting the polarities of high and low, swinging from one extreme to another like a pendulum. The tension and duality of these echoes in the complexities, miseries and beauties of human life as a trope of Melpomene and Thalia, the theatrical masks of tragedy and comedy. In this dance, bodies are instruments in an orchestra, working alone or in solidarity, suspending and releasing, giving and taking, descending and ascending. The cyclical nature of ebb and flow, death and rebirth are ongoing themes explored in Darby’s paintings which express empathy, sexuality, sorcery, womanhood and ceremony. Her paintings are intimate and confessional self-portraits of her life as a young woman. A mystic, Darby believes her work is a collaborative process with the spirits and a parting of the veils between the realms.

When did you start painting and creating?

In childhood I began as a dancer. After training at The Winnipeg School of Contemporary Dancers, I continued dance and choreography professionally. In the last three years drawing and painting have become my primary focus.

How do you find the balance between the vision you have and the mediums you are using?

My work is a practise of letting go of my own ideas and expectations so that I can listen to the guidance of the spirits and my intuition. I see my art as a collaborative spiritual practise. By painting and studying everyday I hope to better understand my mediums so that I can more skillfully and freely denote without doubt.

What inspired your style of work?

As a dancer I understand line, movement, expression of emotion, harmony and music, all which inspire my painting. I was immersed visually with female bodies in motion, on stage, backstage, in costume, in the nude and in a myriad of emotions for most years of my life. These images still permeate into all of my drawings and paintings. My flat backgrounds are inspired by theatre stage set designs. Theatrical elements such as the colours and textures of stage curtains and costumes, masks, props and lighting as well as the mystery, drama, superstition and magic of the theatre often come to play in my paintings.

Where do you get inspiration from? Are there any particular artists, photographers, painters or designers you look up to their works?

I’m currently looking at works by Odilon Redon, Marc Chagall, Edvard Munch,  Raoul Dufy, Emily Carr, Van Gogh and  Édouard Vuillard for inspiration.

How long does it take to create a piece? What is the process being it?

The time fluctuates depending on my emotional state and level of resistance. A painting can take as little as one hour and as long as half a year. I approach a canvas similarly to performance which is very ritualistically and superstitiously. The canvas which I stretch and prepare myself is done and ready on an easel. I will often burn herbs and rub oils onto the backs of the paintings and myself for luck. A candle is usually lit. Always I paint to music. Always I physically warm up my body so that I’m loose and present. I paint from memory and imagination, without a plan, reference or sketches, so I try to be as open and physical as possible to avoid fear or judgment to cloud my sense of intuition and play.

Would you say that there is a main thread connecting all your artworks and if so, which is it?

My work is diaristic. I am the thread connecting the artworks. Femininity, nature, mysticism, and dance are all very strong themes in my life and painting. I am deeply connected to my childhood which was spent on the West Coast gulf islands in Canada where the nature is overwhelmingly wild, fruitful and erotic. Since childhood I have had visions and hauntings of ghosts and spirits. Mysticism and magic are embedded into all my works. I am closely knit with my sisters who I paint metaphorically in nearly every painting. Sisterhood and expressing the lightness/darkness of being a woman is an ongoing theme in my work. All of these elements weave and dance together on the stage of my canvas.

 

What kind of talks would you like to hear around your artworks? 

I need to stay present in the process of creating rather than in the consequential conversations of the work that is finished. I need to just keep going on in the dark, forward.

Designers

  1. Mirror
  2. Women in the Field
  3. The Fortune Teller’s Tent
  4. The Flowering
  5. Fruits Of Paradise
  6. Red Moon In The Orchard
  7. Dancers in the wings

C. Fitz

“sometimes, it’s really not reinventing yourself, it’s just finally coming into what you’ve always been”

As a filmmaker, director and producer, C. Fitz has built up a wealth of experience working within the industry. Starting out working on the commercial side, Fitz worked on the pilot of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy back in 2003 – a gig that introduced her to TV work. Yet, documentaries and short films have always been a passion for Fitz, something that is clearly apparent in the way that ShowGirls, Provincetown, MA (2009) and Jewel’s Catch One (2016) are shot. Whilst ShowGirls, a documentary about the showgirls of Provincetown’s legendary talent show, has become something of a cult hit, Jewel’s Catch One was picked up for release by Ava DuVernay’s distribution company, ARRAY, in 2018. The documentary tells the story of Jewel Thais-Williams, whose nightclub, the Catch One in LA, provided a safe space for LGBTQ, Black and Aids-affected communities over the four decades it was open. During its tenure, the Catch became a haven from the outside world for many, as rare footage of Madonna at the club in Fitz’s film demonstrates. With interviews from Thelma Houston, who heard her hit song Don’t Leave Me This Way for the first time at the Catch, Sharon Stone and Evelyn “Champagne” King, Jewel’s Catch One is a loyal and endearing tribute to the legacy of Thais-Williams. In the time since the documentary’s release, Fitz has been working on other projects; a few days prior to our phone call, Fitz enjoyed her TV scripted directorial debut for an episode of the fourth series of Ava DuVernay’s TV show, Queen Sugar. Speaking to Fitz, it is clear that the opportunity to watch this debut alongside Ava at Array’s Amanda Theatre, LA, is as valuable as the opportunity to tell important stories and create thought-provoking content.

NR MAGAZINE: Something that is striking about Jewel’s Catch One is the need to preserve the memories of the space as the club was being wound up. Did you anticipate this change when you started out filming to documentary?

C. Fitz: When I started making the film, I did not think of Catch One without Jewel as the owner because, at that time, it was all that that building and its stories had known for a little over three and a half decades. I did feel strongly about recording the history so that her story and the stories of our community’s perseverance were not lost. To me, the film was like a huge unwritten textbook that needed to be made.

NR: Would you agree that some aspects of Jewel’s Catch One, in the short time since filming, now feel bittersweet, as the political mood seems to be operating in reverse?

C.F: The political climate today; it seems like we’ve got so far to go to reach equality….one step forward, two back, three back…..I don’t think we ever imagined that we could feel like we are going in reverse. I think there is a lesson there too. Is it reverse, or do we just need to keep on fighting and not get distracted from making change happen? We need to dig in like Jewel, the patrons, and supporters of Catch One did for years to fight for our rights and our community’s rights. Change, real change, takes time and tenacity to believe it will, and can happen. This is one of the takeaways from making this film. During the four decades the Catch One operated there were many times the police tried to tear down communities  – whether it was raiding and targeting the Black and Gay clubs at hours that would hurt their businesses the most, or arresting patrons for false acquisitions. The film sheds some light on what that felt like, and what not giving up looks like…

NR: As a filmmaker, what compels you to tell someone’s story for an audience that may have little connection to, or knowledge of, their circumstances?  

C.F: Jewel’s Catch One has a very important history that I wanted to preserve in a format that would carry its message for a broader audience in, for, and outside of Los Angeles. I felt this film contained so many different histories and lessons for everyone, and everyone should know this story so they can reflect on how we got here as a country, and how we can persevere in the future towards equality.

NR: In Jewel’s Catch One and ShowGirls, there’s a real sense of community forged around the shared enjoyment and appreciation for the spaces and entertainment involved. How do you achieve the warmth in these films that can be felt as a viewer? 

C.F: I feel you need to spend as much time as you can as a filmmaker, recording what you can document, and then reflecting back on the footage in the edit room to tell the best story to your audience. With each film, I spent a lot of time with my subjects – and did whatever I could to learn about them, their environments and basically submerse myself in their worlds. In both instances, I was already a part of some of the ‘world’ but needed to learn more, to find out why they are doing what they are doing.

NR: Do you think you can tell stories if you’re not really part of that world, or do you have to have a connection to it to be able to tell it well?

C.F: I think, as a filmmaker, especially in terms of documentary, you have to have some connection to it. That doesn’t mean you have to be of that community, but you have to have that passion to tell that story. How you tell it is what you have to figure out next, and hopefully you figure out so you can tell it the right way. You have to immerse yourself, talk to people, find out all the different stories you need, and then find the ones that are the best to support the story you want to tell.

NR: Being around Jewel and the spaces she’s involved with, was there a sense of community that struck you as unique to that space? How did people react to Jewel, and respond to what she was doing?

C.F: It was amazing, it really, really was. Whether it be at the Catch or the Village Health Foundation, I got a little sense of what the soup kitchens that were held in the parking lot back in the ‘80s-‘90s would have been like. In the documentary, there are scenes from the 2016 Pride Parade in LA, which Jewel was a part of, and people were thanking her for all the work she’s done. That’s the community she built and supported – and supported when nobody else would. So the sense of community was incredible, and the sense of her being the mother of it all was incredible to watch and really feel.

NR: How did the relationship with Ava [DuVernay] come about? 

C.F: We met her at Urbanworld Film Festival, our New York debut. She was speaking there, and was our top choice of distributor. How we were going to get there, we weren’t sure. It’s a great story – how we actually, physically, met. She was leaving after giving a speech on the last day of the festival, and Jewel and I were behind trying to catch up with her. We weren’t doing so hot, but we were close. And then it was kismet and she was pushed back into me by the crowd  and I helped her back up;(It was so crowded and every one wanted to talk to her) and she turns right around and says, ‘good catch’, which was so funny considering the film’s called Jewel’s Catch One. Anyway, then she was off again, but when I had the chance, I grabbed her and said, ‘Hi! My name is Fitz, I have Jewel’s Catch One which is my documentary and this is Jewel’; she turns to Jewel and she says, ‘you’re Jewel? I’ve heard so much great stuff about you’. She told me that she definitely wanted to review my film, that she’d heard great stuff about it. These things are never instant; it took two years to distribute the film. But, Array is where the film was supposed to be. They take such great care of their filmmakers and are celebratory of their filmmakers, and that was really important to me, And it was such a gift. It was such an interesting meeting the first time, but it was meant to be.

NR: Have there been any major obstacles that you’ve had to confront over the course of your career?

C.F: In general, I think, as a filmmaker, you really hope you’re picking the right projects and the right subjects, especially when it’s a passion project. You know, Jewel’s Catch One took me six years to make, and another two to distribute. That requires perseverance, and you’re also praying that you’re choosing the right things. You also have to be connected to what you’re doing and feel strongly about it – like I felt so strongly in my bones that I wanted to tell Jewel’s story. Again, with Queer Eye, I helped develop and create the pilot, and I wanted for that to be a masterpiece and make a difference in the world. It’s the same with being assigned as a director on Queen Sugar by Ava; I wanted it to be perfect and, I don’t know if that’s an obstacle, but you’re hoping that you’re choosing the right projects.

You’re talking about reinvention, and I think that that’s also about choosing what you’re going to be passionate about and what you’re going to really have that crazy tenacity for, in order to make content in the right way. Like Jewel’s Catch One, that could have been done a million different ways; it certainly could have been done in a shorter amount of time, without the music in it, without Thelma Houston, Evelyn Champagne King, and Sharon Stone… But, all those things matter to that story around Jewel being the central figure around them all, you know? So, yeah, time is always the hardest obstacle. But you know that; that’s part of the job. If you’re going to reinvent yourself, I think you really need to know what your passions are to have the perseverance that you’re going to need to get there. And sometimes, it’s really not reinventing yourself, it’s just finally coming into what you’ve always been and people seeing it finally.

Benjamin Hoffman

“The best camera in the world is the camera you carry with you”

In many of Benjamin Hoffman’s photographs, groups seem to congregate, often taking part in what seems like leisurely activities, or captured in moments of pause and relaxation. There is usually, if not one, but multiple pairs of eyes meeting the camera’s gaze; an acknowledgement of the French photographer’s presence. For Hoffman, his photographs tell the story of groups of people and communities that may otherwise go unnoticed and unseen, even in a global world. When his series following the gypsy community in France over a period of three and half years was published in the book Testament Manouche in 2016, an outpouring of people contacted Hoffman; they were able to get to know a community that hadn’t registered on their radar. That is Hoffman’s ambition; ‘I just want to tell stories, that’s what matter to me. I want people to learn something, and if it touches someone else, that’s my aim’, he explains. 

With a background in journalism, Hoffman knows how to capture and translate the stories of those he encounters through a photograph – the rich colours in his images reinforce the ‘reality’ that he seeks to leave unchanged as he finds it. But Hoffman is no purist; he often uses his iPhone, and, the series Farewell Cape Town, shot in black and white unlike many of his other projects, was captured using the Hipstamatic App to achieve the desired effect. His images strive to tell important stories about communities in moments of flux, like the fishing village on the verge of disappearance in The Bay, or the last remaining Jews in Ethiopia still waiting, after decades, to reach the Promised Land in Beta Israel, but there is undoubtedly an element of Hoffman himself in his work. Whilst Farewell Cape Town captures the photographer’s experience of moving, and falling in love with, the complex history and beauty of South Africa, his approach of building up relationships with those who his lens falls upon contributes to the sense of simple humanity that transcend the subject matter.  

Your series Farewell Cape Town was shot on an iPhone – how do you frame images through that technology? 

I’ve had many friends come and ask me what camera they should buy, and I always reply that the best camera in the world is the camera you carry with you. And well, nowadays, everyone has smartphones and iPhones. I think these make great cameras because you have them with you all the time. It’s like some kind of a visual notebook. I often carry a proper camera with me as well, but with the iPhone, you’re way more discreet. Most of the time, people don’t realise that I am shooting, and they are way less afraid [of the iPhone] than a real camera. I think people are so used to mobile phones as cameras because they’re comfortable with them; they take pictures of themselves and their friends with them. So when someone with an aim, like me, is taking pictures with a mobile phone, many barriers come down; I think it’s a truly interesting tool. I really like the era we are living in in the 21st century, and for photography it is something really amazing. I think I take maybe 50 to 100 photos a day: I always shoot with my mobile phone and I am totally obsessed with it. Sometimes I spend hours just looking at the photos from the last year or months. My phone is like an extension of my hand. I use this tool (the smartphone) to keep a visual diary, for observations. It kind of replaces a notebook for me.

It’s interesting that people are more willing to be photographed by an iPhone than a camera.

For sure, I think in many, many parts of the world people are used to it, it’s become part of their lives. Everyone now, even in remote places of the world, knows smartphones. They use them, they’re not afraid of them anymore. There’s a real difference.  It is important to me that the smartphones are now part of the daily life of most of the people on the planet. The uses have changed and it is interesting for photographers to dive into this and find our place.

What informs your choice of subject and the people you photograph?  

I was trained as a journalist – I was a TV journalist working in documentaries for a long time, and then I kind of switched to photography. I think as a documentarist so usually I have a subject in mind and a story to tell. The story comes before the pictures; usually, I have the questions but I don’t have the answers, and the answers come in the process of taking the pictures. But the people I shoot, they’re usually connected to the story I want to tell, or the questions I’m asking myself. I don’t shoot people just because of the way they move or act, but because it tells a story. Most of the subjects I choose echo to inner questioning that I have. They are always around the same concerns, which are the identity quest, the will of preserving a story and a past. All the pictures are like small dots connected to each other, and together it tells the story.  

Would you be able to speak about one of your upcoming projects, The Bay?

That’s coming soon, and it’ll be published as a book too. I’ve always been fascinated by the connection between people and the sea. When I was in Cape Town, I met a small community living in a small village called Kalk Bay – it’s made up of a really old fishing community dating back to the 17th – 18th centuries. They still sh in the same way they used to sh 200 years ago, but the community is totally disappearing right now because of things like globalisation, pollution, warming waters. I went into the community and gained their con dence, eventually going out to sea with them. That was something really amazing. What I found really interesting is that a few hundred people in that small community, the small story, weaves into the bigger story – of apartheid, of South Africa’s history.

It’s quite interesting the way you talk about the relationship between people and nature because, in a lot of your images, there are crowds or groups of people who seem to make up the landscape: What informs the composition of your work, and that relationship between people and nature? 

I mean it’s interesting because, apart from commission work, in my personal work I don’t usually shoot many portraits. I usually like to shoot people in groups because I like the interactions between people and, as you said, usually the landscapes are modified by humans. I like the combination because the eye of the viewer can work from the landscape to the people, and so I like to integrate landscape into the picture. I rarely shoot landscapes without people.

As a photographer where do you find your inspiration for the scenes that you capture?  

I think there are hundreds of answers, and I think it’s really classic what I’m going to say but, inspiration is everywhere. Living in 2020 is something amazing because you have access to so many things. And, I have Instagram as well so, of course, I can scroll through a lot of images… So I find my inspiration everywhere, but the ideas of what I want to work on are usually formed by wandering the streets of the place I’m in. Like, with The Bay, I wandered there, met the fishermen and, step by step, I dug into the story. With a lot of the topics I work on, they come from discussions I have with people, or news I find on the radio or in the newspapers; I’m attracted to something and then start digging and exploring, and I find a story to tell.  

You mentioned earlier that you take hundreds of pictures a day; which ones make the cut and why? 

Well, it’s a good question – there are two things. There are the images I take mechanically I would say; photos that I take when there’s a light that I like, when there’s a shape that I like, when I want to take a portrait of someone that interests me. And I barely use those pictures. Sometimes, I post one online because I want to remember the moment, and I use my Instagram as a visual notebook. When I’m working on a project I work the same way, taking a lot of pictures but, when I take a picture I instantly know if I’m going to keep it or not. I don’t know if there’s a word for it in English, but, for me, it’s about what’s going on outside the frame. That’s really important to me: all the emotions, the feelings that happened when I took the pictures. I mean, sometimes a photo isn’t good and I can’t use it because it’s blurry or whatever, but I keep it because it will be connected to the other pictures, and the rest of the story. 

You mention you see yourself as kind of a documentarian, but do you see your photography as art or as journalism? 

That’s a tricky question. I’d like to say both, but I don’t think I’m the right person to decide. I mean, I’ve had a few exhibitions in galleries, sometimes I sell prints, and I know people have hung my prints in their home and I’m really happy and honoured about that. Maybe it’s both. If my work is art in someone’s mind, I’ll accept that but I do not define myself as an artist at all. And I do not see myself as a journalist anymore. I just want to tell stories, and I’m always trying to find a way of telling the truth – but I don’t have that obligation to be objective anymore. Because I see myself as a documentarist, I’m able to have my own point of view. I’m able to tell the stories in the way I want to because I felt a certain way, or because it’s important to me. I think having a point of view and being able to express that makes the difference.

Credits

Photography BENJAMIN HOFFMAN
www.benjaminhoffman.fr
www.instagram.com/benjaminhoffman

Shaquille-Aaron Keith

“I like emotions, they should always be the centre point of anyone’s art form”

Shaquille Keith credits his mum for being the drive behind his creative output; as a child, she would always make sure a young Shaquille had the tools – pens, pencils, paper – to draw with. But it wasn’t just art that she encouraged Shaquille to pursue; ‘she made me play the trumpet for eight years. These are things that I’m so grateful for, even if I wasn’t at the time.’ Those formative experiences have helped Shaquille get to where he has today, as a painter and a poet; he attributes the rhythm that helps structure his poetry to learning the trumpet. Many people familiar with Shaquille will know him as one fourth of PAQ, the YouTube streetwear show that he started with friends Danny Thomas, Dexter Black and Elias Riadi in 2017 when they were all on the cusp of their twenties. The show, which carved out a space online to passionately discuss men’s fashion, without the pretence and sincerity that often comes with the territory of high-end and streetwear gear, is an unequivocal success. To date, the show, which airs every Thursday, has over 84 million views and not far off 800,000 subscribers. Shaquille, himself, has nearly 275,000 Instagram followers, and shots of him wearing an array of covetable attire – including campaign shoots for some of fashion’s biggest names – are interspersed with his paintings, his poetry and other musings about his creative process. The success of PAQ can be attributed to how personable its hosts are, and the same applies to the kind of inclusive community that congregates on the comment section of Shaquille’s Instagram posts. At this point, Shaquille has reached a level of success that many can only dream of, but it’s clear that this is only the start of where he hopes to eventually get – with dreams to take his painting and poetry to new heights.  ‘Oh the artist, Shaquille Keith, did you see him in that music video with – I don’t know – Drake?’ he muses in our conversation; ‘Did you see the artist Shaquille Keith acted in that new James Bond movie?’ There’s little doubt, however, that, when that day comes, Shaquille won’t share it with his PAQ peers, his online fanbase and, most importantly, his mum. 

To start with, when you’re creating your artwork or poetry, what inspires the direction that you take? 

I would say it’s all about how I’m feeling at the time. In my experience, I find that, if I’m talking, it never stays in the person’s head. I always feel like, when you go to a concert and see the way fans know all the lyrics, they’ll say, ‘I love this song so much because it resonates with me especially when,…’A four minute song resonates better than a 30 minute conversation, so that’s why I like to write poetry. And when it comes to painting, it’s about the idea of identity and how I feel. When you’re trying to explain how you feel to someone, they don’t always get it. But, sometimes, when you do a picture that’s more than just a pretty picture – something with meaning – and you give it a title that reflects how you feel, and the image depicts how you feel, I think that can communicate it a lot better. Whenever I create an image, or put pen to paper, I would like to think it’s always for the purpose of communicating something important. And it’s also for reassurance that, whatever I’m going through, I’m not the only one. Sometimes it can be daunting when you’re going through something and you don’t have anyone to really talk to about it. I’m grateful to be able to put my work out there and have enough people see it and say, ‘actually, I’m going through this too.’

I think it’s quite interesting the way you share your poetry online; posting photos of handwritten poems is quite a personal thing to do. What do you hope people reading your poetry in this way will gain from that experience? 

I can’t lie, my handwriting is absolutely shit, but I don’t mind it because I feel like, that’s what my aesthetic is. Sometimes it looks good, sometimes it looks bad, but I really like to think people would read it if they can make out the words. I like to think people do read it straight from the book because if you do that, it’s more raw – which is why I want to make my own poetry book, with the pages of what I’ve written with a type out on the back so you can read it. I would rather people read from the actual book itself, rather than just reading the caption if I’m posting on social media.

You’ve got quite a big social media platform for people to engage with your work. But, as an artist, what role does sharing your work have for you?  

I don’t rely on my social media to define my work as such, but I guess the role it’s played is that I’m able to get immediate feedback from people. Until you share a poem or a painting, they’re pretty much done for yourself. If I’m writing something, I’m pretty much talking to myself, and then when I share it, I’m putting it out there for people to engage with so I can understand what they take away from it. So I think the one good thing about social media is that it allows me to see what people think about my work, who it’s for and whether it’s for everybody. When I get comments from people saying, ‘you know what, I’m not into poetry, but I like your shit’ – that makes me feel good, that’s kind of inspiring. 

Do you think you would have been able to get to the place you have with your art without other platforms that you have, like the YouTube channel PAQ? 

The thing about PAQ, and not a lot of people know this but, with the very first episode of PAQ – before we even knew what it was going to be – was my idea. So obviously, all four of us got together with the idea of making a show and everyone came up with good ideas for the first episode but in the end we ran with the one I offered and I think, that alone, is testament to what I wanted to do creatively anyway. I feel like, if I didn’t have PAQ, in another reality it would have been something else – or, my art itself would have been the platform. But I’m so grateful for the PAQ platform; it’s something that’s completely different, something that’s not been done before. And I do feel like it’s given me access to things, particularly in the fashion world, that I wouldn’t have had access to before. PAQ has enabled me to find more interesting ways to mix art and fashion, which also contributes to my other stuff.  

Something that strikes me about your work is that the emotion behind it is really important; is communicating that emotion as central to the artwork itself? 

Yeah, 100%. In art, whatever platform it takes: music; movies; literature; whatever – if it doesn’t move you then, in my opinion, it couldn’t get further away from an artwork. Art should essentially be made up of raw emotion. Things that are very bland, where you don’t know much about the artist and what they’re thinking, aren’t for me. There are other artists that I’m not really interested in, like sometimes Jackson Pollock’s work – it doesn’t always interest me. It’s very contemporary, but just not the style of art that I would have in my house because it doesn’t represent how I’m feeling. I like emotions, they should always be the centre point of anyone’s art form.  

You’ve touched on this a little already, but what ambitions do you have for your work in the future? 

When everyone talks about my stuff now, they call me a presenter. Also, I hate people calling me an influencer; I’m like, ‘bro, I’m not an influencer – please don’t call me that.’ I want to do what I love as a lifestyle, but also redefine the respect that painters get. It’s like, I always see hip hop stars, actors, presenters at fashion shows – I’d love to get invited to all these things with my main title as ‘artist’. That’s the kind of respect I want for painters, because I think there’s a lot of talented people, artists, poets working at a level of quality that I appreciate. I’m grateful for the fact I’m able to do PAQ, but grateful for my artwork because that allows me to blend the two, you know? So, that’s pretty much the goal: to redefine the level of respect for artists everywhere – and also for the black community as well. I feel like the black community is constantly left out of the art world. I mean, it’s a very tough world for black people to get into, but I believe that we’re in the right time, in the right generation, to make that change. So, I would love to be one of the people that spearheads that as well. 

I think that’s a really valid point – I think you can definitely see in the fashion world, it’s opened itself up more to include more people, but art is still quite closed off. I guess it’s easier to say, ‘I’m into fashion’ than it is to say ‘I’m a poet.’ 

I feel like it’s going to be a mission, but I’m willing to do it.

It’s going to be fun too; a lot of ups and downs, but it’ll be rewarding in the end. 

Ed Freeman

“I don’t deal in messages and meanings; my job is ask questions, not to answer them”

There is an otherworldly quality to Ed Freeman’s images of buildings, where hangovers of the twentieth century, such as motel signs and fast food joints, are captured within a desolate environment. This is deliberate, as Freeman resituates iconic elements of the American Dream within a digitally-configured landscape he has careful created. By inserting different landmarks into the same, but nevertheless slightly altered setting, Freeman challenges the viewer to look more closely at the subject matter, and in turn, at the built environment proper. Freeman’s imagined scenes take on a more obvious appearance in his series of dreamlike underwater nudes. What seem, at first glance, as painterly visions of figures gliding deep below the sea, are, on closer inspection, derived from photographs taken of models shot in a swimming pool. Digital enhancement and manipulation drives Freeman’s work, and by immersing the viewer in this constructed world, the qualities that make up the ‘real world’ return to the fore.

How does your work capture emotion in a way that non-manipulated photography cannot?

Non-manipulated photography is unmatched for capturing emotion. What I can do with manipulation is remove elements that distract from that emotion, modify lighting to enhance that emotion. It’s difficult or impossible to invent emotion where none existed before.

Do you envision the final outcome of an image when you’re taking photographs prior to editing?

Absolutely. When I look in the viewfinder, I see what’s in front of the lens, but I also see what the final print looks like. I’m always very conscious of what I can and cannot do in post-production. When I’m photographing old buildings and I know I’m going to erase the surrounding structures, I’m careful to shoot some nearby empty land to fill in the parts that I’m going to erase. When I’m photographing underwater nudes, I think, “that was an almost perfect body shot. Her eyes were closed, but there’s that great facial expression I shot five minutes ago. I think I can splice that head onto this body. And maybe I have a better foot someplace; I’d better check.”

What is the importance for you in documenting the landmarks of a bygone era in the Realty series; What do you want the viewer to take from them?

Viewers can take from my pictures whatever they want; it’s not my job to control their experience. But for me, these old buildings are part nostalgia and part a commentary on the death of the American Dream. I grew up in a time when America was an optimistic land of opportunity. Now it seems to have devolved into a land of xenophobia, racism, polarization and paranoia. These crumbling buildings hark back to a simpler, happier past and by extension, maybe point the way to a happier, albeit less naive future.

Similarly, many of the buildings you have photographed have since disappeared, so what can they tell us about the present and the future?

Everything changes, everything ages and evolves. Today’s hip will be tomorrow’s kitsch, next year’s laughing stock and next generation’s quaint gem waiting to be discovered and revived. That has forever been true yet each generation has to learn it for themselves.

“For me the solution is to be passionately invested in the present, fascinated with the future and at the same time know and love the past – sort of the same way you know and love your goldfish.”

What draws you to the themes you explore?

Well, first of all, I’ve always liked the way people look without their clothes on. I’d probably be a nudist if I weren’t such a prude. That pretty much explains the underwater nudes. Other than that, I have no insights to offer.

“I’m interested in EVERYTHING and if I had enough time, I’d photograph everything. Thank God I don’t because my filing system is complicated enough as it is.”

Visually, the Underwater and Realty series could not seem more different, but are there any shared meanings in them?

I don’t deal in messages and meanings; my job is ask questions, not to answer them. Sort of analogous to the chef who might say, “my job is to prepare food, not to eat it.”

Your practice hinges upon digital photography and manipulation; Do you think that over time it will be recognized as its own medium? 

Identifying what I do as distinct from traditional photography is not particularly important to me, but I think it is to people who collect photography – they have a legitimate right to know how much manipulation, if any, has been done to an image. Any serious collector of mid-century photography knows that Ansel Adams used every darkroom trick in the book to refine his images, whereas Edward Weston was a purist who never did any modification to his. They both made stunning works of art. These days, we have more ways to manipulate pictures than Ansel ever dreamed of. I’m not sure we have to invent a new term for altered photographs, but we certainly have to be upfront about what goes into the finished picture. Some people look down their noses at extensive manipulation, but most (including me, obviously) just see it as one option among many in contemporary photography. Any technology, including Photoshop, can be used to create art. “Whether or not it’s a great novel depends on the writer, not the typewriter.”

Credits

www.edfreeman.com/collections

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