Author Magazine 5/6/26 Author Magazine 5/6/26

Lynette Yiadom-Boakye: Portraits of People Who Do Not Exist — and the Truth They Tell

She paints invented figures with the authority of someone who has known them for years. The results are among the most psychologically acute portraits in contemporary art.

The figures in Lynette Yiadom-Boakye's paintings are not real. She has been asked about this so consistently, across a career of now more than twenty years, that she has developed a considered answer: "They are not portraits of specific people, but they are portraits of real states of being." The distinction matters, and not just philosophically. It explains why paintings of entirely invented subjects can feel, consistently and sometimes overwhelmingly, like you know these people. Like you have met them in a room that you can almost but not quite remember.

She works fast, by the standards of painting — most canvases in a day or two, some in hours — which gives the work a quality of immediacy that very slow painting does not have. The figures emerge from the process rather than from preparatory sketches or photographic reference. She begins with a form, a color, a posture, and discovers the person through the act of painting rather than executing a pre-formed idea. The psychological depth of the work is not the product of extended contemplation. It is the product of a very fast and very deep kind of seeing.

Lynette Yiadom-Boakye‘s Imaginary portrait

We met at her studio in London, in a building she has occupied for eight years and which has, as a result, the accumulation of a painter's practice inscribed everywhere: paint on the floor, canvases in various states of completion on every surface, books stacked with the slightly chaotic organization of someone who reads in order to think, not in order to organize what they know.

She is unhurried in conversation in a way that is unusual in the London art world, where speed and currency of reference are the social currency. She thinks before she speaks. She changes her mind in the middle of sentences. She is, in person, extraordinarily kind — which is not something you would necessarily predict from the work, which is serious and demanding and occasionally, in its stillness, faintly ominous.

"The question I am always asked," she says, "is what the figures are feeling. People look at a painting and immediately want to know: is this person sad? Is this person waiting for something? Is this person in love? And the question reveals something important about how we relate to images of people — we want to resolve them into a state that we can name. I am not interested in giving people that resolution. I am interested in the moment before it. The state of being that has not yet become a feeling with a name."

This is, in contemporary painting, an unusual position. Most figurative work — and there is a great deal of figurative work being produced right now — either tells you what the subject is feeling (which is sentimental) or refuses to engage with feeling at all (which is cold). Yiadom-Boakye does something more difficult: she presents people in states of emotional specificity that resist verbal articulation, which is, in the most precise sense, what painting can do that language cannot.

The figures are almost always Black, which has generated a discussion about representation that she engages with directly and carefully. "The absence of Black figures in Western portraiture is not just a historical fact," she says. "It has a continuing effect on how we imagine the interior life of Black people. When you see a white person sitting quietly in a painting, you think: they are contemplating something. When you see a Black person sitting quietly, that contemplation has, historically, not been assumed. My paintings are, in part, an insistence on that interior. On the right to be complex."

*No Need of Speech*, 2018. Carnegie Museum of Art.

Her 2023 retrospective at Tate Britain — 'Time Only Swells the Song' — was one of the most significant exhibitions of British art in recent memory: not because of its scale, though it was large, but because of the sustained argument it made about what figurative painting can do when the painter has something to say.

The current work, which we were shown in progress, is darker in palette and more psychologically compressed than her earlier pieces. The figures are more interior, less outward-facing. She says she has been thinking about solitude — "not loneliness, which is a complaint, but solitude, which is a practice" — and about the specific quality of presence that a person has when they believe themselves to be unobserved.

This, too, is a Yiadom-Boakye subject: the moment before the performance of self begins. The person as they are before the world asks them to be something.

By Oona chanel

Author Magazine 4/29/26 Author Magazine 4/29/26

One Frame, Every Day

Photographer Zhong Lin spent 365 consecutive days making one image within a strict 24-hour window. What she discovered was not merely a body of work — but the architecture of her own creative mind.

What begins as constraint becomes structure.
What becomes structure becomes language.
And what becomes language — if you commit to speaking it every day for a year — becomes yours.

The most disciplined thing a photographer can do is also the most ordinary: pick up the camera. Not when conditions are ideal. Not when the concept is fully formed or the light is obedient or the day has decided to cooperate. But now. Today. Before the hour runs out.

This is the quiet radicalism at the centre of Zhong Lin’s Project 365 — a year-long undertaking that asked not for greatness on command, but for presence, daily and without negotiation. One image. Twenty-four hours. Three hundred and sixty-five times. The parameters read like a constraint. What they became was something closer to a confession: this is who I am when no one is watching, when the work cannot be deferred and the excuses have nowhere to land.

I have spent years inside the world of photography — studying it, writing about it, building a magazine around the belief that image-making is one of the most complete forms of human expression available to us. In that time, I have encountered many projects that announce themselves as important. Fewer reveal themselves as necessary. Project 365 belongs to the second category. It is the record of a photographer learning, in real time and under genuine pressure, who she is.

THE CLOCK STARTS NOW

Zhong Lin is a Malaysian Chinese photographer whose work moves fluidly between conceptual fashion, portraiture, and still life — a range that speaks less to restlessness than to a particular quality of attention. She looks at things slowly. She waits. Her images do not announce themselves; they accumulate, gathering meaning in the spaces between elements rather than in the elements themselves. Hers is a practice built on subtraction — on the radical act of asking, again and again, what the image can do without.

Project 365 began in April 2020. The world was in the early weeks of a stillness it had not chosen, and Zhong Lin found herself in Taiwan, far from the studios and teams and productions that had structured her professional life. The editorials she had been commissioned for were postponed or cancelled. The collaborative machinery of fashion photography — with its stylists and models and art directors and carefully scouted locations — had gone silent. What remained was the photographer alone with what photography had always, at its origin, been: a single person, a single frame, a decision about what matters.

She set the rule herself, which matters. The 24-hour limit was not imposed from outside but chosen from within — an act of self-governance that carries its own significance. To choose a constraint is to refuse the paralysis of infinite possibility. It is to say: I will work within this, and what emerges from within this will be mine in a way that nothing assembled under more comfortable conditions could be.

“To choose a constraint is to refuse the paralysis of infinite possibility. What emerges from within it will be yours in a way nothing assembled under more comfortable conditions could ever be.”

— Oona Chanel

THE GRAMMAR OF CONSTRAINT

There is a particular kind of creative freedom that does not announce itself. It arrives quietly, after the ego has exhausted its objections, after the internal critic has run out of things to say. Somewhere around the fortieth day of Project 365 — by Zhong Lin’s own reckoning — something shifted. The daily question of what to make stopped feeling like a demand and began feeling like an invitation. The constraint had become, against all expectation, a kind of home.

This is not an unusual arc for artists who commit to sustained practice. What is unusual is the precision with which Project 365 documents it. Because the work was made daily and in sequence, the evolution is visible in a way that a conventional portfolio — curated, edited, arranged for effect — could never be. You can watch the eye calibrate. You can see the instincts form. You can trace the exact moment when Zhong Lin stopped making images and started speaking in them.

What the 24-hour rule dismantled, above all else, was the comfortable fiction that the best work requires the best conditions. It does not. The best work requires the most honest conditions — conditions in which there is no time to perform, no room to substitute intention for execution, no possibility of waiting until the idea is good enough to be worth the effort. Every day was the only day. Every image had to justify its existence in the present tense.

Across a year of working predominantly within the quiet geometries of Taiwanese domestic interiors and the stripped-back stillness of its landscapes, Zhong Lin built what I would describe as a visual grammar: a set of recurring decisions — about light, about distance, about the relationship between figure and ground — that accumulated into something unmistakably hers. Shadows that pool with intent. Skin rendered as a surface for illumination rather than a subject for display. Objects divorced from their utility until they become pure presence. None of this was planned. All of it was found.

PORTRAIT OF THE PHOTOGRAPHER AT WORK

To speak of Zhong Lin’s practice is to speak of patience as a form of precision. She does not force a frame. She waits for the moment when the image becomes inevitable — when the elements in front of her have arranged themselves into the only composition that makes sense. This is rarer than it sounds. Most photographers, under pressure, reach. She holds.

Her portraiture is, in this regard, revelatory. Where other photographers construct mood through accumulation — more light, more texture, more deliberate artifice — she arrives at it through removal. A session with Zhong Lin is, by most accounts, a quietly intense experience: minimal direction, long silences, and then a sudden, almost imperceptible shift in her posture that signals she has found what she came for. The subject rarely knows the decisive moment has passed. The image always does.

Her still life work operates on similar principles, though the negotiation is different. Objects cannot be directed; they can only be placed and then waited upon. Zhong Lin’s still lifes are remarkable for what they withhold. A vessel. A length of fabric. A piece of fruit at the exact moment before it tips from ripe to past. These are not beautiful arrangements. They are philosophical propositions — quiet arguments about time, about impermanence, about the way ordinary things become extraordinary the moment we decide to really look.

It is this quality of looking — sustained, deliberate, unafraid of silence — that Project 365 both tested and deepened. Three hundred and sixty-five consecutive days forced her to look when she did not feel like looking, to find when she was not sure there was anything to find. That she succeeded, day after day, is not a testament to talent alone. It is a testament to a kind of creative character: the willingness to show up without guarantee.

“She does not force a frame. She waits for the moment when the image becomes inevitable — when the elements have arranged themselves into the only composition that makes sense.”

INSIDE THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS

I want to be specific about what a 24-hour creative cycle actually demands, because the romance of the constraint tends to obscure its difficulty. It is not a soft deadline. It is an absolute one — and the distinction is everything. A soft deadline can be renegotiated. It can be extended by one day, then another, until the urgency that was supposed to generate the work has dissipated entirely and the work, somehow, still has not been made. An absolute deadline cannot be renegotiated. It simply arrives, and then it passes, and either the image exists or it does not.

For Zhong Lin, the daily cycle began with a question that could not be postponed: what is today’s image? On certain days the answer was immediate — a quality of light she had noticed on waking, a composition she had been turning over in her mind since the previous evening, an instinct so clear it felt less like an idea than a discovery already made. On other days — the ones that make this project worth studying — there was nothing. The afternoon arrived heavy and indistinct. The setups failed. The compositions dissolved before they coalesced. The light went wrong, or right, and it did not matter either way.

And then, in the hours before the deadline, something gave. Not always something large. Not always something that announced itself as significant. But something: a shadow that fell differently than it had an hour before, a gesture caught without being directed, a framing that asked a question the photographer had not thought to ask. The day’s image existed. The constraint had done what extended freedom so rarely does: it had forced a decision, and in forcing the decision, it had forced the work.

It is worth noting — because it surprises people, and it should not — that many of the most compelling images in the series emerged from precisely these resistant days. Not the days when everything aligned, but the days when nothing would, until it did. Pressure is not the enemy of art. Unchallenged comfort is.

WHAT A YEAR ACTUALLY CHANGES

There is a version of this story that reaches for transformation — the photographer who began Project 365 as one artist and completed it as another, the year that broke everything open and rebuilt it more beautifully. That version is tidier than the truth, and less interesting. What actually changed in Zhong Lin across 365 days of consecutive image-making is more subtle, more structural, and more durable than a dramatic reinvention.

What changed was the relationship between what she intends and what she knows. In the early weeks of any demanding creative practice, intention leads. The artist arrives at a decision consciously: I will make this kind of image, in this kind of light, with this quality of mood. Over time, as the practice deepens and the hand and eye grow calibrated to each other, something more interesting begins to happen. The decision precedes its own articulation. The photographer moves toward certain light before she has named why. The frame resolves itself in a particular way because some deeper part of the visual intelligence has already determined what it wants. Intention has not disappeared — it has simply gone underground, where it does its best work.

By the final months of Project 365, Zhong Lin was not making photographs within a constraint. She was making photographs from within a creative system she had spent a year constructing without knowing she was constructing it. The 24-hour rule had done its quiet work: it had stripped away the elaborate scaffolding of deliberate decision-making and left behind something more valuable — an instinct refined to the point of fluency. A visual language that no longer required translation.

THE ARGUMENT FOR CONSISTENCY

We have constructed, in contemporary creative culture, an elaborate mythology around the singular breakthrough — the image, the series, the project that changes everything. This mythology serves criticism well. It gives us clean narratives, decisive turning points, moments of rupture we can point to and say: here, this is where it shifted. What it does not serve is the actual practice of making, which is not structured around ruptures but around returns. The return to the studio. The return to the camera. The return, each morning, to the fundamental question: what will I make today?

Project 365 is, among other things, a rigorous argument against the mythology of the breakthrough. Its power is cumulative, not explosive. No single image in the series would justify, on its own, the attention the project commands. The series earns that attention through its totality — through the sheer, undeviating fact of 365 images made in 365 days without exception, without postponement, without the relief of a pause. This is not a small thing. It is, in many ways, the largest thing a photographer can do: to show up, daily, and to make.

For those of us who think seriously about photography — who study it, teach it, build institutions around it — Project 365 offers a model that is both practical and philosophical. Practically, it demonstrates that the capacity for sustained creative production is not a gift distributed unevenly at birth but a discipline developed through repeated exercise. Philosophically, it proposes that the most honest self-portrait an artist can make is not a single image but a practice — the accumulated record of every day they chose to make something rather than wait for the conditions to become more favourable.

Zhong Lin chose to make something. Three hundred and sixty-five times, without exception, she chose to make something. The work that resulted is not simply a year of photographs. It is a portrait of what creative discipline looks like from the inside — its resistance and its reward, its difficulty and its strange, hard-won grace.

By Oona Chanel

Author Magazine 4/26/26 Author Magazine 4/26/26

Wolfgang Tillmans: What Photography Looks Like When It Believes in Something

He has photographed everything. Friends. Strangers. Galaxies. Fabric. The specific light of a specific Tuesday. And always with the same underlying conviction: that to look carefully is a political act.

Wolfgang Tillmans does not believe that art should make you feel comfortable. This is not a position he has arrived at recently, or one he wears lightly. It is the fundamental premise of a practice that has, over thirty-five years and an output so voluminous it resists any single characterization, maintained an almost stubborn consistency: the photograph is a statement about what deserves attention, and what deserves attention is everything.

We met at his Berlin studio in a week when the world had, again, given him material he would rather not have. He does not separate his practice from politics—never has, in a career that began on the dance floors of 1980s London and has proceeded through queer activism, ecological terror, the rise of authoritarianism in Europe, and the specific intimacy of friends, bodies, and ordinary objects photographed over decades. He says, when I ask him how he sustains the attention the work requires: '“I’m angrier now than I was at thirty. I think that helps.”

The studio is enormous and full of prints in various stages of preparation for shows, books, and the archive that is, at this point, one of the most significant in contemporary photography. The prints are not displayed in the conventional sense—they are arranged, grouped, rehung, rethought. A Tillmans installation is never fixed: the same images appear in different sizes, different positions, different conversations with each other. This is, he says, entirely intentional.

“A photograph doesn’t have a correct size. It has the size that allows you to see what it needs you to see. I’ve printed the same image at ten centimeters and at three meters, and each time it was right for different reasons, in different contexts. The idea that a photograph has a natural scale is a commercial construct. It has nothing to do with the image.”

*The photographer talks about his first MOMA retrospective and how his prescient art flows from the act of paying*

The image, for Tillmans, always comes first—and always comes from looking. His practice is resolutely analog in its origins: he carries a camera, he sees things, he makes photographs. The sophistication of the thinking that surrounds the images—the installation logic, the political consciousness, the art-historical awareness—does not arrive before the picture. It arrives because of it.

His fashion work—the images he made for i-D, for various campaigns, for his own sustained engagement with clothing as a language—operates on the same principle as his documentary work and his abstract investigations: the subject is a pretext for attention. The supermodel and the window sill and the galaxy photographed through a telescope are all, for Tillmans, equivalent instances of the fundamental question: what does this look like, and what does it mean that it looks like this?

This sounds like it might produce cold, conceptual photographs. It produces the opposite: images that feel, consistently and sometimes overwhelmingly, like they were made by someone who wanted you to look the way they were looking. The desire in the photograph—to share an experience of seeing—is palpable in almost every print.

‘Frank Ocean’, Rebuilding the Future, 2018, IMMA.
*Freischwimmer 20*

The political work has intensified in recent years. His public project Truth Study Center—which he has operated as both an installation and a public intervention—grew from his sense that the relationship between images and truth had entered a crisis that the art world could not simply observe from a safe distance. He has been, unambiguously and at some professional cost, one of the most outspoken critics of Brexit and the normalization of nationalist politics in Europe. He uses his platform—and he has a significant one—without calculation.

“I have never understood the idea that artists should not be political,“he says. “ The word ‘political’ is used to mean ‘inconveniently engaged with the actual conditions of existence.’ I don’t know how to make work that is not engaged with those conditions. I don’t know how to be a person who is not.”

We spend time with a new series he is hesitant to describe but shows generously: images of cloud formations photographed over eighteen months, which he prints at very large scale. They are beautiful in a way that is, for Tillmans, unusual—uncomplicated by human presence or social context, pure observation. He watches me look at them for a while.“I needed to spend time with something that was not made by human decision,” he says. “The clouds don’t know about any of it. That was useful.” He pauses. Looks at the prints. Then: “Also, they are formally extraordinary. The lightphysics are insane. I cannot stop."

Tongues and ears , 2001
The cock (kiss), 2002

This—the coexistence of the philosophical and the purely sensory, the political conviction and the uncontrollable delight in what the eye finds—is the thing that makes Tillmans irreducible to any category. He is too serious to be merely aesthetic, too aesthetic to be merely serious. He is, simply, someone for whom the act of looking has never once lost itsurgency.

by Oona Chanel

Author Magazine 4/25/26 Author Magazine 4/25/26

Ida Barbarigo’s Unstable Bodies

Ida Barbarigo: Beyond the Figure is on view at Richard Saltoun Gallery, Rome, through 17 May 2026.

There is a familiar temptation in writing about neglected twentieth-century painters, particularly women, to overcompensate with reverence. Beyond the Figure at Richard Saltoun Gallery gives Ida Barbarigo better service than that. It allows the work to be judged at full strength, which is precisely where it becomes interesting.

Barbarigo is not important merely because she was overlooked. She is important because, at her best, she understood something exacting about the figure: that it is not a stable form but a disturbance in paint.

Image above : *Senza titolo (Il Volto), [Untitled (The Face)], 1996*
*Image below: Untitled (Self-portrait), 1993*

The exhibition, focused on works from the 1970s through the early 1990s, makes clear that Barbarigo’s return to figuration was never a retreat into recognizability. If anything, the figure in these paintings is subjected to more pressure than before. It is dragged forward, partially assembled, then pushed back again into atmosphere, ground, residue. One does not encounter bodies here as secure images. One encounters them as problems.

That is the show’s central achievement.

Ida Barbarigo, Senza titolo (Il Volto) [Untitled (The Face)], 1990

Barbarigo does not build form through drawing in any classical sense, though the discipline of Italian painting remains deep in the work. She builds by attrition. White is dragged over brown, grey, black; heads surface through scraped and rubbed pigment; contours threaten to appear, then fail to close. The result is neither fully figurative nor usefully described as expressionist. The word one keeps returning to is provisional. Her figures are provisional presences, held together only as long as the painting can sustain the tension.

This is why the strongest works in the exhibition are so unsettling. They do not depict psychic unrest; they are structurally organized by it.

In the mythological paintings especially, Barbarigo proves herself far more severe than the titles might initially suggest. Sfingi, Demoni, Saturni, Dionisi: these are not symbolic embellishments, nor do they belong to that tired modern habit of borrowing myth to lend ordinary painting an air of gravitas. Barbarigo uses myth as a way of stripping the figure of anecdote. The subject is no longer a person in any social sense, but a body condensed into type, pressure, fear, appetite, enigma. Myth, here, is a solvent. It burns off the incidental.

What remains is often powerful.

The white faces and heads, emerging from dark grounds like deposits or exhalations, are among the most convincing paintings in the exhibition because Barbarigo resists the obvious. She does not sensationalize distortion. She does not sentimentalize fragility. She lets the image hover in a state of incomplete arrival. That incompletion is the content. One feels that the figure has not been represented so much as reluctantly extracted from matter.

And yet the show also clarifies Barbarigo’s limits, which is useful. Not every canvas carries the same intensity. In some works, the atmospheric handling risks becoming merely vaporous; the instability that elsewhere generates pressure can loosen into indistinctness. This is the danger of her method: when the tension between emergence and dissolution slackens, ambiguity ceases to be rigorous and becomes mood. Barbarigo is most compelling when the image feels necessary, when the paint seems to have fought to produce it. She is less compelling when the haze remains just haze.

That unevenness does not diminish the exhibition. It makes it more legible.

What emerges is not a uniformly major painter, but a serious one — and a distinctive one. Barbarigo’s best work occupies an unusual place in postwar painting. It lacks the declarative brutality of Bacon, the ritualized melancholy of Music, the rhetorical bravura of much neo-expressionism. It is quieter, but not gentler. Its drama is one of corrosion. The image is not torn apart before us; it is slowly deprived of certainty.

That is where Barbarigo becomes genuinely compelling: in her refusal to stabilize the human form into either monument or ruin. Her figures are never heroic, but neither are they simply broken. They persist in a state of ontological insecurity. They are there and not there, embodied and disembodied, seen and half-lost. Barbarigo understood that the figure, once stripped of narrative and social description, becomes not more universal but more precarious.

The best paintings in Beyond the Figure grasp that precariousness with real force.

What the exhibition finally offers, then, is not a corrective tribute but a sharper proposition: Barbarigo matters because she found a way to paint the body after confidence had drained from it. Not the modern body as spectacle, nor the classical body as structure, but the body as unstable evidence — of consciousness, of mortality, of perception failing even as it tries to hold.

That is a much rarer achievement than reputational recovery alone.

By Oona Chanel

Author Magazine 4/21/26 Author Magazine 4/21/26

Otto Piene and the Discipline of Light

To describe Otto Piene simply as an artist of light is to understate the rigor of his project.

For Piene, light was never atmosphere alone, nor spectacle, nor the decorative immateriality that contemporary immersive exhibitions have conditioned audiences to expect. It was a structural proposition: a means of rebuilding visual language after rupture.

As co-founder of ZERO in Düsseldorf in 1957 alongside Heinz Mack, Piene belongs to that small generation of postwar European artists who understood that painting, as inherited from the prewar world, could no longer continue unchanged. The canvas was no longer merely a surface to be filled, but a site to be rethought from first principles.

What distinguishes Piene is the clarity with which he recognized, earlier than many of his contemporaries, that light itself could function as both medium and subject.

The Lichtballett works remain among the most radical propositions of postwar art precisely because they do not use illumination as effect. Instead, they dismantle the hierarchy between object and image. Perforated spheres, suspended forms, rotating mechanisms, and projected constellations transform the gallery into an active field in which light becomes material, movement becomes composition, and space itself assumes a pictorial function. This is not installation in the contemporary experiential sense. It is a redefinition of painting through kinetics.

Walls cease to operate as static architecture and become moving supports for form. Dots, rings, starbursts, and expanding grids slide across surfaces, destabilizing the fixed relation between artwork and viewer. What one encounters is less an object than an event: a choreography of light unfolding in real time.

It is here that Piene’s intelligence is most acute.Unlike many later artists working with technology, he never mistakes apparatus for meaning. The machinery remains subordinate to a deeper formal logic. Light, in Piene, is disciplined, measured, and conceptually exact. Even the most seemingly celestial works are rigorously structured through repetition, interval, perforation, and rhythm. The grid, recurring throughout his practice from the late 1950s onward, is central to this logic. In Piene, it is never merely geometric in the strict modernist sense. It vibrates. It becomes a conduit through which energy passes. What begins as order is activated into atmosphere.

That movement from structure to vibration lies at the core of his achievement. The fire paintings and smoke works extend this proposition further. Here, combustion itself becomes a mode of mark-making. Flame does not destroy the surface so much as inscribe it. Piene transforms heat into drawing, ash into pigment, and accident into a controlled formal language. These works are too often absorbed into the broader mythology of postwar experimentation, yet they remain among the most materially intelligent works of the period.They understand destruction as a generative force.That is not incidental in a German artist of his generation.

What gives Piene lasting relevance is that his work resists easy settlement into either minimalism or spectacle. He remains too sensuous for one, too exacting for the other. His most compelling works insist that light is not merely perceived but structured, and that immateriality can carry architectural weight.

Seen today, in an age saturated with projection-based environments and light-driven installations, Piene’s work feels newly clarifying. It reminds us that light, in the hands of a serious artist, is not ambience but argument.

Piene’s legacy lies in that rigor: his ability to convert the ephemeral into a precise visual system, and to make space itself think.In doing so, he altered the ontology of the image.

By Oona Chanel

Author Magazine 12/30/25 Author Magazine 12/30/25

Legacy Wrapped in Leather: Handbags as Heirlooms

Morgane Halimi-Global Head of Handbags and Fashion Zurich

With Morgane Halimi and global collectors on why the next generation will inherit Kellys, not just canvases.

In the hierarchy of inheritance, certain objects have long held the highest rank: paintings, sculptures, properties, sometimes a library. Handbags sat lower down — beloved, yes, but “personal effects,” not “important assets.”

The Brikin Voyageur, owned by Jane Brikin between 2003 and 2007

That hierarchy is dissolving.

For the first time, Sotheby’s is staging a full Collectors’ Week in the UAE capital: five live auctions on 5 December, a billion-dollar exhibition of art, jewellery, watches, handbags, collector cars and real estate, and a programme of talks and masterclasses that feels closer to a biennale than a sales week.

At the centre of this new map is Abu Dhabi — not as a satellite, but as a hub.

The Department That Didn’t Exist

“When I started in 2021, handbags were not yet a fully recognised department,” she recalls.

“My role was to create that framework. Now it’s a global division, with sales across three continents — and, for the first time, a major presence in the Middle East.”

Handbag sales at Sotheby’s have increased by roughly 60% in four years. The clientele? Hybrid.

“There’s a lot of crossover,” Morgane says.

“Clients who love jewellery often love bags. But what’s striking is that handbag buyers are younger, and largely women. We see collectors in their 20s and 30s building very thoughtful collections.”

These women aren’t buying one bag per season. They are curating coherent narratives: a Himalaya as a cornerstone, a limited-edition Kelly for its design history, a personal Birkin acquired not for logo alone but for legacy.

Heirlooms You Actually Wear

One of the reasons handbags are emerging as heirlooms is deceptively simple: you can live with them.

“For me, true luxury is something you can use, repair, cherish for an entire lifetime,”Morgane notes.

“You can carry it to a dinner, you can let it age, and then you can hand it down. That’s what the younger generation wants —

longevity and story.”In the Gulf, this takes on a specific character.

“Here, collectors really understand craftsmanship,”she says.

“But they also wear their pieces. They dress, they go out, they live with their bags. It’s a mix of strong knowledge and a lifestyle that actually supports owning these things.”

A painting might be insured, climate-controlled, rarely touched. A Kelly, by contrast, will bear the imprint of a life: the slight softening of the handle where a hand always rests, the invisible trace of countless dinners, flights, thresholds crossed.

When that bag passes to the next generation, it carries not just its Hermès provenance, but the intimacy of a life lived.

Hermes Chaine D’Ancre Sac Haute Bijouterie

Scarcity, Story, and the New Collector

Morgane is clear that it isn’t any bag that becomes an heirloom — it’s the one with the right combination of rarity and narrative.

“The pieces we’ve brought for private sale here are either extremely limited or truly one-of-a-kind,” she says.

“We’re talking about the highest level of craftsmanship in handbags. We want every visitor to understand how special they are.”

As handbags move fully into the category of “serious collecting,” their emotional role is expanding too. Increasingly, clients are thinking in terms of family libraries of objects — where a Kelly might sit conceptually beside a painting, a jewel, a watch.

In that library, a daughter or granddaughter may one day choose: not just “Which canvas do I hang?” but “Which bag do I carry into my own life?”

And somewhere in that future wardrobe, a well-worn Himalaya or a Birkin with a handwritten note inside will be opened like a book — its leather a page, its scratches and softness the script.

Words by Oona Chanel for Author Magazine

Pictures courtesy Ron John

Author Magazine 12/14/25 Author Magazine 12/14/25

Sotheby’s New Map

Katia Nounou Boueiz - Deputy Chairman, Middle East, Dubai

Abu Dhabi as a global nexus for auctions, private sales, and cultural diplomacy.

Maps don’t change loudly. They shift in boardrooms, in flight paths, in the quiet logistics of where masterpieces are sent and where capital flows back from.

This week in Abu Dhabi, that shift is visible.

At the centre of this new map is Abu Dhabi — not as a satellite, but as a hub.

“We’re Dreaming Big”

“So, what is your vision for Sotheby’s Middle East right now?” I ask Katia Nounou Boueiz, Deputy Chairman of Sotheby’s Middle East.

Her answer is immediate. “The vision is big,” she says.

“We feel like we’re in the middle of a cultural revolution in Abu Dhabi.

There are incredible strategic investments in museums and in luxury.

We’re privileged to be part of this revolution.”

Sotheby’s has formally incorporated in Abu Dhabi, backed by long-term investment and aligned with the Abu Dhabi Investment Office. Collectors’ Week is the first visible summit of that partnership.

“We’ve brought about a billion dollars of offerings,” Katia notes.

“Highly curated jewellery, watches, cars, fine art — the largest and most valuable exhibition an auction house has ever brought to the Middle East.

And this is the first auction by a leading international house in Abu Dhabi. It’s a huge milestone.”

Francis Bacon’s Three studies of Lucian Freud

Education as Diplomacy

If this were only about sales, the week would still be historic. But the strategy reaches further.

“I actually think we still have a lot to do in terms of education,” Katia says.

“That’s what Collectors’ Week is about. We’re bringing the works, yes, but also masterclasses, talks, fireside chats with leading experts in every category.”

Throughout 2–5 December, the St. Regis becomes a campus: jewellery literacy sessions, handbag connoisseurship, panels on Picasso, Jane Birkin, the future of collecting in the Gulf. Specialists are not just closing sales — they’re opening worlds.

“We want to build a collecting culture in Abu Dhabi,” Katia explains.

“We’ve come a long way — the museums here have done so much — but there’s still so much untapped potential.

For this to remain a rising global market, we need to keep growing the community.”

Education here functions as a kind of soft power: a bridge between global expertise and regional intuition, a way of aligning sovereignty with connoisseurship.

Abu Dhabi’s Advantage

For both Vanessa and Andrés, there’s one point they keep returning to: safety.

“We’re lucky to be in a place where people can wear jewellery, wear watches, drive cars, and feel safe,” Katia says.

“In today’s world, that’s becoming rare. So we thought: let’s show everything this region can host and enjoy.”

Morgane echoes this from the handbags side.

“In some cities, people hesitate to own very expensive pieces because they feel they can’t wear them,”she notes.

“Here, it’s different. People understand the craftsmanship — and they actually live with their luxury.”

This simple reality — that you can step out in a Kashmir sapphire, a Patek Star Caliber, a Himalaya Birkin, without fear — gives Abu Dhabi a unique role in the new map. It’s not just a place to store value, but to experience it.

One Week, Five Auctions, A Long Horizon

On 5 December, five major auctions unfold back-to-back: Jane Birkin’s Le Voyageur as a single-lot sale; a $20 million single-owner jewellery and watches collection centred on The Desert Rose; an RM Sotheby’s car sale with McLaren race cars and hypercars; plus real estate and additional luxury offerings.

But the real horizon is longer. “Sky’s the limit,” Katia says simply.

“We want to introduce more auctions, more frequently.

Eventually, we want to bring full art auctions to Abu Dhabi — when the time and the market feel right. There is so much that is still untapped.”

She’s been coming to Abu Dhabi for 18 years.

“It’s incredible to see the evolution. I’m proud to be part of this story. And with our partners, we’re in such a good place to see this dream come true.”

Katia Nounou Boueiz - Deputy Chairman, Middle East, Dubai. Oona Chanel - Editor-in-cheif, Author Magazine

The New Map

In practical terms, Sotheby’s new map includes:

• Abu Dhabi as a permanent node for high-value auctions and private sales

• The Gulf as a natural home for multi-category, cross-disciplinary exhibitions

• A new generation of collectors — younger, more global, often female — moving freely between categories and price brackets

In symbolic terms, it marks a transfer of cultural gravity.

For decades, the map of “serious collecting” ran through New York, London, Geneva, Hong Kong. That map is being redrawn — not to erase those centres, but to acknowledge that another one has quietly lit up.

For now, it is marked by four days in December, a billion dollars’ worth of objects, and a series of conversations in a hotel on Saadiyat Island.

Over time, it will be marked by something harder to plot: the moment when the world stopped seeing Abu Dhabi as an offshore audience, and started seeing it as what it is becoming —

A place where the future of value is being decided.

Words by Oona Chanel for Author Magazine

Pictures courtesy Ron John

Author Magazine 12/3/25 Author Magazine 12/3/25

The Week the Middle East Became the World’s Gallery

Sotheby’s Collectors’ Week Abu Dhabi

From 2–5 December 2025, a new cultural axis is quietly locking into place in the gilded interiors of the St. Regis Saadiyat Island. Sotheby’s—longhand for provenance, prestige, and the theatre of the auction room—has brought over $1 billion USD of art, jewelry, handbags, watches, cars, and even architecture to Abu Dhabi.

It is not simply a showcase.

It is a declaration of where the world now turns its gaze.

“Abu Dhabi isn’t just hosting masterpieces. It’s defining the conditions in which they are seen.” — Oona Chanel

Abu Dhabi as Atmosphere, Not Just Location

Collectors’ Week is born of a particular alignment:

Sotheby’s, the Abu Dhabi Investment Office (ADIO), and the long-range vision of His Highness Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan bin Khalifa Al Nahyan, whose cultural patronage has helped turn the city into a gravitational field for art and luxury.

Unlike the compressed density of London or New York, Abu Dhabi gives the works air. In one suite, Rembrandt’s Young Lion Resting—on loan from the Leiden Collection ahead of its February 2026 sale—anchors the room with Old Master gravity. Across the space, Banksy’s self-shredded Girl Without Balloon hums with postmodern defiance, the now-legendary moment of self-destruction recast as a relic rather than a meme.

Nearby, Gustav Klimt’s Dame mit Fächer (Lady with a Fan)—believed to be his final portrait—glows with late-period sensuality; Piet Mondrian’s Composition No. II compresses modernity into lines and primary fields; and the Guennol Lioness, a three-inch Mesopotamian sculpture that still holds the auction record for an antiquity, sits in its own small field of reverence.

Abu Dhabi doesn’t flatten these works into spectacle. It lets them speak to one another.

A Constellation, Not a Collection

At the heart of the week lies a series of live auctions on 5 December—five consecutive sales that together form the most valuable auction series ever staged in the Middle East, with around $150 million in luxury offerings.

Among them: Le Voyageur: Jane Birkin’s Handbag

A single-lot evening sale at 5:45 pm GST.

The black Hermès Birkin Le Voyageur—one of only four made for Jane Birkin after the sale of her original prototype—is covered in silver-ink inscriptions in her own hand, including “Mon Birkin bag qui m’a accompagné dans le monde entier.” Estimated at $240,000–440,000, it sits at the intersection of fashion history and intimate relic.

Precision and Brilliance: Prestigious Jewels & Watches from an Important Private Collection

At 6 pm GST, one of the most significant single-owner collections in decades comes under the hammer: rare diamonds, Kashmir sapphires, Colombian emeralds, signed Art Deco masterpieces, and the watch market’s own unicorns.

RM Sotheby’s Abu Dhabi

At 8 pm GST, a fleet of 32 exceptional automobiles—including a visionary “Triple Crown” of future McLaren race cars—brings the language of collecting into the realm of speed and engineering.

Beyond the auctions, over $100 million in diamonds, colored stones, high jewelry, handbags, and watches is being offered for private sale: from the largest flawless diamond in the world to a deep green diamond of staggering rarity, and covetable Birkin and Kelly bags displayed like small, controlled miracles.

The Desert Rose - Vivid Orangy Pink diamond.

The Desert Rose: When a Stone Becomes a Story

At the centre of the jewelry room, beneath controlled, almost ceremonial lighting, lies The Desert Rose: a 31.86-carat Fancy Vivid Orangy Pink diamond, the largest of its kind ever certified by the GIA.

“A stone like this doesn’t sit in the market. It defines it.”

— Andres White Correal, Chairman of Jewellery, Europe & Middle East, Sotheby’s

White Correal explains that The Desert Rose and the surrounding jewels and watches all come from a single international collector—a rarity in itself.

“We wanted to bring the best of the best in every bracket,” he says. “You have The Desert Rose at an estimated $5–7 million, but you also have a €1,000 pearl pendant. A textbook Kashmir sapphire, a Muzo emerald, a Boucheron ring, a Harry Winston ruby set. It’s a full spectrum. We wanted everyone who walks in to find something they could imagine taking home.”

His vision for the region is anything but tentative.

“The level here is already wonderful. The attention, the curiosity—it tells us these pieces are understood. And in the UAE, people don’t just lock things away; they live with them. That energy is something we miss in many parts of the world.”

Asked what he would keep for himself, he doesn’t choose the headline diamond.

“I’m more of a jewel person than a stone person,” he smiles. “The Kashmir sapphire or the Colombian emerald—they’re smaller, but they have this old magic. Stones hold warmth. They remember the people who wore them.”

Legacy Wrapped in Leather

If the Desert Rose is the jewel that defines the week, the emotional spine of Collectors’ Week is, improbably, a black leather bag.

Morgane Halimi

Global Head of Handbags & Fashion, Sotheby’s

“When I joined in 2021, there wasn’t a fully formed handbags department,” says Morgane Halimi. “Today, we’re a global division—New York, Hong Kong, Paris, London—and now Abu Dhabi.”

Under her leadership, Sotheby’s has turned handbags from a niche into a serious collecting category, with sales growing by around 60% in four years and a demographic unlike any other: largely women, most under 45, many in their 20s and 30s.

“Our clients are emotionally literate,” Halimi notes. “They don’t just want the logo. They want longevity, craftsmanship, a story. They want to carry their investments, not just vault them.”

Last summer in Paris, she presided over the record-breaking sale of Jane Birkin’s original Hermès Birkin, which achieved over $10 million and instantly became a modern myth. That very bag is now in Abu Dhabi as part of the Icons exhibition—no longer just an accessory, but a case study in how an object can move from functional to legendary.

This week, the focus shifts to Le Voyageur, the bag Birkin carried from 2003–2007, its interior lined with her notes in silver ink.

“It’s not just personal,” Halimi says. “It’s a fingerprint. A soulprint. You feel her presence in the wear, the doodles, the phrases. You’re not just buying a bag—you’re entering a life.”

Handbags, in her view, have finally joined the upper ranks of collectible culture.

“They’re heirlooms now,” she adds. “Objects of heritage. And Abu Dhabi understands that instinctively.”

Zwei Kerzen (Two candles) by Gerhard Richter.

The Middle East as Vision, Not Footnote

If Halimi and White Correal map the vertical depth of collecting—stone and leather, jewel and legacy—Vanessa Marcil-Hoffmann, Head of Sotheby’s Middle East, maps the horizontal horizon.

Vanessa Marcil-Hoffmann

Head of Sotheby’s Middle East

“We’re in the middle of a cultural revolution in Abu Dhabi,” Marcil-Hoffmann says. “Museums, foundations, long-term development plans—it’s an ecosystem. We don’t see this as a one-off moment; we see it as a chapter in a much larger story.”

Collectors’ Week, she explains, is as much about education and community as it is about sales. Throughout the week, Sotheby’s is hosting over a dozen talks, panels, and daily masterclasses: conversations with Christian and Yasmin Hemmerle, Diana Picasso, Marisa Meltzer, sessions on gemstone grading, watch movements, handbag provenance, and the alchemy of building a collection.

These sit alongside behind-the-scenes handling sessions, where visitors learn not only how to look—but how to think like collectors.

“We’ve come a long way,” she says. “The level of knowledge, desire, and hunger in the region is extraordinary. But building a sustainable collecting culture means continuing to share expertise, open dialogues, and invite people into the process—not just the results.”

Her favourite works in the exhibition? She doesn’t hesitate.

“For art, the Klimt. It feels like it holds his last breath. For jewelry, The Desert Rose. It’s like wearing a sunset. No woman would say no to that.”

Looking ahead, her vision is expansive but measured.

“The sky is the limit, but we move one rooted step at a time. More auctions. Eventually, art auctions in Abu Dhabi when the timing is right. More collaborations with local institutions. We’re not here as visitors. We’re here as partners.”

Gradiva by Salvador Dali. Guennol Lioness

A New Cartography of Taste

Behind the glamour, there is also infrastructure. In October 2024, Abu Dhabi’s investment and holding company ADQ took a minority stake in Sotheby’s—the largest investment in the global art industry since the auction house’s 2019 acquisition by Patrick Drahi. Sotheby’s has now formally incorporated in Abu Dhabi, adding a regional presence to its global network.

Collectors’ Week follows on the heels of an April presentation of over $100 million in rare colored gems in Abu Dhabi and a historic October fine art show at the Bassam Freiha Art Foundation, featuring van Gogh, Gauguin, Frida Kahlo, Munch, Magritte, and Pissarro.

In other words: this week is not a beginning. It’s an escalation.

“Abu Dhabi represents a powerful convergence of visionary ambitions, limitless opportunities, and cultural vibrancy,” notes Jean-Luc Berrebi, a Sotheby’s board member focused on the UAE. “The region is redefining global demand for art and luxury.”

Exhibition Highlights

Rather than a trophy list, the highlights read like chapters in a larger narrative: The Desert Rose—a 31.86-carat Fancy Vivid Orangy Pink diamond, the largest of its kind, glowing like a sunset held in the hand; Jane Birkin’s original Hermès Birkin—sold for over $10 million in Paris; the Le Voyageur Birkin—covered in her handwritten notes; Gustav Klimt’s Dame mit Fächer; Banksy’s Girl Without Balloon (self-shredded); Rembrandt’s Young Lion Resting; the Guennol Lioness; the Patek Philippe Star Caliber 2000; and McLaren’s “Triple Crown Project” cars.

Taken together, they form not just a cross-section of value—but a map of what humanity chooses to remember.

The Collector, Rewritten

What emerges most clearly from this week is not the scale of wealth, but the shape of the new collector: young, often female; cross-disciplinary—moving fluidly between watches, wine, handbags, cars, diamonds, and fine art; less interested in secrecy, more interested in story; comfortable with the idea that a handbag can sit beside a Rembrandt drawing in the same room, and the dialogue makes sense.

The Middle East, and the UAE in particular, embodies this evolution. It is no longer a “new market” to be educated. It is a producer of taste, a co-author of provenance, and increasingly, a place where the most important pieces in the world come not just to be sold—but to be seen.

“This week is not about one sale,” as one advisor quietly shared with Author Magazine. “It’s about who gets to decide what matters.

Words by Oona Chanel for Author Magazine

Pictures by Ron John

Author Magazine 1/26/25 Author Magazine 1/26/25

AI WEIWEI - The Radical Influence Of Drella

THE INFAMOUS PROVOCATEUR ON THE ENDURING INFLUENCE OF ANDY WARHOL

“If you study The Philosophy of Andy Warhol, then every sentence is like a Twitter sentence. It’s very

interesting, light communication; not old democratic, but new democratic”

– Ai Weiwei

To say that the iconoclastic cultural firebrand Ai Weiwei needs no introduction would be trite. He is one of the most outspoken and provocative artists of the modern era, creating highly politicized work defined by its social conscience and explicit two-fingered salutes to the draconian machinations of the

establishment. In this exclusive extract from AUTHOR, he tells us of his profound appreciation for the work of a very different icon from another era, Andy Warhol, whom he considers the key protagonist of a paradigm shift in art, published with previously unseen images from his close friend and confidante, Larry Warsh, one of his most significant collectors.

“Warhol made commercial art as art, and this was a political statement because, at that time, no one believed commercial art could be art–they were all looking for high art. But Warhol put ordinary people’s values into his work, and he succeeded. He placed an advert in The New York Times that said, ‘Whoever pays, I will give them a portrait.’ This was a very, very important statement–that the work belongs to average people, whoever meets the price. That’s a very democratic moment.

Today, we have the advantage of the Internet. I think Warhol would have dreamed to have the Internet. If you study Andy Warhol’s philosophy from A to Z and back again, then every sentence is like a Twitter sentence. It’s very interesting, light communication; not old democratic, but new democratic.

That’s very important. The internet is like a Woodstock moment, but in information – movies, documentary films, events; it rolls out information twenty-four-seven...

Nobody can stop that kind of creativity. It’s not about a product, but it’s about communication; how we can reach out and achieve something we can never even imagine.

Interview by JOHN-PAUL PRYOR

Special thanks to LARRY WARSH

Pictures courtesy of Ai WeiWei

Author Magazine 10/28/24 Author Magazine 10/28/24

FIN DAC - Art, Identity, and the Collective Consciousness

In this edition of Author Magazine, we delve into a rare and intimate conversation with Fin Dac, the visionary street artist renowned for his striking murals that blend bold iconography with quiet introspection. His art doesn’t merely celebrate cultural icons; it reinvents them, using the public sphere as a canvas to explore themes of identity, agency, and legacy. In the interview, “Art, Identity, and the Collective Consciousness,” Fin Dac opens up about his creative philosophy, revealing a process that’s as much about connecting with a collective human experience as it is about personal expression.

As he reflects on his influences—Warhol’s audacity, Basquiat’s raw energy, Kahlo’s unflinching self-awareness—Fin Dac speaks to the complexity of making art that feels both timeless and fiercely relevant. This dialogue with Founder and Editor In Chief of Author Magazine Oona Chanel offers a unique window into his world, capturing the alchemy of aesthetic precision and philosophical inquiry that makes his work resonate on a global scale. For Fin Dac, each piece is more than a mural; it’s a conversation with the past, a meditation on the present, and a bold imagining of the future. This feature invites readers to experience his journey not just as an artist but as a thinker, whose art continually reflects and reshapes our shared cultural consciousness.

OONA: “Your work fuses contemporary art with cultural icons like Warhol, Basquiat, and Frida Kahlo. Beyond homage, how do you reimagine their legacies to speak to today’s cultural, social, or political concerns? Is there aspect to how you engage with these icons? In reinterpreting their legacies, do you feel you're tapping into a shared cultural consciousness that transcends time? What nuances of their work or personal histories resonate with you in a deeper, perhaps more spiritual way?”

FIN: “As I discuss in my upcomingshow book, this project gave me a unique opportunity to pause and truly reflect on my approach to making art—a first in my career. Immersing myself in the design choices, colour palettes, and techniques of these artists not only deepened my understanding of their work but also led me to a more profound awareness of my own style. I aimed to find a convergence point where their aesthetics could meet and blend seamlessly with mine. Initially, I gravitated towards my childhood favourites, driven by a personal connection. However, as the project evolved, I broadened my focus to include artists who held historical significance, shared similar perspectives, or had undergone parallel artistic journeys. Some were even chosen for the complexity of their relationships with their muses—historically fraught dynamics that I consciously positioned myself in contrast toin my own art career. In embracing these elements, I aimed to enter the mindset of these iconic artists, channelling their spirit and intentions while infusing them with a contemporary context. This allowed me to engage with their legacies in a way that feels both authentic and resonant with today’s cultural dialogue.

OONA: “If your art existed in a dimension where no one could perceive it, would it still hold meaning? When the act of observation is stripped away, does art retain its inherent value, or is its significance dependent on an audience? How does contemplating this void impact your understanding of creation and validation—both from others and from within yourself?”

FIN: “I believe there’s a distinction between the artist’s meaning and the audience’s meaning. For me, the act of creation carries intrinsic value because of what I experience in the process; I think that’s true for many artists. My commitment to this approach stems from the fact that external validation was never my driving force. That said, as an artist, you do need an audience to support your work for it to survive, thrive, and evolve. This dynamic can blur the lines between creating for oneself and for others. I imagine the lack of recognition was a source of deep frustration for someone like Van Gogh during his lifetime, yet history has proven his work was never without worth—just not valued in its own time. In my early career, financial reward wasn’t a consideration. I wasn’t creating for the sake of gain but because, for the first time, I felt completely aligned with what I was meant to put into the world. I trusted, perhaps naively, that if I remained authentic to that vision, I would ultimately receive what I needed or deserved in return.”

OONA: “Your portrayals of women, with their blend of beauty and strength, challenge traditional representations. What techniquesor cultural references do you find essential to reshaping the narrative of female representation in art? Is there an elements to your depictions of women, something that transcends the socio-political and taps into universal truths about identity, strength, and femininity? How does this contribute to your broader dialogue on representation?”

FIN: “From the very beginning, my intention was to neither objectify or sexualize the women in my work. To achieve this, I made a conscious decision to move away from the traditional, often power-imbalanced dynamic between artist and muse. Instead, I focused on granting my models complete agency in shaping how they were represented. I avoided traditional photoshoots or directed sittings, and instead, allowed them full controlover the selection of photos and poses they were comfortable providing for the work. This approach created an environment where the models were never left questioning my intentions or feeling unsure about the scenario. I believe this level of respect translates into the art itself—when the subjects are grounded in their own sense of power and autonomy, it becomes easier for me to reflect that strength and authenticity in the final piece. In this way, my portrayals aim to transcend the socio-political, reaching into something more universal about identity and femininity. By consciously respecting their agency, I seek to foster a narrative where beauty and strength coexist naturally, encouraging a broader dialogue on what it means to genuinely represent women without imposing external narratives onto their stories.”

OONA: “Your work with the Frida Kahlo Foundation is a honour. Were there moments in the creative process where you felt Kahlo’s presence, as if she were guiding your interpretation? How did you balance the responsibility of paying tribute to her image with your own creative instincs?”

FIN: “The creative process for this particular mural presented its own set of challenges, largely due to navigating the rights held by photographers who have a say in how Kahlo’s image is depicted, especially if it involves specific clothing or elements captured exclusively in their photos. The negotiations took an inordinate amount of time but it was crucial to respect the wishes of all creators involved. Despite these limitations, the essence of Kahlo—her strength, resilience, beauty, and distinctive style—made it clear that I would find a way to honour her legacy. She embodies everything I aim to convey in my work, so even within the constraints, there was an unshakeable sense of purpose guiding me. I approached the mural with deep reverence, balancing the weight of her legacy with my creative instincts to do justice to her image in a way that felt both authentic and powerful.”

OONA: ”Your murals frequently engage with cultural identities, such as Eurasian women in traditional dress. How do you navigate the fine line between cultural authenticity and artistic freedom in your representations? How do you ensure that your work honours the cultures you depict while also pushing artistic boundaries? Have you faced criticism for your approach, and how do you respond to feedback, particularly from the communities your work engages with?”

FIN: “My work aims to appreciate and celebrate these cultures, focusing on the women and the traditional attire that is gradually being overshadowed by modern trends. However, I strive to create a distinction from the conventional portrayals of women from these regions. There are key differences in the stance, posture, and gaze in my pieces—subtle elements that shift the power dynamic to the subject being viewed, rather than the viewer. I find myself drawn to places like Japan, where creativity is infused with a pursuit of absolute perfection, not just aesthetically but in every detail. This pursuit of precisionand dedication resonates with my own approach to art, where I strive for a similar level of rigor and integrity.My work blends Eastern and Western influences, much like some of my favourite artists—Aubrey Beardsley, Patrick Nagel, and Toulouse Lautrec. I don’t focus strictly on authenticity, but rather on respecting the culture while introducing my own alternative style and perspective. The painted mask motif, in particular, ensures that each piece is unmistakably my interpretation, rather than a direct representation.While I may have faced questions or critiques about my approach, I’ve always been open to listening and learning from the communities I engage with. My goal is to honour their stories, and if my work sparks a conversation or deeper reflection, then I see that as an opportunity to refine and grow as an artist.”

OONA: “As street art becomes a high-value commodity, how do you reconcile its raw, unfiltered origins with its current market status? Do you believe the commercialization of street art alters its purpose or impact.? As street art becomes a high-value commodity, how do you reconcile its raw, unfiltered origins with its current market status? Do you believe the commercialization of street art alters its purpose or impact?”

FIN: “Street art as a whole isn’t a high-value commodity—it’s only a select few artists who have reached that level of collectability. Similarly, the broader impact or purpose that’s often associated with street art can really only be attributed to a handful of names. For most artists, it’s about doing what they love and finding a way to keep going. Personally, I’ve stayed true to my original intentions: simply to put my work into the world to be seen. Over time, my studio work and street work have naturally diverged from each other, allowing me to approach them with distinct mindsets. When I’m creating in public spaces, my aimis to connect with the community and the surroundings in a meaningful way. In the studio, however, I’m painting purely for myself, driven by my own creative instincts. By maintaining this separation, I can keep the raw spirit of street art alive, regardless of its evolving status in the market.”

OONA: “Your engagement with social causes through art often feels more like a statement than charity. How do you choose the causes you support, and how do you see your work making a tangible impact? Is there a particular project or cause that felt especially transformative for you, where you could see your art effecting real change? How does this impact shape your artistic decisions moving forward?”

FIN: “I gravitate towards projects where I can have a direct, meaningful involvement and a genuine connection to the cause. For me, these projects sit at the intersection of ‘art therapy’—where the act of creating brings healing to the artist—and ‘art as therapy,’ where the artwork itself provides solace or inspiration to those who engage with it. This dual perspective allows me to approach each project with both authenticity and purpose. One particularly impactful project took place in Cambodia, where my collaboration with the Terry McIlkenny Trust helped raise funds to establish scholarships for students at The Phrase School of Performing Arts. Seeing the direct results of that effort and witnessing how it enabled young artists to pursue their passion was deeply fulfilling. However, the most transformative project to date was with The Nightingale Project in London where I painted a mural in the private garden of a women’s mental health facility. The impact wasn’t quantified in monetary terms, but rather in the expressions of theinpatientsthere. I invited andencouraged them to add their own colourful touches to the mural, turning it into a living metaphor for how they could colour their lives when they believed in themselves. Witnessing that transformation was incredibly powerful. These experiences continually reinforce my commitment to projects where the work has a tangible, human impact. Moving forward, I’m inspired to keep seeking out opportunities where art can act as a bridge to healing, growth, and transformation.”

OONA: “You’ve already explored themes of cultural identity, gender, and legacy in your art. Are there new, uncharted territories that are calling to you? What subjects or themes are beginning to pull you in different directions? How do these align with the trajectory of your work thus far, and what excites you about exploring them in the future?”

FIN: “Working on my new exhibition has revealed angles I hadn’t even considered before. In paying homage to the artists who’ve inspired me, I ended up learning just as much about myself and my own approach as I did about theirs. I’ve begun incorporating some of these insights into my new work, exploring an intersection between my usual style and two of my greatest artistic influences: graphic novels/manga and Japanese woodblock prints. This blend has the potential to bring an added element of playfulness to the process, and possibly the final artworks as well. As for trajectory, it’s not something I consciously focus on. My career has always unfolded organically, without forcing it in any specific direction. I trust that whatever force is guiding me will continue to do so, and I’m content to follow it wherever it leads, as long as it feels instinctively right. That sense of fluidity and openness is what excites me most about the future and where it might take my work.”

OONA: “Do you see yourself as the originator of your work, or merely a conduit for something larger? Many artists describe themselves as vessels for creative forces that flow through them rather than from them. Do you believe you channel a greater consciousness in your work, and if so, how does this belief shape your creative process? Is there a metaphysical connection between the artist and the art that transcends personal authorship?”

FIN: “I definitely see myself as a conduit. I’ve always felt that I’m not fully in control of what I create, especially given that I have no formal artistic training. When I’m painting, it might seem like I’m deeply focused, but in reality, I’m often in a sort of autopilot state, completely zoned out. Hours can pass without me fully realizing it, almost as if I’m not entirely present in my body. Even in the design phase, while I do prepare initial concepts on my laptop or iPad, the final painting rarely follows the digital blueprint exactly. Colours, patterns, and certain elements seem to come together organically on the canvas, often shifting away from the original plan in ways I didn’t consciously decide. I’ve learned to trust this process and simply allow it to happen. There’s something liberating about surrendering to that creative flow, and it shapes my work in ways that feel instinctive and authentic, beyond my own intentions or preconceptions.”

OONA: “If you removed yourself from the narrative of your art—stripping away your identity, your name, even your signature—would the act of creation still fulfil you? How would this self-imposed anonymity alter your metaphysical relationship with your work? Would your art take on a more universal quality, or do you believe your presence, however unseen, remains integral to the art itself?”

FIN: “For a significant part of my street art career, my name wasn’t attached to my murals at all. In the beginning, I signed my work with a dragon logo instead of a name, and when I eventually stopped using that logo, I still didn’t feel the need to add my name. I believed that the distinctive colour mask around my female subjects’ eyes would serve as a recognizable marker of my work or brand. It wasn’t until around 2018 that I started signing my name on my work after creating a new logo. In my opinion the absence of a signature or name allows the art to stand on its own, creating a more open connection between the viewer and the work, unfiltered by the influence of my identity. For me, the fulfilment comes from the act of creating and the connection it forms with the audience, regardless of whether my name is there or not. While my presence is embedded in the work through the themes, style, and recurring elements, I believe stripping away my identity wouldn’t diminish that connection—it might even enhance it by inviting viewersto engage more deeply with the art itself.”

Images by Westcontempeditions

Interview by Oona Chanel

Author Magazine 10/22/24 Author Magazine 10/22/24

The last year dying with Louise Bourgeois by Alex Van Gelder

ALEX: “I first met Louise Bourgeois in the '80s at Le Select, the Parisian bar frequented by American writers. She was waiting for her governess, Susie Cooper, and I had just flown in from Africa. We started talking, and I took both ladies to my house at Les Gobelins to show them the African art I had brought back. I have a long-lived passion for African art and had started exporting it to collectors in Europe. Louise was impressed. Before leaving for New York, Louise offered me the opportunity to follow her, as my introduction to the underground movement. I decided to first go back to Africa, but we did continue to meet on a regular basis. Encouraged, I started working seriously as a photographer around the start of the new millennium.”

ALEX: “At one of our debriefs, I showed Louise some of my work on graveyards. She said, "Wonderful." We decided to work together, and she became my muse. I went to New York, and we worked together with intensity for a whole year. We bonded over terminal illnesses, and we knew this would be our last work to be seen. I was diagnosed with the same illness that Louise's mother had passed away from; hence, she was reliving her final days through my own. It was an intense time, as we were both very ill and knew we had limited time to leave something meaningful behind. The following series has been chosen for Author from that year when we worked together so closely. She died in 2010, and I survived, miraculously. However, the images of Louise will live forever, and I think we truly did capture something unique together.”

— Alex Van Gelder

Images by Alex van Gelder

Interview by Oona Chanel

Author Magazine 8/23/24 Author Magazine 8/23/24

Unveiling the Visionary: Gian Paolo Barbieri and the Art of Photography

In the realm of fashion photography, few names evoke as much admiration and respect as Gian Paolo Barbieri. Renowned for his meticulous attention to detail and a profound ability to capture the essence of his subjects, Barbieri has created a legacy that transcends time. In this exclusive feature, we are privileged to present ten never-before-seen images, showcasing not only the iconic Monica Bellucci but also other celebrated figures of their era. Each photograph is a testament to Barbieri's unmatched talent in blending beauty, art, and storytelling into a single, unforgettable frame.

But who is the man behind these remarkable images? What inspired his creative journey? To uncover these answers, we delve into an intimate conversation with Barbieri, tracing his path from the serendipitous beginnings of his career to his rise as a leading figure in fashion photography. He reflects on the influences that shaped his distinctive style, from the playful experiments in his parents' basement to his collaborations with some of the world's most famous magazines.

In this candid interview, Barbieri shares his insights on the evolution of photography, the transition from analog to digital, and the ongoing challenge of balancing artistic vision with commercial realities. His thoughts offer a rare glimpse into the mind of a true master, whose work continues to inspire and captivate.

Join us as we explore the life, work, and enduring legacy of Gian Paolo Barbieri—an artist who has not only captured the essence of fashion but has also defined its visual narrative for generations to come.

Early Beginnings and Influences:

OONA: Mr. Barbieri, can you take us back to the beginning of your journey? What sparked your initial interest in photography?

GIAN PAOLA: I have to say that it is a love affair that began somewhat by accident, almost unconsciously.

When I was a boy, it was just a means that accompanied my fun and that of my friends. It is something that slowly grew on me until photography became my second language, indispensable for giving image to what I could not express with words. I used to experiment with light in the basement of my parents' house with light bulbs placed inside the stove pipes and with fabrics that I "stole" from my father's warehouse, I used to test the light and its effects on the various fabrics that I draped over my friends with whom I used to reenact the scenes from films or plays I loved most. I also had a photography manual that I used only to do the opposite of what it taught. From the stimuli I sought in everything around me, from art to cinema, from literature to theater, from anecdotes and tales of traditions of places I frequented, I built up a cultural background that has allowed me, and still allows me, to experiment with my imagination and make it a reality

OONA: Which artists or photographers influenced you the most in your formative years?

GIAN PAOLO: Avedon, Mapplethorpe e Gauguin.

OONA: How did you make the transition from your early work to becoming a prominent figure in fashion photography?

GIAN PAOLA: Certainly, the pivotal moment occurred in the early 1960s when I started collaborating with the fashion magazines of the time: Pellicce e Moda, Linea Italiana, Novità, which was then acquired by Conde Nast in 1962 and became Vogue Italia. I did the first cover of Vogue Italia with the beautiful Benedetta Barzini.

Benedatta Barzini. Vogue Italia & Novita, Milano 1965

OONA: What was your first significant breakthrough in the fashion industry, and how did it shape your career?

GIAN PAOLO: A defining moment in my life was Diana Vreeland's proposal to go to work for Vogue America. I refused without much hesitation; I was very attached to my homeland and had found a balance that allowed me to take long trips and then always come back. Sometimes, however, I wondered how it would have gone if I had accepted.

Creative Process:

OONA: Can you describe your creative process when conceptualizing a shoot? How do you translate your vision into a tangible photograph?

GIAN PAOLO: My way of working was always the same, I never stopped feeding on art, cinema and literature, which continued to influence my gaze and my thinking.

I used to do research, collect my references and try to make reality what I imagined in my mind. I was drawing my sketches, leaving nothing to chance; I was preparing the set by paying attention to details and only at the end would I take the shot. The creative process, the path that leads you to the shot, is the most important part of photography.

OONA: How important is collaboration with designers, models, and stylists in achieving the final image?

GIAN PAOLO: The understanding between the players contributing to the success of the shot is fundamental. This used to be much simpler; the relationship that was established between the photographer and the stylist was much stronger and the same was true for the models. There was a relationship of greater complicity and the photographer had greater freedom of expression, less constrained by the presence of multiple players.

Technical Mastery:

OONA: Your work is known for its technical precision. How have you seen the evolution of photographic technology impact your work over the years?

GIAN PAOLO: Certainly, there has been a drastic change from the analog to the digital system: on one hand, taking photographs has become much simpler, but on the other hand, there has been a loss of the poetry that existed with film negatives. The immediacy of snapping a shot and the frenzy of production have caused a loss of connection and awareness between the photographer and the portrayed subject. Today, there is more focus on post-production than on pre-production.

My approach has always been the same: I view photography as a cultural phenomenon. It must reflect beauty because, as the Greeks said, where beauty is born, reason is born. Photography must seduce and attract. This is the most important definition that photography should have. I go by instinct. The work of a photographer is a work of visual arts. As far as I'm concerned, I've drawn a lot from sculpture, painting, and especially cinema. These arts have shaped my view on composition, style, and light. American film noir from the 1940s and Italian Neorealism have been significant for me. Then there is the memory that transmits, engraves, and brings forth everything you have studied or observed at the moment of creation.

OONA: What are some of the technical challenges you’ve faced, and how have you overcome them?

GIAN PAOLO:I had mastered the technique I had acquired as a self-taught photographer; what today is done with post-production, I used to do with my own hands. I had no problem rolling up my sleeves and creating with whatever I had at my disposal.

Certainly, experimenting and transitioning to digital was initially a complicated step coming from another generation. But once I understood how it worked, I recognized that in some cases it speeds up the process and reduces costs.

Iconic Projects and Campaigns:

OONA: You have been behind some of the most iconic fashion campaigns and editorial spreads. Which projects stand out to you as particularly memorable or transformative?

GIAN PAOLO: One of the most memorable and provocative shoots was in 1974 in Rome for Valentino. I decided to draw inspiration from Jodorowsky's The Holy Mountain, one of the most radical and visionary movies ever made. Each image was meticulously crafted, with the kind of alchemical power I strive for in my work. I aimed to transpose the imagery from that film into my photographs. Some of the shots were taken inside a church, where the model Susan Moncur played Mary, and another model took on the role of Jesus. At one point, a nun entered the church and, upon seeing the half-naked models smoking, exclaimed, "No smoking in church!"

There’s a particular shot where Susan Moncur, again as Mary, is lying on the bed with a Playgirl magazine between her legs, while Jesus is making his entrance through the door. That photo wasn’t published because it was deemed too racy.

Susan Moncur in Valentino, Vogue Italia, Roma 1976

OONA: Can you share any behind-the-scenes stories from one of your most famous shoots?

GIAN PAOLO: Certainly, the shoot I did in Port Sudan for Vogue France in 1974 deserves to be told. I was looking for inspiration and remembered a scene from a film where Marlene Dietrich, looking elegant, was traveling along a tropical port in a carriage. I thought about acquiring a rhinoceros to be hung from a crane, with Marlene Dietrich observing, but it proved impossible to find a rhinoceros, so I opted for a camel instead. We climbed up a very precarious fire escape to reach the roof of a warehouse. From there, I could see the entire port. The situation was very unstable because the roof was steeply pitched, made of asbestos, and scorching under the sun.

Adnan Khashoggi, one of the most powerful men in the world, had hosted us and kindly halted all port traffic to allow a crane to position itself in front of the warehouse and lift about twenty meters. I positioned the model, and the camel was raised to my height. However, the owner kept saying that the camel couldn’t stay hanging like that or it would die, and he kept lowering it. There was a constant “up and down” as I had to keep paying 20 dollars each time to raise it again. I faced a lot of difficulty because when the camel reached my height, it was never in the right position. The model was precariously seated on the roof, and the camel kept presenting its rear end to me.

The level of difficulty, the great creativity, teamwork, and the professionalism of the model all contributed to the success of the image—elements that have accompanied me throughout my career.

Monica Bellucci in Dolce & Gabbana, Milano 2000

OONA: What model would you work again and who would you never work with?

GIAN PAOLO:I would definitely work with Ivana Bastianello, Alberta Tiburzi, Ingmari Lamy, basically with all my muses who are still present in my life. I would not work again with Sharon Stone.

Artistic Vision:

OONA: Your photographs often evoke a strong narrative and emotional depth. How do you infuse storytelling into your images?

GIAN PAOLO: Art in all its forms has always been the element that has allowed me to live and survive. Since childhood, every inspiration I found from visiting exhibitions, reading art history books, or simply walking around Milan was a window to another world that allowed me to learn and create. I used to visit Galleria Vittorio Emanuele and buy postcards of famous paintings, which I would use as inspiration for my drawings. I then sold these drawings in the summer in Santa Margherita Ligure to make some money.

I would draw inspiration from figures and colors, which I then tried to bring into my photography. I particularly love painting and have experimented with it myself, with Gauguin's style being the one I have always been most passionate about.

In photography, I tried to mimic the effect of oil painting by applying Vaseline to the lens. I often painted the sets myself, creating real environments that would evoke a specific painting or the style of a painter I admire. For instance, in the 1998 campaign for Vivienne Westwood, one shot depicted a girl sitting inside a room reminiscent of a Matisse painting.

OONA: How do you balance commercial demands with your artistic vision?

GIAN PAOLO: In the early years of my career, my creativity had free rein, and at the same time, fashion was emerging and the market that would support it was taking shape. Among photographers and designers, relationships were built first on friendship and then on commercial interests. We loved creating together, laying the foundations for what is now known as the fashion system. It was a time of fun and happiness.

Gradually, however, creativity was pushed to the background, and the number of people involved in a shoot increased: art directors, fashion editors, photo editors, etc. This made the fashion system increasingly a purely commercial mechanism.

Legacy and Impact:

OONA: Reflecting on your extensive career, what do you believe has been your most significant contribution to the world of photography?

GIAN PAOLA: To restore to women and their role within society the recognition they deserve.

OONA: How do you hope your work will influence future generations of photographers?

GIAN OAOLO: I only wish that my work really becomes an inspiration to someone and that the archive remains one of those links that will bind new generations to a time when the perception of the world was different, less ephemeral than now, and with it the way of conceiving photography, with another flavor and depth.

I hope that the importance of culture, a recurring theme in my work, remains evident to those who wish to pursue photography.

Personal Insights:

OONA: How has your personal journey and experiences shaped your work and your approach to photography?

GIAN PAOLO: Every time for me is a new beginning. It’s like being asked to tell a fantastical story. For me, each time means projecting my imagination and turning it into reality, blending it with the collection of ideas in my mind. The carousel of inspirations, carefully gathered throughout my life, comes together to create a unique narrative each time.

OONA: What advice would you give to aspiring photographers who look up to you and want to follow in your footsteps?

GIAN PAOLO: Follow your passions and never stop believing in them. Experience is the main driving force, as is culture. Times have changed, and a photographer’s portfolio is becoming increasingly important as we approach market saturation. But above all, it's crucial to have a clear sense of oneself. It's essential to know and listen to yourself to present yourself in the most genuine way possible.

The Evolution of Fashion Photography:

OONA: Fashion photography has evolved significantly over the decades. How have you adapted to these changes while maintaining your unique style?

GIAN PAOLO: Fashion photography once had a cultural depth that I find hard to find in today's evolution. Photographs are now so retouched that they lose their authenticity; legs are elongated, skin is smoothed to the point of losing texture, and women start to look alike. In the past, imperfections could be corrected with manual retouching, but digital technology now allows for a complete rewrite of the image.

I still believe that photography is an art for a few. It’s not enough to know how to use a camera, position a light, or use Photoshop to achieve a great shot. It’s something that goes beyond these technical aspects. It’s a love that comes from the mind and body, brought to light with technical tools. The digital process has removed creative steps that were once crucial for perfecting a set: poses were prepared with sketches, inspiration was drawn from cultural backgrounds, and nothing was left to chance. With digital technology, much of this has become somewhat superfluous.

Susan Robinson in Walter Albini, Portofino 1972

OONA: What trends in contemporary fashion photography do you find most intriguing or promising?

GIAN PAOLO: It's hard to say. Today, social networks are mainly used to reach the masses, where visibility lasts only a few seconds. If your work can't capture attention in that tiny window of time, you’re lost. On the other hand, I believe there is a lot of talent that needs to be promoted, and the trend that intrigues me the most is the combination of art and technology.

OONA: How do you feel about the digitalization of the images and modern day photo shop and AI?

GIAN PAOLO: What's important is that the language is used to communicate something. If photography doesn't convey a message, it serves no purpose, whether it's taken with a cellphone or created with AI.

Future Endavors:

OONA: What are your current projects or upcoming ventures that you are excited about?

GIAN PAOLO: One of the projects that excites me the most is the collaboration with 24 Ore Cultura. They are working to showcase my work abroad, generating interest in museums across major European cities and eventually expanding to the rest of the world.

OONA:How do you envision the future of photography, both as an art form and an industry?

GIAN PAOLO: Photography will never die; it will regain its strength. It’s essential to revisit its essence and start from there.

Philosophical Reflections:

OONA: Photography is often described as a medium that captures the essence of a moment. How do you interpret this idea in your work?

GIAN PAOLO: I have always believed that photography encompasses more than just the essence of a moment. While the moment itself is certainly captured, the journey leading up to that moment must be just as discernible, as well as the path that follows.

OONA: If you could photograph any moment in history, real or imagined, what would it be and why?

I would love to accompany Gauguin to Tahiti, to experience those lands with him and document those wonderful, and still untouched people.

Final Thoughts:

OONA: What legacy do you hope to leave behind in the world of photography?

GIAN PAOLO: As I mentioned earlier, I hope that my archive can serve as a tool for research, knowledge, and memory of a time that no longer exists.

OONA: How would you like to be remembered, both as an artist and as an individual?

GIAN PAOLO: Just like what has come over time and has left an imprint.

Interview by Oona Chanel

Images by Gian Paolo Barbieri

Author Magazine 6/29/24 Author Magazine 6/29/24

Rankin's Lens - Rediscovering Cool Britannia in 'Back in the Dazed

Author Magazine Editor-in-Chief Oona Chanel sits down for an exclusive interview with legendary photographer Rankin, whose work has not only captured but also redefined the essence of the 90s British cultural landscape. In this intimate conversation, we delve into the narratives, social commentary, and political undertones of Rankin’s photography, beautifully showcased in his retrospective, "Back in the Dazed." This exhibition at 180 Studios offers a nostalgic journey back to the heyday of Cool Britannia and 90s style—an era immortalized through Rankin’s visionary lens. From cult celebrities and musical icons to supermodels, Rankin was at the heart of London's cultural revolution. His work with Dazed & Confused didn’t just reflect the zeitgeist; it actively shaped it, giving voice and vision to an entire generation.

“As a photographer, I feel a deep responsibility to consider the impact of my images. My approach has always been to provoke thought and push boundaries respectfully. Plus I’ve always used photography to turn a critical eye on culture and critique society. For me, the nature of media, and the medium of image creation and dissemination, is a discussion we can’t afford not to be having.” - Rankin

OONA: In 'Back in the Dazed,' you revisit the iconic era of Cool Britannia and 90's style, which you captured so vividly through your lens. How do you perceive the cultural and artistic impact of this period on contemporary British identity, and what do you hope viewers take away from this retrospective exhibition?

RANKIN: Large part of why Creativity in the 90s was so interesting was because we were all the younger brothers and sisters of punks. That DIY attitude was just embedded into us from a young age.

So we all had an attitude of wanting to do it our way. This irreverence was kind of baked into us all and it really influenced our approach to our work and lives. It definitely gave me a confidence in myself that was kind of unshakeable.

Helena Christensen

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Helen Mirren

In fact the main reason Jefferson and I started Dazed & Confused was because we wanted to control the medium we were working in. We didn’t want to work for someone else and we set out to change what a magazine was and what it could do.

The show tells that story through the medium of photography. It's like watching me grow up as a photographer and watching a set of kids experiment and push the boundaries of what a magazine and its content could be!

OONA: Your work with Dazed & Confused Magazine not only documented but also shaped the aesthetic of a generation. Could you discuss the narrative techniques you employ in your photography to convey the stories and ethos of British youth culture during the 90s?

RANKIN: When I look back now, I wish I’d done more documentation of the period, just good clean photos not only concepts. I’d just love to have those images. What I ended up doing was really trying to combine conceptual photography and the seduction of fashion. I was trying to put ideas into every picture.

Some of that was great, some didn’t work. I was also obsessed with breaking the rules of fashion and beauty and showing things could be done differently.

When you look at the work in the show through that lens, you can see we predated a lot of the imagery that we all take for granted now; specifically around representation and equity. Those early years were definitely great for experimentation and starting out, I was like a blank canvas. We were naively fearless, doing things that inevitably changed culture.

OONA: The 90s were a time of significant social and political change in the UK. How did these broader contexts influence your work, and in what ways do you see 'Back in the Dazed' as a political statement communicated through your photographic lens?

RANKIN: I was definitely influenced by what was going on around me and I would always say we were political, even if it was just a small p. body politics, social equity. That kind of thing. But we were also just kids making a magazine straight out of the student union.

At college we literally did every single part of that magazine. We financed a lot of the earlier issues by doing parties, because we got into the club scene, and that really was the making of us. I think that our student experience made us realise that we could do it on our own. When we started Dazed & Confused there was a massive recession in Britain. Thatcher’s policies promoted an underground economy, encouraging small, underground businesses. That Do-It-Yourself spirit coupled with a few sponsorships helped us get a leg up.

OONA: As 'Back in the Dazed' is the first retrospective of your groundbreaking works over this prescient decade, how do you reflect on your artistic evolution during these years? What key moments or images stand out to you as particularly transformative or indicative of your growth as an artist?

RANKIN: From those Dazed years, I would say that the series “Blow Up”, was really the first pivotal piece of work I did and it really stays with me. The idea was to create a portrait of nightlife at that time by taking pictures of clubbers at nights all over London. It was a baptism of fire in many ways as I was shooting in these pop-up environments, and it’s all real members of the public with their own distinct personalities. How to photograph fast and build real rapport quickly was so important to learn and I’ve kept and honed those skills over the decades since. In a lot of ways this was the first iteration of my RankinLIVE project, which I still do today, where I take pictures of the public, not models or celebrities.

RANKIN: When it comes to celebrities, Björk was the first serious musical artist that I photographed. We’d been doing the magazine for only a couple of issues when we got the call from her record company, saying that she would like me to do a press session. This was the first time a celebrity had paid me for a shoot, so I was seriously nervous. As a way to protect myself, I took Björk to St. Albans, where I’d spent my teenage years as there was a comfort in the known.

Björk was an amazing collaborator and quite graciously guided me if my inexperience showed. She made me realise that I should always follow my own instincts and not be derivative. That way of working set the blueprint for how I approached every portrait shoot since.,

OONA: Your lens captured a myriad of cult celebrities and musical icons, each contributing to the fabric of 90's British culture. How did your approach to photographing these figures evolve, and what insights can you share about the symbiotic relationship between your subjects and the cultural zeitgeist they helped define?

RANKIN: I get asked a lot to define the “Rankin style”, I think people expect me to recommend a light or talk about always shooting in a studio. But I always thought that was a bit of a cop out. I don’t think my style is really aesthetic, it’s about how I interact with the people I’m photographing. I’m a collaborator and I want every image to be of the person, people should look at them, not just look at my style.

I think the 90s was a time where that level of honesty was key. We talk about authenticity now with celebrities, but we were doing that 30 years ago. I wanted people to open up the magazine and feel a connection with the people on the pages, just like Liam and Noel were putting out songs which kids could feel some kind of emotional or rebellious resonance with. It was real, that's the key.

Minnie Driver, Debbie Harry, Michael Stipe

OONA: Throughout the decade covered by 'Back in the Dazed,' you produced over 200 iconic editorial shoots. Can you elaborate on your creative process and methodology during these shoots, and how you managed to consistently capture the essence of the era?

RANKIN: I didn’t grow up in the art or fashion world. I’m from a working-class environment and that means I’ve always considered myself an outsider looking into the industry. I’m lucky though, my parents always encouraged me to ask questions, to not settle, and that turned me into a bit of a contrarian. This background means, although it's my craft and passion, I haven’t had to take everything so seriously in photography. I never needed to preserve the status quo in the industry. My shoots can be humorous, or pointed, conceptual or emotional, they can be anything I want them to be. I think this is why, looking at the exhibition, you get a sense of the decade. I’m not doing the expected, I’m shooting models and real people, kids on the street as much as high-culture. So there is more than surface, there is an attitude which feels representative of the time.

OONA: Given that 'Back in the Dazed' revisits a period that continues to influence contemporary aesthetics and culture, how do you view your legacy within the realm of fashion and portrait photography? What aspects of your work from the 90s do you see as most relevant or resonant with today's artistic and cultural landscape?

RANKIN: I hope a lot of the work still feels quite fresh and modern. But the part of my work that I think still resonates is the stuff where I was very much going up against a lot of the other things that were homogenous within the industry. I photographed plus sized models, had older women in shoots, the first cover for Dazed was an openly gay black man - these things are common now and everyone’s shouting about inroads which are being made in representation but we did lots of these things in your face first.

Charlie Watts

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David Thewlis

OONA: The design and curation of an exhibition play crucial roles in how audiences engage with the work. Can you discuss the curatorial choices made for 'Back in the Dazed' and how these decisions enhance the viewer’s experience and understanding of the cultural significance of your photographs?

RANKIN: I work with a curator, Ellen Stone, so I’ve asked her to answer this question.

Ellen: When looking at Rankin’s work the term “authenticity” comes up regularly. There is an emotional authenticity and a conceptual authenticity to his images, so I wanted to find a match to that within the curation. By arranging the photographs in chronological order, the design of the show allows viewers to experience the evolution of Rankin's work and the cultural shifts of the 90s and early 2000s as they occurred. This approach helps the audience appreciate the progression and changes in style, mood, and societal trends authentically, capturing the true essence of the era without the need for large amounts of texts explaining each image. Instead we went for encouraging direct and personal engagement with the visuals, while the comprehensive timeline at the end provides deeper context, reinforcing the temporal authenticity of the exhibition.

In the end though, it’s a show about finding your own connection to the imagery and I really hope the paired back aesthetic gives everyone space to find themselves in the imagery.

OONA: Your work often transcends mere documentation, offering a manifesto on how to view the world. Could you delve into the philosophical underpinnings of your photography during the Dazed & Confused era, and how you aimed to communicate broader truths or critiques through your images?

RANKIN: I realized early on that photography is a powerful medium. All of it from documentary to fashion. It shapes societal views and can define or challenge cultural norms. As a photographer, I feel a deep responsibility to consider the impact of my images. My approach has always been to provoke thought and push boundaries respectfully. Plus I’ve always used photography to turn a critical eye on culture and critique society. For me, the nature of media, and the medium of image creation and dissemination, is a discussion we can’t afford not to be having. Especially now.

Back then I think you see that even as a baby photographer I was exploring these themes and trying to find a voice to discuss them. 30 years ago I was doing shoots about the fashion industry’s mistreatment of models, and was trying to find new ways to depict emotions. Some of my favourite shoots were conceptual and the aim was to critique not accept the status quo.

Katie Grand

OONA: The creative community that emerged around Dazed & Confused Magazine was vibrant and influential. How did collaborations within this community shape your work, and what role do you believe such creative collectives play in fostering artistic innovation and cultural shifts?

RANKIN: Dazed was born out of collaboration. None of us had ever done a magazine before, we were all pretty new to it. But I think the energy was really optimistic, and we were also really competitive.

The thing that really kept it fresh, was the team's internal competition to do work that got given pages. That tension and jeopardy made all of us very inspired. We definitely pushed each other to do better work, even if it was more about trying to get more space in the magazines. From styling to glam or editorial, we were making it up as we went along, and somehow that hard work paid off. I can look round the publishing, fashion and beauty industries today and those people I came up with are not the top players.

Looking back I only wish I’d appreciated it more at the time. They pushed me to be a better photographer and I owe them everything for that.

Tilda Swinton, Ben Daniels

‘Back In the Dazed: Rankin 1991-2001’ celebrates standout imagery from over 200 editorial shoots by Rankin for his magazine Dazed & Confused. On display until July 7th at 180 Studios, London. Tickets are available at 180studios.com/rankin.

Interview By Oona Chanel

Images By Rankin

Author Magazine 10/26/23 Author Magazine 10/26/23

MILES ALDRIDGE - Imperfect Beauty

The Legendary Photographer On Discovering The Art Of The Lost Moment

There are few photographers working today whose body of work is instantly recognizable, but Miles Aldridge has made memorability his signature. His subversive pop art scenes of hypnagogic color-soaked cinematic perfection contain an elusive aesthetic quality that runs through every image like an enigmatic signature, one that has been busily deconstructing notions of female beauty and the malegazeforthepast20years. His recent book, P leaseReturnPolaroid(Steidl), marked a radical departure from carefully staged and executed image-making, providing a glimpse into an unintentional and instinctual realm of the subconscious, where the genesis of his images actually takes place. In this extract from an extended interview in AUTHOR, he tells us why a love affair with disruption, decay, and destruction has revealed the beautiful imperfection of his inner life.

AUTHOR:What did you discover looking at the Polaroids that you felt you had never seen or realized before?

Miles -I started to nd pictures that I didn’t understand, even though I had taken them. I mean, there were pictures where I had taken a Polaroid of space before the models were placed in it, just so I could see the light and the strangeness of this empty scene, and it feels almost like a crime scene because of the attention that my camera and my light has created. There are many shots like that, where they are empty of the model and the scene becomes very pregnant and poignant with meaning. That is why, in a way, they feel appropriate, because I took them but I don’t remember taking them. I’ve found these images that are mesmerizing and intriguing to me, not because of the image I was trying to take, but because of accidental things, such as the model not being there or some damage to the image... I became really interested in creating a series of these that come together in a kind of Lynchian dream narrative.

AUTHOR: There is a sense of intense beauty precisely because of their imperfections.

Miles -I think there is always an attraction to things that are cracked or ruined or broken. What that is, I don’t know, but I think a concrete floor can be quite beautiful, but if it has a crack in it, then it

can be even more beautiful. The crack draws us into thoughts about our own mortality and as much as we want to be fabulous, we are not. The crack in the pavement, the tear in the canvas, and the smear of the pain, are all truthful marks that underpin this idea that we are not immaculate God-like creatures, we are all awed like the deeply human characters Shakespeare depicted in his plays.

AUTHOR:It’s the passing of time that is beautiful, the melancholia – to paraphrase Shakespeare’s Richard II, let us make dust out paper and with rainy eyes write sorrow upon the bosom of the earth...

Miles -Beautiful. Yes, it’s all about the beauty that has passed. You know, I was so drawn to these awed scratched and wrecked images because I think, coming after I Only Want You To Love Me, where I had presented a kind of Technicolor universe; this represented the other side of the coin. This was the director’s script with all the continuity notes. It’s interesting for me how much I’ve enjoyed seeing these images, and the question for me now is, do I continue with the kind of Technicolour perfectionism, or can some of this accidental damage, disruption, and decay become instilled in the final images? I think the answer is yes, it can.

Interview by JOHN-PAUL PRYOR ,

Pictures by Miles Aldridge

Author Magazine 10/25/23 Author Magazine 10/25/23

What is happening in Lebanon?

Lebanon’s multidimensional crisis did not occur overnight but rather is a product of a decades-long political and economic policy build-up. A network of interdependent private interests shaped Lebanon’s post-war economic model, leading to its collapse. After fifteen years of war, from 1975 to 1990, a rent-seeking economy relying on the real estate and banking sectors eroded state infrastructure and utilities in favor of their privatization. The collapse of this model in 2019 led to severe socio-economic consequences, which were only compounded by COVID-19 and the Beirut port explosion in 2020; Lebanon is now a site of one of the world’s worst economic crises since the 1850s. The resulting repercussions have trickled down and manifested in the daily realities of the people; they are excessive in nature and constantly proliferating, taking different shapes and forms. And while thousands left the country both legally and illegally, looking for a better future elsewhere, many stayed despite the daily manifestations of the crisis that are partially shared and sporadic across households, neighborhoods, and social classes. Individuals could not simply take a passive stance against the failure of state services and lack of basic utilities; they had to find alternatives. Today, businesses, families, and individual households are supplied with only a couple of hours of state-generated electricity; they are consequently organizing their days around arbitrary outages. In many areas, gaps in electricity supply have now been covered by a total reliance on private generators, offering a more systematic outage schedule. This reliance comes at a price as extremely high bills are being charged in U.S. dollars rather than the collapsed national currency, rendering the cost of this basic utility over 400% more expensive. As a result of the collapsed energy grid, residents of Lebanon have resorted to solar power as a more efficient and sustainable alternative. In Beirut and beyond, any view from an elevated point can testify to the bourgeoning solar panels on rooftops; you would quickly notice added patches of a dark-blue layer supported by metallic structures in the already-chaotic urban landscape.

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Infrastructure failures have extended to incorporate another vital utility, namely water; turned-on faucets inside the flats have barely one or two drops of water coming out, indicating yet another shortage. The residents have turned to private water companies to fill either their buildings’ tanks or their private individual tanks, all of which sit on the rooftops; a stage where the crisis plays out materially. Water trucks can be seen parked on the streets, with thick black hoses sticking out and extending up to the top of the buildings to fill out the said water tanks. The individuals’ determination to provide for themselves has further been evidenced in their approach to banks, which contain increasingly evaporating deposits and savings. Since the outset of the economic crisis, banks have transformed into sites of volatile hostility and have become heavily securitized, even militarized in places. Long lines have formed outside the banks and ATMs as depositors wait to withdraw what little they are allowed to from their imprisoned savings. Such scenes take place under the cautious gaze of private security and police officers. Banks are also heavily guarded with metallic sheets, completely wrapping the facades of the buildings, further insinuating a fear of deposited money breaking out of its confines. Such security measures were a direct response to wanton acts of violence, such as vandalism and break-ins committed by the protestors, as well as the nigh-daily incidents of armed depositors breaking into banks and holding staff hostage until the requested amounts of cash are released.

These cracks and traces of Lebanon’s economic crisis have become very visible in the social, cultural, and urban fabric of the city, transforming the lived realities of its inhabitants and ushering them into new forms of survival.

As the economic crisis reaches its third year, Author’s founder Oona spoke with the Lebanese artist, Dia Mrad, about his recent Utilities exhibition. The purpose of this discussion was to accurately depict the crisis to a global audience through the eyes of someone living in Beirut. In this interview with Author, Dia explained the background for creating the exhibition, the everyday challenges people in Lebanon are faced with, and how artists are using this crisis to connect the country with the outside world.

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Oona: You seek to excavate the built environment and record, through your lens, the many artifacts of Lebanon’s economic crisis. What in particular stood out for you creating this series?

Dia – This series started with the objective of answering a question I was frequently asked when I traveled through 2022: How’s the situation [like] now in Beirut? I felt like I couldn't answer this question fully without becoming aware of what is happening, at least on an urban level, which speaks to my practice of documenting the city. Upon returning to Beirut, I started to observe and direct my attention to the elements portraying reality. It would be hard to pinpoint the crisis to photographable urban elements. As I walked [through] the streets of Beirut, I could feel the anger, the disappointment, the frustration, and the emotional struggle engulfing the city. But I had to look for symbols and signs that are able to portray this new reality. The first element that stood out to me was the addition of solar panels on the rooftops of Beirut, which are even visible from the streets. This recent addition was [manifesting] at such a fast pace and on such a large scale that it felt like something was changing overnight. I was curious to understand how a country that is undergoing a financial crisis was able to afford this relatively expensive solution. I decided to buy my first drone and try to document this process from an aerial perspective; I started to truly understand the scale of this addition. Something that stood out to me was the calmness of the shots and the contradiction they posed against what was really going on. This first approach informed the rest of the work by looking for elements that are added onto the cityscape, symbolizing the ongoing crisis or the ways that people are overcoming it.

Oona: In your own words, what is happening in Lebanon?

Dia – What’s happening in Lebanon is truly insane on so many levels. It’s suffocating and confusing. This project is an attempt to answer that very question. “What’s the situation like in Beirut now?” is something I've been asked more times than I can count. It’s [both] madness and it’s maddening. We’ve all actually been the victims of a major Ponzi scheme and we have no way of seeking retribution or justice. We’ve been scammed by our own government, [which has] only become apparent in the last few years. And right now, we are suffering the dire consequences of that scheme which started with our deposited money being stolen from our accounts and the inevitable collapse of our national currency. Not to say that we deserve what happened to us, but you reap what you sow and we’ve definitely sown some seriously rotten seeds. Even when presented with an opportunity to correct our mistakes through the recent elections — we failed. We reelected the same corrupt ruling class that has drained the country of its money and people. It’s madness — the way we live is mad; the way we make money is mad; the way we spend that money is even madder. We seem to have become numb to this madness. We seem to have lost our belief that we can have the power to change all of this. We’ve completely let go and we spend our days trying to adjust and adapt.

Oona: How have these cracks and traces of Lebanon’s economic crisis become visible in the social, cultural, and urban fabric of the city?

Dia – The economic crisis has become very visible, you cannot miss it. Despair is in the air and it surrounds every aspect of our lives, from the huge increase in the number of beggars on the streets and the crazy lines of people waiting to buy bread; to withdraw money from the ATMs; to fill up fuel; to buy basic medication and necessities — you can feel the crisis all the time. We are angry. We are frustrated. For those of us still living in Lebanon, a huge part of our lives is missing. We miss our friends who immigrated in search of a better life; we miss talking to each other and not having to complain about the difficulties we face daily; we miss going out without having to consider a million things beforehand; we miss being able to turn on the lights after midnight; we miss not having to worry about our income [and] finding work. It really is a crazy situation that has infiltrated every facet of our lives. Can you dismiss the crisis? Even those who are [either] able to overcome the daily manifestations of the crisis or aren’t thinking about it are bombarded with reminders everywhere in the urban landscape. You cannot leave your house, without being faced with an army of water tankers roaming the streets and reminding you of the water shortage. You cannot even sit in your apartment and isolate the noise coming from the street. You cannot overlook the sight of the heavily securitized banks, now adorned with metal sheets covering their once-glazed facades. Even looking out from a balcony, you can spot the electricity crisis in the form of newly added solar panels. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, the country going through a conversion to sustainable energy. But it is an enforced solution — not out of choice but out of necessity. It’s sad and symbolic. It only shows you that we know better, we know how to solve our problems. So why isn't this mentality applied on a larger scale? Why are we only concerned with temporary small adjustments instead of truly targeting the bigger problems we have? Instead, we learn to live with them and just make it to the next day.

Oona: And how is that displaying itself in the Lebanese art world?

Dia – While art production continues to be of impressive scale in Lebanon, the chance to show that art and for the public to perceive it has become dimmer and dimmer. The 2020 explosion played a major part in this phenomenon as most art-related spaces and artist studios were damaged by the blast. The economic crisis also played its role in distracting artists from producing by keeping them busy to stay afloat amidst a sinking economy. Even when the artists were able to produce, the spaces that used to host their exhibitions were no longer available. But like any international crisis, the one in Lebanon provided artists with a subject matter and a lot of emotions that needed to be expressed. We are all angry and we have a lot to say. We, as artists, are lucky in the sense that we have this creative outlet through which we are able to express, connect, and start the process of healing. For me, it has been both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, I am able to express my feelings through my work which lets me approach my point of view with others and develop a sense of community. On the other hand, it is a hard task as it leaves me in this space of feeling things all the time; I am unable to extract myself from this reality and disconnect. And with no end in sight for our troubles, I seem to have become completely immersed in it. The 2019 revolution and the onset of the economic crisis were heavily manifested in the streets through the work of graffiti artists that quite literally painted the town, a daily reminder of the harsh realities we live in. Photographers and painters were racing to document and portray this new reality. [They] were able to not only express their and the population’s feelings but were also essential in raising international awareness on sociopolitical and economic issues. The changing landscape of the country due to the revolution, the blast, and the economic crisis provided artists with a canvas on which they were able to express [themselves], which in turn helped Lebanon connect with the world.

Oona: What about the physical manifestation of transforming the lived realities of inhabitants and ushering them into new modes of survival?

Dia – Our lives are completely transformed by the economic crisis and its subsequent consequences on our daily activities. The crisis transformed our lived reality into a surreal one. A lot of times, I feel like I am in a mental asylum. People, including myself, seem to have totally lost it. We’ve become crazy. We’ve been living in survival mode since the 2020 explosion — even before the revolution started. It has been one thing after the other, and can you blame us for going crazy? There is [only] so much that the human mind can handle and we reached the tipping point a while ago. We still manage to go out, party, and live each day as if it were the last day of our lives because, actually, it just might be. We have no guarantees and no safety. We live in a turbulent world and at any point, everything can fall apart and our constructed reality will come crashing down. It is an inexplicable state of fragility and vulnerability. We act strong but, in reality, we are breaking down. We fake it, but are we really going to make it? I do not think so; not unless we make drastic changes. It is only temporary and only a matter of time before we have to face what we've created. We've only been mastering the art of ignoring it and we’re pretty damn good at hiding it.

Oona: Your work focuses on the infrastructural dimensions that were most affected by the crisis and its material manifestation, one that consists of added layers — rather than those absent — onto the city’s urban fabric as economic crises are associated with a lack of materials.

Dia – Looking at the economic crisis in Lebanon from an urban perspective, I had to come up with a methodology that allows it to be portrayed. And while usually a crisis is associated with a lack of material, in this case, I turned to look at the materialistic layers that were being added onto the city’s urban fabric as a manifestation of the crisis, and a manifestation of the ways in which people are adapting to the crisis. This contradiction can be felt more specifically with the addition of solar panels and new water tanks on the rooftops of buildings. While that action [in] itself does not necessarily refer to a crisis, in the case of Lebanon, it is representative of an infrastructural collapse and the action taken by individuals to overcome it. The crisis could have been showcased with images of empty shelves in supermarkets and pharmacies, or gas stations out of business due to the lack of fuel, which is a more orthodox way of reporting on a crisis. But, in line with my practice of documenting the city and the built environment, I had to look at changes on a bigger scale and not be so direct with my approach. So, for example, when it came to the banking sector, instead of showing the lack of funds, I chose to show the addition of a layer of metal that was added as a reaction to the hostility generated by the lack of funds.

Oona: Elaborate on your practice of ethnography at home: How you are advancing this idea further by centering yourself on the absence of human elements while focusing on the material urban landscape as a site of sociopolitical and economic phenomena?

Dia – Ethnography explores cultural phenomena from the perspective of the subject of the study. Being immersed in Beirut’s social and urban landscape as an inhabitant and artist, my work can be perceived as ethnography at home, being at once the person conducting the study and the subject of it. It is rather a subjective ethnographic experience that aims not only to excavate and explore but to present a personal point of view stemming from living in the city and experiencing the different aspects of the cultural phenomenon associated with it. My work has always been an indirect way of representing this ethnography. By steering away from showing people and focusing on objects and the built environment, that is done by people and for them, the work focuses on the material manifestations related to peoples’ lives. At the end of the day, these objects and constructions are indicative of how we live and are a direct reflection of our experience in the city.

Oona: What about capturing and isolating these contemporary artifacts, not for the sake of decontextualization, but for representation or manifestation while you blur the lines between the signifier and the signified?

Dia – “[…] Artifacts, things, etc., actively shape, impact and transform the perception and, consequently, the understanding — human beings have of the world in which they dwell” (Kirchhoff, 2009). Building upon this definition, the project employs an archaeological lens in excavating the urban landscape of Beirut in search of signs of the crisis. Artifacts in archaeology are telling [about] a way of life [during] a specific time. They provide insights into the daily practices that govern people’s lives and constitute an entryway into their mindsets. By decontextualizing the objects related to this economic collapse, the project blurs the lines of signification by representing the crisis through elements that are not necessarily indicative of it. According to Peirce, “We think only in signs” (Peirce, 1931). Signs take the form of words, images, sounds, odors, flavors, acts, or objects. But such things have no intrinsic meaning and become signs only when we invest them with meaning. “Nothing is a sign unless it is interpreted as a sign,” declares Peirce (Ibid.). Anything can be a sign as long as someone interprets it as “signifying” something — referring to or standing for something other than itself. Keeping this in mind and looking at the artifacts of the crisis in Lebanon, the objects themselves become the crisis, containing within them not only an indication or a sign but going further to embodying the crisis itself.

CREDITS

Interview by Oona Chanel

Introduction by Philip Alexandre Livchitz

Picture courtesy of Dia Mrad

Author Magazine 10/25/23 Author Magazine 10/25/23

The unknown self - TOMOO GOKITA

The celebrated artist talks to Author about his enduring fascination with fabricated glamour

The respected artist Tomoo Gokita has carved himself a reputation as a somewhat controversial painter in the lexicon of contemporary art, producing work that combines abstract expressionism with a classic surrealist aesthetic resolving itself somewhere in a monochromatic landscape that might best be described as a world of almost airbrushed abstraction. To some his early works appear wilfully kitsch, initially taking as their source material shoots from fashion magazines or the soft porn imagery of Playboy. However, as his practice has evolved, the forms he creates have become stranger and increasingly non-representational in nature, occupying a unique universe of smooth curves and obscured faces that is very much his own.

Here, the artist speaks to AUTHOR about his enduring fascination with fabricated glamour and tells us why the painting process is unlike an out-of-body experience, in which the self is routinely obliterated.

AUTHOR: The British psychologist D. W. Winnicott famously stated that ‘artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide’ – what is your opinion of that quote?

Tomoo: I’ve never actually thought about it, but I suppose this notion is true in regard to certain aspects. While I have this desire as an artist for my works to be acknowledged and to receive praise, there are times when I just wish people would leave me alone. Also, speaking of the paintings themselves – there are particular parts that I want to communicate and hope for the viewers to look at, and, at the same time, there are other parts that I don’t want to be observed too closely.

AUTHOR: What draws you to portray archetypal figures and why does your work always obscure the faces of said figures?

Tomoo: In fact, I don’t have this so-called awareness of “concealing the face” of my figures. It is more of a sense of destroying status and identity in order to create a face that has never been seen before. Perhaps it’s more about this thrill of wanting to look at something that’s frightening or unpleasant – such as monsters, specters, and aliens. It’s easy to portray emotion through facial expressions and I often think, for instance, of how a mystical, elusive, and enigmatic face can make people feel uneasy, or how it could even verge on becoming comical if pursued to its extreme. What the viewers feel in response to these images is entirely up to them. In reality, there are people who feel frightened, and then there are others who simply laugh.

AUTHOR: Is there a point where fashion, pop culture, and art intersect, and is an exploration of that crossroad something that interests you?

Tomoo: regardless of whether it is good or bad, there is such a thing as art-like fashion, and conversely there is fashion-like art. I have produced numerous designs for t-shirts over the years, yet I am not interested in this crossover at all. In my mind, I consider (art and fashion) to be entirely different things. For example, if I transfer an image from my painting as it is onto a t-shirt, honestly speaking, it looks unfashionable. There are certain patterns and designs that are best suited for t-shirts, and this is precisely where I perceive the boundary between art and fashion to exist.

AUTHOR: What for you is the ultimate meaning of style?

Tomoo: I can’t say that I know much about the fashion industry, but one day in the streets of Tokyo I came across an abnormally cool-looking guy standing about twenty meters ahead of me. I found everything to be perfect from the color of his clothes, their form, and his hairstyle. I thought to myself, “Who is this guy!?” and I approached him to get a closer look only to discover that he was simply a filthy homeless man with a foul stench surrounding him. I don’t know why he had appeared perfect to me, and I feel that this very mystery itself is what I consider to be the ultimate sense of ‘style’.

AUTHOR: As an individual how do you differentiate between style and aesthetic? Which, for you, is the more authentic?

Tomoo: This is a really difficult question! No one’s ever asked me anything like this before! It’s hard to explain, but I think those who appropriate a particular style as a means for expressing their thoughts also seem to possess an aesthetic. you could say they are two sides of the same coin. I have no idea which one is more authentic. As an artist, I seek “beauty” day-to-day in all the works that I produce. I don’t consider myself to have succeeded if there isn’t even the slightest section or aspect of the work that I feel to be ‘beautiful’.

AUTHOR: Why is your art so often in the figurative vein? What do you seek to say about the female condition and the male gaze in your portraits?

Tomoo: I don’t know why, but I am drawn to this sense of “fabricated glamour” that is seen in figures such as showgirls and bunny girls. I suppose another reason for my fascination is due to the fact that I’ve been sifting through the pages of Playboy magazines since I was a child (laughs). I have, in fact, produced many abstract paintings, but I don’t exhibit them much because they tend to embody this sense of déjà vu, and end up looking like the works of someone else. Is there anything in particular that I seek to communicate? Truth be told, there isn’t.

AUTHOR: Does the process of painting itself guide the outcome, or do you have a set intention? how do you ‘feel’ when you are working?

Tomoo: I do to some extent have a blueprint within my mind. however, I often don’t succeed in completing the work according to plan. Most of the time the work develops in unexpected ways due to various accidents along the process, and the result is something that’s completely different from the initial blueprint. I’ve recently been referring to these various accidental occurrences as, “lucky accidents” and they are something that I welcome. during the actual process of painting, I am in a complete state of ‘nothingness’ – it’s a strange sensation as if my entire body has become a vacuum.

AUTHOR: If you can think of one artist or artwork, that inspired you more than any other in your lifetime what would it be and why?

Tomoo: There are so many artists who have inspired me that it would be impossible for me to list them all here. Wait! Although he’s not strictly speaking an artist, I have been greatly inspired by the professional wrestler Antonio Inoki. I’m not joking when I say this, but for me, Antonio Inoki as he used to be in the ’70s-’80s, was the greatest artist in the world.

CREDITS

Interview by JOHN-PAUL PRYOR

Pictures created exclusively to author magazine by Takaishi gallery

Author Magazine 10/25/23 Author Magazine 10/25/23

I Don´t Like You Very Much”-Monica Bonvicini

Monica Bonvicini's exhibition for Kunsthaus Graz is centered on themes at the core of the artist’s research: an examination of architecture, literature, and the construction of sexual and gender identity. Following the show at OGR in Turin, the large-scale architectural sculpture "As Walls Keep Shifting" is presented in Graz in a state of complete but calculated disaster. Further works on view are the new neon work "Love Never Win" (2022), the video work "I See a White and Blue Building" (2020), the carpet installation "Breach of Décor" (2020), and the photo series "Italian Homes" (2019). The question of home, commodity, desire, and sex is continued in the new work "You to Me", treating elements of fetish as sculptural and performative objects that invite the public – within the institutional context of the museum – to live out the voyeurism that is intrinsic to all museum visits.

Photo Credits: GALERIE KRINZINGER

Author Magazine 10/25/23 Author Magazine 10/25/23

Marina Abramovic: Two Hearts

We present a series of images by Art´s most infamous provocateur

She may be the ‘godmother of performance art, but Marina Abramović is anything but a motherly figure, with her confronting works as controversial as they are conflicting. Her name is now synonymous with pushing one’s physical, mental, and psychological limits, the Serbian-born artist has courted her notoriety with ruthless performances that deal with trauma, sacrifice, death, obsession, free will, and fear, primarily sold to her directly through self-induced suffering, her best-known works leaving her own body scarred. In this extract from our extended feature in AUTHOR, we bring images from her retrospective exhibition, Two Hearts, which continues her dismemberment of society’s ideal of life and death, and the kind of morality that envelopes either state.

Text by MICHAELA WILLIAMS
Pictures courtesy of Marina Abramović, Archives, and Galerie Krinzinger

Author Magazine 5/28/19 Author Magazine 5/28/19

Portraits of an Urban Landscape: Daido Moriyama

It all begins with an idea.

AUTHOR TAKES A WANDER INTO THE GHOSTLY NEON-SOAKED IMAGINATION OF ONE OF THE WORLD’S MOST EVOCATIVE VISUAL ARTISTS

There is a poem entitled “Epilogue” in Les Fleurs Du Malby the decadent 18th-century French poet Baudelairethat ends with the line “courtesans and pimps, you often offer pleasures the vulgar mob will never understand”. It’s an ironic, anti-establishment sentiment that has a no better visual parallel in the 21st century than in the celebrated work of much-lauded Japanese photographer Daido Moriyama. In fact, it could be said of Moriyama that he is the Honoré Daumier of our era, capturing dispossessed outsider souls adrift in the all-enveloping urban sprawl of Tokyo through the open eye of his lens; asking us, by proxy, to stare into the neon-soaked gutter, between the cracks of capitalist artifice, to find something truly eternal; something pertaining to questions of dissolution, decadence and, ultimately, decay.

While some photographers intend to create a fantasy of reality, particularly in the vastly retouched spectrum of fashion photography, Moriyama reminds us that reality is itself simply a temporal fantasy of the individual – a smoke and mirrors dream machine of perceptive apparatus married to external stimuli over which we have little or no control. There is, as a direct result, nothing directional or explicit in a Moriyamaimage – he is not asking us to look at anything from a particular perspective, rather, he is inviting us to view reality in the flux of perpetually fleeting stasis, and he finds no better place to train his eye on humanity than upon the seediest and least celebrated of urban twilights.

The exclusive images AUTHOR presents here were all shot in the strangely decadent Tokyo district of Shinjuku, and were among the first of his color works to ever be exhibited, debuting at The Fondation Cartier to enormous critical acclaim. While they are a graphic departure from his stark monochromatic style, they contain the same cinematic, haunting quality as his earlier works. Somewhat reminiscent of the classic dystopian science-fiction classic Blade Runner, they serve as a color-soaked reminder that the machinations of capitalist progress are moving exponentially faster than we can possibly fathom and that the resulting decadent squalor is a fascinating product of the machine. In a sense, then, they are photographs, not only of the present, but also of the future – matching urban decay with spiritual malaise, and pertaining to some deep anxiety we all share on a fundamental level, but shall never quite find the time to understand.

Text by: John-Paul Pryor

Pictures Courtesy of the Artist / Daido Moriyama Photo Foundation

Author Magazine 5/28/19 Author Magazine 5/28/19

Zhang Wei

It all begins with an idea.

The Colors of Emotions and The Emotions of Colors

In Zhang Wei’s second solo presentation in Galerie Krinzinger, he is showcasing a selection of 20 works, made between 2016 and 2022. Among them, three were painted in 2022, all unmistakably pointing toward Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Using the colors from Ukraine's national flag, Zhang Wei covered a large expanse of each canvas in blue. In the Ukrainian flag, blue denotes the skies over the vast land. On both of Zhang Wei’s canvases, the blue colors occupied nearly two-thirds of the canvas on the upper side, meticulously and evenly painted in most parts and hard-edged. In one of them, titled “Z-AC2202”, he painted a smear of yellow from the Ukrainian flag on the lower edge of the blue paint. Much of the blue area is solid while the yellow paint is solid on the upper half and sketchy on its lower part. In the second Ukraine-specific work “Z-AC2203”, the yellow color appears splashed onto the lower edge of the blue sky, much in disarray.

Such an approach brought to mind an experiment he carried out in the early 1980s. As he was exploring ways to steer away from figurative representation of the landscape paintings he was making in the 1970s, Zhang Wei once climbed on a ladder and from the point of about 4 meters high, he dropped a basin of paint onto the canvas so that the paint was splashed all over, not just on his canvas but inside of his room. The uncontrollable effect of this action was actually a desirable outcome and the pursuit of such an effect continues in his subsequent works. He looks for and enacts processes that lead to uncontainable manifestations. For instance, he has in recent years, tried painting with his motorbike. He’s poured a bucket of paint onto his canvas and ridden motorbikes over it, leaving tire marks on it. Sometimes, he runs toy cars across his canvas through a remote control. All efforts aspire for playfulness and dynamism in his works.

The third piece that reconfigures the Ukrainian flag is “Z-AC2204”, a rice paper book album painted in oil, interweaving blue strokes of blue with yellow ones, one intersecting another in a riotous and vigorous way. A familiar format in traditional Chinese paintings, the book album opens into a long stretch of the horizontal scroll that gives generous space for the unfolding of Zhang Wei’s playing with blue and yellow. While compact and quiet in a folded form, the album is an elaborate and dynamic symphony when it is opened up to reveal its many surprises and energy on the pages. Zhang Wei has also painted onto folded paper fans. Like the paper album, the curves of these folded surfaces dissect and intersect Zhang Wei’s strokes and enhance the dramatic sense of change in their flows.

Zhang Wei is forthright about his empathy with Ukraine and its people under war. Since its outbreak, the war in Ukraine has caused enormous rifts among members of both the Chinese public and its artistic and intellectual communities. Some were even hesitant to call it an invasion, aligning with the Chinese government’s pro-Russia position and rhetoric. Being an unwavering liberal, Zhang Wei has felt compelled to articulate his position on the matter through his paintings. This series of new works lends a valuable perspective into understanding Zhang Wei’s practice beyond that of purely formalistic exploration. The critical distance from any form of authority and hegemony underlines Zhang Wei’s artistic career, as well as his philosophy of life. As early as 1976 (or 1977), Zhang Wei took to heart a translated book, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, by American writer Richard Bach. In it, Bach wrote about a seagull flying high and free despite odds and mockery. This story showed Zhang Wei how to live and handle art in a free and personal way. Zhang Wei identified strongly with the courageous seagull in the perpetual quest for freedom and was unperturbed by any obstacle that comes along the way. This book was among the major influences on his way of living and working as an artist before he took the chance of participating in a show in New York to leave Beijing and live in the States in the following two decades from 1986 to 2005. There, he resisted the idea of following his gallerist’s advice to plan his artistic career and rather stood by the human spirit which he deemed far more important than becoming a successful artist.

This liberal and humanistic outlook towards life and art is a consistent and inherent aspect that upholds the tension and relevance of Zhang Wei’s artistic practice towards the varied social and political contexts that he’s lived through. He’s always engaged in some dialogue about the issues at hand. In the early 1970s, the choice of making Plein-en-air paintings and impressionistic landscapes distanced him from the dogma of socialist realist art of the time. At the beginning of the 1980s, his further dive into abstraction afforded him a space for self-expression and artistic freedom. In the wake of the Intellectual Liberation (Xixiang Jiefang) Campaign after the end of the Cultural Revolution, there was less control and more room for free thinking in Chinese society. It was then that older artists took the opportunity to champion stylistic diversity and formal exploration as an outlet for artistic autonomy. Younger artists in and out of art academies at the time pursued faithful figurative depictions of non-heroic characters, events, and aspects of everyday reality such as rural life, in defiance of the idealized rendering of subject matters in socialist realism. Zhang Wei and some of his like-minded artist friends such as Wang Luyan and Zhu Jinshi looked for freedom by painting in abstract forms.

In the 1970s, when Zhang Wei was making landscape paintings with members of the No Name Group, a loose group of Beijing-based artists who continuously and voluntarily painted impressionistic landscapes and still lifes instead of political propaganda throughout the Cultural Revolution, he had recognized that he didn’t care too much about details like what could be seen in realistic paintings. It was Zhao Wenliang, a core member of the group, who taught him to finish a work with some well-placed strokes, and just to leave space unpainted and open in a painting. In one of their many excursions of painting outdoors together, Zhang Wei was struggling with depicting the trees in his painting. Zhao Wenliang walked over and finished it in seconds. Zhao’s ability to summarize a subject matter into succinct and lively artistic expressions captured Zhang Wei’s fascination before he encountered the canon of abstract art as defined in Western art history. Only in 1981, when a show of American paintings opened in the National Museum in Beijing, Zhang Wei laid his eyes on some original paintings of major American abstract painters. When visiting the show, he was most amazed by Helen Frankenthaler’s big strokes in one color, Morris Louis’ paintings that looked washed with drippings, Franz Kline’s calligraphy-like black paintings, as well as Pollock’s stretched paintings. The last left a compelling impression. It looked as if it was done without thinking and full of nonstop actions, which is how Zhang Wei likes to work too, pressing on without interruption until he’s exhausted all his energy.

Such exposure aside, Zhang Wei actually attributed his awakening and approaches to abstraction to Chinese ink-wash painters such as Qi Baishi and Xu Wei, both celebrated for their artistic expressiveness. “My idea about freedom of painting was at the beginning based on Qi Baishi, on Xu Wei even. Xu Wei lived in the Ming Dynasty. When he painted running donkeys, it was crazy! He painted the legs and the hooves disconnected! It’s empty in between to show movement!”1 Such a realization that those so-called traditional figurative artists knew to leave something out was a memorable lesson for him. Such ingenious artistic precedents with their mastery of depiction through creating blankness convinced Zhang Wei that a painting doesn’t need to be “finished”.

Just as blankness on a canvas is expressive in emotion and meaning, so is color. Color is not a cover of something or a stylistic device, but the substance in itself. It contains expression as well as significance. Zhang Wei even equates color to people he likes and to himself: “I think color alone already carries a lot of things, especially your personality. In truth, it is about the choice of colors – which ones mean something to you, with which you are related to. It’s like a mirror: when I choose a color, it’s like I am choosing things in daily life. I talk to people, I am dealing with people; it’s like meeting someone, intuitively. I like the person, and if I’d like to see the person again I keep using the same color in another painting. To me, color is just myself.”

When learning to paint landscapes outdoors with senior members of the No Name Group such as Zhao Wenliang and Yang Yushu, Zhang Wei liked to put all kinds of colors on his painting boards. “Even on rainy, grey days, I put a lot of different colors together.”3 Unlike the grey and brown tones that populated the Soviet-influenced school of oil paintings from the 1950s, members of the No Name Group talked about the use of colors, especially the application of subtle and light tones, such as the inclusion of very light blue to lighten up a painting, which would otherwise appear dark and dull. Through these exercises and discussions, Zhang Wei found a way to liberate the beauty of colors from their fixed associations with political connotations. “So red was not just Chairman Mao’s color anymore, a red flag or the Red Book.” With all the colors on his board, he found the expression of a colorful world and life through them. Colors became free, and so did the artist, from dogmatic disciplines of painting as confined by ideological boundaries.

Zhang Wei’s fixation on color is also rooted in one of his early work experiences. From 1978, he worked as a stage designer for Kunqu, a 500-year-old school of Chinese opera that originated from Suzhou in Jiangsu Province in East China. There, he saw how the actors painted their faces in all kinds of colors, an abstract form that personified specific roles in the stories, with their distinctive temperaments, characters, and positions. With the application of color onto each actor’s face, the same face could carry very different personalities and meanings. He thus thought to himself, the way colors are painted carries meaning. “And if you exchange the face with a canvas, then it becomes an abstract painting!”

As such, making a painting for Zhang Wei is primarily about choosing a color first. “The first thing that comes out from my mind is color and I go with that; that color comes with a light touch on the canvas. With that color comes the shape at the same time. And then I naturally think about another color. And so the process goes on automatically without thinking.” Color determines the shapes he makes on a canvas, and leads to the choices of tools, and approaches he would take to realize a work. Color is thus not just a formal tool, but the starting point of everything and the expression of meanings and emotions. The group of 24 works in this exhibition conjures up a rich spectrum of not only the vibrant colors in Zhang Wei’s paintings but of his strokes and brushwork, relevant to the application of different colors. Sometimes, he uses broad strokes, sometimes, it’s slapping colors directly onto canvases. In any case, colors are both the embodiments of his emotions, as well as his positions in life.

In addition, this assembly of works bears witness to a period of time spanning before and after the outbreak of the COVID pandemic across the world. There is no question that the world has become a profoundly different place ever since. Yet the possibility that the works of Zhang Wei can travel beyond the national border and have a place to be seen by an audience far and beyond speaks volumes about the possibility of art transcending differences manufactured by national politics, set free to fly high, just as Jonathan the Seagull.

Zhang Wei was born in 1952 in Beijing, In 1986 he moved to New York and since 2005 he is living and working in Beijing again. Zhang Wei is deemed one of the first avant-garde abstract painters in China. He began his career in the 1970s as part of the underground artist group—Wuming (No Name). Zhang adhered to the group’s ideals in pursuit of an independent and unique artistic style apart from the politically ordained and thus established art forms at the time. In the early ’80s, impacted by the encounters with western Abstract Expressionism, Zhang unearthed a fresh perspective on his own artistic process, delving into the form of abstraction in order to engender a singular abstract language expressing the ineffable power of artistic freedom. Zhang’s paintings echo the instinctive immediacy of action painting and their “style-as-substance” approach alludes to a profound connection to traditional Chinese ink and calligraphy. The texture of his brushwork reveals a thorough modernity that stresses on the emotional significance of colors and the cathartic experience of both the creator and viewer of these works. Zhang’s works are collected globally including Art Institute of Chicago, M+ Museum (Hong Kong) and Stiftung zur Förderung zeitgenössischer Kunst, Germany.

His most important exhibitions include Salon Salon: Fine Art Practices from 1972 to 1982 in Profile – Focus China. Works from Collection Wemhöner, Mönchehaus Museum Goslar, Germany, 2021, Kunst in Weidinger, Germany, 2019, MA Beijing Perspective, Inside-Out Art Museum, Beijing, 2017, Secret Signs: Calligraphy in Chinese Contemporary Art, DeichtorHallen, Hamburg, Germany, 2014, Right is Wrong / Four Decades of Chinese Art from the M+ Sigg Collection, Bildmuseet Umeå University, Umeå, Sweden, 2014, Blooming in the Shadows: Unofficial Chinese Art, 1974-1985, China Institute Gallery, New York, USA, 2011.

Artist: Zhang Wei

Images courtesy of GALERIE KRINZINGER

Text by Carol Yinghua Lu

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