From the beginning of our conversation, I could tell that London-based designer Richard Malone and I had a lot in common. For one thing, we were both currently operating under feelings of claustrophobia—his pertaining to the increasingly crowded market for fashion, and mine having to do with the cabin in the Berkshires from which I was conducting the interview. Thankfully the wonders of WiFi allowed us to converse from thousands of miles apart, and I learned that our commonalities extended far beyond our mutual sense of discomfort.

Raised on the farmlands of Ireland, Richard’s earnest rural upbringing taught him more than his schooling at the esteemed Central Saint Martins ever could have. His work explores the reuse and reinvention of materials that otherwise would be considered “trash,” rescuing castoff pieces of fabric destined for the rubbish bin. Perhaps this way of working is representative of the crusade Richard seeks to advance through dressing. Repurposing these overlooked bits of fabric and textile is emblematic of Richard’s philosophy to challenge fashion’s problem of homogeneity and a lack of diversity.

Charlotte knows all too well the trials that accompany her awareness of self. The futile desire to belong. A yearning for people and things no longer there, a wistfulness for those that never were. A legacy of attention and expectation inherited from celebrity parents. And the unrelenting doubt that you are in fact what you say you are—a doubt experienced all the more acutely for an artist. As an actor and musician such preoccupations, along with her typically solemn, detached demeanor, threaten to exile Charlotte to the periphery. Fortunately for us, she’s hotwired her way around those qualms and into the spotlight; in spite of herself she seeks, whether on film or in song, collaborative relationships that facilitate her work but also oblige her to perform. Then, once her emotions outweigh her inhibitions, the results can be astonishing to witness—a fit of laughter, a surge of lust, an outburst of brutality, a heart-rending lament. She cleverly exploits her own misgivings so as to share her genuine self, creating art that, at its best, exhibits a profoundly compelling sense of personal truth. 

On the white-washed walls of a studio garage off Melrose Avenue hang a set of drawings. Rendered with a careful hand, they show a series of women dressed in black thigh-high boots and opera gloves, their otherwise naked bodies painted bright, solid colors and their black hair teased into towering bouffants. The women engage in a variety of curious activities—they execute chorus line kicks, they walk with bowling balls lashed to the undersides of their feet, one smashes paint-filled eggs against her vulva, another leans relaxedly against a massive black phallus. The ringleader of these women, and the illustrator herself, is artist Kembra Pfahler. The drawings, comprising a solo show organized by gallerist Lisa Bowman, depict scenes from Kembra’s celebrated performance work, both as an individual and with her campy rock band The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black. In donning the signature boots and body paint seen in the drawings, Kembra channels this Karen Black, a not-so-alter ego she chose for herself after moving to New York, launching headlong into a career of subversive and experimental performance art that would explore themes of feminism, sex, horror, and the body.

Landon Metz’s studio is a lot like the paintings he produces there: specific in palette and thoughtfully arranged, deftly balancing space and accent, and with a minimal presentation whose details invite and reward more intimate readings. Set in the outskirts of Williamsburg, the space is familiar by now to anyone who keeps up with Landon’s social media and printed output. Perhaps less apparent, however, is the distinct role it plays in his work.

Our visit found the Arizona-born artist in full-on studio mode—large canvases laid on the floor in a grid, rows of Poland Spring bottles filled with blue and green dyes, assistants building stretchers, the stereo blaring—as he prepared for upcoming shows at Massimo Minini, Paul Kasmin and James Fuentes.

It was an outwardly hectic scene, but in sitting down to talk, surrounded by sparse patterns and overgrown flowering monsteras, it didn’t take long to be reminded of what Landon’s work so consistently provides: a calm amidst the clatter. 

Human beings are not nature’s favorites. In Sexual Personae, Camille Paglia delineates this theory well, saying “We are merely one of a multitude of species upon which nature indiscriminately exerts its force. Nature has a master agenda we can only dimly know.” However if we look vice versa, nature is a favorite of Alexandra Drewchin.

Drewchin is one half of music duo Guardian Alien, but primarily she is Eartheater. Though at first note she could be branded a singer, there is much more to her than that. Her whole body is her voice, and she uses it as a powerful and influential device, forging a space for her work to be heard. As Eartheater, Drewchin has released two albums, Metalepsis and RIP Chrysalis, both critically acclaimed. Her sound is a mix of electric guitar and synthesizer samples that swirl together into something that could be characterized as psychedelic, with a touch of ancient folklore.

It is something very peculiar, eclectic and complex. Something cyber-alien-ish yet totally naturalized. In Drewchin’s words, “Eartheater is the type of project where “the experience”, past or present, is never obsolete and can always be referenced in the poetic mirage–it’s a conversation in search of elegance.”

In Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac, protagonist Joe recounts tales of her sexual past to an older man, the stranger Seligman. She speaks candidly, not preoccupied with any passion in the remembered acts, but presenting a catalog of experiences, the collection of a curious obsessive. The audience looks on as each scene plays out, the content of these carnal episodes taking on unusual new significance as our observations are detached from, but not necessarily impervious to, our own desires.

Casper Sejersen was chosen to shoot promotional images for the film, but upon reading the script he sought a more ambitiou

SOWETO,

JOHANNESBURG,

SOUTH AFRICA,

NOVEMBER

11TH 2015

Edun currently produces their entire line between the countries of Kenya, Madagascar and South Africa. For the Summer 2016 season, the brand has collaborated with South African photographer Kristin-Lee Moolman on a photo series that shares the lives and looks of Africa, presenting an intimate view of the continent, its past, and its present through the lens of one of its own. This project is about sharing the energy, spirit and extraordinary character Edun has felt in connecting with the continent where its collections are crafted.

“The concept for this project centres primarily on contemporary Soweto, exploring the unique collection of objects and architecture so typical in the homes and streets of the suburb, with strong emphasis on the new female beauty being one of the most important themes, as well as the con ict between the natural and the constructed, nature and city, and a focus on the systems of security so prevalent in current South African society”

Kristin-Lee Moolman 

An errant strand of hair, deep auburn, repeatedly falls in front of Nicola Tyson’s face over the course of our interview, often left to sit for minutes at a time until finally pushed away, only to return moments later. Her outfit, a white shirt and black blazer, is crisp and precise, a monochromatic counterbalance to the orgy of colors and irregular lines that so often grace the fifty-five-year-old artist’s canvases. But the hair, long and tumbling and with a mind of its own, hints at the fluid, unbeholden nature of her work.

Over the course of a career spanning three decades, Tyson has carved out a space for herself with distinct figurative paintings and drawings that reimagine the human form. It is an exploration of gender and sexuality, and an irreverent rebellion against her classical training at London’s Chelsea School of Art and Central Saint Martins College. Her forms are influenced by an education in feminist theory, as well as by the respective androgyny and flamboyance of the punk and New Romantic scenes of ’70s and ‘80s London.