FORM Vol. XXVI by FORM Magazine

FORM

A Space for Ideas, Culture, and Aesthetics

Editor’s Letter Volume XXVI of FORM Magazine is grounded in the dual theme of interior/exterior. Our Art & Design section begins with Slowing Down, a conversation with Jordan Casteel. She speaks about her process and how it reveals the stories of the people she paints. Next, Dustin Yellin takes us through his cross-disciplinary practice in Maps, Books, Bridges. We then move to Crossroads, a collection of black-and-white rural landscapes by Co-Creative Director Jack Muraika. From there, Maya Lin details the connection between her work and the environment in Natural Resilience. Finally, our conversation with Cassi Namoda, When Life Gives You Limbos, illuminates the artist’s holistic approach to her life and art. To open our Style section, Co-Style Director Ali Rothberg presents Ordered Pairs, a creative writing piece about her socks and the memories they represent. We then speak to Kartik Kumra of Karu Research about Indian artisanship and culture in Future Vintage. Next, City of Oaks explores the differing tones and textures of a forest and a city corner, separated by only a few miles. We wrap up the section with Visions of an Afrofuture, a conversation about Black creativity and self-determination with Jameel Mohammed of KHIRY. We begin our Travel & Culture section with our Washington, D.C. Travel Guide, which makes stops at a bustling music venue, a quirky bookstore, a Cambodian-Taiwanese restaurant, and an abandoned amusement park. From there, we head to Brooklyn, where Lichen NYC’s Jared Blake speaks to us about design and community in Like the Organism. Nifemi Marcus-Bello of nmbello Studio, whose products are carried by Lichen NYC, then tells us about his empathetic design ethos in Symbiosis. Rugs, With Love takes us back home to Durham, where Demir Williford of Nomadic Trading Company tells us about his globetrotting hunt for furniture to import and repurpose. To close, Juxtapositions highlights the contrast between indoor spaces of home comfort and the unkempt, unrestricted outdoors. Whether this issue finds you curled up on a couch or under the sun on a picnic blanket, we hope it serves as an invitation to explore the interiors and exteriors of our world, our communities, and ourselves. Sincerely, Mindy Wu & Dani Yan

EDITORS IN CHIEF

Mindy Wu Dani Yan

CREATIVE DIRECTORS

Jackson Muraika Layne Vanatta

LAYOUT DIRECTORS

Rebecca Boss Sana Hairadin

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

Skyler Graham

DIRECTORS OF ART & DESIGN

Abby Shlesinger Erika Wang

DIRECTORS OF STYLE

Ali Rothberg Ellie Rothstein

DIRECTORS OF TRAVEL & CULTURE

Darielle Engilman Becca Schneid

DIGITAL DIRECTOR

Samantha Littenberg

DIRECTOR OF COMMUNICATIONS ART & DESIGN CONTRIBUTORS Theija Balasubramanian Bella Bann Willa Gilbert-Goldstein Clara Lyra Caroline Rettig Claire Song TRAVEL & CULTURE CONTRIBUTORS Harry Liu Anna Rebello Sabreen Syed LAYOUT CONTRIBUTORS Leslie Kang Molly Honecker

Jacqui Lerner STYLE CONTRIBUTORS Kaya Hirsch Sarah Schwartz EDITORAL CONTRIBUTORS Stephen Atkinson Skylar Bloom Avery Didden Samantha Littenberg Amanda Tuzzo Tyler King COMMUNICATIONS CONTRIBUTORS Claire Ryland Kira Upin Chloe Ward

Table of Contents ART & DESIGN Slowing Down . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Maps, Books, Bridges. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Crossroads . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32 Natural Resilience. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44 When Life Gives You Limbos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54

STYLE Ordered Pairs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 Future Vintage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 Oak City . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 Visions of an Afrofuture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92

TRAVEL & CULTURE Washington, D.C. Travel Guide. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104 Like the Organism. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114 Symbiosis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124 Rugs, With Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132 Juxtapositions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144

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SL OW I N G D OW N Jordan Casteel is a New York-based painter. Grounded in her relationships, Casteel’s portraits and still-lifes capture the people and scenes of her communities. A MacArthur Fellow, Casteel has presented solo exhibitions at the New Museum and the Denver Art Museum. Her work appears in the permanent collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, the Guggenheim Museum, the Studio Museum in Harlem, and more. FORM spoke to Casteel about nature, community and taking breaks.

DeCarlo and I was thinking about what was making me happy at that moment, especially being far from people, and my garden was making me really happy. And I really wanted to explore that. My partner actually was a huge part of my taking that leap, because I was anxious about what that would mean for the practice. But making that painting has pushed me to think that maybe I need to use all the skills that I have gained over the past five years around introducing myself to people and building community and thinking creatively to reach out to folks through social media. I know that I'm not the only person of color who has made this journey in the past few months or year. And, sure enough, the outcry was substantial. It completely caught me off guard, how alone I was feeling, and how alone I didn't actually need to be feeling, and how many other people were feeling similar and could benefit from just being connected. And it immediately inspired an idea for a potential body of work coming down the pipe of meeting people and taking photographs of them in nature, other people who've bought properties — doing what I've always done, which is connect to those who are around me that maybe aren't visible at an immediate instant, but through the kind of painting process and practice that I have developed, become more and more visible over time. And then I get to share that kind of experience with others once the paintings are made.

Dani Yan: Your art has always been deeply connected to your community, from your classmates at Yale to the men in your old Harlem neighborhood to the owners of local businesses. I love seeing the people in your paintings standing next to the huge canvases with their finished portraits. I know you’ve been looking for a community of people of color in your new home in the Hudson Valley. How has that search been going? Considering the level of intimacy and trust involved in your portraits, has your work changed since being newer to a community? Jordan Casteel: You're absolutely right, I've always been anchoring my practice in the communities that I am a part of — that is where my inspiration comes from, that is what drives me. It comes from a real sense of curiosity and desire to understand my deep, empathetic self. I always want to understand people and what brings them to where they are, and being present with people in a really meaningful capacity is a huge part of that. So the painting practice itself has evolved, as you said, over the years, in such a way that as I have moved in various capacities, the paintings have moved with me. So it's really indicative of my story and where I have lived at various points or the people that I am meeting along the way. I’m in the midst of transitioning right now, I’m splitting my time 50/50 between Harlem and Upstate [New York]. I’m in the process of building a studio on a property that we purchased at the beginning of 2020. And once that studio is built, I imagine myself being there more full-time. When I started to contemplate what my life would look and feel like and what the practice would evolve into as a part of that move, I'd be lying to say that I wasn't initially very anxious. I had a hard time imagining how I could keep the practice thriving when, in many ways, I feel kind of isolated out there. So it's a double-edged sword in the sense that I love it — I've fallen in love with things up there that I never imagined that I would: gardening, baking, working with my hands being outside. It feels like a different kind of creative process.

DY: That’s really beautiful. You’ve said that you see yourself in your paintings, and I think that’s so true, not only in the person you are but also the process of your life and your career developing. Something I really appreciate is that you’ve always made a genuine effort to make authentic relationships with the people you’re painting and to dismantle traditional structures between artist and sitter. As your career has taken off and your name recognition has grown in these past couple years, I can imagine that might be more difficult now. Are you still able to maintain those same neutral power dynamics with your sitters? JC: I haven't necessarily thought about it as explicitly in those terms, maybe because my brain has yet to acknowledge that I have moved beyond someone else in a power structure. For example, when I taught collegiately, at Rutgers University, my teaching philosophy was very based on the fact that there are power structures, and then there are ways to dismantle those power structures. And the reality is, on paper, I was the professor of the class. I am supposed to be deemed the most knowledgeable party in the room. But that was never actually true. I actually knew less, or maybe similar amounts, to the students. I was just a guide. I always felt like my role in the classroom was to be a guide for the students. And it feels similar in a painting practice. I've never really thought of it in the context of, I am the painter and thus more powerful than the person I am painting. It’s genuinely a collaboration. How do I guide us to have the most meaningful potential outcome of this relationship? That’s my intent in my role and my goal. Through the way that I walk into a room, I hold power based on how I enter a space. And if I enter and

"I'VE ALWAYS BEEN ANCHORING MY PRACTICE IN THE COMMUNITIES THAT I AM A PART OF — THAT IS WHERE MY INSPIRATION COMES FROM, THAT IS WHAT DRIVES ME. IT COMES FROM A REAL SENSE OF CURIOSITY AND DESIRE TO UNDERSTAND MY DEEP, EMPATHETIC SELF. I ALWAYS WANT TO UNDERSTAND PEOPLE AND WHAT BRINGS THEM TO WHERE THEY ARE." So the first thing that occurred was when I made the painting Nasturtium, that was indicative of the garden that I was making. I was preparing for a show at Massimo

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I’m like, “I’m Jordan Casteel, here me roar. I'm in control here,” then yeah, there’s going to be a change in the practice and there’s going to be a change in the paintings and the relationships that I'm building. But I think there's a reason that a lot of the relationships have lasted significantly longer than just taking an image of somebody and leaving. I’ve built real, meaningful relationships, because the crux of the work is actually the relationship, not the painting.

down for others, but now I’m actually experiencing a forced kind of slowdown. I think the thing I'm noticing the most is nature and the way that nature is relating to myself and the people around me. It comes back to my garden. I'm finding myself very interested in how life happens from a seed. The circle of life: a seed can grow a plant that can grow bigger and feed me and my loved ones and then I can harvest something. So that's the thing I’m observing. I don’t know what it means, but I feel very aware of nature right now. And I don’t know how that's going to intertwine, but I can imagine more paintings like Nasturtium coming to being in the next year or two. And those being accompanied with cityscapes. I can imagine more landscape paintings being accompaniments to portraits in the future. DY: 2021 was a big year for you. From your wedding to your MacArthur Fellowship to your show at Massimo de Carlo — congrats on all of those, by the way — it was a lot. You wrote in a recent Instagram caption that 2022 will be a year of balance and self preservation. How has that been going so far?

DY: That really rings true for me, because I feel like even I, as a viewer, really know about the people in your paintings. I feel like I know James, I know about his personality and his story with his wife, Yvonne. Sometimes these details about your subjects don’t appear in the final compositions explicitly, but are reflected in how you paint them and how you speak to your experiences with them. The theme of our issue is interior/exterior, and I think your work fits so well into this theme because of how your practice speaks to the interior lives by capturing the exterior of themselves and their environments. What have you learned about people from all your years painting them?

"MY WILLINGNESS TO BE VULNERABLE WITH PEOPLE GIVES THEM PERMISSION, OR TIME AND SPACE, TO FEEL THAT THEY HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY TO DO THAT FOR THEMSELVES, AND TO EXPERIENCE THAT FOR THEMSELVES. PEOPLE ARE WILLING TO SHARE WITH YOU. GIVE THEM THE TIME AND SPACE TO SHARE THEIR STORY"

JC: The thing that has been the most consistent in my experience of making paintings with people is that there is a lot to be unveiled with time and with patience, and with your own vulnerability and willingness. So my willingness to be vulnerable with people gives them permission, or time and space, to feel that they have an opportunity to do that for themselves, and to experience that for themselves. People are willing to share with you. Give them the time and space to share their story, or whatever it is that they want you to know. If you give people time, and you give people an open ear and an open perspective and willingness to listen, then there's so much to learn that you would not know in an instant of seeing somebody and walking by them. If you actually take the time to slow down, there's so much to be revealed. I hope the paintings become indicative of my experience of that, for other people to begin their own journeys of exploration around that. You know James, because I was willing to say hello. All it took was somebody willing to see somebody. My being willing to see James has now opened James up to a sense of understanding from thousands of people who might have ignored him or misunderstood him otherwise.

JC: I am thriving in it. I haven't painted in two and a half months, and I feel great about that. I stepped into this year with a certain amount of boundaries and clarity — you're right, last year was a lot. And the year before, it was also kind of a lot. And years prior to that, I've done a show almost every year for the past few years. And coming into 2022, I just knew that if I didn't restructure expectations around me, that as a 32-year-old, soon to be 33, I would burn out. I just couldn’t imagine being at the level of production that I have been for so long, and having a life with my partner and with my family and as a friend and as a fully functioning human being and being able to honor all those things authentically, if I didn't kind of figure out what my line would be. And I needed time. I needed time for my creativity to re-emerge. And that's what I think is happening. In many ways, I've allowed myself a certain amount of grace and allowed my voice to be a little louder in the spaces that I’m in, in terms of what it is that I need.

DY: I’ve always thought you paint not only people, but their environments and their surroundings in a way that illuminates that person. I’ve always appreciated your attention to detail, especially in the background of your paintings. Whether you’re on the subway or in a sitter’s home, your eye is always so sharp. Are there any new things or colors or people in your new environment that have really caught your eye or that you’re really itching to paint?

IMAGES courtesy of Casey Kaplan Gallery WRITING Dani Yan

JC: Things feel like they've slowed down. Whether intentionally or not, my environment is forcing a slowing down. Usually I’m accustomed to my eye being what slows

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MAPS, BOOKS, BRIDGES

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Dustin Yellin is a multi-disciplinary artist living and working in Brooklyn, New York. His body of work incorporates a wide variety of mediums including glass, collage, animation, augmented reality and drawing. In addition to his work in the studio, Yellin is the founder and director of Pioneer Works, a non-profit cultural center in Red Hook, New York encouraging interdisciplinary education and conversation. FORM spoke to Yellin about everything from knitting to Proteus, a shape-shifting octopus.

encyclopedias, videos, books on geography and books on landscape. I'm constantly culling all of these books, cutting them up and creating systems to go through them. I have drawers of icebergs, drawers of mushrooms, drawers of machines and drawers of floors of architecture. I have different palettes, sometimes in different scales, so small people, medium people, large people, animal hats, and things like that. When I'm working on something, I have this whole library that's already been cut up and organized to pull from.

Abigail Shlesinger: Your sculptural works, particularly looking at the psychogeographies, investigate the relationship between humans, the natural world and consumer culture. How do you come up with the unique visualizations of this relationship? Is it when you decide to construct each individual work?

"I'M NOT THINKING TACTICALLY ABOUT ONE ELEMENT, USUALLY I'M TRYING TO SORT OF FREEZE AN AMALGAMATION OR ACCUMULATION OF WHAT'S PENETRATING MY CONSCIOUSNESS INTO A FROZEN MOMENT ."

Dustin Yellin: You know, it's kind of like a dream or a hallucination or a vision. I'm not thinking tactically about one element, usually I'm trying to sort of freeze an amalgamation or accumulation of what's penetrating my consciousness into a frozen moment or microscope slide or a frozen perspective. I'm really thinking about everything I've experienced and everything I've been looking at. I summon it into, what then would usually be a sketch or a drawing.

AS: A lot of your works, including the Politics of Eternity, talk about climate change. Also, your planned project of The Bridge is really pertinent to that topic. Can you explain a bit more about your different work in this space, and also what inspired you to begin tackling environmental issues in your work? DY: I think they pervade the work in a multitude of ways. I've been kind of obsessed with climate since I learned about it in my late teens. I have had more visceral experiences like Hurricane Sandy where I lost everything in the flood and had five feet of water in my studio. I think that actually hit me pretty hard because now, as you've seen in the psychogeographies, I'm making all these bodies of water that are drowning themselves. The obsession also comes from seeing our planet change and reading all the science about it. We also have salty water running through our veins. I live on a body of water in the city, and I’m going to a body of water right now, a little spring-fed lake. Part of the work is to find our connection to this fluid conscious body being in all things simultaneously.

AS: What is your process for creating the actual sculptures themselves? DY: The Politics of Eternity is a great example of what I want to make more of. It's like knitting a quilt of earlier work. I'm always working on these sketches. Let's say I’m building a disc that has a rocket on it, or a space garden on it, or a space farm or space glyph. And then I build another small, what I call “study,” let's say an underworld. Then I have an underworld, and I have a space disk. And I have another study, which is water falling out of an ocean. I’m knitting together all of these moments that I've been experimenting with and then make drawings. Usually, I try to make the drawings to scale, so one-to-one drawings, which are my maps. For the Politics of Eternity, which involved a team of five people helping me for two years and has 20,000 hours in it. I had pieces of paper on the wall. It was really almost like a map. Everything's laid out, so you have the future on the left and the past on the right. You have the whole matrix determined. Yet, there's still so much room over the two years to add things as well. A year and a half in I might add Masonic symbols or oceanic artifacts or Egyptian artifacts or specific narrative content to the map. Sort of like a film director, I direct my team.

AS: When people see your work, how do you envision them responding? Does everyone have a different response to it or see it similarly? DY: Everybody sees it differently. I certainly want to make works that move me in the way nature moves me. The way I felt the first time I saw the Garden of Earthly Delights in the Prado or the first time I saw Duchamp's large glass or looked at Thomas Cole's paintings and looked at Louise Bourgeois. There are certain works that moved me and I want to make work that does the same thing, that has some sort of visceral effect and also helps to ignite curiosity and make one think, “Oh fuck, I've never seen anything like that.”

AS: When you put all of these different elements into the work, where do you find the different collages that you put inside of the actual panels themselves?

AS: Beyond your artwork, you also have an incredible project Pioneer Works, which is about a decade old now. What was your original vision when you conceptualized the space? How has it changed, developed or been adopted as you’ve

DY: I either draw it or paint it. I also have a library of books spanning a period of 80 years, everything from

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of reference. I didn't finish high school, so there's probably some part of me that was unconsciously building my own school.

seen it grow over the past 10 years? DY: I would say that my art practice is very descriptive. There's this descriptive element of the Politics of Eternity where I'm showing you the past and the future. A particle accelerator lives on one side, the cave of minerals mirrors on the other. Everything's mirroring: time is mirroring and circular. Pioneer Works, I think of as a social sculpture. I literally think of it as a sculpture, a finite albeit living organism, and a growing and expanding and ever-changing work. It’s a work just as much as the Politics of Eternity. It’s a work just like the psychogeographies, which might be a 20-year project to make 200 humans but it's a single work. In reality, I've done nothing. I've made three works. The psychogeographies is one constellation, these archives of consciousness in the form of bodies, but it's a single work. I've made the Politics of Eternity, I call that a single work. Then Pioneer Works, a single work. Those are just three works.

Even now, if I get into a room with a bunch of sculptors and they're like telling me about work, that's cool, but I am used to that. When I'm sitting with an astrophysicist, and they're telling me about black holes and topologies or sitting with geologists and they are telling me how glacial activity works and erratic boulders are positioned, I feel like I am forging into the unknown. AS: I feel like you are always learning new things. You're one to never settle with what you know. DY: Exactly. It’s like, the more Russian literature you read and learn about, or the more poetry you read, you realize, “Holy fuck, there's a million poets I haven't read yet.” That saying “the more you know,” it's so cliche, but you start to really realize how much is out there by being curious and by wanting to learn.

Now I'm working on an animated film, an augmented reality thing, The Bridge, which is a conceptual piece of architecture and a civic tourist attraction, but it's a single work. Pioneer Works has grown much bigger than I ever even imagined. I didn't go at it very professionally, you know, it was more of a vision. I didn't know what I was doing, and, frankly, probably still don't. I knew that I wanted all the disciplines, I knew that was the fundamental kernel of it. I wanted to put physicists in the same room as musicians and writers and filmmakers, etc. It's still growing. My job is just to set the table in a way.

AS: It shows in the things that you do. When I look at your work, it involves so many mythologies, and stories and items and actions. I am learning when I am looking at it. DY: Yeah, I definitely try to make things that keep opening and keep unfolding and that you can keep seeing into. It’s like the way it feels when you pick up a great book, or you go to a new country. AS: As you mentioned before, you don't know exactly what Pioneer Works will become. Do you envision it potentially expanding beyond its current location in Red Hook?

"I CERTAINLY WANT TO MAKE WORKS THAT MOVE ME IN THE WAY NATURE MOVES ME ... THERE ARE CERTAIN WORKS THAT MOVED ME AND I WANT TO MAKE WORK THAT DOES THE SAME THING, THAT HAS SOME SORT OF VISCERAL EFFECT AND ALSO HELPS TO IGNITE CURIOSITY"

DY: I hope on multiple levels. I could see building the program in other cities, I can see it also just influencing other institutions that are organically forming. My dream is that there would be a PW in lots of cities. For me, PW is a better example of a museum or some sort of version of a school where everyone's in the building making stuff. Cultural production is as important as cultural dissemination. This includes access to cultural production. Going to a good college now can cost $50,000 a year. Someone can walk off the street into PW, and see someone working in a ceramic studio, but also someone building an AI chatbot in the next room or making a record in another room. That process of cultural production is on view. The idea of a museum of process is super key. I would like to create those kinds of attributes in other cities.

AS: You touched upon my next question about the crossdisciplinary focus of all of your work. What inspired you to want to bring so many disciplines together? DY: My parents were not very cultured, so I didn't have much exposure. At some point, I met a physicist, and he was like, “You should look at this and read that.” Having mentors exposed me to what different people were making and really changed my entire perspective. When I met a scientist, as a young person, I was like, “This is so fucking cool.” Or when I met my first friends who are musicians. I was just so inspired by what other people were doing that I felt like that could help to really inform my practice and make me think differently. It completely changed my frame

You know, I know a lot of friends, and I won’t say which schools, but they'll be in the music department, and they'll say, “Oh, we want to do something with applied physics,” and there's pushback because there's either competition for funds or there's just competition with ego. For whatever reason, it's not cultivated, and I think there are some schools that are

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trying to do it now, but it's not happening fast enough. AS: You mentioned earlier that you're working on an animated movie. I know you've done a bit with AR technology. You also have a strong presence on social media. How do you see social media and technology affecting the consumption of art now and into the future, specifically focusing on your art as well? DY: Hopefully, in its best case, it is expediting the sharing of ideas. The fact that I can think of something right now and I can just share it with a lot of people is really cool. I can go on and be like, “Oh, fuck, I'm reading, you know, this book called Underland right now.” And then I could tell someone about it. That idea that you can spread information and share ideas is really, I think, an interesting way to use technology. If you're curious, you can learn, right? It's also a way to exhibit or to share your art if you don’t have a large platform. AS: Do you think it's brought a new audience to your work specifically, or it's just been a supplement to what you're doing? DY: You know, I haven't really tracked it, but I imagine there are definitely a lot of people who learned about the work that way. And unfortunately, they aren’t experiencing it “IRL” so to speak, but again, that’s about equity and access. I think we'll find these metaverses and all of these modalities are ways in which people travel and experience culture. Maybe you're not going to go to Egypt, but maybe you can go to Luxor in the metaverse. AS: You are a self-taught artist and also an entrepreneur. What do you think is the most important thing for aspiring artists or people interested in honestly entering any field to do with the onset of their careers or even in the first few years? DY: I would say curiosity, humility and perseverance. As a young person, everyone told me I would be homeless, that I was crazy. I just kind of stuck to my vision under all circumstances, without ever questioning it. Civilization is a sculpture, reality is completely malleable, all things can be made. Humans often create their own limits and put their own feelings on what's possible. And so figuring out ways to remove those self-imposed barriers is extraordinarily important. PHOTOGRAPHY courtesy of Dustin Yellin WRITING Abigail Shelsinger

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crossroads

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Natural Resilience

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loved math and the sciences. I really started thinking I would focus on animal behavior, but when my advisor informed me that Yale’s program was neurologically based and would involve vivisection, I realized it wasn’t quite what I thought it would be. I quickly decided to pursue architecture as a field that would combine my interest in art and creativity with mathematics and engineering.

Maya Lin is a multi-disciplinary artist known for her large-scale environmental artworks, architectural works, and memorial designs. Born in Athens, Ohio in 1959, she graduated from Yale University with a B.A. in 1981 followed by a Master of Architecture degree in 1986. Lin’s art and architecture explore how we experience landscape, and she is committed to advocating sustainable design solutions in all her works. Her memory works focus on some of the critical historical issues of our time. FORM spoke to Lin about her longstanding interest in the environment, her fifth, final, and on-going memorial What is Missing?, and how we can incorporate sustainability in our daily lives.

I love that after all these years both my art and my architecture has been equally focused on being sensitive to and reflecting upon the natural world. My architecture from the start has been very committed to using recycled materials, sustainable materials, maximizing daylight and being extremely respectful and sensitive to the landscape. For instance, I recently completed the renovation and new additions to the Smith College Neilson Library, one in which after many terrible additions had effectively bifurcated the campus. I was able to build back exactly what they needed programmatically yet shrink the overall size of the new buildings, freeing up the campus and creating one of the most energy-efficient new libraries to be built today. Even if you go back to the Vietnam Memorial, I wanted to leave the park a park and be gentle to the landscape it was situated in.

Abigail Shlesinger: What inspired your early interest in the natural world? Did you always envision it as a facet of your art and architectural practice? Maya Lin: I can't remember a time when I didn't care about animals and the environment. I grew up in a house surrounded by woods in rural southeastern Ohio. I would spend hours outdoors sitting still trying to get the wild animals used to my presence. Sometimes I would put peanuts out, leading into the house and sit there quietly and watch the chipmunks come into the house, much to my mother's chagrin.

"AFTER ALL THESE YEARS BOTH MY ART AND MY ARCHITECTURE HAS BEEN EQUALLY FOCUSED ON BEING SENSITIVE TO AND REFLECTING UPON THE NATURAL WORLD."

I was growing up in the ‘70s: Lake Erie caught on fire. The Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act, and the Endangered Species Act all came into formation. So, in the news, what was impressionable to me was our awareness as a country about how much damage we were doing to the environment and how important it was to protect nature. Pollution was very evident. From smog, to littering, to Lake Erie catching on fire (I think the Cuyahoga River caught on fire technically) and DDT and its effects on the raptors. In a way what Rachel Carson writes about becomes in the 70s, to a lot of the environmental activists, a real calling — you saw that in the news. I think it was something that really concerned me as a child.

My most recent artwork, Ghost Forest, is both an art installation but also part of What is Missing? since it literally brings a forest that has fallen victim to climate change to the heart of Midtown Manhattan. My artwork — especially the large-scale earthworks — want to get you closer to the land, oftentimes they help restore a formerly degraded site and are built in in a toxin-free and site-sensitive fashion and they also make the viewer aware of the land itself. These site-specific works, whether they be art or architectural works, are not trying to conquer or overpower nature, but they really try to blend in and become absorbed into their sites. The smallerscaled museum works try to make you more aware of the environment that is quite literally right under your feet. The large-scale installation I created for the Wexner Center for the Arts in Columbus, Ohio was inspired by a recent flooding of the Mississippi/Ohio rivers caused by climate change induced heavier spring rains in the region. The river starts first on the wall and then as it turns down the wall to the floor, the river flips to reveal the flood waters with the actual normal river seen as negative space. I am always trying to reveal aspects of the natural world that could be quite literally right under your feet that you may not be noticing, with much of my work focusing on the effects of climate change.

It led me to sit in Kroger’s parking lot with greenpeace petitions to boycott Japan to protect the whales — or to ban steel traps because they were so cruel. AS: What brought those concerns into your thinking as an artist or an architect or in doing the memorials? How did you want to incorporate those ideas? ML: When I first went to college, I thought I would become a field zoologist, even though I was always making art all through my childhood and I equally

AS: Throughout your decades-long career, have you seen a

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change in the human relationship to nature?

I find that if you don’t want to preach to the choir then you must present a new way of thinking about what this problem is. I tend to use a more positive and hopeful approach rather than stressing the doom and gloom of the situation. I think when people feel they are being preached at they often shut down, so I try to surprise you and draw you in with facts that just pique your curiosity and maybe get you to rethink the scale of the problem and make the problem a little bit more human in scale as far as how we each can make a difference.

ML: Yes, I see both good and bad changes. On the positive side, we have witnessed how if we protect nature through conservation laws and protections, nature is very resilient and comes back. It brings up the idea of shifting baselines, we are aware of the point in time we live. Do we really remember that cod were bigger than a man in the 1890s? Or that rivers used to be so full of fish they were called running silver? So, we sometimes don't realize what we've lost. But when we do become aware of the damage we are doing, and we begin to protect it, for instance the rebound of endangered species , and the restoration of so mnay highly polluted rivers. Look at the Hudson or the Thames — it is cleaner than it's been in 400 years. In Manhattan, the oysters are beginning to grow again after serious pollution. So, I think there have been real shifts in that we can really see that if we protect it, that nature is resilient, and it comes back.

What can I say? As an artist, I'm not trying to compete with the environmental and scientific institutions, which are doing great work. As an artist, I want to get you to rethink what the problem is, and the scale of the problem. We ask questions. We can show you new ways of looking at the problem. For instance, if you go to the website, WHATISMISSING. ORG and go to solutions, you can find how we use infographics to hopefully get you to rethink these issues.

The problem is, we are consuming the planet at an everincreasing rate and our emissions have pushed the planet to almost a point of no return. The window for reducing our emissions before it is too late is closing rapidly.

For instance, if you took the entire world's population, and we lived at the density of Manhattan, how much space would the entire world's population take up? The answer is the state of Arizona.

Climate change poses the greatest risk to our survival — are we doing enough to act on it? Or is this going to be too little too late? I believe that we can still turn this around and naturebased solutions can play a huge part. I established a nonprofit project entitled What is Missing? to focus on this issue.

AS: Wow. ML: Exactly! Also, we like to follow the money trail. If it takes $1.6 trillion annually to make the changes we need to mitigate climate change — which sounds like so much money — but then we show you some of the things we spend that amount on every year, like worldwide drug and alcohol use, maybe we can get you to shift that thinking when we makes these comparisons.

AS: What you said dives perfectly into my next question, which is about What is Missing?. You've declared it to be your fifth and final memorial. The project incorporates a variety of mediums to spread information to the public. What do you think, throughout this process of working on this memorial, have been the most effective ways to communicate information regarding climate change and the human impact on the environment to a global audience?

But my main focus is on how Nature-based solutions can both protect species and reduce significant amounts of climate change emissions. 50% of all emissions are caused by our land use practices and our land use practices are the greatest threat to biodiversity- so we can effectively save two birds with one tree by reforming our land use practices. We emphasize that by reforming our agriculture, ranching, and forestry practices and if we restore our wetlands, grasslands, and forests, we could reduce between 50-90% of all emissions and restore the planet's biodiversity.

ML: I started working on this in 2007. I wanted to create a memorial that could be in many places and in many mediums simultaneously. The first iteration was with the California Academy of Sciences and encompasses a largescale ‘Listening Cone’ that you can curl up in and listen to and watch videos of species and places that are threatened or have gone extinct. But I also knew I had to focus not just on making people aware of what we are losing. I wanted this work to be proactive and give you actionable items that can help make a difference. The scientists and environmentalists I was working with had really impressed me with that message, and I made a promise that I would try to do that throughout the project. That's where the other side of Missing is. It's not just a memorial about what we're losing, but then I would argue that none of my memorials have been just about loss. They're about teaching history, and showing us that if we can accurately look at what we're doing, it could help lead us to a different future.

"I'M NOT TRYING TO COMPETE WITH THE ENVIRONMENTAL AND SCIENTIFIC INSTITUTIONS, WHICH ARE DOING GREAT WORK. AS AN ARTIST, I WANT TO GET YOU TO RETHINK WHAT THE PROBLEM IS, AND THE SCALE OF THE PROBLEM. WE ASK QUESTIONS. WE CAN SHOW YOU NEW WAYS OF LOOKING AT THE PROBLEM."

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Or are you going to be more focused on building out the website, digital content, and collaborative spaces online? ML: Both. I think Ghost Forest is one of the most public iterations of it, and I want to continue along that line. I also do want people to engage with the website and the mobile app, but it's not there yet. Ghost Forest has focused more attention on the problem of climate change. Also, to kick off the opening of Ghost Forest I insisted that we have a conference focused on Nature-Based solutions to climate change. We brought in someone from the Nature Conservancy, someone from the Rodale Institute, who's done all the early studies on agricultural reform, and then Edwina von Gal who founded the Perfect Earth Project. The Nature Conservancy discussed what they are doing around the five boroughs to restore land and waters. Rodale focused on agricultural practices that can bring back the life of the soil and promote healthier food growing practices. Then Edwina focused on what you can do in your own backyard to both welcome biodiversity back as well as get rid of the harmful chemicals, turning your lawn into a carbon sink. We also asked if the project received funding to plant 1000 trees and shrubs in the five boroughs. We tracked our entire carbon footprint to make the project, trips out to the Pine Barrens, every vehicle, every trip, and then we offset that. We figured out we used six tons throughout the three years. The Natural Areas Conservancy planted the trees. And estimates that those trees will in the next 10 years absorb over 60 tons of carbon- effectively offsetting our carbon footprint six-fold. I wanted this artwork to not just focus on loss and the dire effects of climate change but to also be life-affirming and showcase what we can do to help.

Also, by improving our agricultural and ranching practices, our working lands stop emitting CO2 and instead they start absorbing CO2, while also making our agricultural and ranching lands much more resilient and capable of withstanding longer periods of drought. I find when I create specific art installations like Ghost Forest in downtown Manhattan or when I presented the art installation The Secret Life of Grasses at Storm King is when more people have so far learned about this project. Or when I present What is Missing? in lectures and when I ask museums to give me a space dedicated to the project is also when most people have come across the project. But I am hoping that as the website, which has been evolving experimentally as we have built more components, will by the end of this year become more readily accessible allowing more people to learn about and access the project. If you go to the website now, on the left is the Map of Memory, where you can explore thousands of stories of the natural world. Some are great success stories and others are worst failures, and this is where we have created indepth timelines that trace an ecological history of certain species, waterways, and places. On the right-hand side is Solution, which focuses on what we can do both at a macro level and an individual level. When you click on it, it's a clear mapping of the different things we can do such as nature-based solutions and energy-based solutions, and then we break it down even further. The website also invites you to share a personal memory — something that you or your parents or your grandparents have personally noticed either be restored or lost from the natural world. It taps into that notion of citizen science, science that we can all observe. How can we get people to care about the environment? Bring it close to home. What's missing in your own backyard? You can remember and realize how important nature is to each one of us. So after this interview, you're going to have to go interview your parents and your grandparents and add a memory to What is Missing?.

So, I really do believe that it's a two-step process. You must not just make people aware of how bad it is, but we really need to give people hope and specific actionable items, emphasizing that what they can do can make a huge difference. AS: You mentioned you started your career as a student artist at Yale and with a background in the sciences and the arts. What advice would you give to current students or young artists with hope to incorporate sustainability into their own practices? ML: Incorporate sustainability not just in your practice, but into your life. I have a firm belief that we should be very interdisciplinary. We tend to silo and try to solve our problems in each individual silo. On the planet, you need to think about sustainability much more holistically. So, I would say keep it open so that it's not just affecting your practice, but how you live in this world.

AS: I will. I'll encourage everyone to do so, too! As a part of What is Missing?, you mentioned creating the site specific installation Ghost Forest that closed late last year. It was one of the most public facing projects of the memorial. Are you interested in more projects like Ghost Forest for the future?

PHOTOGRAPHY courtesy of Maya Lin WRITING Abigail Shlesinger

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When Life Gives You Limbos Cassi Namoda is an artist based between New York and Los Angeles. Informed by her international upbringing and meticulous research, Namoda’s figurative paintings speak to universal themes, from myth and memory to climate change and colonialism. Her work is held in the collections of the Studio Museum in Harlem, the Pérez Art Museum in Miami, and the Baltimore Museum of Art. She has had solo exhibitions in galleries around the world, and both she and her work have appeared on covers of Vogue. FORM spoke to Namoda about colors, characters, and cooking.

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Dani Yan: How’s LA? I know you split time between there and East Hampton — does the location impact how you work or the work that you make?

abou more personal narratives, like when my friends in Mozambique would tell me they wouldn’t be able to get sugars, or proteins, or basic fundamental ingredients during the civil war. They only had mackerel and rice. This kind of mackerel is a river fish, and I started painting these river fish throughout several bodies of work in these violet, black paintings. And then that gave birth to the Mendes Wood show, because I felt like I was sequestered into this dream world, into this landscape. This landscape is vulnerable, there’s solitude, there's quietness. And then I thought about adding this religious sentiment to it. I decided to have the whale as the central figure that would carry the story in this allegorical setting. And so, to work with a really tight palette would give more space to feel and explore.

Cassi Namoda: Yes, and for the act of painting, the environment is really important. Everything is informative to the process. So just looking at the way the sunlight hits the leaves or the variations of green within the landscape, I think about all of that when thinking about landscape and the act of painting. But then, at the same time, I’m in LA right now because I have an exhibition slated to open here around December. I’m expanding outward and I’m working with different materials and fabricators, and it’s so much more about the narrative for me, and it’s whatever story I feel like is honest to the exhibition that I’m making, or the painting that I’m making, or the body of work. As I’ve gone along, I’ve become much more honest to whatever narrative I feel. Once the narrative is concrete and I’m figuring out pigments, then I’m looking at the world around me. There’s this sort of inward moment and the ruminations begin. Then there’s other pontifications that start to happen once that’s figured out and then I’m really looking outward. It’s almost like I’m looking at the world with bigger eyes and maybe those moments when I’m more sensitive, there are specific palettes that might find themselves into my work.

A lot of what I’m doing, I know I’m reacting to it and then there is this expectation that others would react in the same way—whether or not that’s always successful, I’m not entirely sure, but that’s my aim. For instance, magenta is the highest color of calming, so I felt like magenta would be an important color to exist in an exhibition in Brazil, which has had a very tough time with both Bolsonaro and COVID. I wasn’t going to make a body of work that doesn’t coexist with reality. I’m thinking about the way that art can interact with reality, and not necessarily be escapism but relief.

"AS I’VE GONE ALONG, I’VE BECOME MUCH MORE HONEST TO WHATEVER NARRATIVE I FEEL. ONCE THE NARRATIVE IS CONCRETE AND I’M FIGURING OUT PIGMENTS, THEN I’M LOOKING AT THE WORLD AROUND ME. THERE’S THIS SORT OF INWARD MOMENT AND THE RUMINATIONS BEGIN. "

DY: You’ve talked about taking early morning walks ahead of your “Little is Enough For Those in Love'' at the Pippy Houldsworth Gallery in London and how the beautiful, soft colors you saw translated to your work. The most striking difference from your most recent works, like those in the show at Mendes Wood, from those in “Little is Enough For Those in Love',' is the color. You’ve talked about color bringing energy and vibration, and you’ve even been called a “color sage.” What was your thinking behind introducing these new mystic, saturated colors to your work?

DY: I like that you talked about the dreamscape drawing from different communities around the world, because I feel like many of the subjects and themes of your work, as well as your own background, are global. At the same time, much of your paintings are rooted in your birthplace, Mozambique. How do you capture a sense of place in your work?

CN: Every body of work informs the next, whether I realize it or not. When I did the Goodman show, “To Live Long Is to See Much,” it was almost like I was thinking about being stuck in this lucid world, and so that palette informed that dream life. And then when I started with the Mendes Wood show, I had made several paintings before that, which were these sort of religious paintings that were very much centered around landscape—these sort of barren, surreal landscapes. I was thinking about Flemish primitive painters and I was wanting to create this world with natural resources being depleted. I was specifically thinking about more developing communities in diaspora and in Asia and South America and how these people are the most vulnerable. And then it took a personal turn while I was thinking

CN: I grew up moving around every couple of years and living and observing in many different countries. I think all of that is informative of my DNA. I used Mozambique almost as a vessel. But I strive to create some sort of universalism between narrative and painting. I’m not telling a single story. I feel passionate about having Mozambican heritage and also having gone and lived there in my early 20s,

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which I feel like is an exploratory phase. So I was able to really dig deep within the landscape of literature and culture, and then find ways to dovetail it. It’s almost a process of quilting or threading. But my lens is not so linear, it’s really an expanded lens, so I feel like my most authentic approach is to create something universal.

the studio—there’s this ill notion that to be a really good artist, you must be overly productive. I think sometimes that could be to one’s detriment. Time in the studio is good, but time in the world engaging is just as important.

"THERE’S THIS ILL NOTION THAT TO BE A REALLY GOOD ARTIST, YOU MUST BE OVERLY PRODUCTIVE. I THINK SOMETIMES THAT COULD BE TO ONE’S DETRIMENT. TIME IN THE STUDIO IS GOOD, BUT TIME IN THE WORD ENGAGING IS JUST AS IMPORTANT."

DY: I get a sense of that universalism when looking at the people in your paintings, who are rendered in simple detail and usually not clearly belonging to a certain country or culture. In some paintings, like Little is Enough For Those with Love, they don’t have any facial features at all. Sometimes, I feel like I am exposed to the interior lives of your characters, from the recurring cast like Maria and the conjoined twins to those who only appear once like the sad man with flowers. Other times, I feel like there’s some distance between myself and the figures in your works. What do you want to convey about the characters in your works?

With the pandemic, all I want to do is go back to Africa, to Mozambique and to Kenya, just to observe and watch intimately. I’m very connected with people and those whom I do not know. Sometimes I want to just sit in a cafe on the side of a road somewhere to just watch and be engaged. All of that feeds my work. So I guess when I say I’m living, eating, and breathing, I’m saying that I stay in this moment where I’m thinking of what could make a painting more meaningful and better than the last.

CN: It's all very relational. I think about the relation between the viewer and the painting. Sometimes, for instance with the Mendes Wood show, the figures are not very central. You’re always catching them as if you’re in another dimension. But then sometimes there’s intimacy, as if you’re there but you’re not invited. Like in the Pippy Houldsworth show, I was thinking about these native tribal postcards that the Portuguese would make that would always have racist colonial undertones. And then I thought about portraiture of native peoples in travel books. There’s always a bit of a disconnect between the gaze of the figure and the gaze of the viewer—almost like you’re not welcome or you’re not invited. I think it’s a protection. In the Pippy Houldsworth show, that’s what I was trying to convey, because it offered more intimate views into the characters. And then I did the Goodman show, where the characters were from a dream world. It was almost as if you closed your eyes and imagined them in a dream.

And do my actions actually serve me in a holistic sense? For instance, I love cooking in my studio. When I’m not completely grounded, I’ll just be nervously snacking and I’ll realize I need to step back for a second and I’ll go make a salad or whatever. I think that moving with the meditative state actually works for me. And don’t get me wrong, I get these moments like Sun Ra when things become frazzled and everything becomes this culmination of process and energy, and I embrace that too. But I think it’s important to have both worlds, and I think a level of selfishness is really important. DY: As an artist, like you said, everything is so holistic. Everything you’re doing, every person you’re interacting with, every dish or snack you’re eating, all of that contributes to the work in some way or another, even if that’s not translated on the canvas.

I think about how I want the characters to engage: in what perspective, in what composition, if there’s a closeness, if there’s a distance. These are all things I ruminate when I approach the canvas and it really varies from body of work to body of work.

CN: Exactly. I have tons of research papers and images I’ve printed, books I’ve bought. I don’t necessarily have to execute those within a painting. They could just serve me spiritually. But then that is serving my energy for the painting. And that’s the thing—I really cut the fat. I’m not interested in making an overly done painting or an overly done narrative. I like to keep them really digestible. That’s my intention: that you can walk into a space and leave with a clear sentiment.

DY: I’ve really loved hearing how you approach each body of work differently. You’ve said that you need to live, eat, and breathe your work in order to make it. Could you tell me about what you’re living, eating, and breathing now, and what kind of work that’s producing? It’s funny, because I feel like I've been in a little bit of a limbo. Not in limbo with my work, but just in general. I think sometimes, life gives you limbos and you just have to embrace it. I think that’s a beautiful place to be in. And then I find the grounding elements in knowing that my practice is there. I don’t have an ego with being in

IMAGES courtesy of François Ghebaly Gallery WRITING Dani Yan

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Ordered Pairs 68

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I’ve always had an overwhelming distaste for being barefoot, particularly on hardwood floors. The untouched arch of my foot hovering over the bare wood torments me, and I need something to press onto the top of the joints of my toes. Leaving the carpeted stairs of my childhood home to feel that the soles of my feet, accidentally bare, had been left exposed to cold air and wooden planks, I was met with almost inexplicable discomfort. My sensory woes came to make way for an obsession, sensical because of how many pairs I required: fun socks. My grandma Emma (which is not her name, but rather my sister’s toddler attempt at pronouncing grandma) provided an antidote when she picked out my first pair of eccentric socks: an off-white duo with a red ring at the top and red and blue stripes going up the foot. At the time, all of my socks sat neatly below my ankles outlining the rounded edge of my sneakers. These crept up my leg more boldly than I was used to, but Emma’s artistic eye overrode my hesitations. A month later I began accumulating socks of the same type in varying patterns. Finding the pairs that felt and looked right became crucial, as the ones that looked wrong bordered on physically irritating. I felt it, poking at me under my shoes.

The exercise in discomfort with the other pair had been a necessary test, pushing back at my obsession with tactile consistency. Eventually I found a pair of sparkly crew socks that were both shiny and soft. They stretched easily around my feet, the ribbed sides hugging the sheen closely to my skin. An apt blend of print and perception was sewn into that pack of sparkly crew socks; their glittery detail is woven into the elastic. That same elastic makes them so comfortable, unnoticeable where the old pair pulled and restrained. Those socks still sit at the top of my drawer, worn and washed and worn and washed.

Emma bought herself a pair of sparkly above-the-ankle ones when we were looking through fun pairs one day. Despite the fact that my grandma looks 15 years younger than she is, I had to draw the line at this pair. The glitter embedded in the black elastic was too suitable for Instagram influencers and the teenagers who follow them to sit underneath my grandma’s loafers and ballet flats. So, she gifted these socks to me. They became the socks I checked on after every load of laundry and bundled into my drawer immediately. They never sat there for more than a day. As I stretched the curled cuffs over my heel and pulled the speckled, hardened elastic onto my feet, Emma’s face flashed in my mind. Time passed and they shriveled and shrank so that putting on the pair came to feel like bundling my foot in Saran wrap. I pulled them on almost guiltily, dreading the sweat and stiffness that would ensue, knowing I’d feel immediate remorse. Still, I continued to give preference to the shine of the fabric over the sensation that came with it.

They are one of many pairs that weaves sensation in with style in a synesthetic harmony that defines my choices of attire. A messily tie-dyed pair is just too long and has to be pushed down, so it feels as off as its colors look. The pair takes up space in my drawer now, a souvenir of my tie-dying attempts. It looks like a summer of craft projects, most having gone awry, but having created a messiness that is both pointed and calming. So I’ve kept the socks because they remind me of that day, and of having time to make things, useful or not. But also in part I just like that they feel how they look. When I was younger I’d sleep over at Emma’s on special occasions. We’d go into NYC together and I’d get to dress up for the occasion. The last time we went, I spent a little extra time getting ready, making sure some part of my outfit was acquired from Emma. As I sit in front of my drawer and organize, I remember the element I chose. The socks poke out of the top of my bin as they're the size of three of my typical ankle-height pairs combined. This misshapen, oversized bundle draws my eyes back again and again to its unwillingness to sit in place. They used to be a bottom-layer pair and presented no particular harm. Purchased for some sort of summer camp event and only once put to use, the seam of off-white wool sits just below my knee. About an inch below that sit two parallel rings, sparks of heathered blue in the softer neutral strands. When presented with the task of staying warm on that trip into the city last winter, I dug these up in my dressing process. They kept the heat in under my widest-leg jeans. I’d often push aside that pair of

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pants to avoid the rushes of cold air that slip in. Wearing the socks became about more than the temperature though. Having the wool sit tightly against my skin felt solid and even. The socks fully enclosed my leg, touching every surface evenly, buffering external stimuli. As I walked around the city, my eyes were drawn away from the skyscrapers and billboards and swarms of tourists. Instead, I stepped evenly on the cracks in the sidewalk. That doesn’t mean a one-to-one ratio of left foot to right foot; there’s more nuance. A particularly large or uneven crack stepped on by one foot might mean two neat seams for the other. Stepping over a line with one foot might be half of stepping on one with the other. I tried to bring my left foot over the divot on 40th street to make up for the crack my right had hit on 41st. I stumbled as I did so. It’s impossible to calculate this evenness unless you feel the weight of the sized notches in your feet. My grandma dragged me along, begging me to mess up and I did. I stepped at a pace that couldn’t possibly match up with the panel sizes. As I then moved quickly over panels and tried to keep track of these qualitative rather than quantitative calculations, the swooshing of my pant legs did not faze me. The socks held me. Since that trip, the pair has become a regular, providing a layer between steel chair legs and bare skin. Pants ride up when seated, and I’m convinced no one sits at a desk with their feet flat on the ground. I usually touch my left leg to the left desk leg when my right feels the cold metal nearest to it. Sometimes the temperatures and timing still feel unbalanced. The cotton sits in between the temperature gradient that the metal rungs create against my skin. Maybe I’ll still tap my left leg in response to my right now, but it’s more out of habit than compulsion. As the socks protect my legs, my hands, left untouched, become focal. Writing furiously, they heat up and it becomes imperative that my pinky and ring fingers jab into the center of my palm. They fill the gap the socks did under my arch or up to my knee. My long nails nearly break the skin but they cool down the heat I’ve created there. When I type, the sides of my thumbs take that place, touching in to keep my palms grounded. I sometimes wonder how much time I’d save taking a test if my hand could hold a pencil normally. Maybe it’s similar to the time I take to sift through my socks in the morning, considering my outfit and anticipating my shoe choice. Both are longer than I care to make public information. This pair is always a quick choice, jumping out of the precious pile. The way that the tightness of the calf sits under the looseness of the pants looks exactly how it feels. Secure but free, together yet relaxed. WRITING Ali Rothberg

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FUTURE V I N TAG E K a r t i k Ku m r a i s a de sig ner ba s e d i n Ne w D el h i . He fou nde d h i s c lot h i ng l a b el, K a r u Re s e a rc h, w h i le home f rom t he Un iver sit y of Pen n s y lv a n i a du r i ng t he pa ndem ic . A l l of Ku m r a’s pie c e s a re c re ate d i n pa r t ner sh ip w it h I nd i a n a r t i s a n s , w it h e ver y ga r ment b ei ng pro duc e d lo c a l ly. I n t he shor t t i me si nc e it s l au nc h, K a r u Re s e a rc h ha s t a ken of f—t he re c ent Spr i ng / Su m mer 2 022 c ol le c t ion w i l l b e c a r r ie d by M r. Por ter, S el f r id ge s , S SE NSE , a nd more el ite s to c k i s t s a rou nd t he world . FOR M sp oke to Ku m r a a b out h i s pro c e s s of work i ng w it h a r t i s a n s , t he c ou nter- c u lt u r a l i n s pi r at ion s b eh i nd h i s re c ent c ol le c t ion, a nd h i s pl a n s to op en up phy sic a l s tore s i n t he f ut u re .

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a way to do some embroidery on them. And what I wanted to really explore was the idea of ornamentation in these artisanal communities that we were working with. So for the collection, there’s this community of banana fiber weavers and they make a textile that moves. It’s not stiff. It’s made from the husk of the banana fiber, and the community that makes it actually uses it as the basis for all their jewelry and all sorts of luxury goods. So maybe it’s a function of a lack of access to resources or gold or silver, but the aspirational thing is this thing that the community is producing. So I wanted to see why certain artisanal communities look at their craft as their aspirational good. Like some block printers will want to just collect more block printing fabrics from their archives and other people's archives. Their end game is they get the money that they make to get these collections. In urban India and the rest of the world, the aspiration for money and how you use your money is very different to how it is in these artisanal communities. And you can share those production processes and put them on the stage at Selfridges or Mr. Porter next to Dries van Noten or Prada. It’s a very different way of looking at how you can value clothes.

Dani Yan: I want to ask you more about the two cultural movements that inspired your Spring/Summer 2022 collection: post-independence Indian intellectualism and the counter-cultural movement of Beat Music. Where do these inspirations show up in the clothes? Kartik Kumra: I’d like to talk you through what those movements are for you to get a better idea. India only got independence in 1946, so for the first however many years, it was really figuring out what the independent cultural identity was. And by the time people had enough money to enjoy themselves and do some stuff that they actually like, it was around the 70s. And in that era, you had the Beatles come on a trip, you had the Velvet Underground make an influence, and then a lot of British colonial record labels had left their offices in India. The Beat Music scene was basically the psychedelic, punk-ish sound. It's not very good, honestly. The music's very unrefined, like the start of something. But it was cool there. At least there was something. Because before that, there was nothing that was countercultural at all.

"EVERY PIECE IS GOING TO HAVE SOME ARTISANAL INPUT, IRRESPECTIVE OF HOW BIG THE BRAND GETS. SO EVEN IF WE’RE DOING A T-SHIRT, WE’LL FIGURE OUT A WAY TO DO SOME EMBROIDERY ON THEM." DY: What is your process of working with artisans? How hands-on are you? KK: It's completely direct. I have all their phone numbers. At the start, when I was conceptualizing what the brand could be, I started by just traveling. As soon as we got out of lockdown in India, whenever cases were slightly low, I would just go drive to a community and see what the possibilities were. I’m not trained in fashion, so a lot of the design process originates from the textile. So the process is we just go out exploring. I have no real language barrier most of the time, so I can communicate with them pretty directly. Sometimes it’s through an NGO, but I would say 80% of the time, it’s directly one-on-one with the artisan.

So there was this university that organized a concert in the hills, and that concert led to a compilation album, which our sound artist found online. And then I went and got an original copy of that album at this place in Old Delhi. And it was weird, because stylistically, it was people making use of what they had. So they would have loose menswear tailoring, but then they would style it in a punk way by maybe putting on a crochet hat or including some sort of color to accessorize. So I wanted to bring those things together.

A lot of times I’ll ask them to show me the archive. They’ll keep a swatch of everything they've made in the past, and this goes back 30, 40 years or however long they’ve been going or the family has been going. So you can find some really cool stuff if you build a mutual level of trust—most of that is speaking the language, being respectful. A lot of the time, it’s not really about the money. So you want to be like, “Okay, this is your art, I understand it takes time, I understand it’s hard to reproduce for a business. Now how do we start?” So not going in with these business-oriented goals, which was a learning curve for me as well, because you want the same thing that you saw the first time. For the

DY: What aspects of Indian culture are you looking to explore in future collections? KK: So this one was a little bit of a smaller collection, it’s only 25-ish pieces. I didn’t feel like I could make an extensive collection, because the brand was so new. The second collection is a more in-depth exploration of a particular theme. So one of the things that we're doing as a policy for the company is that every piece is going to have some artisanal input, irrespective of how big the brand gets. So even if we’re doing a t-shirt, we’ll figure out

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first collection, between the sample and the final product, we had to do a little bit back and forth with the retailer, because we couldn’t achieve the exact same thing, because it’s all done by hand. A natural dye will absorb differently. So that’s reliant on a very in-depth conversation with the artisan. Every morning is pretty much doing my rounds to call each person that we work with. I think we have a rolodex of around 50 to 60 people across the first four seasons. No one guy’s really producing more than two fabrics. So that’s a large logistics management on my part. DY: How do you pick which artisan you want to work on each piece? KK: So they're usually very skilled at one particular thing, and it takes a long time for them to produce it. Within a NGO, I can say they probably have 15 to 20 looms, 20 artisans, so they can produce three fabrics for me in a season and it'll take them two months to produce 100 meters. It’s a very time consuming process to make the fabric. And if I get it wrong initially and we have to restart, we have to account for all of that. But if it’s just a single guy running it out of his home with a single loom, you can really only rely on him for one fabric per season. One loom for one season, I don’t think you can produce more than what would be the equivalent of eight t-shirts. So there is a constraint, that’s a challenge for scale. I have to think about that as we grow. But for now, it’s very much like one guy produces one thing and he specializes in one particular technique. DY: I’m very impressed by how quickly your brand has grown. You went from selling on Instagram to the biggest stockists in the world just within the pandemic. How did you make that happen? KK: Yeah, so that's not by myself. I have an agent who is really good. The first season was 25 pieces and he just said “let’s see what happens.” I wasn’t expecting anything, I had 800 followers at the time. Even right now it’s 3000 something followers. But a lot of them are fashion enthusiasts and consumers. It’s not really my friends, they don’t even know about it. So it was more people who listen to fashion podcasts and are actively reading stuff, so that part helped. What happened was the red shorts from this season, my agent posted them on the first day that he got the collection at a show in London. And within that

"YOU CAN FIND SOME REALLY COOL STUFF IF YOU BUILD A MUTUAL LEVEL OF TRUST—MOST OF THAT IS SPEAKING THE LANGUAGE, BEING RESPECTFUL. A LOT OF THE TIME, IT’S NOT REALLY ABOUT THE MONEY. SO YOU WANT TO BE LIKE, “OK, THIS IS YOUR ART, I UNDERSTAND IT TAKES TIME, I UNDERSTAND IT’S HARD TO REPRODUCE FOR A BUSINESS. NOW HOW DO WE START?"

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day, the whole buying teams for all these retailers started following. That was not expected at all. 800 followers, you’re not expecting anything, because I’m not really bringing much of an audience to the table. The stores really have to push it at this point. It was really surprising, especially since there aren’t any Indian brands. There’s one on SSENSE also starting this season. It was pretty unexpected. DY: I didn’t know there were so few Indian brands in this market. I feel like some bigger brands incorporate an Indian aesthetic, or even work with Indian artisans, but they’re maybe still more like outsiders going into those communities. KK: Some of those brands do a good job, they’re cool. But there are other brands where sometimes I just wonder: where’s the connection? Because there’s no relation to India outside of the production and the aesthetics. So sometimes I wonder where the authenticity is coming from. But at the same time it’s giving work to people who need work. DY: You definitely do things the right way with your brand, and I love that you said you will continue to have that artisanal touch on every piece even as Karu continues to grow. Where do you see your brand going from here? KK: What I want to do is open up physical stores. Everything’s a very vibey minimalist store, but I want it to be a completely different sensory experience for the consumer. And the stores will only have pieces that are one-of-one or small batch, like under ten, so that it doesn’t interfere with stockist stuff or the collection that sells at wholesale. But there are these retail experiences at some places around the world where you enter the store, you enter a world that you’ve never seen before at a different store. It’ll have antique Indian furniture and be a little chaotic, and very cluttered as opposed to very sleek and minimalist. What I imagine is very different from other stores. My stores will only have antiques or artisanal stuff. So that way you can always make sure customers stay enthusiastic about your product. And if you keep making one-of-one products, they’ll always be enthusiastic. Look at Our Legacy Workshop—Our Legacy is huge now, but at the workshop, you’ll always find cool stuff that you haven’t seen before. So I want to keep that essence there while we scale. PHOTOGRAPHY courtesy of Karu Research WRITING Dani Yan

City of Oaks

Fire Feels when fire feels through the ripple under your nose forget how to bend your fingers forget why your nails have ridges find in time a batch of fireflies left dead and bent fighting, flinging into time forgoing space and time and dirt when the house burns with everyone you love inside it minus some brothers and a few despondent things disposing their energies into a pond into a storage locker east of the ring south of the ashes a ring is just a ring when air is paranoia soft touch and garlic swing air is still air when it stops falling on your shoulders pulls you up to fix the right answer the true nature of force: gravity and truth presence and present, couples truth to the right one, the one we encounter when bending means creasing, binding to dust affected with seduction magnetic plots to twist, steal, struggle and beat in the most clinical of settings a boxer tips out the juice of his definition, halts time fanning out into sieves of stance

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and burden a ring is just a ring when there is only burden, commitment and burden speaking to arms as if they are paths to elsewhere just paths to elsewhere and stones from nowhere a phantom of bright porcelain bowls dusted sentimental with a show slow show hollow of words timid and bright beautiful stones guest to patrons persons we never stood and stuck to us like a face made of stones glued to burden and commitment to do better a ring is still a ring when there is no commitment and no better no light to follow stones to trace and no light to ignite a force of boundless truth and endless repose made small in time made stuck in time breathing particularities of particularity cowering crowded under the guise of still detail and fine rings which exist and have always existed PHOTOGRAPHY Jack Muraika WRITING Lauren Garbett

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Visions of an Afrofuture

KHIRY. NEW YORK, NEW YORK. Jameel Mohammed is a jewelry and fashion designer based in Brooklyn. He launched KHIRY, an Afrofuturist luxury brand, as an undergraduate at the University of Pennsylvania in 2016. A CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund finalist, Mohammed creates sculptural jewelry pieces and handmade garments rooted in Black diasporic culture. His pieces have been worn by Serena Williams, Solange Knowles, Michelle Obama and many more. FORM spoke to Mohammed about self-determination, aspiration and his Afrofuturist vision.

Dani Yan: Your brand is grounded in your vision of an Afrofuturist society. How do your pieces contribute to the this vision? Where do you see your work fitting into the broader Afrofuturist picture?

a serious grappling. The product is relatively resolved, even though sometimes my thinking is not always as resolved as the pieces are. But I try to imbue that in objects that people can take for granted as communicating a perspective and a world view. The subtle communications of a dress or a piece of jewelry—they can communicate how the wearer wants you to perceive them, but they also communicate the society and the values of that society. So I’m taking these objects that people maybe don’t look to and read in that serious way, as an opportunity to more sneakily influence their actions and the values that those perceptions are born out of.

JM: There is definitely an element of world-building, and I wonder how that coheres with the worlds other people are building. For me, Afrofuturism is not just about creating just my own vision, but one that is extruded to the scale of a society. It's about grappling with serious questions in a serious way about how we would actually get to that vision. Instead of just being like, “wouldn’t it be fabulous if we have flying cars that look like Afro picks?” it’s like, “how do we engage with the elements that are supposed to change society in a way to create that possibility for us?” How do we engage with the examples of Black history and have contemporary experiences which will be history to Black people in the future? How do we think about our experiences now and the experiences of our ancestors and use that as a series of case studies, of accumulated history, as a technology to get to that point in the future?

DY: I see your work as being integral not only to the future, but to the present. You’ve talked about your belief in culture serving as a vector for change in the world. What are some of the changes that you want Khiry to be making? Have you seen any of these changes come to fruition? JM: That’s a really important question, because how can you assess your progress on an issue without having a sense of the progress that you actually want to make? And so I think that evolved over time. And I can't really speak from a society-wide standpoint, because I occupy a specific experience. I can’t speak for the increased justice that I want for working class people in non-fashion spheres because I don’t live and operate and create change in those places.

"HOW DO WE ENGAGE WITH THE EXAMPLES OF BLACK HISTORY AND HAVE CONTEMPORARY EXPERIENCES WHICH WILL BE HISTORY TO BLACK PEOPLE IN THE FUTURE? HOW DO WE THINK ABOUT OUR EXPERIENCES NOW AND THE EXPERIENCES OF OUR ANCESTORS AND USE THAT AS A SERIES OF CASE STUDIES, OF ACCUMULATED HISTORY, AS A TECHNOLOGY TO GET TO THAT POINT IN THE FUTURE?"

But to answer your question, the greatest change that I want to see is greater Black self-determination. And that is an increasingly subtle ask. Because I’ve seen at least nominal increases in Black power in art, in fashion, in cultural spaces—or much more readily, I’ve seen huge increases in Black visibility, at least in all of these spaces. Visibility was once something that I thought was synonymous with power, but as the visibility has increased and the material circumstances have stayed the same for a lot of people, it’s clear that visibility is not what I was actually after. You can have increases in your ability to impact something, but if your power flows from someone else investing that power in you, do you have that power? Or are you just a vessel for the maintenance of someone else's power?

I think what may differentiate my work, especially from other people creating like Black futurist images in fashion, is I really try to root it in grappling with serious issues and concerns in a way that doesn't mean that the product has to look like

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are some of the ways that you think you or others can help elevate young Black creativity consistently and responsibly?

My ask has gotten increasingly clear over time, which is that I want Black people to be able to determine the kinds of lives that they want and to have no greater difficulty in attaining those lives than anyone else in society. That nuance has come as I've recognized that my experience actually cannot speak for the experiences of all Black people, and it cannot provide for the best vision for every Black life. I'm not here to create a situation where I give Black people everything that they ever needed. I know what I need as a Black person, I've had a wide variety of Black experiences, but it's not my goal to be the dictator of Black life. It's my goal that black people will be able to dictate their own lives. While I have seen progress on some of those other things as they were previously constructed, it feels like self determination is the real thing that is the hardest to come by. I don't know how to think about the progress made on that.

JM: As much as I speak about my experience and the ways that it might be instructive for other people, I try to always qualify that my experience is indicative of privilege and not indicative of the challenging and disruption of those models of privilege. Ivy League schools have, for hundreds of years, served to replicate power. So when I speak to other young Black people, I’m like: “Yo, this is the reality of the situation that I navigated, and here's how I navigated it. And here's how that maybe allowed me to be in the position that you look up to right now.” And that is not an unfraught thing. It has complications, which I always want to readily acknowledge when I’m advising anyone. The other thing is why I think self-determination is a good goal. It’s the same kind of thing as the core premise of democracy—as Black people have greater ability to express their ideas about how society should look, they will create more possibility for more Black people to express those ideas. So for me, that's about counseling folks who are interested in fashion to use the resources they have. Because

DY: I think it's impossible to quantify—self-determination is something that’s innately flexible and thus difficult to measure. I think self-determination is especially important for young creatives. You started your brand as an undergraduate and you’ve talked a lot about supporting other young Black creatives. You and your brand are still very young, but what

I think the first hurdle you have to surmount is just feeling like your perspective is valid enough to insist upon at all. I didn’t develop that out of sheer grit and personality. It was like, “here’s an institution whose entire structure is meant to say you’re the future of culture.” That’s the first hurdle to jump. And I can be a part of that in someone’s story. Like, hey, pick up your iPhone and shoot a feature film. Figure out what makes you different and how to maximize those differences in a way that's generative to you from wherever you are. So that's the first thing. The second thing I always emphasize is maintaining as much control as possible. It's very difficult to assess people's incentives. If you are in a situation of desperation, it's very difficult to end up in a fair deal with someone not as desperate as you—that's it. So maintain control for as long as possible, such that you can really continue to advance your own perspective. In periods of my life, I would have readily sold away that control for a semblance of stability that I lacked. And I'm really glad, having arrived at this point in my career, that I couldn't make those deals, honestly. Because again, I would’ve accepted those deals at the time. DY: I think control is something you always want but can be very difficult to maintain. As a creative, one thing that is especially hard to control is your consumer—who

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is consuming your product and how they’re consuming it. Your work is deeply tied to the Black experience, to Black history, present, and future. Many of the most visible and powerful Black women in the world have worn your pieces. I’ve seen some recent discourse online about white women carrying Telfar bags. You recently said that you love how brands don’t have singular client archetypes and can bring people together based on common ideas. How do you want your jewelry to be consumed by a non-Black audience?

"THE WAYS BLACK CULTURE HAS BEEN ASPIRATIONAL HAVE BEEN ABOUT ITS IMMENSE ATTAINABILITY AND MANIPULABILITY. I WANT IT TO BE THE MOST DESIRABLE AND THE LEAST ACCESSIBLE."

JM: Reverently. With great care and attention to detail. But I can’t control that. I think that part of the initial position of the brand was: this is not streetwear. This is luxury goods that you’ll maybe be lucky enough to find in your local retailer. Part of the initial conceit of the brand was positioning Black culture as aspirational and unattainable. Because the ways Black culture has been aspirational have been about its immense attainability and manipulability. I want it to be the most desirable and the least accessible. But also, white people have money and they’re able to access things they want to access. And I do grapple with this. What I’ve made peace with over time is that part of the brand is about establishing that relationship with certain clientele. If you have literally only bought Chanel high jewelry or Cartier high jewelry, it means something that you have been convinced that this brand that’s grappling seriously with racism and turning that into high jewelry is where you should make your investment. Not just your dollars today but what’s going to live on in your archive, what’s going to be preserved. But at the same time, that cannot be the whole mission or the whole way that consumers interact with the brand. And that's not the only impact that I want to have in people's lives. So it's about increasingly finding different entry points into the brand, whether that be forthcoming T-shirts or you know $30,000 earrings or stickers or imagery—we’re probably going to do a magazine for the end of the year. So it's really about using aspiration. There are subtle ways you can engineer an experience of a brand for all the clients, for the entire market. But it’s also about creating those different entry points for different people who feel that sense of aspiration to the brand. How can they access it in different ways that feel just as special, that maybe even subvert the logic of “if you have the money then you should be able to buy the product”? There's a lot of things that I've created that will be very expensive, and having the money is not going to be the only bar or whether or not I will sell it to you or lend it to you for a shoot. Let’s have a conversation about the themes of this dress and let me assess where you are in relation to the themes of this dress, and then we’ll see. I can send you an invoice for it. PHOTOGRAPHY courtesy of KHIRY WRITING Dani Yan

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WASHINGTON D.C. TRAVEL GUIDE

Though the business began in a small venue down the road, it now lies inside a not-too-loud yellow storefront, full of personality both on the outside and the inside. Ryan knew that practicing spaces and venues are as much about talent as they are ambiance, and wanted the decor to be warm and inspiring. The exposed brick inside (inspired by Ryan’s trip to a downtown pizza place), the ornate mugs and the rustic wood piano create a unique environment that attends to rock music’s roots and rustic moods. The black trim around the walls is just the icing on the cake, to make the place more “rock and roll.”

7 Drum City: 1506 North Capitol St NW, Washington, DC 20002 Washington, D.C. is well-known for the button-up politics side of the town, but music runs deep. Home to prestigious conservatories like the Washington Symphony Orchestra, the Washington National Opera, the National Symphony Orchestra, as well as renowned grunge venues like the 9:30 Club, Echostage, and The Anthem, there’s strings and drums to be heard. But how does a musician get past the often insurmountable barriers to success?

The Pocket is different, though. The sleek round headlights on the ceiling, purple and blue glowing string lights around the wine and beer bar, and simple, intimate decor tell a story about the trajectory of music venues, and the funky environment patrons are looking for when they come out for a drink and a show. Overall, 7DrumCity finds a balance between the grittiness of rock and roll through metal and leather, and the warmth of a community of musicians through comfortable furniture and open spaces.

When it comes to cultural spaces, the lack of proper rehearsal space is one of the biggest challenges facing musicians in the District. For the past two years, 7DrumCity, located in a conspicuously painted, converted row house at 1506 North Capitol, Street has served as one of the few affordable rehearsal spaces in the city, offering quality services and equipment for aspiring musicians in the area. When Miles Ryan started 7 Drum City, this question settled in the back of his head. When he built a website in 2010 with just $10 to promote his own music lessons, he had no idea it would grow into a hub for DC musicians & hobbyists to learn, rehearse, and perform. Now, after slowly growing for the past decade, the business is multidimensional: from lessons, to rehearsal space for up-and-coming bands to get on their feet, and the intimate performance venue, The Pocket. Ryan went from just him teaching drums out of his garage, to fourteen teachers, specializing in anything from bass to drums to piano to composition and theory.

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Glen Echo Park 7300 Macarthur Blvd, Glen Echo, MD 20812 Although Glen Echo Park is right outside of Washington, D.C., and now might not be considered essential to the D.C. experience, it used to be known as Glen Echo Amusement Park, and to D.C what Coney Island is to New York City. Glen Echo Park .was first developed in 1891 as a National Chautauqua Assembly, which taught the sciences, arts, languages and literature. But, by the early 1900s, the site had become Glen Echo Amusement Park until 1968, when it closed. Today, the only operational amusement park ride is the Dentzel Carousel — but that does not mean the park is not still ingrained in the community. Now, it is a lively space of arts, crafts and sports — anything from ballroom dancing and glass-blowing classes to painting and puppetry instruction. Though the park was quiet in January when FORM visited, it is bustling in the summer months when hundreds of kids go to spend their school break here. The Spanish Ballroom, opened in 1933, is grand, with 7,500 square feet of dance area to accommodate 1,800 dancers. Its stage was graced by many of the era's great musical acts, such as the Dorsey Brothers and Woody Herman. Today, kids and adults alike take ballroom lessons in the space. The park is spacious and wide, the colors gaudy and ostentatious in the best way. There’s a sense of childhood wonder in the red roof atop a candy corner kiosk that doesn’t work— the kind of red that makes your eyes burn a bit if you look too long. There’s a playfulness in the cohesive cream, blue and red color theme throughout the park, reminding you it is all connected in the name of creativity.

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Then, in 2015, after years of working there, four of these employees — Aaron Beckwith, Matt Wixon, Kyle Burk and Shantanu Malkar— bought the store from Toole, a testament to their dedication to the business. Burk says a used book store is much more labor intensive. The four of them and other employees need to go out and find books to ship back to the store, whether at pawn shops or yard sales or a secret off-the-map bookstore in Mexico City that they can only get through their online network of bookowners. The community is quite small, so they tend to stick together, through the internet and word of mouth.

Capitol Hill Books 657 C St SE, Washington, DC 20003: In the heart of DC, not too far from the bustle of Capitol Hill and the Supreme Court — the sort of images that tower in people’s minds when they think of Washington — Capitol Hill Books is much quieter than you would think.The store's mood is contemplative, and stuffed to the gills with 90 percent used books and 10 percent new additions to the collection. Sure, it can be overwhelming with hundreds and hundreds of books towering over you — but that’s part of the ambiance.

The process is not always easy, but it allows the four of them to have more control over inventory than just hoping that interesting new books will be published. The personality of Capitol Hill Books shines through easily in the store: from the decor to the ambient noise of scattered store-goers flipping through the pages of rare books.

The foot traffic can get busy in the area, as it lies right across the street from the Eastern Market. In the summer, the hill’s numerous interns and visitors all take a look at the well-known bookstore. Still, there is a loyal patronage of Washingtonians who have been coming to the bookstore since it was founded by Bill Kerr back in 1991. Kerr lived upstairs and worked downstairs at the store, which contributed to the comfortable atmosphere that’s immediate when you walk inside, homey and nostalgic. Jim Toole then ran Capitol Hill Books for 23 years, but during this time he had a devoted group of long-time employees and friends who made the store the center of their social lives. They’d play cards, host monthly wine and cheese parties, and bring their own groups of friends together. It was not just a place of work, it was a community center. Some of the young people who ventured into DC for government and non-profit jobs also came out.

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Maketto is sleekly designed, with bright light shining inside to create a warm feeling. At the restaurant, the smell of the signature dishes, from crispy dumplings to Taiwanese fried chicken to wok-fried noodles, fill the air. The area is bright and spacious with white and light woods, balancing modernity with brightly colored murals outside on the patio, and tradition with red paper lanterns and customary fans adorning the restaurant's white brick walls. With just 60 seats, the restaurant still feels intimate despite the open space. Bruner-Yang wanted to add an Asian sensibility to Maketto without drawing on motifs or stereotypes, making it feel Asian and still paying homage to the history of H Street which has a vibrant retail history in D.C. The boutique and coffee shop areas of the space show this balance — the second floor is called Cool Kids Vinyl, and there couldn’t be a better name for it. During the pandemic, Bruner-Yang sublet the second floor of Maketto to one of his employees, and he is constantly receiving ideas from those who have worked with the renowned chef and trust him with their business ideas and art collections.

Maketto 1351 H St NE, Washington, DC 20002 While traveling between Cambodia and Taiwan with his wife, chef Erik Bruner-Yang was inspired by the coalescence of both cultures. Though he was born in Taiwan, BrunerYang was raised in the United States and has been an influential chef in the D.C. food scene, from his work at LINE DC Hotel's Brother & Sisters, serving American classics from Taiwanese and Japanese points of view, Spoken English, a standing-room-only space modeled after Japanese tachinomiyas and Toki Underground, which is credited with introducing D.C. to ramen.

The art on display in Maketto is colorful and unique, and for that reason Bruner-Yang doesn’t usually put a label on the type of art that is featured — anything from abstract expressionism to realistic paintings of crushed sriracha bottles. It’s a little grungy, but still classy, free flowing, and inviting. PHOTOGRAPHY Clara Lyra and Mindy Wu WRITING Rebecca Schneid

Maketto has three floors, including a cafe, a market and a restaurant, which could easily be overstimulating to patrons. Yet, the cohesion, sleekness and charming atmosphere doesn’t ever let it. When Bruner-Yang opened Maketto back in 2015, the spot was immediately busy, likely from both his esteem and the allure of the new Asian spot. At the heart of H street— known for it’s nightlife, pop ups and festivals— Maketto stands its ground. Bruner-Yang wanted to create a sense of public space where you can hang out with your friends and just do nothing, without pressure to spend money.

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LIKE THE ORGANISM Jared Blake is a co-founder of Lichen NYC, a Brooklyn furniture store. Blake started Lichen with co-founder Ed Be in 2017, when the pair began selling furniture and homeware online while working full-time jobs. Blake and Be have since gone full-time with Lichen and taken their store through two brick-and-mortar spaces, the more recent of which opened in East Williamsburg during the pandemic. Founded upon accessibility and creative exchange, the store — which also offers homemade coffee — continues to sell vintage furniture, as well as objects from emerging designers and Lichen’s private label. The pandemic led to rapid growth, as people rushed to decorate their homes, and Lichen was consequently featured in The New York Times, Vogue, Dwell Magazine and more, but Blake and Be have continued their commitment to serving their community and making design accessible. FORM spoke to Blake about the current design movement, uncomfortable chairs, and the future of the Lichen private label.

movements. How do you see Lichen’s own designs or design ideologies fitting into the current design movement?. JB: I would say the use of materiality is definitely an interesting study, because we primarily use Baltic birch. That’s not because we necessarily love the way it looks or we’re huge Baltic birch fans, it’s more of an economical response to our core audience and how to approach them in ways that are affordable. We would never be able to make a walnut table for $299. Birch has a rich history that’s kind of unspoken to, which we’ll try to touch on more in the future. But as a material, it’s powerful. It gets the job done. And I think we’re watching American design shift from the quintessential darker, more exotic woods of mid-century modern to a more DIY, crafty movement, which evokes a lighter species of wood. It probably looks more like Donald Judd, like Enzo Mari. We want our designs to be really thoughtful — like high design intellect with economically viable solutions.

Dani Yan: Lichen has always been about interacting with, drawing from and serving your neighborhood and its people. Even the name of the store alludes to a symbiotic relationship between organisms within an ecosystem. To you, what is Lichen’s place in the community? What is the role you want your store to play?

DY: On the curatorial, sourcing side of things, how do you and Ed go about finding pieces and designers to feature in the store nowadays? Considering you’re both self taught and came into the game without much knowledge outside of Eames and Herman Miller, I’m sure y’all have learned a lot in the few years you’ve been running Lichen. Has your curatorial philosophy and approach changed as a result?

Jared Blake: I think it changes. But just like the organism, it's everywhere and it's also nowhere. I think a lot of what we're doing is going to shift into supplying the community. A lot more people are interested in furniture design than there were when we started.

JB: Absolutely, yeah. Oh, man — you turn into a snob over time. The more you know and learn, it shapes your taste. We just live in a really covetous time period. Furniture is like the new Jordans now. It’s like, "I’ve only seen it online, I’ve never seen one in real life, I’ve never sat on one."

Instead of constantly being in competition with one another, how can we create a system and a platform that speak to the same narrative without directly being sales-focused or in a less obvious way than just selling furniture? One of the losses happens for us when we sell furniture with nothing to speak to it. For me, as a businessman and a marketer, it helps to have a product that tells a story or serves a function. These next stages for us, we’re going to focus on more of our private label assortment and how that can be better, how that can ship and how that process can be a little bit more sophisticated.

Over time, you really get to appreciate who's underrated and who’s overrated. Seeing something in person and sitting on it, sometimes you realize it’s really uncomfortable. They don’t tell you that. It’s good to look at, but you don’t really want to sit on a Donald Judd chair. It’s awful. It’s great, but then it’s awful. Comfort and practicality aren’t number one for people, especially in a more digital, more visual society. Comfort is an afterthought. Most people just care about what it looks like. Fashion did the same thing — these shoes and pants aren’t comfortable, but they look dope, so that sells. The same practices lend themselves to furniture design. Not everything is comfortable, but you would hope that would be the goal of a chair, right? You’d hope that you could achieve form and

DY: I’m really interested in the future of your private label. You’ve said that we live in a revolutionary time, which should in turn cultivate some major design

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function and artistic creativity simultaneously. Those are things that we look for. We’re also in love with promoting and sharing the stories of designers of color. We rarely get the opportunity — it’s changing now, as bigger brands are starting to catch up and understand that they’ve been neglecting a whole demographic for eons — but it’s kind of a responsibility for me and Ed to help people who look like us.

"INSTEAD OF CONSTANTLY BEING IN COMPETITION WITH ONE ANOTHER, HOW CAN WE CREATE A SYSTEM AND A PLATFORM THAT SPEAK TO THE SAME NARRATIVE WITHOUT DIRECTLY BEING SALES-FOCUSED OR IN A LESS OBVIOUS WAY THAN JUST SELLING FURNITURE? ONE OF THE LOSSES HAPPENS FOR US WHEN WE SELL FURNITURE WITH NOTHING TO SPEAK TO IT. FOR ME, AS A BUSINESSMAN AND A MARKETER, IT HELPS TO HAVE A PRODUCT THAT TELLS A STORY OR SERVES A FUNCTION." DY: I can definitely see your commitment to supporting designers of color just by looking at the Lichen staff. All of your private label designers are people of color. Are you looking to continue growing the Lichen team? JB: Yeah. We’re constantly shifting our strategy. We’ve never been in a box and we don’t want to be put in boxes, because the road just shifts. A lot of the successes that we’ve had are because of the pandemic. A lot of the growth we’ve had is from people working from home. There are other things we want to do that will require outside help. We’re just a bunch of rascals honestly. We’re a bunch of misfits with an eclectic collection of skill sets, both selftaught and formally educated. We’re looking for the best person for the job from around us. Most people we bring on board have been introduced by someone else. That’s just how it happens. We have an in-house woodworker who was referred to us by a designer’s roommate. Everyone's just like, “my friend does this.” And, often, it just so happens

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we need that. Our needs and wants are constantly in flux. Whoever needs that shot, that’s what we’re here for.

"WE’RE JUST A BUNCH OF RASCALS HONESTLY. WE’RE A BUNCH OF MISFITS WITH AN ECLECTIC COLLECTION OF SKILL SETS, BOTH SELF-TAUGHT AND FORMALLY EDUCATED. WE’RE LOOKING FOR THE BEST PERSON FOR THE JOB FROM AROUND US. MOST PEOPLE WE BRING ON BOARD HAVE BEEN INTRODUCED BY SOMEONE ELSE. THAT’S JUST HOW IT HAPPENS." DY: I love the idea of your store, your strategy, and the customer experience constantly changing. In that sense, to build more on the Lichen metaphor, your store really functions like a living organism. The caption on a recent Instagram post said that even Saturdays and Sundays are cooked a little bit different from each other. What are some of these differences between days and weeks at Lichen? Are they intuitive and organic or more deliberate and planned out? JB: They're definitely a response to the environment. Sometimes people will buy something and take it the same day, so we’ll have empty places to fill. We might have some things in the back, we might have some things in the basement, we might have some things at our warehouse. We might take the legs off of something and put it on something else—like, “oh, we’ll just make a table out of this.” That happens quite often, actually. So if you came to our store on a Saturday then came back on Sunday, it would look completely different. It’s just like Tetris — we’re constantly just filling in the spaces as things sell, so it’s always in motion. We have a projector. We might be playing Nintendo Switch, there might be a game on. You just never know. And music is also a super integral part of what we do. And that changes as well. Constantly. PHOTOGRAPHY courtesy of Lichen NYC WRITING Dani Yan

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S Y M B I O S I S

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Nifemi Marcus-Bello is a designer based in Lagos. His eponymous design studio, nmbello Studio, creates products based on an understanding of the local environment and community. A member of this year’s Dazed 100, MarcusBello has designed lamps, stools, tables, and even a handwashing station, which won the Wallpaper* Design Awards Life-Enhancer of the Year in 2021. He has been profiled by publications such as Vogue, and his work has been exhibited at the Marta art gallery in Los Angeles, the 2017 London Design Fair, the 2018 Venice Design Biennale, and more. FORM spoke to Marcus-Bello about his design process, the global growth of his work, and Africa’s “design utopia.” Dani Yan: Your design ethos is very free and intuitive. Has it always been like that or did you have to learn to shed restrictions to your process? Nifemi Marcus-Bello: It hasn't always been like this. I went to design school in England, where you are taught to think a certain type of way. You’re taught to practice design in a country where things work, where there’s production, where there’s manufacturing around you, etc. When I came back to Lagos, I realized that if I did not stop that mindset, it would be tougher to express and also design products that we actually need here. So, I really had to go back to the drawing board and understand what the constraints were, what the ecosystem was like around me, and then carry out research for about a year and a half—long term research while I was working on understanding the manufacturing and urban planning and how they come together, because another main issue in Lagos is transportation. I think really considering all the constraints was what shifted my thoughts as a designer: understanding that design can happen even in the middle of organized chaos.

I THINK REALLY CONSIDERING ALL THE CONSTRAINTS WAS WHAT SHIFTED MY THOUGHTS AS A DESIGNER: UNDERSTANDING THAT DESIGN CAN HAPPEN EVEN IN THE MIDDLE OF ORGANIZED CHAOS.

DY: You often say you use what is around you to create. Can you tell me about some of the ways that your surroundings have been translated to specific design elements? NM: It's been translated in various ways. Let’s start with materiality. For me, materials are extremely important when it comes to design. I value everything around sustainability and really paying homage and respect to the environment as much as possible—I think it’s important to consider manufacturing around these ideas so that you can keep an eye on them, and it’s easier to have conversations with the manufacturers. For example, my manufacturer is about 30 kilometers from the studio, so I can always have conversations with them and go back and forth. From a design standpoint, as an African, I think it’s super important to consider the end-user while

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designing, especially in contemporary times. Even down to ethnographic or anthropometric data, we are not defined because we haven’t been documented properly, and it’s not as accessible. For me, I try to understand people. So that means not jumping to conclusions about how people will react and instead sitting back to take notice of how we are living in contemporary times, how globalization has affected our lives, our way of thinking. Even the materials we relate to and the types of forms that we relate to, I try to take into consideration. DY: I see your designs as having a symbiotic relationship with your environment, as you draw inspiration for your designs from your community but also solve problems in your community with your designs. I think a perfect example is the handwashing station you created in response to the pandemic. In the case of the COVID, the most pressing problem was obvious, but I’m curious as to how you decide which problems in your community that you want to help solve.

"AND ALSO, FIGURING OUT HOW DESIGN CAN REALLY CONSIDER EVERYONE IN THE ECOSYSTEM THAT’S GOING TO CREATE A PRODUCT, DOWN TO THE MANUFACTURER, THE USER, THE ENVIRONMENT, AND EVEN THE DESIGNER."

NM: It's a tough one. I have this saying—it’s a terrible saying but it’s also very important—I keep at the back of my mind: Africa is my community, and it’s a designer’s utopia right now because there are so many issues. There's so many issues we can solve, so most of the time, I don’t know where to start from. It’s funny, because with the hand washing station, I thought it wasn’t going to happen. I didn't really want to do the project. But what sparked it wasn't just the pandemic, it wasn't the lack of hygiene in hospitals, it was the fact that a lot of artisans were out of work because of the pandemic. I saw the opportunity for them to keep working and make money. They didn’t understand that the skillset that they had was enough to create a product like a handwashing station, or consider design, or collaborate with a designer like myself to create this product. So, for me, it was more of an educational exercise. And also, figuring out how design can really consider everyone in the ecosystem that’s going to create a product, down to the manufacturer, the user, the environment, and even the designer. DY: That’s a really nice insight into your approach to the handwashing station. When you’re working in this designer’s utopia, how do you navigate all of the issues and prioritize which ones to work on? NM: I'm still in it, so I can't really answer that. Right now, my studio is still growing. It used to just be me, but now I’m trying to find researchers, trying to find junior product designers to come together to really analyze the problems we’re looking to solve before actually jumping into solving the problem. Because it’s not just designing the products. It’s also the aftermath of manufacturing, distribution, and making sure that the product hits a certain standard and people are actually willing to use it. We want to integrate

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our products into society the right way. We don’t want to just design some product as a solution for an issue and then just plunk it in the middle of the community. Spending a lot more time with the community is something I tend to do. I tend to have as many conversations as possible. Right now, I’m doing a lot of research on trying to figure out what contemporary design solutions are, because they already exist. I’m trying to figure out what contemporary solutions are available in Lagos and have already been designed, maybe not by designers, but designed by the community itself. I think from an understanding of these products, you can figure out where and how new designs can be integrated into the community.

continent’s design under one label. I’ve got one more question to close out our conversation: what’s next for you? DY: There's a lot of works that I wish I could talk about. I’ve been extremely busy and very excited. We have a potential project in Berlin next year, an installation. We’re designing a lot of furniture for the North American markets, in collaboration with someone there. And it’s interesting because a lot of our approach still matters—we’re still trying to figure out how we can work locally, etc. And even if it’s done in another country, making sure that it’s sustainable and eco-friendly and considerate of the makers themselves. PHOTOGRAPHY courtesy of nmbello Studio WRITING Dani Yan

DY: That makes a lot of sense. There’s an emphasis on viability, whether that’s economic viability or viability of usage, that exists throughout your work. You’re not designing products just to look good but to actually be used. Your products are now offered beyond Africa, from New York City to London. Considering the importance of locality to your practice— using local production techniques, creating works within 30km of your studio—do you think your designs will change as the geographic reach of your studio increases? LM: Oh, I think it will for sure. I can feel it already. I’m a maker-designer, so I make my own stuff, and I distribute it, so it’s been a bit of a headache. I had this conversation with a European designer who was telling me, “Oh man, maybe your design loses authenticity if you start producing abroad.” It’s funny, because Apple produces everywhere, they produce in China, they produce all over the world, and their product is still labeled American. So, why is it that because I’m an African designer, I have to stay—I have to not think globally but think extremely locally and not be able to push forward? So that’s something I’m excited about—I think as long as I stay true and figure out how my community can also still benefit and a certain percentage of production still happens here, I’ll be fine pushing forward. DY: I couldn’t agree more. A lot of Black artists run into the problem of having their work labelled as Black art, or African-American art, or African art, instead of just art, which can be very restrictive. In 2018, you were rejected from a Lagos lifestyle store because the store-runner thought your LM Stool was not “African design.” In your words, what is African design? LM: That rejection really taught me a lot because I had to ask myself what African design is. I pride myself in researching and trying to find historic African design to see and understand the past. And one thing I found was that it’s not linear. You can’t really say what it is because Nigerian design is different from Ghanian design, Ghanian design is different from Congolese design. The commonality between all of this is that it’s contextual. A lot of it is contextual, so it’s tough to say what African design is. DY: Right, it’s so hard to capture the richness of an entire 130

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Rugs, With Love

DE: What’s the most fulfilling part of the job that you do? DW: One time I was hanging out late in Istanbul with a rug dealer, and he looks at me and goes “you know what, every single one of these rugs are like love letters.” And the way I look at it: the women who wove this rug made it as a love letter and we're the postman, what we got to do is deliver it to the people that actually are looking for this letter to arrive. So when I hear that, to me, that becomes part of the joy. It's not just buying and selling. It could be done in many, many different ways. I could trade in the stock market, and not have to deal with that. But for me, it is much, much more than that. It's the interaction. That and the friendships and the camaraderie that are formed through the years because of what I do. I don’t think I’ve ever worked a day in my life, honestly.

Nomadic Trading Company is a Durham-based wholesale design company dealing in imported vintage and repurposed furniture that’s been open since 1995. FORM spoke with owner Demir Williford about the values, products and goals. Rebecca Schneid: Can you tell us a little bit about your background and how you started with Nomadic Trading Co.?

Demir Willford: I've been doing this since 1995. I basically import and reuse furniture. I think the world is awash with mass products that are taking up a lot of resources to appease certain groups of people with cheap products. And I have these nightmares about this huge conglomerate of trash being built up in our Earth — I feel it sinking. I take old products, like lighting from factories or chairs or tables, and we’ll repurpose them, rewire them or bring them back to life. We’ll clean them all up and then reuse them again. So we were doing this before it was kind of popular. But now, we have a client base of mostly designers, boutique hotels, restaurants and bars — commercial use.

RS: Where are items sourced from? DW: All over the world: Berlin, Hungary, Turkey. I have pickers all throughout Europe now to send me photos of cool pieces to put it aside for me until I have enough to ship stuff here. Three times a year I’ll travel there, and I go to these little markets with my friends and we drive my truck around and we're looking for unusual, very cool products: baskets and tables. You know, what I see is what most people don't see. I envision a finished product, so where someone else is looking at a product and thinking “what the hell am I going to do with this?” I see what’s possible. I see butcher's blocks from farms in Hungary or old containers, and I know I can make a cool coffee table with some work.

Darielle Engilman: What were the first pieces of furniture you worked with when you started Nomadic Trading? DW: So when I started in 1990 with my brother, we found a little store on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill. We started importing these rugs, and I started selling them. They were old rugs that women produce for their own use — kind of like quilting in this country. Every single one represents a village and a tribal group that goes back, literally some of them hundreds and hundreds of years in design. Some of it even further back in Central Asia when they were all shamanistic. They have the Earth God, Mother God, a Fire God and Water God, and these little patterns and designs that represent those ideologies. I found them like 20 years ago and I call them my orphans. I love every one I bought and want to find them the right home.

One of the newer things I’m doing right now is taking 300 year-old white oak from the Black Sea region, and we take these old columns and cut them up to create these cool tables— so repurposed once again. We have an old motorcycle

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Metin. Craftsman at Nomadic Trading Co.

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Chairs from Nomadic Trading Co.

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from East Germany from before the wall was torn down. RS: What is your mindset when you are looking for a unique piece to repurpose? And did that come naturally for you? DW: The excitement is in the hunt for me. So it's kind of primal in a sense for me. So when I discover something I'm zoning in on, I’ll always have a customer model. I never buy for myself. What I’m thinking about is “what can I get that I can place in my customer’s businesses?” Whenever I find that, my heart starts beating really fast, but you stay cool so you don’t get ripped off. There’s a theatrics to buying and selling furniture: it’s always a negotiation. I got a degree in marketing and I got into it because it was easy, but it’s been very helpful. DE: Are there any types of pieces that don’t speak to you, or that you won’t buy? DW: Markets change and products change: things I once bought I can't really sell anymore. It’s all a gamble, but that’s what it’s all about. I’m always looking for trends though: I’m always listening and looking on Instagram and looking at new designers, reading magazines, looking up wall colors and the colors of tomorrow. I just did a rug coloring for Anthropologie, so I had rugs dyed for them. I’m always in contact with designers I want to work with. DE: As a smaller company, how have you been able to attract a client base with such big companies? DW: It's being in the right place at the right time. The trade shows I participate in attract those big customers because they’re not looking for furniture that’s being mass produced. We know that those types of people don’t have 500 stores and want the same exact furniture in each store; they’re much more selective. So, we want to be on top of the trends and know that those types of people are coming. DE: What do you foresee for the future of Nomadic Trading? DW: Downsizing. I don’t want to grow. I want to have a much bigger presence online. I want to open up to different platforms. My next step is to get into those online markets and create my own niche there. I want to collaborate with cool designers and teach younger people who want to do what I do. I also want to bring this idea into academics, bringing my real world experience into all of that and start giving back more. PHOTOGRAPHY of Jack Muraika WRITING Darielle Engilman and Rebecca Schneid

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swinging magnolia, if only you could sing you’d sing soft noises of past spring Don’t close the doors! wind swept pollen fills my nose the last architect forgot his one silver coin under this gauze the sun follows the trails leaving gifts for ambitious saplings the old man sings, just like azaan except silently in sleep lights kept on a company of moths feasting on thoughts

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my steps reverb, as I catch their tails and pin them to my tee I don’t like sheets when I sleep. the night might think that I am weak Licking noises off the wall chasing cicadas ‘till I fall. toes seek refuge in the cold, dark earth everytime I see the sun I am scared of the man who pushes it back I used to eat autumn leaves, singing to bewildered trees “make me as tall as thee”

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If all the roads lead back home let’s get lost and be alone. I saw a tree lose a limb. I felt my knee and drank more milk. WRITING Nima Babajani-Feremi PHOTOGRAPHY Erika Wang and Mindy Wu

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FORM Vol. XXVI

Articles inside

When Life Gives You Limbos

Oak City

Washington, D.C. Travel Guide

Visions of an Afrofuture