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NICK CAVE CURTIS MANN Edward Burtynsky fern mallis Doug Rickard David Molander Raymond learsy Ori Gersht Steve Miller AND A COLLECTION OF EMERGING ARTISTS





Founder / Editor in Chief Andrea Blanch Creative Director Sam Shahid Art Director Matthew Kraus Publication Director Marsin MOGIELSKI Editorial Directors Ellen Schweber, Ann Schaffer ASSOCIATE MANAGING EDITORs ANDRÉ LANOIE, REYNOLDS AVLON

writers / editors john hutt, oscar lopez, carlos J. Fonts, JUSTIN MCCALLUM

retoucher spencer bergen


Website Email info@museemagazine Facebook Twitter Tumblr behance instagram pintrest linkedinée-magazine/42/3b4/ba4 vimeo

´ Cover Image: Nick Cave. Photos by James Prinz Photography. Courtesy of Nick Cave´ and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York.





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by Andrea Blanch

NIck cave

by Oscar Lopez


Anna Lynch, Fred Cray, Maciek Jasik

curtis mann

by Oscar Lopez


Kyla Woods, Lionel Arnaudie

edward burtynsky

by Andrea Blanch


Benjamin Løzninger, Reynolds Avlon, Jennifer Georgescu

fern Mallis

by Andrea Blanch


Nir Arieli, Nina Moysi, Phoebe Kiely

doug rickard

by Oscar Lopez


David “Vades” Joseph, Arielle Kramer

david molander

by Oscar Lopez


Carnisch, Nicole Vega

raymond learsy

by Andrea Blanch


Caroline Kelley, Jared Buschang, Formento & Foremento

ori gersht

by Andrea Blanch


Erin O’Malley, Joy McKinney, Anna Bloda

steve miller

by Oscar Lopez

artist biographies

MUSÉE MAGAZINE. established 2011.

editor’s letter

As I began working on this issue at the end of the summer, energy meant the changing of seasons. New York takes on a magnetism as autumn approaches. Students return to school, fashion week fills the streets with new ideas, and chilly breezes breathe new life and inspiration into our hectic lives. With freshly fallen leaves crunching under foot, I envisioned the issue as an embodiment of kinetic energy. Movement was my thrust, and I moved forward as such calling for submissions. But, as I have often found, our wonderful collection of emerging artists gave me a pleasant surprise: energy in boundless forms. The submissions ranged from spiritual silhouettes and circus flamboyance of Carnisch’s work, to the racial tension and beauty that Joy McKinney introduced us to. My original ideas of movement were matched with stark stillness. I was exposed to broader ideas of environmental degradation, performance, and urban design – all of which were energetic and astounding. And so the issue grew. The abundantly talented emerging photographers are joined by some of our strongest established artists yet. Doug Rickard’s re-appropriation and curation of Google Street View images depict Americana in a new light, both in it’s energetic spirit and stagnant malaise. David Molander creates a manipulated, futuristic urban environment you just want to dive into, while Nick Cave embodies fabulous performance art with his awe-inspiring spectacle at Grand Central Station. Other artists stepped beyond the building blocks of photosynthesis to the greatest threats our world faces. Steve Miller, for instance, brings light to the unique, systemic issues of electricity theft in Brazil’s poorest favelas. In his photographs and accompanying film Watermark, Edward Burtynski presents a terrifying yet

beautiful picture of our world in abstract landscapes of human development and consumption. In a similar vein as Burtynsky, Chris Mann captures the destructive capacity of mankind, but instead through images with a force and aesthetic reminiscent of war photography. Ori Gerscht, using still and video documentation, represents the demolition of flowers and other objects as a homage to historical painting. Energy is not the exclusive domain of the artist-creator, as we learned interviewing former Executive Director of the CFDA Fern Mallis and private collector Ray Learsy. Entrepreneurial energy flows through Mallis’s veins as powerfully and freely as stilettos stomp down the catwalks she founded and organized at New York Fashion Week. A foil to Mallis’s exuberance, Learsy conserves artistic energy like a battery. After years of supporting emerging photographers, Learsy’s passion for art, along with a partnership with his wife Melva Bucksbaum, has amassed one of the most influential private collections in the art world today. Energy courses through the pages and screens you are reading this on, both figuratively and literally. Kinetic to electric, spiritual to constructed, we covered it all. And in curating this issue, I found new sources of inspiration and talent I could not have imagined. And that has brought me to the next iteration of Musée; to let the mind run rampant and allow our imaginations fly to their greatest heights and darkest abscesses. I am excited to announce the Musée Team is already hard at work on the next issue, Fantasy. We do not leave behind Energy and the lessons we learned exploring it lightly, though. Closing this issue, we look forward to the next and carry it with us. After all: energy is never lost, it just takes on a new form.

Photo by James Prinz Photography. Courtesy of Nick Cave and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York


FABULOUS FUCKING SHOW My name is Nick Cave. I grew up in Missouri. For undergraduate I went to the Kansas City Art Institute; and there’s where I focused on visual art, and also was doing some dance work at the University of Kansas at Kansas City. So dance and art have always been two pivotal points in my development. It’s always been important for me to be connected to ideas around performance. Making things for the body, etc. I think when I was 19 I did my very first kind of parade, presented down in the plaza of Kansas city. I’ve also always been involved with the notion of collaboration, and bringing people together, making spectacles and creating happenings throughout the city and throughout my career.

Comparing Grand Central to what you did when you were 19, is the process that you go through basically the same or has the process changed a lot? The process is different because of my own maturation as an artist. But the demands are the same. It still takes a team to put something like that together. That’s different. The process still demands trust. At the end of the day it is a solo exhibition, but I had to trust the performers as I worked independently in order to make this work come to life. It’s the same kind of intensity in terms of development. The trust is handed over to you putting together a team that helps facilitate the project. But I think that comes after

working in the field, and you start to build these relationships; which become these partnerships that really matter and become youthful and helpful in your process.

How did the Soundsuits come about? And what are they? In graduate school I was doing massive 18 by 16 foot constructed paintings that started on the wall and would come down to the floor. I was interested in space performance and bodies somehow engaging and moving within environmental ideas. You never know what the power of life can do to your art and what’s going to influence a shift in your work. Soundsuits came about in 1999 after the Rodney King incident. That moment flipped my world upside-down. The more I thought about that incident the more I thought of myself as a black male feeling insignificant, dismissed, discarded. I didn’t have a peer group to talk with about it, and I remember being in the park one day and I thought, “What am I going to do to?” Looking down on the ground I noticed a twig. All of a sudden I went home, came back with my grocery cart, and started collecting all the twigs in the park. I went back home and built a garment (which I didn’t think of as a garment) that was completely covered in twigs; pants and a jacket. I envisioned it as a sculpture until I realized I could put it on. When I put it on I started moving and it made sound. I started thinking about the role of protest: in

All photos by James Prinz Photography. Courtesy of Nick Cave and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York

order to be heard you’ve got to speak louder. The twig represents the discarded material that we ignore regularly, something we pass by, something we walk on. Wearing the suit I realized I was creating an armor of sorts, a protective shield. For the viewer it was something unidentifiable that was formed, and it looked scary. Now we are here with Trayvon Martin. This has recycled itself. My most recent work is the TM13 Series, which is Trayvon Martin Twenty-Thirteen.

How do colors influence your work? Do you choose a color because you’re trying to communicate something specific in the form of a metaphor, like the twigs? There is a very dark political side to the Soundsuits. I think that as artists we have to make strategic decisions, and it starts with asking important questions: What are the seductive elements you bring to the work so the viewer can find an entry point? Once they experience the work, it becomes their decision to accept or deny political overtones. I’m dealing with race, identity, social and economic issues in the work. It’s all there, and I think it’s all fabricated through the mechanisms of construction and ways in which the work is built. I think it’s inherent in the work, but it’s not in your face. I want viewers to invest time in dissecting and being present with the work so that all of a sudden they may discover something that is uncomfortable. Then what do you do with that? Soundsuits are larger than life. There is a feeling of integrity. There is a demanding, authority figure in your face. It’s something that is unfamiliar and the only thing that sparks a connection is that it’s figurative.

How many assistants do you use to make the Soundsuits and the horses in the herd? It depends on each project. In my studio I have 6 full time assistants who are pretty much with me all the time, but depending on the scale of the project we’ll have up to 30 assistants.

How long did The Herd project take you to complete? The Herd project started out as a residency at North Texas State University. I was working there between the dance, theater, music, and art department. The art department built the skin, the music department created the score, and the art department fabricated the structural device that was eased in to bring the skin to the surface of the apparatus. It took about 8 months and 60 people to get the project out and working. You want to be able to produce. Volume is one thing, but if you don’t have depth within the volume the work won’t hold together. The magic in this work is the horses’ larger-thanlife, fantastical quality. The surface had to be alive and activated, so it was essential how we built the structure that spoke on a couple of magnitudes. Each horse’s identity was determined by the pattern on its facemask, and all of these patterns were fabrics from around the world. I wanted to address global intersection, the idea of coming together as a collective whole. We are all culturally unique and manage

to exist within the same world.

When it was completed, and when it showed in Grand Central, what came over you? It was like walking into my dreams. I got on the plane and thought, “Oh my God. This idea, this magical idea that I’ve been thinking about for probably three years, but didn’t have the means to make happen, is being realized.” I was hyperventilating. There is a level of project that I do which I consider “dream projects.” They can’t exist unless they are financially supported by an institution or a museum or what have you. So this was me literally walking into my dream. I can sketch it out, write the script, but it’s not the same thing until it happens.

Why did you decide to do the herd? Did you have something in mind when you came up with the idea? Oh yeah, I had a number of things in mind. I was thinking about the development and construction of Grand Central Station. Before trains it was horses that transported the materials that helped build the station. Also, in the main hall there is a pegasus. Once they cleaned the ceiling, there was this pegasus that was a part of the drawing that is in the station. It was also how the station operates. It’s a train station, a place where people come and go. People are always moving, things are always happening. That’s really why I wanted to bring it there. I also wanted to bring us back to that place, that dream-like state. We’re all so consumed by trying to hold on to our jobs and survive; to be able to bring something of this magnitude to a space that allowed us to get out of our day to day sort of routine and to get us back to a magical moment in time. Grand Central Station was a prime example of me coming face to face and realizing my purpose and why I do what I do.

Which is? Which is to use my art as a vehicle for change. Because at the end of the day, even with my sculptural work, everything is developed from this whole excess of surplus: this recycling of materials and using this abundance of stuff we’re surrounded by. So again, it’s talking about using this as another way of being socially conscious. Then going to situations which will be able to influence people’s lives. My work is written about in the fashion magazines these days. I can’t tell you the number of designers that are influenced by the work. I learn more about my work just by where it’s placed, in terms of editorial. And it’s across the board, from architecture to fashion, to art, to performance. That tells me I have the ability to move and navigate between all of these genres, which is exactly what I do. Aside from it being aesthetically beautiful, it was just the energy, and everyone was so happy when they saw it. It made people feel happy. Yeah, you know, and that’s the thing that’s exciting to me, is that there is content in the work. But at the same time we’re moving at such rapid pace and we’re coming and going so quickly that - what is that one element that you may

run across, that can just bring a smile to your face in the matter of a moment? It’s like, if I’m running an errand and I turn the corner and there’s someone in a lobster suit, promoting a restaurant. It’s that sort of shift in my momentum, my mobility that can trigger my train of thought.

Inspiration can come from anywhere, of course. Did you always photograph your work from the beginning? Always. As a student, part of the curriculum was that at the end of the semester we photographed all of our work. It was always part of the data process. Today it’s a different kind of reality. They call on a Monday, they need images by Thursday, and those are editorial. No one works within a 3-month span anymore. You have to have it ready to go so when someone calls, we have to be able to send them over.

Your performance work is site specific. Do you always create your work with a specific place in mind? What comes first, the idea or the place? The idea. I don’t ever want a place to stunt the process of development. I like to keep it as organic as I can. It’s like when I do a music exhibition, each museum environment demands a different set of problems and experiences, so for me I have to go the museum and I have to sit in the space. What does this mean? And how am I going to pull together this installation? What is the flow? How am I going to have my audience to move through the work? What do I want them to receive in the journey? I keep the work and the environment very disconnected.

Do you ever think of yourself, in a sense, as being an entertainer? No, but I know that I am on that edge. For me, it’s all about being on top of the fence. Where the conversation can be about these other areas of interest. I find my work to be interesting because we can talk fashion if we want to, we can talk contour, we can talk sculpture, we can talk performance, we can talk photography, we can talk video. Does it have the potential of being a Las Vegas, fabulous, fucking show? … Yes sir!

You mentioned you were working on TM13 for Treyvon Martin 2013, how do you choose to represent that? This work is very interesting because I am basically working with the figure but the figure is dressed in sneakers, jeans, and hoodie. I am surrounding the figures with all of the forms, these blown molds, which are like the Santa at Christmas, or a reindeer, or an angel, all of this molded plastic. Those are all part of this structure that is built around the body, and over top of all that is this beaded webbing. A tar webbing structure that holds it all together so it appears that the piece is trapped, or caged, inside of this net. It doesn’t seem to have any form until you get up close and you start to peer into the net and you see that it’s a young teen in a hoodie, jeans, and a t-shirt. I’m going to premiere these, 3 of them, at Miami Basel.



Anna Lunch, City.


fred cray

Fred Cray, Untitled multiple exposures from Labyrinth Series, 2006


Maciek Jasik. Clockwise from top left: Taylor, 2011; Jane, 2011; Lindsay, 2010; Jillian, 2011.

Maciek Jasik

Maciek Jasik. Vincent, 2011


MANN SHADOWS OF FIRE Your work often blurs the line between photography and sculpture. Is this a deliberate choice? What is your feeling about this collision? Working at the edge of the medium, where it crosses into others, exposes strengths and weaknesses. Sculpture exists in space, no matter its form, it is fact, it is in direct relationship to the viewer and must be given the same accord our eyes give to any other object we deal with: trees, chairs, doors, etc. The photograph becomes most powerful and sometimes most dangerous when it denies or encourages the overlooking of its objectiveness or the subjective nature of its making.

You often rip, tear or scrunch up photographs. Is this a statement against the preciousness that sometimes surrounds photography or just an aesthetic choice? I am not really concerned with the preciousness of photography, as only a very, very small portion of photographs are considered precious. My tearing, ripping or scrunching of photographs is an act that both puts pressure on the physical material and simultaneously fragments the reading of the image. The image becomes incomplete but is now put in relationship to texture, shadow or process.

Some of your photographs focus on cutting or dissolving elements of the paper. Do you see photography as a process of excavation? I see photography as process of manipulation. Manipulating light, context, shadow, scale in order to create an

image. An image many times is made to be consumed at a high speed. Cutting or dissolving elements of imagery introduces a gap in information, a breakdown of normalized photographic reading. In the end there is a sense of excavation, as I look for where the power of the image shifts just beneath the chemical or ink surface.

You have displayed some photographs in kaleidoscopic collages. What interests you about collage as an aesthetic? For me, collage is a tool of layering and hints at the hidden multiplicity and reproduction that is inherent in the photographic images. You learn so much about how photography functions by looking at multiple images photographers make in comparison to the image selected. For me, collage can both break down the idea of the one singular image and allude to the confused and beautiful way multiplicity exposes this aspect of photography.

Your photographs often fracture, blur or dissolve images. Why do you choose to alter images in this way? I’m fascinated by how we perceive and attempt to understand images or more specifically, photographic images. The dissolving, blurring and fracturing of the photographic plane, offers me a space to retreat to, an opening that I understand more completely than the image itself. It gives me reference to how the image or medium functions. The opening, or texture or removal has a way of instantly disrupting the powerful illusion that images perform. That first moment of how our brains connect with and attempt to parse out some understanding of images is what I try to

Portrait by Brooke Berger. All art images courtesy Kavi Gupta Chicago/Berlin and Curtis Mann.

play with, extend or remove entirely.

Your photographs range from monochromatic to vividly colorful. How do you decide on color as an aesthetic? What informs your choices? Most of my imageless works are monochromatic which I use because it forms a specific dialogue with the fundamentals of photography: white paper being a complete lack of image or information, and black paper being completely full of information. The exhibition at Monica De Cardenas in Italy began with two grids that represented steps in the white to black tonal scale. Again a reference to the foundations of the photographic medium. The color works began with one color grid made with sampled colors from Jeff Wall’s image, The Destroyed Room. From there I made smaller single monochromatic color works.

Some of your photographs use bleach to create images using a white palette. Where did this aesthetic come from? Why is it interesting to you? I started using bleach as just one tool of removing layers of the photograph. It was very different from scratching, sanding or scraping, so it became a bit more isolated in terms of a body of work. I was fascinated by how the white-hot paper and fire-like edges had such a tense dialogue with the images from areas of conflict in the Middle East. It was also a liquid based process so there was this constant battle between control and lack of control that allowed the work to sometimes create itself and other times be more my own creation.

There is often a feeling of force in your photographs: from the presence of fire in the images to the literal dissolution of the paper. What is interesting to you about this destructive energy? My curiosity and questions about materials usually come out in a destructive act for some reason. It’s just my way of understanding something. I guess, for me, it’s the equivalent of taking apart the toaster to figure out how it works, and not wanting to put it back together. It’s both an act that breaks down the material and the initial utility. The output is hopefully a dialogue between the original, the act and the result.

In one of your exhibitions you used images from a Flickr account. What effect do you think programs like Flickr, Tumblr and Instagram have had on the photographic world? How has this affected your work? Flickr, for me, was just a place to find images. Lots of images. I was less interested in it conceptually but its meaning is unavoidable. It’s a place where complete strangers upload images of anything and everything, to share, mostly with complete “strangers.” With these types of services and their effect on the photo-

graphic world, there are mostly two conversations. The archive and the impulse to document everything. I am more interested in what the archive means. What it means to want to collect so many images, and to have those images of your own personal experiences shared with complete strangers either next door or across the world.

You featured photographs from the Israel-Hezbollah war in 2006. What is interesting to you about conflict and its representation? I was and am interested in contradictions about images of conflict. How they attempt to convey what happened in a certain event and how we initially think it offers us some sort of understanding or explanation. But the longer you look and interact with the images the more confusing and abstract that understanding becomes, until that understanding breaks down completely. Sort of like saying a word over and over until it becomes strange; just sounds, dislodged from its utility. These images are powerful and seemingly influential, but as an image they tend to be consumed rather than critically thought about: they seem to substantiate an already held belief more than enlighten. But as with most of my thoughts about the medium of photography, sometimes I believe the opposite is true.

You have talked about the nature of photographic manipulation. Your work literally and physically alters photographs – yet digital manipulation remains invisible. Why does this physical process interest you more than digital alteration? What does your work say about the manipulation of images? I learn through my hands. My background is in mechanical engineering and I would always solve problems through the act of building or breaking down. Most of my procedures also leave some control to the process, some element of chaos that I have to work with and against. For me the digital process is too much control and simply not interesting, at least at this point.

Even though your images are often sourced from online programs, they are documents of real events. Do you consider yourself a documentary photographer? No, not at all. I am merely looking at and interacting with images made by others. I just like to look and manipulate at the same time as my own way of understanding, or not understanding that image. I’m interested in how the documentary photograph works, not really making something that functions the way a documentary photograph is supposed to function.

The conflict in the Middle East has been one of the most mediatized in history. What interests you about this conflict? How does your work engage with this process of representation? My engagement with images from conflicts in the Middle

East was because of intense events happening at that time that dominated the media and my extreme disconnection to those events. At first I was trying to pull apart images to look for new understandings or at least some understanding I could connect with, but the more I worked the more I realized that understanding did not exist. Each iteration bent toward abstraction, toward un-readability, toward nothing but the physical.

What does your physical process of alteration and de-

struction say about the events that you represent? I think the physical alteration and destruction offers a different, visceral way to enter into a dialogue with the event. You can feel the paper falling apart, and the image seeping away, as opposed to having to feel like you were there by looking at an image. For me, saying something specific about those events was not important. I think the importance was the challenge of looking, never stopping at the surface and always hoping that you learn from confusion.


Kyla Woods

Kyla Woods. Lights of New York, 2013


Lionel Arnaudie


Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink What do you think are major differences in the attitude towards nature in Canada compared to the United States? I think I’ve seen a rise in concern in 2007 and then I’ve also seen it retreat once the economy took a dive, so it is tied to people’s concern. I think I feel it’s starting to come back again because of the overwhelming evidence of climate change: with flooding, storms, and fires and larger and more hurricanes, all of those things are getting people to take note. We just saw a storm here in Toronto, which Toronto hasn’t seen a storm since hurricane Hazel in 1954. We’re seeing unprecedented fires as well that are starting to form because of the change in climate, the drying out of a lot of natural landscapes because it’s not getting the same amount of rainfall as in the past.

Your work focuses on the transformation of the natural world through human influence - how did that particular interest begin? It started in the very early 80s. I had done a lot of work with straight landscapes and I was very interested in that: the photographic medium and how it can deliver a universal response to a place that we’re all familiar with. At a certain point I recognized that the pure play on landscape was somehow not aligned with our times. When I started to think about where else I could take it, there Portrait by Birgit Kleber.

were a group of photographers who had an exhibition in 1976 called “The New Topographic”. Robert Adams was the voice of it and the difference between what they were doing versus what happened in landscape in the past, is that they were pointing their camera on the suburbs of urban sprawl. The images were no longer simply a meditation on the beauty and the forms of the nature, but became a meditation on the human impact on wilderness. Having come out of a deep respect for nature and wilderness it seemed to me that starting to photograph how we change the land to provide for our daily existence was more in line with my time than a celebration of the pristine landscape.

Can you talk about your photographic process in capturing landscapes? I was trying to interpret landscape with color, which had a long history of shooting in black and white. So I was very sensitive to the kinds of color I was bringing in and how I was using color as well as using a large format camera. Between those two, I began to develop what I would call a visual language that could interpret these landscapes in a way that compelled people to sit and ponder them, and often bristle at the use of the word beauty. I think that beauty doesn’t accurately describe what it is. Beauty is more culturally specific: what one culture finds

beautiful is not the same as what an African culture or a Chinese culture might find beautiful. But in landscape, I think it’s more universal: we all kind of innately understand that kind of photographic interpretation of place. I liked the idea that I could make these images and that they could easily cross boundaries into other cultures. I no longer see myself as a landscape photographer because I don’t go to that landscape, as lets say, Ansel Adams went to Yosemite because of the sheer beauty and magnificence of that landscape. I go to the places where human imprint is shown on a vast scale so that scale is always a signature of mine. I’m always looking for the largest example of something. Whether it’s farming and redirection of water like in the Water project or things where we got it wrong like in the draining of Owens Lake. I’m in those landscapes not for the beauty of the landscape but for what we as humans have intentionally, unconsciously altered. I see myself more of a photographer of human system within a natural landscape versus a landscape photographer.

One of the photographs depicts the Xiaolangdi Dam. Dams can be a source of renewable energy but can also have detrimental and environmental effects, is this dual edged sword something that interests you? How can we balance the two? Well you’re right, a dam has both positive and negative consequences. It’s a technological marvel in some respects. The Chinese government is saying they’re preventing flooding, and also creating a reservoir which allows for navigation so that bigger ships can transport products up river. I would say that the number one motivator is the hydroelectric power that a dam provides. This means that you don’t have to burn coal or natural gas or create nuclear power stations. But when you look at the dam, you change the whole ecosystem: all the people who lived on the banks of the river had to be relocated, and that relocation doesn’t always go well. All the other life forms in the system have been affected as well. For example, algae bloom start to form because of so much human and industrial waste, so you start having real problems with the water. Nothing comes without a price and the question is, which is the lesser of the evils that are out there?

Water has a spiritual residence in many cultures, was this something you experienced and how did it manifest? In the Water book, I looked at the largest pilgrimage to

All images. ŠEdward Burtynsky, courtesy Nicholas Metivier Gallery, Toronto / Howard Greenberg, New York and Bryce Wolkowitz Gallery, New York

All images. ŠEdward Burtynsky, courtesy Nicholas Metivier Gallery, Toronto / Howard Greenberg, New York and Bryce Wolkowitz Gallery, New York

water, which was the Kumbh Mela festival where 30 million people gather once every three years. It was quite remarkable to see a deeply held belief in bathing in the sacred area of the Ganges River and how the bathing and dunking of oneself cleanses one’s sins. Within that onemonth period, one hundred million Hindu Indians made the pilgrimage to cleanse their souls. If you look at the movie, we went from there to Huntington Beach for the Surfing Derby, which is a western celebration of the water’s edge and is also more of a competitive and challenging attitude towards conquering your wave. Then I went to look at the very unusual ways of in which the waters edge was manufactured in Florida. The US Army Corps of Engineers in Florida had three mangrove swamps, dredged them and then people built houses on the edge of these canals to allow people to have a water front property even though these canals didn’t go anywhere - they were just fake waterfront situations. To me that was interesting. We are so compelled to want to be at the water’s edge that complete recreation of that water’s edge was better than no water’s edge at all.

Many of your pictures feature large crowds while others feature just machinery. What are the problems that you face photographing large crowds versus machinery to capture the energy of each? I think as a photographer and an artist that becomes my focus - how do I solve these problems? How do I approach it, how do I take that idea and translate it through a lens and through a camera system? So I’m looking for the light, the time of the day, where I stand, where’s the point of view that best brings that subject into a way in which we can look at it and understand it. A lot of it is intuiting myself into that space: its always this parsing of form and content to get to this place where they’re both resolved and they both are present and neither dominate, neither the form nor content dominate the image, they both kind of coexist in an equal force.

Many of your photographs are aerial photographs, can you talk about the process of scouting and capturing those large expanses of terrain and what kind of equipment you used to do that? Well most of the stuff I shot, I was doing both film and still. For the stills, I largely shot with a Hasselblad. I had three different systems through the five-year project: starting with a 40-megapixel camera and the one

I’m working with now is a 60. The high resolution single frame, single shot camera was how I did a lot of the work with the gyro stabilizer on it to allow me to go into lower shutter speeds. Often times the the best light I could work with was early morning or late evening when the sun wasn’t fully blasting. So you have to use lower shutter speeds and in a helicopter with the door off. To try and navigate all those things so that the image is sharp at a large degree of enlargement was a challenge. The key thing here is that the digital solution to aerial work was the best solution I could hope for. Film just didn’t have the resolution or the speed necessary to freeze the picture from a helicopter, whereas digital allowed me to get a shutter speed high enough to freeze these images.

The majority of your pictures feature the natural world in some respect yet in some such as Manufacturing Number 15 “Bird Mobiles China”, the natural world is entirely absent. Why is this? What effect do you think the absence of nature has on both the viewer and the subject? Well, what I was trying to show was that all of our products, everything that we use, has its start in nature. Whether it’s wood, iron, copper or plastics from oil, they all begin in nature. They are absorbed in sunlight and transformed over millions of years. But when I went into the factories, the number one idea was that the industrial revolution has clearly landed in China and these factories are the source of conversion of natural things into products we use every day that have a Made in China stamp on them.

Can you talk about the significance of waste and excess consumption to your work? Well if there’s anything that we as humans produce, it is waste. The waste stream is clearly the largest end of material, both in the creation of things and the end of their life. Tar, tires, fridges, microwaves and computers all have a life and entropy is a large part of that. If you look at a life cycle, you have a primary place where all the material comes from: the mines, the quarries, the oil refineries, all those things are the primary source. Then we have the middle of the life of the product, the life of it being made and the life of it being used. Lastly, there is a third life, a third state which is as waste, it either gets reprocessed or its thrown into a landfill. So to me, it’s always the challenge of what mine, what tire pile or what ship breaking

All images. ŠEdward Burtynsky, courtesy Nicholas Metivier Gallery, Toronto / Howard Greenberg, New York and Bryce Wolkowitz Gallery, New York

All images. ŠEdward Burtynsky, courtesy Nicholas Metivier Gallery, Toronto / Howard Greenberg, New York and Bryce Wolkowitz Gallery, New York

yard or ship building yard becomes the place I want to use as my example of a larger activity, a larger global human activity. I’ve chosen this one because it visually resonates with me in a way, it tells that story in a visually compelling way. At the core it has to be visually compelling.

Much of your work brings life to destructive processes that many would rather remain ignorant of. Do you think your work can inspire a greater awareness of destructive influences and how can we mitigate this destruction? For every act of creation, there’s a equal or greater act of destruction. We tend to exist in the created space and the consequences of that creation is often not considered. I always hoped that the work I do reconnects us with those spaces. When I went to the dam in China on this last project, as far as I know, I was the only Western person that had ever seen it, yet it’s six times bigger than the Hoover Dam. The camera allows me to capture what’s there and bring it back. I believe it does, on some level, enter our conscience again through the photographic process. I think it’s more powerful in terms of a compelling way to look at it then let’s say a painter going in there and painting those things we would see as more interpretive work. We look at the photograph and we still place a certain amount of truth in our authenticity that this place actually exists.

With all these projects that you’ve done, which are, for me, very high-minded and socially kind of just, has it had any affect on you personally doing these things? Yes. I think there’s a kind of a sadness I feel when you understand the consequences of what we are doing to provide for our existence and the sheer volume and growth that we’re experiencing. Knowing that India and China are trying to get to that place that we’ve gotten to, but knowing that’s there’s just no way nature has enough material for everybody to have a lifestyle like we do here in the West, the trajectory is somewhat frightening for the future of climate, for the future of humanity and all life on the planet. We’re now the sublime force on releasing this pretty destructive machinery out in the. We’re expanding at an unprecedented rate in a finite system and that finite system is one that keeps reminding me that we’ve got a problem here. I have a 19 year old and a 16 year old and I worry about their future. I think we’ve come through the land of plenty where we’ve seen growth - I’ve seen growth in most of my life. We’re moving through a period of plenty to a land of scarcity.


Benjamin Løzniger. Top: c/loud project #005, Bottom: c/loud project #002.


Benjamin Løzniger. Top: c/loud project #007, Bottom: c/loud project #001.


Reynolds Avlon

Reynolds Avlon. On the set of Jonathan Jonathan Caouette’s The Tic and the Toc, at Bizarre, Bushwick.


Jennifer Geargescu. Above: “Sand, Stone, Dead Leaves & Bone” untitled #16, 2012. Opposite: “Sand, Stone, Dead Leaves & Bone” untitled #10, 2012.

Jennifer Georgescu

FERN MALLIS Fa Fa Fa Fa Fashion A year ago you launched your own jewelry line, Fern Finds for What was it like stepping into the designer’s shoes after years of being on the business end of fashion?

tion. But right now it’s generic things that you find in markets and stalls when you travel, just things that are common to places that I go to, and I play with them.

I never intended to step into the shoes of the designer, or compete with the people I’ve worked with for the greater part of my career. That’s why it’s called Fern Finds, not Fern Designs. I’m a shopper. I shop all the time, I’m in India all the time, and I travel a great deal. So it’s about buying things when I’m on these journeys. We’re working on a new collection now that will be aired in November. It’s necklaces, it’s earrings, it’s bracelets, and a fabulous pair of embroidered shoes that are kind of like the Jaipur embroidered flats.

Do you see yourself doing a clothing line or collaborating with another designer? I have no idea where it’s going to go. The next show will have a couple of kurta and a kind of modern kaftan, which are the kinds of things I wear and buy in India. We’re doing that in a couple of patterns. One top is an oversized shirt, somewhat like what you see Indian men wearing, something that I wear all the time over leggings and pants and jeans. The other one is a little dressier. Those will be a test to see how the clothing goes.

Are the pieces made specially for your collection or are they things that you’ve found?

How did your career in the fashion industry begin?

They’re all made specially. We work with a couple of manufacturers, I show them what I like and we try to create something similar. I never buy something that’s a signature designer’s piece, because that’s their thing. If I do that I’ll make a deal with the designer and promote his or her collec-

I started right out of college. I won Mademoiselles’ guest editorship, which launched my career and got me my first full-time job at Mademoiselle Magazine. I stayed there for six years and then became the fashion director at a department store, Gimbel’s East. I worked in wholesale, I worked in Portrait by Andrea Blanch

retail, and I worked on 7th avenue for a stint and hated that. I eventually opened up a public relations business because I realized that I could get paid for giving the advice that everybody was always calling me for. I did the PR firm for almost twelve years until I left to join one of the clients, the International Design Center in Long Island City. When the recession hit and people were not renovating million-square-foot buildings, I was let go and took a temporary PR job. Around that time I read that the CFDA were looking for a new executive director after their first huge AIDS benefit called Seventh on Sale. I threw my hat in the ring just as they were finalizing their decision and was selected to be the director. It was at a time when people didn’t really know about the CFDA. Around the same time there was an accident on 7th avenue during that first Fashion Week at Michael Kors showroom, when the ceiling started to collapse on the runway. The editors wrote the next day, “We live for fashion, and we don’t want to die for it.” I made it my mission as the director of CFDA to find safe places for fashion shows and to help the American designers have a real platform to compete globally. Having organized an industry in the design center, working with everybody, pulling everybody together, it seemed like the natural thing to do, and Seventh on Sixth was born. Two years later, we had the first organized Fashion Week in New York under tents in Bryant Park.

What led to the switch from Bryant Park to Lincoln Center? It was always a fairly contentious relationship working with Bryant Park. As the tents became more and more successful, space became an issue. One season we moved to Chelsea Piers, and there was a huge outcry from the fashion industry. The mayor at that time, Giuliani, told us to come back to Bryant Park, and that’s when the footprint of the event changed and we were given the lawn, which had not been previously allowed to use. Then Fashion Week changed from being the last on the fashion calendar to the first in New York and that changed the dates of when we needed to be in the park. So Fashion Week became problematic, and we felt that we were getting too big for the park and that it was time to move on to a new location. Being instrumental in all that, I saw the way everything was

shifting and I thought that the end to Bryant Park was my swan song. That was my baby; it was eighteen years old, I could move on from it now.

Was the transition difficult for you? No, it really wasn’t. When you know it’s time to move on, it’s very healthy, and it feels good. I didn’t know if people would still think I was relevant to them, but everything that’s evolved has actually been really exciting, and a lot more fun in many ways. I was on Off Broadway in “Love, Loss, and What I Wore,” and that was a completely out of box experience and I loved doing it, and then the HSN collection, and the Y.

How did your lecture series at the Y begin? After eighteen years in the fashion world, I caught my breath for a while and tried to think about the things I like doing. I’ve always been very supportive of designers and the design process. People think of designers as flighty, crazy people, whims of hemlines and silliness, and I think that they deserve a little more appreciation after having built these businesses. So that was always something in the back of my mind. I met with Susan Engel who’s the head of programming at the Y and she asked if I would be interested in doing something with fashion up there, a series that could formalize fashion as a category. I thought I could try interviewing designers. I’d never done it before but I know what to ask them and what I’m interested in, and you assume that if you’re interested in those things then other people might be. So I said, “Let’s do it. We’ll call it ‘Fashion Icons with Fern Mallis.’” And Susan said, “Do you think you could get some good people?” And I said, “Let’s try.” The first season was Norma Kamali, Donna Karen, Calvin Klein, Michael Kors, Tommy Hilfiger, Tom Ford, and Polly Mellen. Then the next season we did Diana von Furstenberg, Marc Jacobs, Betsy Johnson, and Susie Menkes. And Oscar de la Renta ended this season. It was unbelievably successful. The place is packed, they sell out, and many interviews have been live streamed. They have become the definitive interviews on these peoples’ lives.

Which accomplishment are you most proud of?

I’m extremely proud of being able to say that I created Fashion Week. I mean, I did it as the director of an organization, the CFDA, but at the end of the day it’s somebody making the phone calls and going to meetings and putting the ideas together and putting it all in place. I have no qualms in knowing that I was the creative force who had a vision for what it could be, and followed through to get the money raised for it to happen, and had my personality and my imprimatur on it for eighteen years. I can’t take credit for it growing from what it was to what it’s become, but the genesis of it and the core of what fashion week is, I can still smile about.

What do you think are the most important qualities for young designers starting today, and have these changed much since you started? I don’t think it’s changed that much. I think it’s talent, talent, talent, tenacity, perseverance, passion, and commitment. You have to stay with it and you have to want it so badly. It’s a tough business but I’m shocked every day how somebody else comes on the scene and starts making some news and noise. I mean, look at the success of Alexander Wang and people like that. It’s remarkable.

What was your experience like as a judge on reality television? I’ve been on Project Runway several times, and that’s what led to my being asked to be one of the judges on another show, called The Fashion Show. It happened during the year that Project Runway was on hiatus and Bravo created this show to fill that space. I still talk to some of those designers who call on me for advice. I was levelheaded, I was realistic. It comes from the right place in the industry of what works and doesn’t and why. Truthfully, I’m really surprised that nothing more came out of that.

Are there any emerging designers we should keep our eye out for? There’s a young designer that I’m very bullish on named Brandon Sun, who was designing for quite a few seasons and is still doing some Oscar de la Renta furs. He has his own collection, Brandon Sun Collection, that he shows at the tents, and he’s made several dresses for me for various

important occasions. He’s very minimal and simple. I also like Bibhu a lot. I think Bibhu Mohapatra has talent that I want to see grow and expand. I’ve also just been in contact with a young designer who won a runway competition in Charleston, Afriyie, and an African American guy who’s doing interesting men’s clothing.

What do you think about online viewing as a platform for fashion magazines? I think it’s a good opportunity to read some of the pieces and stories, but I’m still old school. I still like my printed page. I like my newspapers. With magazines, I like when they stack up to half the height of my bed, and I schlep them back and forth to other places and look back at them, folding the pages that I like. On the web you just go by images very quickly, and I don’t think a photographer spends hours and days and weeks taking shots for you to kind of glance at it in a nanosecond on a screen.

Are there any opportunities that you regret not having taken or tried out? A long time ago there might have been a few that were relationship oriented that I should have taken advantage of. At the time I thought, “Oh god I can’t do this now. I have too much in my world to do and accomplish.” And now I think that I probably should have had a baby when I could have. Things like that are slight regrets, but I can’t dwell on them.

What can you say, overall, about your experiences with the fashion world and with the people in it? I’ve had a very good experience with the fashion business. I attacked it from the best possible position, I could promote and respect talent and work with designers on philanthropic issues and causes. I got to raise money, millions for AIDS, and many millions for Breast Cancer, for education. I understood how to get people together and leave the ego outside and work for great causes. I have seen the other side of the fashion world in many ways, and there are some people who are just hideous. But luckily we have had so many full, complete days that I don’t have enough time to store that stuff, otherwise I would have had a book by now about all the craziness.


Nir Arieli

Nir Arieli. Craig 3.


Nina Moysi

Nina Moysi. Opposite: Still Here. Above: it always remember me the Pablo Picasso quote:“It takes a very long time to become young.�


Phoebe Kiely


RICKARD When did your interest in photography begin? When did you start taking your own photographs? I started taking photographs around 2003. I had been an artist since childhood but never had something grabbed me so forcefully as photography did.

In what ways does your background in History and Sociology influence you work? It provides the fuel and the obsession. My approach is to intertwine ideas with images and the two are not really separable. I am not interested in making pictures for their own sake. I was at the beginning but now things have changed and the notion of America and its machinery and moving parts are firmly entrenched with my use of images. My personal history and my education drive my ideas. They are crucial.

How do you respond to critics of appropriation, specifically those who argue appropriating images is not a valid method of creating art? We are not only seeing appropriation increase, we are actually entering an era of appropriation. It’s no longer about who “pushes the button,” anyone can do this now due to the shift in technology and the low barrier to enter into photography. It is about what you say and what you do with the images; images that you either create or that you wield and control.

Did you have any preconceived notions about the country before “A New American Picture” that have changed

through the process of exploring Google Street View? Did you encounter anything unexpected while you worked on the project? Yes, every American and probably many non-Americans have preconceived ideas about American places, people, landscapes and cities. We are so forceful when pushing our image out to the world and across the nation, and our media now builds a mental image within us all. I had Detroit painted inside my mind... and a Waco, Texas, a Philadelphia, a Camden, NJ. In some ways, the massive exploration through Street View mirrored my expectations and even my mental images, but in some ways it was different. For instance, the massive decay and poverty in our nation was beyond my expectations, far beyond.

What do you want these candid images to reveal about the lives of the people who become the subject of the photographs? Street View is very detached and in a way, it reveals nothing about the individuals. It does, however, reveal much about the terrain that the subjects inhabit and about the conditions in which they live out their lives. “A New American Picture” has very unique characteristics because of this detachment. They are built into the very mechanics of the image making process (images taken at intervals, from a height, by robotic machine, faces blurred out). There are increased feelings created in the viewer and in my portrayal because of these mechanics; feelings of isolation, abandonment, emptiness, marginalization, disengagement, etc. You wouldn’t have

Portrait by Doug Rickard. All images are from the series A New American Picture ©Doug Rickard, Courtesy Yossi Milo Gallery, New York.

this if physically engaged with the subjects. It becomes something unique and arguably powerful. It does not take away from engagement and traditional journalism at all, it is simply something else.

Have you physically visited any of the cities these images were taken? Is there a difference between the physical energy of the space and the energy that is conveyed online? Yes, some. There is a difference but there are also many similarities and connections. It really depends on many factors: who is looking at the image and which images. Street View uses a fixed, wide angle lens and because of the quality breakdown, pixellation, digital artifacts, flaws and blemishes, some poetic subtexts are loaded in. I knew this and I used it as an artistic tool to wield and control, from which to then embed my own voice. The images are in a way democratic at the onset but they become very subjective by the command that I exert.

“These Americans,” showcases a unique collection of photographs from mug shots to pinups. How did you come up with this concept? Where do you find these images? All of the images are web sourced. I have built up an American archive of web sourced imagery that now exceeds 400,000 images. I will use this to speak as an artist into the decades ahead. The site is really an extension of this archive that I call, T.A. I thought it made sense to let people view selections from it online. This archiving impulse and need to edit and organize are internal obsessions. They serve as fuel for me as an artist.

Doug Rickard. #39.937119, Camden, NJ (2009), 2010.

While your other online project, “American Suburbs X,” focuses on trained and established artists, “These Americans” features works from a variety of sources, many of which are amateur. What difference in purpose and meaning is there between an amateur photograph and an “artist’s” photograph? Yes, ASX is a magazine of the medium, its history and its direction. I had a desire to educate myself using the web. I created ASX to share that process and then it became something else; a platform and archive from which everyone can benefit. I also have allegiance with it to no one, so it keeps things fresh and pure. I only include work that I back myself, nothing weak or watered down.

How is information technology and social media changing the way American society appreciates and creates art? Not only are these things changing how we appreciate art, they are changing human beings and the way that they behave, maybe even the way we develop from an evolutionary standpoint. Our very essence is shifting. We will see art reflect this, it cannot help but reflect it.

What have you learned through your experience with contemporary photography that you would like to impart onto emerging photographers? Everyone must find their own land to cultivate. It is not enough to carry on what someone else has done; you need to be determined to create something of your own. At the same time, we are all connected to what came before, no man or woman is an island.

Doug Rickard. #29.942566, New Orleans, LA (2008), 2009.

Doug Rickard. #96.749058, Dallas, TX (2008), 2010.

Doug Rickard. #40.607983, Jersey City, NJ (2007), 2011.

Doug Rickard. #40.805716, Bronx, NY (2009), 2011.


David “Vades� Joseph

David Vades Joseph. Top: Untitled. Bottom: Lady Cantrese at Lenox Lounge. Opposite: Memorabilia.



Arielle Kramer. Rhodes.

DAVID MOLANDER You studied Film and Photography at Harvard. How did studying these two disciplines together influence your work?

landscapes of the final product? How long does one work take to complete?

It opened up two parallel rooms in my mind – one for still images and one for moving images. I’ve now merged the two into one space with its separate corners and work with both.

I work for so many hours with all my work that I don’t even want to know how many. It is so time-consuming, which is great since it’s the best thing I know. I work mainly in Photoshop and after effects.

Why do you choose to work with both film and still photos? Do you prefer one method to the other?

Many of your installations extend beyond the frame. How do you put together your prints to create these murals?

My animated films are created parallel with my still work. I blend them together, and let them intertwine, if it fits the project. Both mediums have their strengths and I wouldn’t put one in front of the other. They strengthen each other creating a new whole.

I make prints in pieces and mount them together as a giant puzzle.

What editing programs do you use to create the surreal

Through constructing spaces, do you think you’re also enhancing the inherent energy of the cities you capture? Yes, my digital tools and the many merged moments and spaces create a concentration of the place and time – some-

URBAN KALEIDOSCOPE Portrait by Andrea Blanch

David Molander. HIgh Rise, 2012, All images Courtesy of Julie Saul Gallery, New York

David Molander. Fountain LES, 2013.

David Molander. Zucotti Park, 2013.

David Molander. Junctions, 2010.

times enhancing what is there or the lack of it. I see it as a condensed image

Your cityscapes frequently make the infrastructure rather than the inhabitants the focus. In your opinion does a city’s energy come from its people or from its structure? Sometimes looking at the bare built environment says more about the people that inhabit it than images of the individuals themselves. People, their clothes, gestures and gaze are often distracting. Putting you in a decisive moment; I’m after a prolonged moment. I often include people somewhere in the composition. Their presence is needed but it’s not always so much about the specific persons or moments.

How is the energy of New York different than that of Stockholm? Other than New York and Stockholm, what cities inspire you? New York contains more contrasts than Stockholm – social segregation, ethnicities, and a mix of architecture, of scales and of layers. Stockholm is more coherent and predictable; its energy is more solid, more subtle. I’m fascinated by any city I spend time in. I had a residency in Oslo last spring and was amazed by the contrast between wealth and a heroin epidemic, of the many construction sites in combination with a surrounding landscape that is breathtaking. I came from a couple of months in Berlin where I was fascinated by a city that is changing rapidly but still bears marks and wounds from its dark and cruel history. There are still many voids in the grid that fuels creative initiatives, and certainly spark my imagination.

Have any photographers inspired you? What about other artists? Some great photographers like Andreas Gursky, Hannah Starkey and Ed Ruscha have given me a new gaze. But more than that, things that I grew up with – films like Blade Runner, comic books like Blueberry and computer games like Beneath a Steel Sky may have affected me even more.

What advice do you have for young photographers? When it’s hard remember, it’s not fun if it is easy. The best works will be made through struggle, chaos and overcoming a crisis.

David Molander. Welcome to S Lagerlรถfs Square, 2009.



Carnish. Opposite: Human Totem. Above: Tribal Sculptures.


Nicole Vega

Nicole Vega. Artificial.


LEARSY Portrait by Andrea Blanch

a sturdy pair of shoes What was the first piece of art you bought? The first piece of art I bought was from a friend of mine at Penn, his name is Sven Lukin. He was a painter and I bought one of his works, and then Sven went on to have a career of his own. He’s been showing recently, he’s a very, very good artist.

Was it a painting? It was a painting, but he’s also done a lot of sculpture. His career has been up and down. He showed at Pace Gallery for quite a few years, and then, as happens with artists, he drifted away. Now he’s come back. He’s a very interesting and very gifted artist.

After that, did you start doing it full throttle? No, not really. I was always captivated by what we then called the Bohemian lifestyle. I had studied in Europe a bit and it gave me some time to hang out in Paris and gave me a sense of those things, something I enjoyed a great deal.

I also used to go down to the Village to a place called the Cedar Bar. I’d sit there and see all these guys, Franz Kline, Williem de Kooning, etc., hanging out there. The way other people have baseball heroes, they were who I idolized. I realized this was a world that I somehow wanted to be a part of. I didn’t have the talent to be an artist myself, so I decided to go into business, make a little money and become a collector.

What are three words that would describe your collection? Eclectic. Contemporaneous. Passionate.

Do you have different themes at different times, or has it always been an eclectic mix? It’s always been a fairly eclectic mix, and whether it’s painting or sculpture or drawing, I have a soft line between things I would have to plug in. I have enough difficulty with technology: I don’t want to have it invade my collecting too much.

Do you go out to galleries every day?

I don’t look at art every day, but I look at it frequently. People often ask me what is it that guides me, and I frequently answer, “shoe leather.”

How did you educate your eye? By doing. By reading. Shoe leather. Going around to galleries. Talking to people in the art world. Knowing many people in the galleries, knowing many artists, knowing many collectors, and reading all those magazines that everybody in the art world reads, and then applying my own judgement, my own reaction.

You brought up that there are artists that were known at one point that aren’t so well known now. Would you name some of those artists and if you see a revival for them? Actually, it’s a little too soon, but we’re talking with a small museum and we’re going to try put together an exhibition called ‘The Forgotten 80s.’ We will be instructing and reminding people of the incredible quality of work, and remind people of artists who have passed out of sight.

And why do you think that is? Do you think that happens more now in the art world in terms of people who arrive, you know, young artists who make their mark, then fall out of peoples minds more than they did before? When I started collecting, the art world was a very small world. You had New York, which was intense, and in Europe you had 2 or 3 galleries in London with virtually no collectors except for Mr. Saatchi. In Paris they were still coming off the great French art traditions, and contemporary art was viewed as somewhat déclassé. There was really an enormous amount of energy in Cologne, Germany, LA, Milano, and even Tokyo was active. If you spent your time between New York and Cologne you were part of the world. The collectors were either Americans, or Belgians, or Germans. Then suddenly in the late 80’s things started to change rapidly, to the point where the art world became so huge it was very possible for people to lose track of the artists they had initially focused on because of the enormous amount of information that descended on everyone.

This brings up a whole other something that I’m curious about. A whole bunch of artists that I know say that the average price of a work of art today is $30M, $14M, a lot more than it used to be. They say people launder their money and now it’s all going into the art world.

Let me put it this way: there are many ways and many venues and many portals through which people enter the art world. Social reasons. Financial Reasons. You name it. My contention is that it really doesn’t matter because, once they enter the Cathedral, they become converts. They become obsessed with art and the collecting of art. So whatever the reason that initially motivates them to take an interest, to participate, the whole process is so seductive and so life enhancing that whatever the reason was, drifts away. It’s a life commitment to art that remains as the motivation. Art is a wonderful enterprise.

Trading commodities is filled with risk. Do you equate that risk with buying art? There is an excitement in art collecting. It’s always interesting to find a new artist, and then to have your judgment ratified by the art world. That’s one of the pluses you get in collecting. It doesn’t always happen, but when it does happen, it’s a thrill. You were there first; you were one of the early ones.

Photography has changed a lot. How has that influenced your collection? Or has it? Photography, in my opinion, hasn’t only changed a lot; it has redefined categories. When I first started collecting, photography was photography. Then you had these incredibly innovative artists like Cindy Sherman, Laurie Simmons, Louise Lawler, women who really changed the idea of photography. They not only transformed the perception of what a photograph was in relationship to art, while doing so they totally changed the place and the view of importance of women artists. Before, it was only guys - and suddenly, this change in photography, in really transmuting photographs into serious artworks, which was really at the fulcrum of what these women artists do, not only changed the perception of photography, but changed the perception of women in the art world. In other words, you don’t say” “Cindy Sherman is a woman photographer.” You say: “She’s a photographer.” years ago it would be “she’s a woman artist,” and that’s bye-bye.

Does traditional photography still hold any interest for you, and what makes a good photograph today? Yes, of course it does. I think a good photograph is something that either catches the essence of a personality or a mood.

What is your criteria for what makes a piece of art? What is art, in your opinion, or makes you say ‘I want this piece of art. This is a piece of art.’?

I don’t think I have a checklist. I have very subjective reactions to something, and I don’t necessarily have to like it. I have to feel that it impacts me. That it is something that stirs a reaction and that makes me feel wiser, sadder, happier.

Do you think fashion photography deserves a more serious look in the art world or could be considered art? Of course. I just saw an exhibition at Pace Gallery of Irving Penn’s photographs and he’s an amazing artist. I welcome people’s prejudices because it makes it more accessible.

Do you think a collector has any sense of social responsibility? All collectors are just interim gatekeepers. The work goes on, so there’s a responsibility that the work is kept well and to make sure that that the work is accessible to the public when people want to exhibit it to let people see it in museums and other venues. There’s a real responsibility to collecting, you have to respect the work, and you have to respect the careers it represents.

What in your opinion makes for a good gallerist? I don’t like going to artists’ studios until I’ve really gotten to know the artist. Because you could step in, take a look, and want to step back out, but you have to spend a half hour mumbling things. So I try not to go to artists’ studios unless I know the artist or have been collecting them, that’s different. Here’s a baseball analogy: Gallerists are like baseball scouts going to high schools and colleges scouting to find people with baseball talent. I think the gallerist plays an absolutely essential role in the art world. They are the ones who do the selecting that makes it possible for the collector to see a preselected group of works of art. That requires an enormous amount of effort and really makes the works of art accessible in a sort of pre-screened presentation.

What does the phrase ‘lasting potential’ mean? You look for excellent works, and the ones that define a moment have lasting potential. It depends on how long you’ve been in the game, and I’ve been in the game for a while now. Some things that were purchased 20 or 30 years ago as emerging artists have become minor classics, and that kind of knowledge stays with you.

How has your taste evolved over the years? Initially when I started collecting, because I was so interested

in seeing how the abstract expressionists evolved, I started collecting American modernist art; Matulka, Burchfield, people like that. I became involved in the Whitney Museum in the late 1970s and served on the collection committee. At that time, one of the works of art that came up to be considered for accession to the collection was a Sol LeWitt piece. It was something like $12K, which at that time was a stratospheric price. All you got was a piece of paper giving you directions, and I said ‘No, come on. This can’t be.’ But you know before voting they gave us some time and let us kind of think about it. I still remember, I went downtown to the John Weber gallery and I walked into the gallery and I was thinking, “I’m on the collection committee of the Whitney. What the hell is going on here?” John sat me down and talked to me about the conception of the work, the presentation of the work, the ideas of the artist, and this all transposed itself into a work of art. I walked out of that gallery and began collecting contemporary art. I was fascinated.

What advice would you give a young collector? Buy a sturdy pair of shoes. And learn patience waiting for elevators.

When it’s all said and done, what would you like people to think of your collection? I’d like them to think, “Wow, that was fun to look at.”

Would you ever think of having an artist residency? Actually, [my wife] Melva [Bucksbaum] has thought of that. She has been thinking of that and probably would be open to that kind of thing.

Also, when you buy work, do you discuss it with Melva, or buy it on your own. No, we have similar tastes, but we don’t buy by committee. The collection is a joint work of passion between Melva and myself. We may not always agree but we insipre each other to aspire to the best. It is an important aspect and core to the collection.

With all of the boards that you’ve been on, do you think things get accomplished at these meetings, because it’s by committee? All you have to do is go down to the meatpacking district and 2 blocks south of 14th St, Gansevoort Avenue, and you’ll see what those committees are accomplishing. Something that is going to become a jewel of the art world.


Caroline Kelley

Caroline Kelley. Untitled.


jared buschang



Formento & Formento. Sharilyn, 29 Palms CA, 2010.


BETWEEN TWO TRUTHS Your work spans both video and still photography. What interests you about being able to bridge both media? I see them as being complementary of each other. Each medium allows me to exploit areas that are otherwise limited. My work with photography is very much about a resisting the passage of time; it’s an attempt to hold on to something that is slipping away. Many of my images are happening when I try to capture a moment that is either happening at an extraordinary speed or during a very long exposure; time is leaving its impression on the negative. By doing this, it’s recording and erasing information all the time. It’s very possible to hold on to

something and fix it in time with photography. The films are offering something else; in film I can present a much more grounded, multifaceted impression of the passage of time. Recently, I have found that a lot of my films focus on some form of portraiture. I explore the relationship between the history of painting, the history of portraiture, to what it means to make portraits today. The moving image can illustrate with an almost hyper-realistic quality. It can expand and continue: this effervescent thing that we were addressing 500 years ago. I think moving through the two mediums has to do with certain conceptual and formal questions. These questions dictate the medium that I choose.


All Images courtesy of CRG Gallery, New York, Angles Gallery, Los Angeles, Andrew Mummery Gallery, London, Noga Gallery, Tel Aviv, Brand New Gallery, Milan

I understand the opportunities in both, but what are the challenges that you might find in either one? I can talk about specific works. For example, the exploding flowers is a very large photograph. In this photograph what interested me was the relationship that existed in technology and the way technology is expanding our perception of reality. I wanted to create a moment that Fontaine Le Fleur from the 19th century could not even comprehend; an idea of exploding the flowers at such a tremendous speed. I photographed the explosion at the speed of seven and a half thousandth of a second. It’s a speed that is too fast for the brain to process, but because of technology, a moment like this can be depicted, and become a powerful and conscious reality. The original Fontaine le Fleur is very modest in scale so it was crucial to blow up my images large enough so as to introduce all the information sufficiently. This expanded the tension between that of Fontaine Le Fleur and my work. By raising questions about, “what is reality?” we begin to ask, “how do I deal with reality?” The camera created its own reality by recording these things. Have you heard of my film, Will you Dance for Me? It is about a dancer in a rocking chair named Yehudit Arnon. She died two weeks ago. I filmed her two years ago, dancing for the last time. She was 84. She was dancing in a rocking chair so her movements are very minimal. She is rocking between light and darkness and by doing this she is also contemplating and reflecting on her life. When Yehudit was 19 she was sent to Auschwitz. The Germans tried to make her dance for them at a Christmas party and she refused. They punished her by leaving her in the snow for a very long time. She made a vow that night that if she survived this she would dedicate her life to dancing. She did and moved on to form a very successful dance group. The film is basically a meditation on her face and on her body. The camera is slowly tracking back until she disappears and then re-emerges; it’s almost as if she is constantly fading away as she rocks into. She becomes very small and then suddenly returns as a very powerful presence. It is portraiture. There is no narrative in it, but the camera is constantly moving throughout the duration.

You mentioned that you used a very high speed camera for the flowers. What kind of camera did you use? For the still photograph we used a Hasselblad. It’s entirely digital which was important because I wanted production to be as removed as possible from painting. Painting is a sensual and physical process. Here, the images are created through a lot of technology to achieve phenomenal quality and details. We took these photographs with ten Hasselblads. Because the refreshment rates are so slow, at one frame per second, we built a mount that allowed us to fix ten cameras very close to each other. For every photograph, the cameras would shoot one after the other. The idea was that as least one camera would be able to capture the moment.

What is it about the image of a flower that interests you?

And why do you relate them to ideas of violence? I think flowers relating to violence is an idea that was established long before me. Their fragility, their beauty, the moment they blossom and the scent they produce, it’s all so temporal. Then, like a butterfly, it’s going to disappear so quickly. This tragic quality is interesting. With the flowers I am introducing a natural fixed environment against something that is so fragile and delicate.

What was the inspiration for this? It started with Dutch still life of the 18th century. It introduced 101 different flowers from all different seasons: a representation of the cycle of seasons, of blooming flowers, all in one bouquet. I had this image I wanted to show and it is this beautiful bouquet that explodes. I wanted it to explode with sound. I wanted to represent the idea of maturing and gaining clarity. It’s difficult to pin-point just one thing.

How does the flower series relate? Without the explosion it could be a still life painting. What do you think it says about the contemporary place of photography? The explosion is critical because that’s what makes them so different from a still life painting. It can only be depicted by photography. When the viewer looks at them, there is an extension of delay, but it is an impossible moment for a painting to capture. A painting can depict the photograph, but not the moment. Think of the photo of the soldier who is being shot in action during the Spanish Civil War. The moment the bullet goes through his body, we are looking at somebody who is neither alive nor dead. He is extended between these two moments and he is simultaneously alive and dead. The photographs I create with the exploding flowers are addressing similar ideas. The moment of destruction becomes the moment of creation. The viewer is invited to view something that is holding together and falling apart, simultaneously. I’m hoping these photographs raise fundamental questions, not just of the subject, but of, “What is photography? How does a photograph work? What is the photograph’s relationship with reality, with truth? What is truth?” We are looking at a moment we can never experience so we have to believe the camera. “How can we believe the camera?” Various questions are coming up that are moral and ethical about relationships between the camera and truth.

Your video work is often displayed in frames reminiscent of master works of the 18th and 19th century. Can you talk about the significance of framing and display to your work? In these particular films, suspension of disbelief is crucial. I present them on an extremely high-resolution screen, so that when the viewer comes very close they don’t reveal themselves as moving images. The frames suggest the frame of a painting. At the moment of sudden explosion, the viewer’s

expectations and beliefs are being challenged.

growing up, or is it all art history related, or both?

You’ve developed an interest in landscape. What about landscapes interests you?

Essentially all my work deals with loss and my resistance to it. It’s a mixture of various images. There is an image of floating petals – when I was standing on bridges in Tokyo and I saw petals just floating away - the image that popped into my head was the Long March of Mao. This mass of people, this idea of an exodus. I could’ve thought about the exodus of the Jews but that’s what I had in mind, these people are walking across a mountain for long periods of time and suffering from bombardment and diseases and still a desire to keep on walking is something triumphant, a romantic journey. It’s not purely biographical but they are all connected. When I think about this image, as a child I was always fascinated by Mao. It’s images and memories that are provoking war on one another and they are all related, to my own experiences.

I’m interested in landscape voids. They resonate some sort of presence. If you go to a place where you know something significant happened, that affects your experience. There is something about the landscape, as if the space is radiating something. With photography, what interests me is that the camera is very good at showing the here and now and then turning it into a historical memory. If an event has already passed, then the camera is helpless. One of my interests is how you can go to a landscape and capture, bring to life, something that is already gone by the time the viewer sees it; it’s a seemingly impossible feat. I am interested in this tension and impossibility.

What do you think using long exposures adds to these landscapes? What do you think doing them in film adds? The long exposures started with an attempt to destroy the film; the act of photography would be an act of destruction. I started to do it with the images of olive trees. I went in the middle of the day when the sun was extremely bright and I tried to create very long exposures so the light would actually destroy the film. What I realized was that the light registered information on the film. There was an accumulation of new information. The information is always erasing the information from before. What is startling are the presented images. The images that I produced were those I thought were destroyed. Optically, the camera is recalling the light that is bouncing back from the subject. However the image has become very different from the way my eye experienced it; there is a tension being between the subjective and objective experience of being somewhere and believing in something.

What’s the difference using film? I made a film called, “Neither Black Nor White”, where the camera was locked in one place, capturing a landscape in time lapse. I was on top of a hill in Nazareth and below me were villages. The light of those villages looked like glistening stars. In the film it is very difficult to decipher what you’re looking at. As day breaks, slowly the sun comes up and it becomes clear that you are looking at a village. The aperture of the camera does not change, so slowly everything is bleached. The landscape and village start to disappear until we are left with a bush in the foreground that moves in the wind. You realize that the entire film was of this particular bush. One needs a duration of time to go through this cycle; I could never represent it in a single photograph.

Flowers are a motif that recurs in your, whether it’s the exploding flowers or the falling petals that underscore the tragedy of Hiroshima. Is this related to your experience

Let’s talk about the German philosopher and critic, Walter Benjamin. You often reference him when you write about your work. Can you explain why Benjamin and his theories are such an influence to your work? He was a post-modern prophet. A lot of the things he was addressing are so relevant to photography. The photograph is always about the inevitable collision between material presentation and the mystical. The magic of photography is that it’s a concept one can never fully grasp. The presence of somebody who died can appear on this piece of paper and still feel so alive. I feel that Benjamin’s writing is almost the same, jumping from one thing to the other and every little thing touched upon illuminates and opens more questions.

Would you say that you’re a romantic? Yes. I remember when I was a student, and the big thing was to discuss postmodernity and it was this cynicism related to the idea of detachment from the real world, no space any longer for originality and only re-appropriation of images. I could never accept that. There is something that fascinates me about going to places, going to physical experiences. There are poetic qualities of a place that start to emerge through physical experiences and the fusion of the physical and something that is intuitive emotional and also intellectual, how they all meld together to create a work. So yes, I am very much a romantic.

If you were to recommend a book for a young photographer to read, what might it be? A novice one would be Walter Benjamin’s Illumination. Thinking about Maurice Merleau-Ponty and the Phenomenology of Perception. A book I found to be seminal and very, very important as a novice choice is Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida and also Geoffery Batchen’s book, something like Burning with Desire: The Conception of Photography. Also, Normand Bryson’s Looking at the Overlooked, for still life.


Erin O’Malley. Otherworld Landscape.

Erin O’Malley

Erin O’Malley. Top: Splash Timelapse, Bottom Left: Blue Surge, Bottom Right: Spherical Blasts.


joy mckinney

Joy McKinney. The Guardian, 2013.



Anna Bloda. From the series Aura. Model: Morell Cutler as Vivienne.


MILLER Portrait by Andrea Blanch

Fios das Pessoas With the sequence of images you’ve been taking of Brazil’s Favelas, what drew you to this part of the world? And what interested you about favelas as subject matter? The first trip to Brazil…it was so exotic, and so foreign and beautiful. I really felt like I had a reason to go back, but I had to find work there in order to go back. In Brazil, there is this combination of extreme beauty and extreme poverty. Poverty in the favelas (everyone knows this) is side by side with the richest people in the world. So there’s a whole contrast between barbed wire mansions next to raw sewage in the streets - which is what I saw. I guess the attraction to the favelas was this incredible need, a chaotic, unorganized, and unrestrained need for resources. Brazil is all about the natural resources. On the one hand, you have the über rich who can buy these products that nobody needs, but which are very fun to have; and on the other hand, an exploding population’s need for jobs, electricity, etc., which creates a dialogue. So, this conversation about the use of resources is not exclusive to the biggest users of those resources. We’re all a part of the dialogue, from the most extreme end of chaos in the favelas, to the über end of consumption, which would be upscale shopping. The other thing I’d like to mention are those telephone wires. They’re called Gatos, and Gatos are like cats’ whiskers. There’s something really beautiful about them - they’re like these natural drawings, these drawings that get made by human activity that you could never envision making on your own. When you visualize them though, and you see it in the

flesh, you see a human drawing, a collective drawing of need and consumption.

This series is, for the most part, absent of human figures, and yet still suggests urban life. Why did you choose to portray the favelas in this specific way? I think that when you start showing human misery, a trope that’s been well documented by many people, coupled with the stock images of extreme poverty…I mean, it becomes complicated, because in the favela, I went into apartments where people lived. I went into peoples’ homes, and there was plumbing. I went into this one apartment, and it was clean. The notion of poverty and human misery is so complex. If you did the cliché of poverty, it’d be a crying baby with dirt all over its face, a mother breast feeding in tattered clothes, something like that. The real image of the favela is a massive drug den, where the drug lords are running the show in a cesspool of violence. What I like about the telephone lines is that they express the chaos of the subculture of drug use. They reflect need, because everyone needs electricity. They’re stealing it. The guys who work for the phone companies in the daytime live in the favelas. They go back in and illegally wire everything, so they don’t have to pay for their electricity. These lines embody the illegality of the drug trade. These favelas are complete cities with their own laws; whole urban systems.

There is one image with a human figure, a young boy sil-

All images Š Steve Miller

houetted and crisscrossed with power lines - why did you include this image? That’s like Black Orpheus. That’s the poetic image, and I was walking by and there it was. It’s an image that we all know and we’ve all seen, but it appeared in front of me and I was compelled to photograph it.

Your work focuses a lot on parallels. What do they symbolize for you? They represent something about this dialogue mentioned earlier, about consumption and who gets to utilize the rapidly depleting resources. I was shooting with that Lumix, so I was always shooting up, trying to get them against a background. Once you get a picture of the power lines within the context of the actual favela, they’re chaos and poetry, at once.

Is there anything that would you like to say about human energy consumption? Well, that’s the biggest topic of the global dialogue right now. We’re all a part of that dialogue, and no one is exempt from it. What I liked about including the favela images is that they’re not exempt either, just because they maybe need it more than somebody else, they’re still not exempt from it. The obvious person to go after is the person with the Birkin bag or crocodile handbag or whatever, but I think it’s a global dialogue in which everybody plays a role. This dialogue has to take place anywhere and everywhere. It can take place on a t-shirt, or in a tropical fashion mall. This dialogue is not exclusive to any one environment. The reality is, we’re not going to stop shopping, or using the Internet, and they’re not going to stop watching TV in the favelas. It’s more a question of some kind of mindfulness and of world consumption, which has become so pressing.

Electricity has become vital to our existence; yet in your images the wires are tangled and threatening. Is this juxtaposition something that interests you? Well, it’s interesting that you see it as threatening. I never really thought of it as threatening, but as illustrative of a need. New York is the eighth city that is going to be under water by 2050, so all of this consuming has incredible consequences. Look at the recent experience with Sandy…I mean have you been to Wall Street? Have you seen all of those buildings that were shut down for six months? You can move to higher ground (and that’s not a bad decision to make), and you can make a lot of money and isolate yourself and have an armed guard, but at the same time, moving to higher ground is just stalling. I think the energy issue is urgent, and something that should be happening in your magazine. It should be happening on my t-shirts; it should be happening at the museum; it should be happening everywhere. It’s not a dialogue that can be ignored any longer. You can’t take the George Bush notion that global warming is a hoax - that’s just an absurd, ignorant notion. The favela is a place that expresses the possibility of this

danger and lawlessness in the future. The favela is something that shows the worst that could happen. Not only is it the worst that could happen, it is happening! You also can’t have these extreme differences between the rich and the poor. That’s why I like the power lines. They represent the chaos… And you realize that in the U.S., if you’re a hospital technician, theoretically you can have a middle class, lower-middle class life. These people have the same jobs that you could have in New York, or any other city. But they can’t make enough money to get out of the favela. They commute two hours every day to work, usually on buses that aren’t air-conditioned, and which don’t run on time. In Salvador, they’ve been building the subway for 13 years…it’ get the picture. The corruption is unbelievable, and the politicians are immune to prosecution. They take as much as they can, and public services are non-existent. You drive in the road, and the potholes are the size of elephants. The infrastructure is just really awful in Brazil, and people are pissed and angry, as they should be. There are bad roads, no good public transportation, a bad education system, awful prisons, and hospitals for the public are not easily available, and what is available has no quality.

It sounds like a dreadful place. It’s not a dreadful place, though it’s on the verge. However, they’re trying to get it ready for the Olympics. I’m not an expert on Brazil, but the security issues are serious. My friends tell me, “Never have your window down, always roll your window up, and never stop at the traffic light at night - always have your door locked.” That’s not something we even think about. In NYC, you wouldn’t think that you couldn’t have your window rolled down. Well, maybe in the worst neighborhood in the city, but I mean, not in general. If you’re in any neighborhood in Rio, you have to have your guard up, all the time.

So what comment would you like to make on this subject? You know, it’s what I said previously. It’s not so much commentary, as inviting dialogue. That’s what I would like to do if I’m successful. I would bring this dialogue into the realm of fine art. You know there are many people doing it; I’m not the only person. But it’s not just formalism anymore, that notion of abstract beauty. There’s a role for that, and it just seems so urgent now. It’s nice to have the ability to not have to confront reality. The thing about favelas in Brazil is that they are so beautiful, even though they possess an element of danger. So, you can never relax in the beauty, and that seems to be the world we live in today.

Did you ever feel unsafe? [Laughing] Are you kidding me? I felt unsafe in the favela. The first trip I was really, really nervous. I had been working in the school near the Jardin Botanica, and I was trying to get the kids to go in to take photographs for me. But they just didn’t get what I was looking for. I couldn’t get the pho-

tos that I wanted, so later I just went by myself and did it. So yes, the first time I was really nervous. But the second time, I took my girlfriend because she wanted to go. That was actually the time we ran into a drug deal. And, then another time, the last time that I went, was right after the cops invaded the favela. It was all over the papers. I was there within a week of that sort of invasion. There were convoys of cops in trucks going up and down the main street. That was a year ago, so I don’t know what’s happening now. I did notice that new housing has been built over a city bus terminal parking lot, in the year since I left.

So the favela’s danger, is that something that draws you to it even more? I think more so my curiosity. It wasn’t the danger. The danger was the inconvenience, because I couldn’t get the photographs I wanted without going in to take them myself. And for a non-resident, it’s really hard to go in there on your own. They have tours that you can go through on trucks or vans, but I couldn’t see myself doing that. I really wanted to walk around.

Some of the images are like tangled webs and dense knots. Is this an idea of communication and interconnectedness that is significant to your work? I love the way you said that. I mean, yes of course! I like that you say that it’s not necessarily what I was thinking - that’s something successful about a work of art, when somebody else brings something to it. And yes, the interconnectedness is something art obviously does. The telephone artists are connecting these guys to television and Internet. It’s connecting them to culture, but I had never thought about that going in there. I had been looking at the satellite maps of the land clearing in the Amazon. You can see the explosive amount of clearing, and how it mirrors the explosive growth of the favelas. So, it’s like two things going on simultaneously: massive poverty increasing, and massive exploitation of resources. Two different issues seem to come together in the same conceptual place.

When people look at these pictures, what are you hoping they come away with? Well, I see craziness. There’s a delirium to it, and I think that’s really beautiful. However, it’s a delirium with content. At one point early on, I was using these electron microscopic images, and I was shooting viruses. That was in the early form of that kind of image making, so people didn’t know what they were looking at. They didn’t know they were looking at an AIDS virus, they thought they were looking at a coral reef or a moon rock. I think the telephone wires have the ability to be like a Rorschach blot, to illustrate this notion of connectedness. I see delirium, but delirium isn’t necessarily pejorative - delirium can be euphoric. I wouldn’t say that it’s a euphoric place, but at the same time I’d say there’s something delirious about the Brazilian spirit, music, and passion for soccer. I think that expresses, on some level, the extremity of the whole situation.

ARTIST BIO NICK CAVE is a multi-disciplinary artist who works across performance art, installation, sculpture, fabric and dance. Originally training as a dancer with the Alvin Ailey program, Cave later went on to study his Masters at the Cranbrook Academy of Art in Michigan. Cave is best known for his large elaborate Sound suits - made of materials ranging from traditional fabrics to sticks and plastic, these large elaborate suits resemble African ceremonial suits and masks. Cave recently created a performance work at Grand Central Station in New York. His most recent work ‘Sojourns’ at the Denver Art Museum involved presentation of his sound suits as well as various dance works choreographed and created by him. Cave is represented by the Jack Shainman Gallery in New York. CURTIS MANN is an American artist who was holds an MFA from Columbia College of Chicago. Mann’s unique approach to photography utilizes the medium to create sculpture, collage and installation works. Mann physically manipulates photographs through scrunching, cutting, collating and bleaching images, drawing our attention to the manipulative nature of photography itself. Mann’s works are held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York and the Museum of Contemporary Photography in Chicago. Mann is represented by the Kavi Gupta Gallery in Chicago and Berlin, the Almine Rech Gallery in Paris and the Luce Gallery in Turin.

EDWARD BURTYNSKY is a Canadian photographer renowned for his depiction of mass industrialization and its effects on the natural world. Burtynsky is a graduate of Ryerson University (Bachelor of Applied Arts in Photography) and studied Graphic Art at Niagara College in Welland. His works are included in the collections of the Museum of Modern Art and the Guggenheim Museum in New York, the Reina Sofia Museum, Madrid, and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art in California. He has lectured on photography at the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., the Art Gallery of Ontario, the TED conference, Idea City, and Ryerson University in Toronto. Among Mr. Burtynsky’s many accolades are the TED Prize, The Outreach award at the Rencontres d’Arles, The Flying Elephant Fellowship, Applied Arts Magazine book award(s), and the Roloff Beny Book award. Mr. Burtynsky is represented by Nicholas Metivier Gallery, Toronto; Howard Greenberg and Bryce Wolkowitz, New York; and the Flowers Gallery, London. FERN MALLIS is credited with creating the institution that is now New York Fashion Week while serving as Executive Director of the Council of Fashion Designers of America. In 2001, Mallis was made Senior VP of IMG Fashion. Mallis has also been instrumental in raising millions of dollars for causes from breast cancer to AIDS. Mallis has received a plethora of awards and recognition including The Fashion Maverick Award from the American Apparel and Footwear Assoc.; Woman of the Year Leadership Award from Concern Worldwide; Fashion Legacy Award from the Fashion Chamber of Commerce Sate of Style Awards; A Special Award from Diversity Affluence Organization; Leadership Award from the Fashion Center BID. In 2012 she was awarded the Fashion Industry Lifetime Achievement Award by the Pratt Institute presented to her by designer Calvin Klein.

DOUG RICKARD is the founder and publisher of American Suburb X and These Americans. He was born in San Jose, California, 1968, and studied History and Sociology at the University of California San Diego before moving on to photography. In Rickard’s, A New American Picture, he explores places in the United States where economic struggle and underdevelopment are the dominating presence. Rickard discovers these locations virtually by using the Street View feature

OGRAPHIES on Google Maps, where there is a photograph of every street in the country. His works have been exhibited at the Yossi Milo Gallery, the Aperture Foundation Gallery, and the Museum of Modern Art in New York, NY, the Centre Pompidou in Paris, the MMK Museum fur Moderne Kunst in Frankfurt and the Santa Barbara Museum of Art. Rickard is represented at the Fair by Stephen Wirtz and Yossi Milo galleries.

DAVID MOLANDER is a site-specific urban and social landscape photographer from Stockholm, Sweden. He received a Bachelors degree in Art History and Rhetoric in 2007 at Uppsula University and followed with a degree in Film and Photography at Harvard University in Boston. He finished the Masters program at the School of Photography Gothenburg in 2010. In his series, Urban Boom, Molander presents hyperrealistic photographs that exceed expectations of the surreal and expressionistic. The focus is on contemporary city landscapes, including scenes of the Occupy Wall Street movement, an accident in the Lower East Side, and a Stockholm nightclub. His works have been exhibited at the Los Angeles Center for Digital Art and the New Nordic Photography in Stockholm, the Market Stockholm with Cecilia Hillström Gallery, the Hasselblad Center in Gothenburg. Molander is represented in collections by Hasseblad Center Gothenburg, Musée de l’Elysée Lausanne Suisse, Michaelis School of Fine Art at University of Cape Town, Stockholm Konst, Åmells Collektion, Backa Kulturhus in Gothenburg, Göteborgs Konstmuseum/Göteborgs art museum, and IASPIS Arkiv.

RAYMOND LEARSY graduated from the Wharton School and worked for many years in the world of commodities trading. In 1963 he started his own firm, which expanded across the US, Canada, the UK, Europe and Asia. Mr. Learsy’s writings have been featured in the National Review Online, The New York Times and on CNBC. He is the author of several books, most recently, Ruminations on the Distortion of Oil Prices and Crony Capitalism. He has been an art collector for numerous years and has one of the most significant collections in the country. He sits on the board of the Whitney Museum of American Art, MOMA, the American Friends of the Tate Gallery, and the Committee on Collections, Harvard University.

ORI GERSHT is an Israeli fine art photographer. Gersht studied Photography, Film and Video at the University of Westminister before graduating with an M.A. in Photography from the Royal College of Art, London. He is represented by Angles Gallery in Los Angeles, CRG Gallery in New York, Mummery + Schnelle Gallery in London, and Noga Gallery in Tel Aviv. Gersht utilizes both video and still photography to create a dialogue between contemporary photography and the history of art, between the present and the past, between imagination and memory. His works allude to tragedies from the Spanish Civil War to the bombing of Hiroshima. His exhibtion History Repeating at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts last year featured images drawn from the history of still life violently blown apart.

STEVE MILLER was born in Buffalo, NY, educated at Middlebury College and moved to New York City in the late 1970’s. He currently teaches as part of the senior critique at the acclaimed School of Visual Arts in Manhattan. Miller was one of the first artists to experiment with computers in the early 1980’s, and his work today continues to integrate science and technology with fashion and fine art. He has presented 33 solo exhibitions at major institutions in the United States, China, France and Germany. Miller has been featured in The New York Times, Le Monde, Süddeutsche Zeitung, ArtForum, ARTnews and others.



SUBMIT YOUR WORK TO MUSÉE NO. 8: FANTASY 1. Submit high resolution images based on the theme: FANTASY. 2. Please do not include watermarks. 3. Use ‘Issue No. 8’ as the email subject. 4. Include name, photo title and contact information that you would like to see published. 5. Deadline for submission is DECEMBER 21, 2013 6. To submit, please visit or send your work to



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