STYLES AHEAD by mikaela gauer

MAIN

MASTHEAD

EDITOR’S LETTER

Fashion

CONTRIBUTORS

Intro

Paz de la Huerta

CODE

Jamaican Girls

Terrace

103

Isild le Besco

Style Wars/ Style, Commodity & Revolution

109

Rashid Johnson

Beautiful/ Brazilian Girl

Live to Tell

LOVE DELUXE/ SOUTHERN GIRLS

THE HUSTLE/ LIBERTY IN HIPSTER’S PARADISE

Up/ Sean Garrett

Up/ Katy Perry

Hybrid Identity

Sporting Life/ JAMAICA SKATE

Insider/ Photographer Kate Orne

CITISCAPE 115

Johannesburg

OUTRO 127

Flash!

129

LUCKY SEVEN Y-3

ISSUE No.

84 6

masthead #84 CHAIRMAN & EDITOR-IN-CHIEF_CLAUDE GRUNITZKY EDITORIAL ASSISTANT EDITOR_Mikaela Gauer FEATURES EDITOR_YOLANDA SANGWENI Editor at Large_Stephen Greco INTERNATIONAL EDITOR_ANICÉE GADDIS Staff Writer_DEVIN “PAN” BARRETT, NIKKO LENCEK-INAGAKI, STEVE MASCATELLO SPECIAL CONTRIBUTING EDITOR_RZA ART CREATIVE DIRECTOR_KATIE CONSTANS art DIRECTOR_ericka herod FASHION FASHION DIRECTOR_CHRISTINE DE LASSUS FASHION MARKET EDITOR_ROBYN V. FERNANDES

UK EDITORIAL UK EDITOR_PARDEEP SALL PRINT AND PRODUCTION MANAGER_Kelly Goddard FASHION EDITOR_DAVINA MASHRU EDITORIAL AND FASHION ASSISTANT_MELISSA SIMPEMBA ART ASSISTANT_SIMON AUCKLAND CONTRIBUTING WRITERS_LIZA JESSIE PETERSON, MADDY PHELAN, SARAH WHITE, SHAYLA LAWSON CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS_ALEX BROWN, DARREN KEITH, JAHSE, JAMIL GS, LIAM LYNCH, MATT BLACK, RYAN MICHAEL KELLY ADVERTISING REPRESENTATIVE_Damaris Taylor MARKETING COORDINATOR_SIGOURNEY SALLEY

Paz De La Huerta Photography_Matt Black Fashion_Christine De Lassus Hair and Make Up_Tamami Ito Photo Assistant_August Thurmer Sequins Jacket_Barbara Bui Underwear_Kiki de Montparnasse

Trace UK is Published_Reactor Media UK Publishing Consultant_ Ben Martin Sales Manager_Christopher Keeling OPERATIONS MANAGER UK_LANA DE MEILLON MALARD UK INTERNS_MARQUITA HARRIS, MICHAELA NESSIM WEBMASTER_ANDY LI

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©2009 TRACE magazine TRACE MAGAZINE (ISSN 1366-1752) IS PUBLISHED TEN TIMES A YEAR BY TRACE, INC. TRACE MAGAZINE IS A REGISTERED TRADEMARK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED IN WHOLE OR IN PART WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE PUBLISHER. THE VIEWS EXPRESSED IN THE MAGAZINE ARE THOSE OF RESPECTIVE CONTRIBUTORS AND ARE NOT NECESSARILY SHARED BY THE MAGAZINE, ITS STAFF OR PUBLISHER. ALTHOUGH TRACE MAGAZINE IS ALWAYS ON THE HUNT FOR DOPE MANUSCRIPTS, ARTWORK AND PHOTOGRAPHY, ALL CONTRIBUTORS OF UNSOLICITED MATERIAL MUST MAKE ARRANGEMENTS FORF THEIR COLLECTION AND RETURN. TRACE MAGAZINE IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR LOSS, DAMAGE, OR INJURY TO UNSOLICITED CONTRIBUTION.

EDITOR’S LETTER

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contributors

Serge Mouangue When he isn’t designing car interiors for Nissan, studying Japanese or dreaming up architectural plans for a bridge, Serge Mouangue is blending two cultures in the form of fashion – one, his native Cameroonian, and the other, his adopted country of Japan. In this issue’s “Hybrid Identities”, Serge showcases his latest designs of the African Kimono – inspired by the timelessness of traditional costume and combining its form with the richness of colors and fabrics from Africa. What was your inspiration for the project? “It is an expression of both who and where I am. It is an attempt to answer the questions, what is identity? What are our values? Through this project I try to deliver a sense of ‘Birth’, a vision that transcends cultures. This result wasn’t possible in the past, but today it is, and it belongs to our future.”

Shadé Bankole Shade was a most efficient – and popular – intern at TRACE last spring. During the preparations for the “Black Girls Rule!” issue, she was a key liaison to Spike Lee as the main person in charge of office follow-up and to-do lists. She recently wrote to inform us that “being an intern at TRACE Magazine was the experience of a lifetime. I got to work with talented co-workers, got to see how a magazine is put together, and met influential people.” What are you working on now? “I will be studying, for one more year, in international communication and soon I will start an internship in Paris at a communications agency. After this year I hope to find work but I don’t have a particular sector in mind. Besides school, I am also active as a community worker for an organization that promotes cultural activities and events. So who knows, maybe I might pursue a career in this field. I also believe that my experience at TRACE really got me interested me in exploring the field of PR and events.”

Anky Cyriaque Anky, who was born and raised in Haiti, came to New York City when he was 12. A huge fan of the Jonathan Demme film “Silence of the Lambs,” Anky recently finished shooting a short called “Cat in Heat,” a really funny film that is destined to be shown in film festivals. In addition to shooting and editing many, many 30 second spots for Jive Records, Anky has begun filming TRACE events in New York, for broadcast on the TRACE TV network and our Trace212.com and Trace.tv websites. Why did you decide to get into film? “Because television taught me how to speak English. When I first came to the United States, I wasn’t able to go to school because I was really sick, so I watched TV for about two years straight and picked up English that way.”

Arielle Wayner Arielle is the daughter of TRACE TV co-founder (and erstwhile TRACE magazine publisher) Richard Wayner and his wife Ayanna. Last summer, for TRACE’s annual “Black Girls Rule!” edition which he guest-edited, Spike Lee photographed his favorite actresses in front of Arielle’s Fort Greene house, which just happens to have been Spike’s previous residence. (Spike moved to Manhattan’s upper east side after selling his house to Richard nine years ago.) When Spike started setting up his camera for a portrait of Arielle in front of her “Brooklyn stoop,” she interrupted the shoot, having asked to put on a different pair of shoes. The result is this picture. A few months later, on her fourth birthday, which this year came just a few days after the election of President Obama, Arielle’s parents and friends all dressed up as pirates. What do you like doing the most? “Going into the park to play.”

terrace

all text_CLAUDE GRUNITZKY Last December, TRACE was invited to Dellis Cay, a private island located in Turks and Caicos Islands, British West Indies. On the private plane that he’d chartered for the flight from Miami to the international airport on Providenciales, on the main island of Turks and Caicos, I was able to speak with Dr. Cem Kinay, Chairman and CEO of the O Property Collection, the developer of The Residences at Mandarin Oriental Dellis Cay. “This is going to be the number one luxury development in the Caribbean,” he told me. Turks and Caicos comprises eight major islands and numerous uninhabited and protected cays. Featuring the third largest coral reef system in the world, the surrounding waters are the playground of humpback whales, dolphins, turtles and manta rays, and are a haven for diving and snorkeling enthusiasts. We arrived on Dellis Cay, adjacent to Parrot Cay, by private boat. At lunch on the island, I spoke with the Italian designer Piero Lissoni, who was asked by Dr. Kinay to imagine the interiors of The Residences at Mandarin Oriental. “I want something simple, elegant and original, that can blend in with the natural environment,” he told me. Lissoni is just one of seven world-renowned “names” who have been commissioned to design various residences and facilities on the island. The remaining members of the international design team are A-listers Zaha Hadid, David Chipperfield, Kengo Kuma, Shigeru Ban, Carl Ettensperger and Chad Oppenheim. Each of the architects will design one of seven zones spread across 209 acres, to honor the natural beauty of the island. www.delliscay.com

stylewars

Friends of the Revolution Hector Estrada reveals his latest collection, AMIVECTIO all text_Mikaela Gauer Fashion trends have always been influenced by world events, and this upcoming year is no exception. The entire globe is focusing on important issues such as the recent economic crisis, global warming, and war. This passionate cry for change has never been louder, and more obvious than with the results of the American presidential election. (GO OBAMA!) The designer of the popular streetwear brand Triko, Hector Estrada, has come out with a new line, Amivectio, targeted towards the stylish, sophisticated, and socially conscious male dresser. Committed to a style revolution that targets the consumption patterns of consumers, Estrada is a part of the ‘Green movement’, as designers everywhere are committed to using organic materials and inspiring change. “AMIVECTIO comes from the combination of two Latin words: Amicus, which means friend or comrade, and circumvectio, which means to assail or revolt. I put them together to simplify things and create a new term meaning “friends of the Revolution”. As an artist, I constantly strive to do something different, something that goes against the accepted norms of society. The people that I collaborate with and other artists who strive to make a difference are the friends who are a part of this revolution.“

Trace: Who is your target consumer? Do you envision your line as a global or cross-cultural brand? Estrada: I see the AMIVECTIO customer as someone who is global, eclectic, worldly, educated, sophisticated, culturally aware, progressive, innovative, and revolutionary. Trace: Who, in history or in your daily life, do you look up to as a true revolutionary? Estrada: Ernesto “Che” Guevara, Martin Luther King Jr, and all of us who volunteer and care. How does using organic products/commodities from other countries benefit those nations and your own endeavors? We use organic Pima and Tanguis cotton from Peru, buttons made from the Tagua nut found in the Amazon, coconut buttons from India and Butter Soft French Terry cloth from China and America. Using these products not only benefit the country’s local economy, but also decreases the amount of pollution produced by pesticides. Trace: How does personal style have the power to be revolutionary? Estrada: I believe that our personal style could be a reflection of our lifestyle and personality. Therefore, evoking and illustrating sentiments of independence, sophistication, and revolution. By expressing these through our personal style, we can inspire others to revolt! Check out http://amivectio.com/ for more.

In 2007, two women from seemingly opposite worlds collided in a small neighborhood in Accra, Ghana. Naa Sheka, born to a Canadian mother and Ghanaian father in Vancouver, British Columbia, and Sena, who spends her time between Ghana and Budapest, Hungary, met at a mutual friends house. “We were both ‘halfcasts’, but she grew up in Canada and was eager to learn about Ghana and her place in it, whereas I grew up in Ghana and had a completely different upbringing”, Sena explains. “I am both African and European, black and white, I have lived in and experienced both worlds and am constantly drawing energy from both my homes.” An MC/singer who is already making her mark in Europe and Africa, Sena’s style can be somewhat defined as a mix between reggae, spoken word, dancehall and jazz. Nash, as her friends call her, visited Ghana as a child and was baptized there, although she spent virtually her entire life in Canada. “Moving to Ghana was difficult, but since I was connected by blood and spirit, it made it easier for me to connect with the people and the culture. I love Ghana. It changed my life because it’s so important to know your roots and yourself”. Nash, a basketball player for most of her life, decided to take a break to pursue a degree which led her to the University of Ghana in 2007. Nash, whose full name means Lady Money in the Ga dialect, became very interested in local textile production and was inspired to start designing clothing that fused North American styles with Ghanaian patterns and symbols. Both Naa Sheka and Sena are using their creative talents to spearhead a movement in Ghana called “Da Movement”. I chatted with these two ambitious ladies to find out more about Da Movement as well as their personal projects.

Two ambitious women spearhead Accra’s DA MOVEMENT

Trace: Tell me about Da Movement. How did it begin? Sena: Da movement began in Accra with a group of young artists like myself who don’t have the funds or the capacity to ‘hit it big’ without an audience to help us develop our craft. We were frustrated with how stagnant the music world is on the smaller scale. We started by organizing small shows and hosting open mike sessions with Accra’s up and coming talent and it’s been pretty successful. NaaSheka: My vision is to see the movement expand to an International level--doing collaborations with various artists. This movement can impact Ghana by helping local artists gain exposure--giving these artists a chance to excel in music and take it to another level, by embracing consciousness and Ghanaian pride through arts and entertainment. Since the world is so connected today with technology it is easier to envision the broader impact of this movement. Trace: Nash, what inspired you to start designing? NaaSheka: I’ve always had an artistic side and I’ve been a keen observer of style and fashion. I wanted to fuse my love of fashion with my instinctive business sense to do something unique and meaningful, drawing upon my experiences in North America and in Ghana. Trace: How does the production of your clothes impact the people of Ghana at a grassroots level? NaaSheka: My clothes celebrate the dynamic identity of Ghanaians. On a more specific level, my clothes are produced by Ghanaians who work under a Fair-Trade agreement with me, which not only benefits the workers involved but also the country’s economy. I hand select the materials from the markets in Accra, Ghana. Most of the designs are made with colorful textiles that are high quality wax print cotton or linen. I use “Adinkra Symbols”, which are known throughout West Africa. Each symbol has a deep spiritual meaning or contains a life lesson. Trace: What is your vision for the future of Da Movement? Sena: Da Movement has made a small mark in Accra, and I would be happy if Ghana had five or six cities with a similar programs to Da Movement, helping young artists to produce something with their own hands. If that happens, I will be happy. NaaSheka: I want to keep expanding and designing styles people appreciate globally. I also want my designs to empower Ghanaians and to reflect the richness of Ghanaian culture worldwide. I want ‘Da Movement’ to be a voice for social justice and consciousness for Ghana, Africa, and throughout the world. Sena: is currently touring Europe and just recently launched two albums with the groups Irie Maffia & Barabas Lorinc Eklektric. Check out her Myspace at www.myspace.com/dagadusena NaaSheka’s clothing line is available in 7 regions worldwide: Vancouver, BC, Canada (Miranda’s Hat, Small World & DeLino), Brooklyn, New York (Fresthetic), Bellingham, Washington (Fairhaven), Accra, Ghana, (Sun Trade – Kati Torda Beads), and Budapest, Hungary (Keuna). Check out www.westafricanfashion.com for more or to order online.

Paul Dateh

The Heir to Ben-Ari’s Throne In the age of MySpace and YouTube, a multi-million dollar industry is sinking into the ground as record labels can no longer state that they are the only path to fame. These days, it is all about self-commodification, and if you think you’re the next Rihanna then the test of your ability doesn’t come in the form of a producer stamping YES or NO on your career potential. The test of your ability is measured in Youtube video hits, and for one musician from Los Angeles, California, the numbers don’t lie. His video “Hip Hop Violin with Inka One” has already received over two million hits, and he has been rated #8 as the ‘Most Linked Video’ on the web. Paul Dateh’s sound is totally unique, mixing his classical violin background with his college Jazz voice training and a love for hip hop into something that no one can really describe other than “the next Miri Ben-Ari”. I became a Paul Dateh fan after hearing a few of his songs online, as I’m always fascinated by those who can take two seemingly opposite genres of music and fuse them together. I guess after watching those Youtube videos a few times, his face and his music stayed in my mind, so it was quite a surprise when I walked into a pub for lunch in downtown Manhattan and saw Paul from LA sitting at a table just a few feet from the entrance. Just after I introduced myself, Paul laughed and explained, “We were just talking about how no one knows who I am. I was literally just saying, ‘Nobody recognizes me yet’, and there you show up, asking if I’m ‘that hip-hop violinist’”. Of course I had to chat with Paul because I really wanted to know more about his sound, his style, and of course, how he is now making a living from his online exposure. Paul claims he started playing violin on a Tuesday, but he can’t be quite sure. In any case, he was barely old enough to hold a violin, but he argues that his stubborn streak probably led him to be the one to want to play, not his parents persuasion. “It was definitely not my choice to continue though,” Paul laughs, remembering the countless hours of reading, writing, harmonica analysis and theory that every classically trained musician wants to bury at the back of their minds. “My mom is gangster. She’s hardcore. If I ever said I didn’t want to practice, she’d say ‘Fine!’ and take my violin and put it in the trash, and then of course I’d dig it out and go practice.” It was definitely worth the hard work, but when Paul first entered college at USC, he knew he needed to do something else. “I had one day of regular violin stuff, and I was like, ‘I don’t want to do this anymore’ and I quit. And I went to jazz. I didn’t want to do anything with the violin for my college career so I decided to sing.” For two years, Paul didn’t touch his

violin. “I didn’t tell my mom I had changed my major until two weeks later, over dinner, which is probably not the best thing to do. She was too upset to talk to me. She said, ‘I’ll call you in a week. Go home.’” Paul’s parents have both come around now, but it definitely took some time. Paul describes his sister -who now sings in the Brooklyn-based indierock band Asobi Seksu- and himself as ‘wholesome’ growing up. “We were classically trained, we were supposed to go a certain way, and then we went to hip hop and rock. My mom freaked. Every mother’s day she’ll call us and be like, ‘It would be so nice if you would play a violin-piano sonata’ and we’re like ‘No, we love you Mom, but no’. So now she just goes, ‘When I die, I would like you to scatter my ashes into the ocean while you play a violin sonata’. So now we have to do it! Thanks Mom.” Paul’s love of hip-hop has certainly shaped his musical style. Drawing from influences like A Tribe Called Quest, Atmosphere, and Blueprint – the latter being a group he just came back from a European tour with - he’s hoping to collaborate with more DJs and artists in the years to come. For now, he’s busy working on his first album, which is amazing considering the publicity he has gotten without having made a record yet. And in this case, Paul is continuing to do things his way. “I write, I play, I sing. I wrote everything entirely on my own, except for two songs which were collaborations.” One of those songs was written with his guitarist Ken, who shows up in more than one of Paul’s Youtube performances. With DJ Johnny Juice behind the mixing and producer Oren Yoel spearheading one of the tracks, there is certainly an anticipation buzz among Paul’s 6,000 YouTube subscribers and even beyond the online world. With free publicity like this, Paul isn’t necessarily looking for, or needing, a record label backing. “A lot of the record labels don’t know what to do with me. I play violin, I’m a singer-songwriter, and I’m Asian-American. They just look at me and say, ‘What are you?? Who are we going to sell you to?’ So, I’d rather do this first album on my own and sell it at shows, and maybe online, and in the digital stores, and see how far that can take me. If I get decent reviews maybe that would be enough to approach other labels. The business is changing so fast that I don’t think the labels will be around much longer.” Paul’s a firm believer in making his music available to anyone who wants to access it. “If you really like my music, but for some reason you can’t pay for it, I’m not going to punish you for that. But if you want to buy a CD, I’m not going to punish you either! Buy my CD and take it home!” The inner workings of the music industry are shifting at lightning speed, so there is no telling when record labels, along with cassette tapes and CDs, might become a thing of the past. All I know is, if something is genuinely good, like Paul Dateh’s fierce violin skill and songwriting ability, people are going to love it regardless of whether it’s on a Columbia Records vinyl or downloadable on Fairtilizer. In any case, if you want to check out Paul’s stuff, go-where else?-online and hit up Pauldateh.com for upcoming shows and more info on his new EP release.

beautiful

Bruna photography_Darren Keith

fashion_Christine De Lassus

What is beautiful ?

Creation is beautiful. I love spending time in nature or on the beaches in Brazil.

What are your future goals?

I want to start an NGO that would work with professionals, such as doctors and professors, to provide education for children who cannot afford to go to school.

jacket and tie_Yohji Yamamoto

Shirt_Yohji Yamamoto Jacket and Tie_Thom Browne

Shirt_Yâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Yohji Yamamoto Cape and tie_Thom Browne Top hat_Victor Osborne

Shirt_D Squared 2 Bow tie_Thom Browne Belt and suspenders_Yâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Yohji Yamamoto Cap_Victor Osborne

Model_Bruna Hort @ Supreme management Hair_Menelaos Aleveas @ Art House Management for Kielhâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Make-up_Jun Funahashi @ lâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Atelier NYC using Chanel Cosmetics Photo Assistant_Andy ferathered jacket_Thom Browne

live to tell

Finding Light in Dark Places text_Liza Jessie Peterson

photo_JAHSE

It’s now been over a decade (1998 to present) since prison became an integral part of my professional life as an artist and educator. It was not some lofty idea of mine to give back to the community by teaching and performing in prison. In fact, prison wasn’t a part of my reality other than having my cousin Benji locked up (over fifteen years). I linked up with a non-profit, family-run arts and literacy program that pays artists to teach their craft to students in various public schools throughout New York City. Since art in public schools has become damn near extinct, schools are more than happy to get art workshops for their students for several weeks and not have to pay for it. Hollywood wasn’t calling me enough, poetry readings weren’t paying at the time, and I was tired of waitressing at shi-shi restaurants…so teaching poetry class it will be. Sign me up and cut the check!

“ I wanted to pull them out of their narrow vision of “the ‘hood and chasing paper” and give them an aerial view of the entire chess board of a justice system that was pimping their pain, by feeding off of their poverty and gangster dreams.” The very first school I was assigned to teach was at Island Academy on Rikers Island with adolescent boys aged 16 to 18 years old. The idea of teaching in prison didn’t bother me none, didn’t excite me none, didn’t scare me none, and it didn’t conjure up feelings of making a difference in the lives of urban youth none. And I damn sure wasn’t on some ‘freedom writing, save black ghetto children’ mission. It was a way for me to stay connected to my art AND get paid. Butterflies didn’t set in until I was on the Q101 express bus to Rikers. Oh shit, suppose they not feeling me? Suppose I can’t get them to write, suppose I suck! As soon as I entered the school floor I immediately saw my reflection walking down the halls. Every one of those boys looked like me, like somebody in my family, like somebody I knew in my ‘hood. Something happened that day and weeks thereafter, an extraordinary connection between me and those young brothers. It was real talk, real expression, real poetry, real connection. Two weeks turned into two years, four days a week. To my surprise, I was inspiring them to write, and did they ever write! The honesty and creative genius that poured out of those young brothers was astounding to me. I was engaging a group of artists and wayward warriors who were in turn inspiring me to teach. They inspired me to research this prison system I found myself in. When I went online to see what the prison industrial complex was all about, what a fucking rabbit hole I discovered!

The more I found out, the more I was compelled to share this new information with my students so they could understand the wicked web they were caught up in. I wanted to pull them out of their narrow vision of “the ‘hood and chasing paper” and give them an aerial view of the entire chess board of a justice system that was pimping their pain, by feeding off of their poverty and gangster dreams. As I learned, I shared. Some days we wouldn’t write, we would just build and politic about life in the ‘hood, this country, the history and condition of Black and Brown people. Shit was thick, and still is. Now the love of my life happened to be on parole at the time, which he violated and got locked back up again. Every aspect of our relationship, from breaking up to reconciling, was forced to navigate through barbed wire, on the visiting room floor, in letters, with pictures, and pre-paid prison calls. My entire life was in prison, from teaching my boys at Rikers, to rushing home anticipating a letter from my man waiting for me in the mailbox, rushing upstairs to devour it, and answering the phone, excited to hear the automated voice on the other end say the words I have memorized to this day, “This is pre-paid call from a federal prison…this call is from “hey baby” dial 5 to accept this call.” My whole life revolved around prison. Damn, this wasn’t the plan! My meltdown led to the birth of my play, The Peculiar Patriot. I later met myself a new chap who I liked, only to hear him reveal that he just came home from prison and now lived in a halfway house around the corner from me. When I told him I liked cherries he brought me a bottle of red syrupy maraschino cherries (the ones served in cocktails, I loathe); quite naturally I was expecting the real ones with pits. The maraschino cherries were my tipping point and so, the meltdown ensued. I called my homegirl, the amazing writer Tish Benson, crying on my pity pot like “damn girl I seem to be a fucking prison magnet and my whole life is in prison and me and boo are going thru it and I can’t take it no more and this new guy I met just came home and I got to go teach these boys in the morning and they are so bright and it’s so depressing that they are so beautiful and locked up and this system sucks”, and on I rambled. Tish started laughing hysterically. She told me I had a story to tell – “so go write it down” and she proceeded to hang the phone up on me! I wiped my tears, got my journal out and started releasing and what seemed to be a stream of consciousness, The Peculiar Patriot was born. Five years and over forty five prison performances later, “The Peculiar Patriot” is a passionate tour-de-force in the penitentiaries, as well as my life. Studying at The National Shakespeare Conservatory and with the illustrious acting coach Susan Batson has sharpened my acting chops, while performing The Peculiar Patriot in prison keeps me sharp. The play is a satirical love story that is mad funny and the post-show Q&A dialogue with the inmates so powerful, sometimes it feels like church ‘cause the spirit is so high and the testimonies so real. Experiencing light in dark places inspires me. Hearing laughter inspires me. Knowing I have uplifted someone inspires me. Seeing potential inspires me. How have I inspired? I don’t know, all I know is, we are walking talking miracles, wounded and gorgeous, and in your face. www.lizajessiepeterson.com

love deluxe

Versailles Road—Lexington, Kentucky. To the left there is a farm. To the right there is (literally) a castle. Photo by Philip Jones

Family photo of the Bishops.

How Black Girls came to Rule the American South text_Shayla Lawson

photography_supplied

As a woman who grew up fighting against the Southern stereotype, I find the story of Black Girl Culture amidst the exploration migration incredibly important. My parents are from California. Before that, my people were Texarkansans, Creoles, and from other locales farther south. I was born in Minnesota but grew up in Kentucky. I spent a considerable amount of my undergraduate education abroad. Because my family had a little taste of nearly everywhere regionally, with close family friends from multiple diverse backgrounds, I tended to think of myself as a global citizen or, if pressed to define myself more locally, born in the Midwest. But truthfully, this was not really the case. Neither of these definitions explained my laugh or my temper, my fascination with wild things or how automatically I would jump up and say, “Honey, you hungry? I’ll cook you something,” to a complete stranger. According to family legend, the grandparents of my paternal grandmother founded Bishop, Texas—one of the few towns owned and governed by freed slaves after the Civil War. And my mother’s side— fire-breathing, steely-eyed story-tellers. There was no question in my mind, from the times I visited them and was old enough to remember, I was going to write. The story was our blood. I remember the first time my mother told me about my great-

grandma Margie, she became my comic book hero. She gave birth to eight children. Then, in a feat unimaginable for a woman of the misogynistic south during the late 19th century, she shot her then-husband in the foot and ran off. The children ended up with family in California, where she one day returned to reclaim her role as a woman of generations, a sharp-tongue matriarch who chased rotten men out of the family business with skillets or knives. I hear the story and feel nothing but compassion. Yes, the violence is alluring, but what gets me most is she had the ability to return and to leave. She took care of herself. How many women ever learn to do that? I often imagine her as sort of juke-joint Annie Oakley, canvassing the southern circuit with Suge Avery-style impudence and that somewhere there lays a sepia portrait of her in her younger years with that same feverish red underpinning that laces the cover of Mama’s Gun. She came back. She remarried. She had more children, and sisters, and close friends. She gave me fearlessness and imperfection. But, “I was born in Minnesota,” I say. Although I used this explanation as an attempt on establishing my own identity, the words pay service to no one. The prejudice that exists against Southerners remains largely because we still view ourselves in terms of those who migrated to the north during the early years of industrialization (the progressive) and those who maintained their farmland, with the connotation of slave-land, roots (the disenfranchised). This division is not one that exists solely amongst Americans of African descent—or solely amongst Americans at all. But the presence of this differentiation formed the basis for two very distinct identities along the Atlantic coastline. However, this linear notion of development denies the cultural integration,

the sounds of Southerness, Americans champion dearly as our distinct artistic and civic contributions to the world scene. 90% of the AfricanAmerican population in the United States draws its roots from the South. That means 90% of all that defines us as the 20 million or so Black Girls living in the United States—music, dance, fashion, the civil rights movement— has roots there. Think Ruby Dee, Josephine Baker, and Nina Simone. Think Susan Lori Parks, Oprah Winfrey, and Beyonce Knowles. We can view their achievements as self-evident and reflective of a burgeoning Black Girl Ruling class. But we can also look at their achievements of part of a continuous southern narrative. The isolated nature of the field made Southern women contemplative. Many of them were bookish and prone to adventures that involved earth: climbing trees or quilting to keep out the cold and the occasional loneliness. With men often on the periphery, physically or emotionally displace by the complicated family structure that pervaded African-American homes in the post-antebellum period, these women relied on a system of matriarchal hierarchy. They created economic opportunities for themselves where none existed, parlaying their domestic skills into empires that fed and educated their children. And their daughters — the awareness that life, the Harlem Renaissance, the expatriates, the early buzz of transculturalism, the belief they could create a world that challenged, advanced, and accepted their beautified presence — grew up with ravenous ambition. We see portions of this brave world reflected and restored in the personal stories of so many Southern Black Girls we adore. They are stars to us, yes, but they go home to the kitchen and they are barefoot and cooking beans and drawing out their words with a slower cadence. I do not say these things to turn the measured genius of these women into a pejorative façade. We see within America, as with countries across the diaspora, a public and private face. Southern women, globally successful southern women, often hide their grassroots from the mass media under cosmopolitan skirts. But in this too, I argue, they are Southern. The pervasive allure of these women lies in their ability to, at once, summon their own uniquely feminine version charm while protecting their interior

with a power as liquid and deadly as mercury. We see them as real, grounded, and somehow accessible. Their womanly story of displacement so deeply akin to the struggle of West Indian Islanders, of South Africans, of our universal struggle for independence, they quickly mold to the skin of a worldly identity that transcends one particular part of the globe. I love how my mother’s friend from Ghana, who helped raised me explained that the teenagers in hometown did not start rocking afros until they saw Americans wear them, a lá Angela Davis and how Erykah Badu taught me, and countless other American women, how to wrap my hair. Without women who came from the pride of the cyclical transcendence we see in Southern Black Girls, we would find the transcultural world — the transference of cultural ideas from one adapted community to another — decidedly different. I do not think it often occurs to people how distinct regional inheritance shapes Americana. A country of the displaced we do possess the unique pleasure of understanding ourselves as individuals, a new nation, attempting to live without the burden stereotype and tradition. It is like New York. New York is the only city I have lived in which the natives, long-time, and new inhabitants all define themselves as its people. Outside of the city’s poshness, I believe this transition happens because it accepts its emigrants kindly. Although occasionally territorial, the city understands our movement fills the city with new and interesting beauty. I do not know if I will ever call myself a New Yorker. I have nothing against the idea; I just do not know if it explains what I am doing here. I started telling people I was from “the South,” while living in Italy, and if pressed for more specificity, Kentucky. I did so because of how quickly Europeans assumed being American meant I was from New York. 9/11 created a much more sensitive portrait of America for many Europeans, especially New Yorkers. I understood their assumption as one of empathy, not ignorance. Besides, I do not look like your average middle-of-the-road-from-the-middle-of-nowhere tourist. However, I decided to correct their biases in order to let the world know: New York is not the only city tied to the intricate fabric of our global community and, as young creative people working in small towns around

A very young me with Flora Mae Brown, sister of my great-grandma Margie.

the globe know, culture does not come solely from urban metropolises. In expressing my Black Girlhood to the rest of the world, the South is who I am; and Southern daughters sprinkle the Black Girl scene with their sex, charm, and witty independence. I grew up in Lexington, a hilly city of trees, bourbon, and horses—I am a wild horse. I hope at some point someone will ask me where I come from, I will give them my story in the distillation of a region—the South—and it will make sense to us collectively. And it will encourage others to tell their stories in terms of where we reside and who our people are, knowing we can always return to the deep center of things. My women would be proud of me. I asked my friends for stories about being raised by southern women. Here are their responses: My people are all handy. They are seamstresses, milliners, quilters, crochet-ers, creative, gentle, big, tall, soft-voiced (unless up in the pulpit where they transform into Sojourner Truth-type orators), curvy women with hereditary large hands made for turning earth, and the pages of bibles...made for grabbing a few wayward “chillun” up by the scruff if need be. They are brilliant — razor sharp — steadfast in their spirituality. Having migrated to Indiana from Alabama, these are women who own acres of land, buried husbands and children, they are master chefs of soul in the kitchen, and though the decades whittle them down here and there, what is left gleams like raw amethyst. My Grandma Doll, has only voted once for a presidential candidate, John F. Kennedy, and only because she saw something in him worth voting for. She said she won’t vote until there’s a Black candidate who could actually win the presidential election. She’s in her 80’s and planning to vote for the second time in her life – talk about sticking to your guns. – Bianca Lynne Spriggs My grandmother has been arrested more times than she can remember. In writing this I am not airing the family business, rather I am stating a fact. One she would gladly tell you herself should the conversation venture to such terrain. At 75 she is a six decade veteran of the Civil and Human Rights movement. She has lived all but one year of her life in the South, first Memphis, Tennessee followed by Louisville, Kentucky. She does not bite her tongue for anyone, is rumored to have a gun arsenal that would rival that of Heston’s (a result of many Klan threats by in the day), will stand by her man even when she is demanding he ‘get his black ass out of this house’ if he dared to drink too much whiskey under their, albeit more aptly her, roof. She personally prefers Bloody Marys but had to cut back because of high blood pressure medicine. In the past she was called Cook and Book,

because between her activist commitments, her paid labor, and being a homemaker she never had the time to enjoy a meal with her family. That did not mean, however, that she would not cook a scrumptious one for them. She would simply pop into the house, put food on the table, and pop right back out. Cook and book, they called it. Now, everyone, including her grown children call her Nana. I’ve always known Nana the fire-breather, an orator, and the maker of the world’s best rice pudding, but three Christmases ago in her immaculate Southern dining room I was treated to her third act – Mattie the comedienne. After a dinner with all the traditional fixings( (this does include chitterlings in her house, but also her own goose a l’orange) she recounted to me and my brother some of her favorite hits. Once while at a protest of some variety one of Louisville’s bravest decided to taunt her. She was draped in West African fabrics that day and the cop, a white man, decided to compliment her. “Miss Jones,” he said with calculated sweetness, “girl, you sure do look nice.” “Oh why thank you,” she replied with equal amounts of saccharine, “it’s Mrs. Jones and the reason I look so pretty is because of your mother. She gave this dress to my brother after he was finished with her.” “As a thank you,” she added for good measure. — Danielle Bell My grandmother never had proper speech. She never could pronounce the simplest words like: children, spaghetti, even my name. As kids, we would snicker at her attempts to scold us. “Yall chirens get off my bed now, you here.” It wasn’t until I was older that I grew to understand why she was so country. Her reason made me ashamed to admit that I once found this humorous. My grandmother was born and raised in Florence, Alabama. Her father was a sharecropper. She was one of eight children. The land they lived on, they worked. From the ages of 9-17, from May to December, my grandmother and her other siblings were in the fields. By the time you went back to school, you were so behind, you were ashamed to go back. So, she never got past the 8th grade. At the age of 16 she met Willie “Bo” Gilbert, she called him “Grip,” A smooth talking jive fella who owned 3 barbecue Shayla Lawson. Photo by Jeff Taylor

joints. Far beyond fairytale, he quickly went from “sugar to shit.” She found herself married to a violent alcoholic. When he was sober, no one ever knew he was in the house. She worked to support her 10 kids, nieces, nephews, and her dead weight husband. He would get good jobs, just couldn’t keep them. So like the many women of her generation, she had to carry the weight on her shoulders, and do what she had to do. My mother’s childhood included homelessness, living in abandoned or run-down homes, sleeping in the same bed as her 3 sisters, and eating beans for dinner. I now know the blood that runs through my veins. It took 3 generations of Jim Crow laws, abuse, abandonment, and feelings of inadequacy, but they finally produced what they aspired to be. My grandmother has 50 grandchildren, more than 10 great grandchildren, but knowing I am the one in whom she sees what she wanted to be makes me happy to say I have the southern twang of a Turner woman. – Deaera Williams As a woman who grew up fighting against the Southern stereotype, I find the story of Black Girl Culture amidst the exploration migration incredibly important. My parents are from California. Before that, my people were Texarkansans, Creoles, and from other locales farther south. I was born in Minnesota but grew up in Kentucky. I spent a considerable amount of my undergraduate education abroad. Because my family had a little taste of nearly everywhere regionally, with close family friends from multiple diverse backgrounds, I tended to think of myself as a global citizen or, if pressed to define myself more locally, born in the Midwest. But truthfully, this was not really the case. Neither of these definitions explained my laugh or my temper, my fascination with wild things or how automatically I would jump up and say, “Honey, you hungry? I’ll cook you something,” to a complete stranger. According to family legend, the grandparents of my paternal grandmother founded Bishop, Texas—one of the few towns owned and governed by freed slaves after the Civil War. And my mother’s side— fire-breathing, Bianca Spriggs-Floyd

Grandma Doll

Mattie Florence Jones (Nana)

Grandma Turner

steely-eyed story-tellers. There was no question in my mind, from the times I visited them and was old enough to remember, I was going to write. The story was our blood. I remember the first time my mother told me about my great-grandma Margie, she became my comic book hero. She gave birth to eight children. Then, in a feat unimaginable for a woman of the misogynistic south during the late 19th century, she shot her then-husband in the foot and ran off. The children ended up with family in California, where she one day returned to reclaim her role as a woman of generations, a sharp-tongue matriarch who chased rotten men out of the family business with skillets or knives. I hear the story and feel nothing but compassion. Yes, the violence is alluring, but what gets me most is she had the ability to return and to leave. She took care of herself. How many women ever learn to do that? I often imagine her as sort of juke-joint Annie Oakley, canvassing the southern circuit with Suge Avery-style impudence and that somewhere there lays a sepia portrait of her in her younger years with that same feverish red underpinning that laces the cover of Mama’s Gun. She came back. She remarried. She had more children, and sisters, and close friends. She gave me fearlessness and imperfection. But, “I was born in Minnesota,” I say. Although I used this explanation as an attempt on establishing my own identity, the words pay service to no one. The prejudice that exists against Southerners remains largely because we still view ourselves in terms of those who migrated to the north during the early years of industrialization (the progressive) and those who maintained their farmland, with the connotation of slave-land, roots (the disenfranchised). This division is not one that exists solely amongst Americans of African descent—or solely amongst Americans at all. But the presence of this differentiation formed the basis for two very distinct identities along the Atlantic coastline.

However, this linear notion of development denies the cultural integration, the sounds of Southerness, Americans champion dearly as our distinct artistic and civic contributions to the world scene. 90% of the AfricanAmerican population in the United States draws its roots from the South. That means 90% of all that defines us as the 20 million or so Black Girls living in the United States—music, dance, fashion, the civil rights movement — has roots there. Think Ruby Dee, Josephine Baker, and Nina Simone. Think Susan Lori Parks, Oprah Winfrey, and Beyonce Knowles. We can view their achievements as self-evident and reflective of a burgeoning Black Girl Ruling class. But we can also look at their achievements of part of a continuous southern narrative. The isolated nature of the field made Southern women contemplative. Many of them were bookish and prone to adventures that involved earth: climbing trees or quilting to keep out the cold and the occasional loneliness. With men often on the periphery, physically or emotionally displace by the complicated family structure that pervaded African-American homes in the post-antebellum period, these women relied on a system of matriarchal hierarchy. They created economic opportunities for themselves where none existed, parlaying their domestic skills into empires that fed and educated their children. And their daughters — the awareness that life, the Harlem Renaissance, the expatriates, the early buzz of transculturalism, the belief they could create a world that challenged, advanced, and accepted their beautified presence — grew up with ravenous ambition. We see portions of this brave world reflected and restored in the personal stories of so many Southern Black Girls we adore. They are stars to us, yes, but they go home to the kitchen and they are barefoot and cooking beans and drawing out their words with a slower cadence. I do not say these things to turn the measured genius of these Danielle Bell

Deaera Williams

women into a pejorative façade. We see within America, as with countries across the diaspora, a public and private face. Southern women, globally successful southern women, often hide their grassroots from the mass media under cosmopolitan skirts. But in this too, I argue, they are Southern. The pervasive allure of these women lies in their ability to, at once, summon their own uniquely feminine version charm while protecting their interior with a power as liquid and deadly as mercury. We see them as real, grounded, and somehow accessible. Their womanly story of displacement so deeply akin to the struggle of West Indian Islanders, of South Africans, of our universal struggle for independence, they quickly mold to the skin of a worldly identity that transcends one particular part of the globe. I love how my mother’s friend from Ghana, who helped raised me explained that the teenagers in hometown did not start rocking afros until they saw Americans wear them, a lá Angela Davis and how Erykah Badu taught me, and countless other American women, how to wrap my hair. Without women who came from the pride of the cyclical transcendence we see in Southern Black Girls, we would find the transcultural world — the transference of cultural ideas from one adapted community to another — decidedly different. I do not think it often occurs to people how distinct regional inheritance shapes Americana. A country of the displaced we do possess the unique pleasure of understanding ourselves as individuals, a new nation, attempting to live without the burden stereotype and tradition. It is like New York. New York is the only city I have lived in which the natives, long-time, and new inhabitants all define themselves as its people. Outside of the city’s poshness, I believe this transition happens because it accepts its emigrants kindly. Although occasionally territorial, the city understands our movement fills the city with new and interesting beauty. I do not know if I will ever call myself a New Yorker. I have nothing against the idea; I just do not know if it explains what I am doing here. I started telling people I was from “the South,” while living in Italy, and if pressed for more specificity, Kentucky. I did so because of how quickly Europeans assumed being American meant I was from New York. 9/11 created a much more sensitive portrait of America for many Europeans, especially New Yorkers. I understood their assumption as one of empathy, not ignorance. Besides, I do not look like your average middleof-the-road-from-the-middle-of-nowhere tourist. However, I decided to correct their biases in order to let the world know: New York is not the only city tied to the intricate fabric of our global community and, as young creative people working in small towns around the globe know, culture does not come solely from urban metropolises. In expressing my Black Girlhood to the rest of the world, the South is who I am; and Southern daughters sprinkle the Black Girl scene with their sex, charm, and witty independence. I grew up in Lexington, a hilly city of trees, bourbon, and horses—I am a wild horse. I hope at some point someone will ask me where I come from, I will give them my story in the distillation of a region—the South—and it will make sense to us collectively. And it will encourage others to tell their stories in terms of where we reside and who our people are, knowing we can always return to the deep center of things. My women would be proud of me. I asked my friends for stories about being raised by southern women. Here are their responses: My people are all handy. They are seamstresses, milliners, quilters, crochet-ers, creative, gentle, big, tall, soft-voiced (unless up in the pulpit where they transform into Sojourner Truth-type orators), curvy women with hereditary large hands made for turning earth, and the pages of bibles...made for grabbing a few wayward “chillun” up by the scruff if need be. They are brilliant — razor sharp — steadfast in their spirituality. Having migrated to Indiana from Alabama, these are women who own acres of land, buried husbands and children, they are master chefs of soul in the kitchen, and though the decades whittle them down here and there, what is left gleams like raw amethyst. My Grandma Doll, has only voted once for a presidential candidate, John F. Kennedy, and only because she saw something in him worth voting for. She said she won’t vote until there’s a Black candidate who could actually win the presidential election. She’s in

her 80’s and planning to vote for the second time in her life – talk about sticking to your guns. – Bianca Lynne Spriggs My grandmother has been arrested more times than she can remember. In writing this I am not airing the family business, rather I am stating a fact. One she would gladly tell you herself should the conversation venture to such terrain. At 75 she is a six decade veteran of the Civil and Human Rights movement. She has lived all but one year of her life in the South, first Memphis, Tennessee followed by Louisville, Kentucky. She does not bite her tongue for anyone, is rumored to have a gun arsenal that would rival that of Heston’s (a result of many Klan threats by in the day), will stand by her man even when she is demanding he ‘get his black ass out of this house’ if he dared to drink too much whiskey under their, albeit more aptly her, roof. She personally prefers Bloody Marys but had to cut back because of high blood pressure medicine. In the past she was called Cook and Book, because between her activist commitments, her paid labor, and being a homemaker she never had the time to enjoy a meal with her family. That did not mean, however, that she would not cook a scrumptious one for them. She would simply pop into the house, put food on the table, and pop right back out. Cook and book, they called it. Now, everyone, including her grown children call her Nana. I’ve always known Nana the fire-breather, an orator, and the maker of the world’s best rice pudding, but three Christmases ago in her immaculate Southern dining room I was treated to her third act – Mattie the comedienne. After a dinner with all the traditional fixings( (this does include chitterlings in her house, but also her own goose a l’orange) she recounted to me and my brother some of her favorite hits. Once while at a protest of some variety one of Louisville’s bravest decided to taunt her. She was draped in West African fabrics that day and the cop, a white man, decided to compliment her. “Miss Jones,” he said with calculated sweetness, “girl, you sure do look nice.” “Oh why thank you,” she replied with equal amounts of saccharine, “it’s Mrs. Jones and the reason I look so pretty is because of your mother. She gave this dress to my brother after he was finished with her.” “As a thank you,” she added for good measure. — Danielle Bell My grandmother never had proper speech. She never could pronounce the simplest words like: children, spaghetti, even my name. As kids, we would snicker at her attempts to scold us. “Yall chirens get off my bed now, you here.” It wasn’t until I was older that I grew to understand why she was so country. Her reason made me ashamed to admit that I once found this humorous. My grandmother was born and raised in Florence, Alabama. Her father was a sharecropper. She was one of eight children. The land they lived on, they worked. From the ages of 9-17, from May to December, my grandmother and her other siblings were in the fields. By the time you went back to school, you were so behind, you were ashamed to go back. So, she never got past the 8th grade. At the age of 16 she met Willie “Bo” Gilbert, she called him “Grip,” A smooth talking jive fella who owned 3 barbecue joints. Far beyond fairytale, he quickly went from “sugar to shit.” She found herself married to a violent alcoholic. When he was sober, no one ever knew he was in the house. She worked to support her 10 kids, nieces, nephews, and her dead weight husband. He would get good jobs, just couldn’t keep them. So like the many women of her generation, she had to carry the weight on her shoulders, and do what she had to do. My mother’s childhood included homelessness, living in abandoned or run-down homes, sleeping in the same bed as her 3 sisters, and eating beans for dinner. I now know the blood that runs through my veins. It took 3 generations of Jim Crow laws, abuse, abandonment, and feelings of inadequacy, but they finally produced what they aspired to be. My grandmother has 50 grandchildren, more than 10 great grandchildren, but knowing I am the one in whom she sees what she wanted to be makes me happy to say I have the southern twang of a Turner woman. – Deaera Williams 10) The Lawson Family: myself (left), mother Gloria, father Travis, and sister Arielle (center). We took this picture one year at a local amusement park. In it, my father and sister look eerily kindred to our Bishop relatives.

The Hustle

The Era of Gentrification in New York City text_Maddy Phelan

photography_Mikaela Gauer & Maddy Phelan

It was never my dream to come to America. I remember being submerged in Bush-administration hate and thinking: no way am I ever going there. Instead I filled my head with idyllic alpine scenery, trying to forget the industrial drudgery of Wollongong, Australia. ‘Overseas’ became a place of great mystery; I put down roots until transplantation was unbearable. Then I lost my place on a committee and booked a flight to Montreal. But it wasn’t the bilingual city that would welcome me after the nineteen-hour flight. It was the looming metropolis I’d been exposed to for years and yet knew nothing about. New York had called me to her. In my mind, New York City was a violent frontier. Before I left home I decided that America was to be a testing ground for my character. New Yorkers say you have to be tough to survive in their city but I felt more like a bag of jellyfish. I was staying with family friend Maggie Wrigley in the Lower East Side. On my second day in the neighbourhood I took a cab home and as we turned down East 3rd at the Projects I heard a loud bang; I slouched down instinctively. My middle-class mindset told me that poverty plus America meant gun battles on the street – even on the sun-drenched afternoon of July 4 weekend. Maggie explained that it was probably kids with firecrackers. The next time I caught the subway I paid heed to the NYPD ad proclaiming a 75% crime reduction in the last 15 years. Some might call this ad misleading; it eased my mind regardless. But the best antidote for fear is exposure. When I first started walking in the city I kept my eyes on the pavement, too afraid to look at kids on the street lest they take my gaze as provocative. I held my handbag close like the scared white girl I was, ashamed for how poorly I knew the neighbourhood. But with every foray onto the streets of Manhattan my confidence grew. ‘You can’t be scared for that long’ my friend had told me when I confessed my fear of flying long distance. Her words returned to me as I walked Houston by day and night and discovered that beneath the drone of traffic a community was buzzing. In preparation for staying on the Lower East Side I read the underground tour guide, Reverend Jen’s Really Cool Neighbourhood. Jen’s ‘travel tips’ and Maggie’s 20-year local knowledge meant that I started to become familiar with the places I explored and the people I met. I learned the story of Rosario’s Pizza: one of the few examples of a hostile corporate takeover with a happy ending. The great wave of Famous Ray’s swept over Rosario’s on Houston, but Rosario’s resurfaced soon after on Orchard and Stanton. I met Sal Rosario when I ordered a slice with Maggie. His eyes watered as he pressed our hands – Maggie had written an article about Sal surviving the merciless march of gentrification. Maggie’s friendships include a vast array of community figures. As a founder of Bullet Space – a squat dating back to the 1980s that houses writers, actors, musicians and photographers – and her work at seminal music venue Mercury Lounge she knew most of the neighbourhood. As we walked around her city she introduced me to her friend the award-winning journalist, named a famous poet on the street and told me how to find the bartender-cum-bass player for a legendary 90s indie band. I’d list my

favourite alternative rock stars and Maggie would tell me how they played the Merc when they were getting signed. Suddenly the coolest art scene in the world seemed much closer than I thought. It wasn’t some Mount Olympus only accessible to gods, it was just people living what they love. Maggie told me that on New Year’s Day artists come together to share a piece of their work (some years Philip Glass shows up). This tradition is part of what makes New York special – a community of artists supporting one another. It’s a different story to the cashed-up young hipsters I saw prowling the streets. On my way to see Jarvis Cocker I noticed some boys who I later ran into at the venue. ‘I saw you guys on the subway’ I said, ‘how weird is that?’ Evidently the only weird thing was my presence: they walked off with barely a word. I started to wonder, why does cool have to be so hostile?

“My middle-class mindset told me that poverty plus America meant gun battles on the street.” I tried in vain to work out the hipster phenomenon – I felt that the secret to New York’s shifting character lay in this riddle. Maggie had the answer: instead of poor artists and migrants the city is now populated with career kids who can afford to buy their cool. Okkervil River sing, ‘You’ve got taste. What a waste that that’s all that you have.’ Culture is now manufactured rather than created. But the beauty of New York lies in its diversity: you can always find something to counter whatever discovery you have made. In the heart of hipster Williamsburg three guys sat on the street holding a sign: ‘FREE ADVICE.’ The words ‘gentrification’ and ‘hipster’ continued to surface as I explored the Lower East Side. Like curse words they were spat out darkly. I got the impression that people now question New York’s prestige. It’s no longer the sole financial or cultural capital of the world – it doesn’t even have the tallest building. LCD Soundsystem sing, ‘New York, I love you but you’re bringing me down.’ The security that reassured me is lamentable: ‘New York, you’re safer and you’re wasting my time.’ A visit to the Lower East Side Tenement museum shows you what people endured for the opportunity to live in this city – why give up on New York now? Reverend Jen writes, ‘I am tired of hearing people bemoan the fact that, “New York sucks now.” New York may not be as cool as it once was, or as cheap as it once was, but it is still a home to misfits worldwide’. New York offered something to the misfits I met in my travels (at karaoke in a Brooklyn gay bar a guy from Macy’s sang love ballads off-key with abandon), and to me, a lifelong misfit. I believe that the following quote from Franz Kafka embodies New

“instead of poor artists and migrants the city is now populated with career kids who can afford to buy their cool.” York: ‘By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is whatever we have not sufficiently desired.’ My friend wrote this in a letter I read on the plane as I left my country behind and ventured into unknown territory. Only now do I realise its relevance. New York is what you make it. You can find whatever you are looking for, purely because enough people have come to the city with the desire to create a new world. My great-great-grandparents on my father’s side came to America from Eastern Europe to escape persecution (a history I share with many New Yorkers); I arrived, unknowingly, to find myself. I came from fear to a place I was scared of and discovered that the only thing I had to fear was the power to transform myself. This power was bestowed upon me by a city in which anything can happen. New York City was an unexpected love affair. Leaving for the airport I pressed my face to the cab window, not wanting to let go of the cityscape. I wanted to cry, but not like when I left Sydney – back then I was filled with dread. Then I came to New York and started living. Even amongst the stinking mounds of garbage, even in the suffocating subway, even with my lungs full of pollution I started to grow and be nourished. I felt layers of small-town paranoia peel away to reveal the wide-eyed kid I have always been. This city filled me with confidence – I walked the streets at night and thought: ‘This is New York, and I’m in it. I brought myself here. I did it alone.’ Liberation. I came to New York, like my ancestors, and I found liberty.

Can behind-the-scenes hitmaker Sean Garrett finally make it as a performer? text_Claude Grunitzky

photography_Rikki Kasso

Sean Garrett likes to remind people that he’s penned more than a dozen number one singles over the last four years. Those hits - which include Usher’s “Yeah!,” Beyoncé’s “Check On It,” Ciara’s “Goodies,” Chris Brown’s “Run It,” Fergie’s “London Bridge” and Kelly Rowland’s “Like This” – made his reputation (and his fortune) but this year his priority was the promotion of his debut album, “Turbo 919,” which was released on Interscope Records in the summer. Sean, a self-described “mama’s boy” who was born in the Southwest Side of Atlanta before moving to Europe with his family when he was four years-old, is known to flaunt expensive tastes. His taste for the good life, however, is somewhat different from the ostentatious displays of wealth favored by many Southern rappers and R&B singers. When we decided to meet for breakfast in Manhattan over the summer, he chose (and treated me to) the Jean Georges restaurant on Central Park West, not far from the very expensive apartment he recently purchased in the tony Plaza redevelopment. Immediately, he decided to set the record straight on his credentials. “I think it’s flattering, and funny, that people only think of me as a songwriter and producer. That’s great, the fact that people think I’ve made it as a songwriter, but this new challenge is making life exciting again. After all, the music business is about one thing and one thing only: hits. I’m all about showing and proving.” Indeed, Sean who was nicknamed “The Pen” by Jay-Z, has been in the music business for a minute. When he was 15, he signed his first deal with Ariola/BMG, but the incessant delays and frustrating environment of record

companies led to his moving to South Carolina and taking on a conventional day job as a mortgage broker, post-college. He quickly realized that the nine-to-five wasn’t for him and moved back to Atlanta, where his mother Rita (now deceased) encouraged his budding music career. In 2003, L.A. Reid signed him as a songwriter and a few months later “Yeah!” became an worldwide anthem for Usher, as well as for the song’s featured rappers Lil Jon and Ludacris. “When you have a hit song,” added Sean, “you can perform it however you want, because people will always enjoy it.” Sean, who grew up loving Michael Jackson, New Edition, Boyz II Men and the Beatles has conditioned himself, mentally, for the disappointments that are inevitably associated with the changing record industry, but at the same time he has perfected the art of party songs and uptempo records. Jimmy Iovine (the head of Interscope) asked him, two years ago, to record a solo album, but Sean wanted to release the record only when he felt ready. Still, the album is more than a collection of party jams and despite relatively disappointing sales to date, Sean feels that the process that led to the “Turbo” record has already opened him up to a different sound, a different beat and a different energy. “I find that I am now able to speak so many musical languages, and that’s why I work with artists like Enrique Iglesias.” One country where sales of “Turbo” have been very good is Japan, hence our choice of photographic location. “The Japanese tell me I’m ‘legitimate’,” he says, shortly before revealing that his late mother’s last words to him were: “Son, don’t you ever give up on your dream.”

Rebel princess Katy Perry is taking the music scene by storm text_Sarah White

photo_Alex Brown

When Katy Perry first hit the scene, there was an undeniable buzz about her track Ur so gay. Though the title initially turned me off, I stayed curious enough to proceed. Obviously this woman must have some balls… or at least wanted to crush some. After laughing out loud at the video that showcased the single – using genitalia-less Barbies to play out the lyrics – sitting down face to face with Katy was on my next list of to-dos. One might think that this outspoken, bright-eyed gem had lived a life on the road and been a star since birth, but like many others, Katy started singing in the church. Coming from very religious parents and a censored background, she grew up without access to MTV, VH1 or any contact with the mainstream pop world. At 17, those restricted wings had to spread and fly off to see the world…or at least LA. If Katy could pick one producer in the world, who it would be? A little while ago, Katy turned on VHI and the first thing she saw was Glen Ballard talking about Alanis Morissette. “ I went out and bought the record (Jagged Little Pill) and I was like, oh my god! This is every female’s brain activity ever in life! This is the guy I want to work with!” The rest unfolded like a dream, first with her acoustic performance face to face with Ballard, and then the very next day, Ballard on the phone saying he’d been looking for someone like her since Alanis. A perfect match. While Glen taught Katy all of the ins and outs of the fast changing music industry, Katy just kept focusing on what she did best – writing. “I’m always, ALWAYS writing. I literally wrote 65 songs for it or so, maybe more! I’d hope to be considered mostly just a songwriter, you know? That’s what I do. All the songs, all 12 of them, are all stories. I can give you a person, a time, a feeling, what I was fuckin wearing!!” As loud in character as she is with her style, Katy seems to not only be very comfortable in her shoes, but also with her music as a way to put her heart on her sleeve, for all of her ex’s and the rest of the world to experience. “Ur so gay was about a ex-boyfriend where the dumping process lasted longer than the relationship!” Katy explains as she gives me her dirty track record for dating musician-type boys that seem to wear the panties in the relationship. “When it ends, I’m like ‘ok homie, you wanna dump me after fuckin’ taking care of you this whole time, being the best experience of your entire life? Great, I’m going to write a song about you and everyone is going

to sing along. You wanna play? Lets play!’” At this point, I’m laughing out loud and looking Katy from head to toe trying to decipher this full-of-spunk 20-something woman on the rise, ready to storm the pop waves. “I am not ashamed to be a mainstream pop, competing with Fergie, type of artist. There needs to be some players other than the ones that are out there right now.” Though Katy is new on the scene she seems very confident. While naming off chart toppers, she barely blinked—but still paid respects to – the long time heavy weights. “Gwen Stefani has always got her game on tight.

And she looks up to Madonna, who is the ultimate icon. Those girls are running a business! The music industry has changed and resources have changed a lot, but that’s good! Give the fuckin’ support to people that play and sing and make cool shit. You don’t have money to spend on douche bags anymore, thank God! And the ones (artists) that are super cool are doing it on their own because they are smart enough to know the Babylon’s of the big record labels are crumbling before our very eyes...” Not only does Katy write (or at least co-write) all of her lyrics in her songs, she also finds such peace and bliss with putting the pen to pad, that she finds it flows like honey out of her mind and into song. She even passes

her lyrics on to others that need some Perry to sing over. “Its fun. Writing is the easiest job in the world. Thank God it comes somewhat easy to me. Other bitches need hits too, so I might as well be in the same playing field when they are singing my songs!” As she stomped out of the office with her dress she bought on the way to the interview and her Jesus tattoo, I knew the world would be seeing a lot more of Katy Perry. Look for Katy Perry on her first worldwide headline tour in, starting January 23rd in Seattle, WA, and closing in her hometown of Santa Barbara, CA in May, with stops in 50 cities.

Weaving Strands of Our Stories Together as told to_Mikaela Gauer by Serge Mouangue

photography_Atsumi Ryota

According to accomplished Cameroonian designer and entrepreneur Serge Mouangue, his latest collection Wafrica “aims to develop new means through which we celebrate diversity in harmony and peace”. In response to the argument that globalization may rob us of our cultural identity, Wafrica begins a conversation between two ancient, strong and sophisticated identities: Japan and Africa.

Inspiration “I hear words, fragment of sounds, space, rhythm and whispers. The answer is often in the silence between the words. I live quietly. My creations are the way I express my experiences.”

Hybridity â&#x20AC;&#x153;I am African, from Cameroon. I lived and worked in Australia. My children are half Australian, half Cameroon. I have lived in France, and now Japan. These experiences force me to ask myself again from constantly changing angles, not only where we come from, but how we come from. Uncertainty is a beginning, giving life to a story and then resulting in ambiguity.â&#x20AC;?

Harmony â&#x20AC;&#x153;Kimono is traditional Japanese national costume. I was immediately struck by the beauty and timelessness of this form of dress, the way it expressed essential Japanese nature. Like architecture, layers and layers of fabric are constructed around the body to create the Japanese image of physical perfection, a butterfly incased in a cocoon, tubular, fine. A Japanese woman in Kimono is discretion and harmony. Harmony is also important to the Cameroon woman, in conjunction with a different rhythm and recognizing different aspects of physical beauty. The diversity of the female form is celebrated and accentuated. This contrast between African and Japanese beauty image is evident and yet, the colors and fabrics, the layering and alternating of motif and meaning overcame any hesitation to merge the two styles.â&#x20AC;?

sporting life

text_Kelly Rae and Mikkel Burrowes photography_JAMIL GS For many years, the rest of the world has enjoyed the cultural commodities and athletic prowess exploding out of Jamaica. We have all found ourselves enjoying the sounds of the island and were blown away by Usain Bolt’s stellar performance at the Beijing Olympics, but one should never forget that Jamaica is a small island nation full of hidden gems and unexpected stars. Case in point, the emerging skateboard scene bubbling up along the eastern shores and Montego Bay, home to the skateboard dance. Leading the charge is Billy Wilmont, the longstanding champion of the Jamaican National Surf Team. On any given day at his surf camp, Jamnesia, located in Bull Bay just outside of Kingston, you will find local skaters tearing it up in the island’s only concrete bowl. Built by the sheer determination of the kids who dug out the bowl and an international surfer who donated the materials and his expertise, a movement was born. The nonprofit sector has also stepped up to lend a hand, recognizing the culture as a new way to reach the youth. After 65 years of providing summer sports camps to the island, Moorlands Camp in Manchester has teamed up with Splinter Skate Parks to create a skateboard program. The curriculum was put together under the watchful eye of Stephen King, a Philidelphia native and die-hard skater who has spent several years working with the Jamaican youth. Not to be outdone, Upliftment Jamaica aims to bring a skate program into the high schools of Kingston and build creative skate spots in its home parish of St.Thomas. Boston Bay, the birthplace of Jamaican surf, does not have the luxury of a concrete bowl. However, with a renegade spirit that is inherent to the sport, the skaters work hard to build their own wooden ramps and obstacles that sit atop a crumbling and minuscule concrete pad. Most of the equipment comes from stateside companies, yet it never seems enough. Most families prefer to use the donated sneakers for Sunday’s best. So with one pair of shoes in the house, most kids still skate barefoot. However, with an upcoming donation from action sports’ biggest name in the game, Boston Bay just might be the ultimate surf/skate destination on the island. The 2012 Olympics in London will mark skateboarding’s entrance into the games, and one shouldn’t be surprised to see a new Jamaican skate team also making its debut. For More information please contact: Krae2084@gmail.com www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SqMpfrXXZA www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2iZPQB1dec

Clothing provided by: Adidas_Insight_Rockers NYC_New Balance_K Swiss_Saucony

insider

How Kate Orne is asking the world to pay attention to Prostitution in Pakistan text_Mikaela Gauer

photography_Kate Orne

I hear barking as I lightly tap on the apartment door on the fifteenth floor of Kate Orne’s Chelsea apartment. The door flings open and an excited dog greets me, wagging his tail so hard that it slaps into the knees of a woman standing at the entrance, golden blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a soft Swedish accent. As I am invited in, another fuzzy creature, a lazy cat sprawled across the couch, opens one eye to greet me. As Kate and I sit down, her crystal blue eyes twinkling, she leans back, takes a sip of her beer, and then peers at me curiously before asking, “So. What do you want to know?” “Everything!” I reply as I lean down to pet her dog, now sitting quietly at my feet. “Well, I love animals. I guess that’s what got me over there in the first place”. So a passion for animals is enough to get a well-known photographer and former fashion editor of Interview magazine into the ghettos of Pakistan? Kate Orne’s story goes far beyond that. Her photography covers a wide range of subjects, capturing everything from high fashion and commercial advertising to documentary photojournalism. However, after browsing through a few snapshots, it became apparent to me that Kate really just shoots what she loves. And her latest project, Brothels and Fundamentalism, is no exception. It took a disaster for the Western world to finally pay attention to the Middle East. Following the tragedy of September 11th, countries such as Afghanistan jumped into the spotlight and splashed across headlines as the West’s curiosity into Al-Qaeda, Islam, and terrorism skyrocketed. Americans everywhere struggled to make sense of the recent tragedies and the connection between these two seemingly opposite worlds.

Depending on the beauty of the girl, which is determined by skin, hair, and eye color, her virginity will sell for anywhere between $500-1000 USD. 63

A girl of average beauty works seven days a week will take away (18-22 years old) who roughly $16 per week after the “stakeholders” have taken their share. For years, Kate supported an organization called The Brooke (www. thebrooke.org), which provides veterinary care for working animals in developing countries. After 9/11, thousands of Afghan refugees fled across the mountains into Pakistan. Volunteers from The Brooke treated the animals that made the long journey, and it was at this time that Kate received an invitation from The Brooke to get involved. She made her first trip to Afghanistan and Pakistan, and during that time had the opportunity to visit many of the refugee camps. Kate’s attention was immediately shifted from helping the animals to the urgent need among the refugees, in particular women and children. “When you are in a place like that, when there is so much need, and so much demand for aid, personally I think it is very difficult to walk away.” And she didn’t. One woman in particular completely changed Kate Orne’s life. An Afghan refugee, Maryam Haider. Kate first discovered Maryam’s story when she sat down to interview her for a blog Kate was writing for Italian Glamour on the refugees in Pakistan. In January of 2001, Maryam experienced a horrible massacre in her small village of Bamiyan when members of the Taliban, during a cease fire and with no warning, attacked and viciously murdered hundreds of men. Maryam lost 37 of her male relatives.

Maryam and her children, the youngest at five and the oldest at twelve, picked the frozen bodies of their father, uncles, and cousins out of the ice in chilling temperatures. Maryam could take no more. She gathered her children and fled the village she had never stepped foot outside of in her life. Traveling only by night, she made the weeklong journey on foot in harsh winter conditions. Maryam and her children crossed over the Khyber Pass illegally into Pakistan, to the refugee camps. “You have to understand. There is no water, no food, nothing, and people are freezing. I’ve seen the children being carried out of the camps in the morning, children who have frozen to death.” Maryam’s story tore Kate apart. “Someone has told you their life story, and they have to go back and sleep on this cold floor in the middle of the winter with one blanket, the children are ill, they work twelve hours a day, and I just think, how do you walk away from that? I would be an asshole if I did that. But that’s what I am if I walk away from it!” Kate insisted on helping Maryam and her family. Her determination inspired her to spearhead the organization My Far Away Family (www. myfarawayfamily.org) in order to connect Afghan refugees with monetary support to provide starving families with food, education, and clothing. Kate

Ultimately, her total earnings to support an extended family amount to $2.25 per day.

If the Mother is her Madam,

the girl will most likely not see a cent as the Mother will use the money to support the family, including the girl’s husband and children, as it is quite common for the extended family to live together.

also began a system of micro loaning sewing machines to Afghan widows who wanted to start their own businesses. Through her interaction with Maryam and numerous other refugees, Kate began to ask more questions. Apart from sewing or making bricks at a factory, how did these women survive? How do they feed their children if they do not have any aid? They work as prostitutes. Prostitution? In Pakistan? Prostitution was a problem for Thailand. But in Pakistan, where Islam dictates that women cannot be seen in public unless they are fully clothed? It was impossible. Kate continued to dig deeper, but the idea was seen as ludicrous and was constantly denied by big NGO’s and aid organizations. It wasn’t until 2005, over four years later, that Kate finally got her answer. Not only does prostitution exist, but it exists as a major industry and revenue driver for women and their families. As a passionate photographer, Kate was determined to get inside this hidden space and document it for the world to see. “The hardest journey was to get inside. It took a lot of tea drinking and patience. And the willingness to have patience”. Kate’s first goal was to establish relationships with the women in order to gain their trust. She remembers a distinct moment when she finally broke through to one woman, Lubna Tayyab, the founder of Sheedsociey.org, who she fondly refers to as her sister. Lubna, who was born and raised in the community, started conducting HIV/STD education in conjunction with a condom distribution program for the local sex workers and was in direct contact with the madams and prostitutes of the brothels. When Kate first approached the topic of potentially documenting these women, Lubna insisted that it was absolutely out of the question. “But, I guess with my persistence, and my incredible charm [laughs], we took a liking to each other. So we started to spend time with each other”. Kate’s determination did not go unrewarded. She spent hours sitting in Lubna’s office, from noon until three o’clock in the morning sometimes, just drinking tea. Eventually, as the prostitutes came into Lubna’s office for condoms and health advice, Kate was introduced to them. It took Kate over three weeks, sitting and waiting and drinking tea, until one night, around one o’clock in the morning, one of the madams came into the office and gestured towards Kate for her to follow. Five minutes later, Kate was inside a Pakistani brothel. The majority of Pakistanis live in poverty, with limited education and a shockingly high illiteracy rate. In a world where men make and enforce the rules, women are rarely seen on the street, hidden behind the walls of their homes or the doors of the brothels. A man would never allow a woman to be photographed, as the idea of his wife being exposed in any way would bring great dishonor to his family. However, what may seem even more bizarre to us in the Western world, aside from the fact that a country ruled by fundamental Islam has a large sex trade industry, are the women themselves. Making barely enough money to feed their own children, mothers encourage their own daughters to start working sometimes as young as 12-13 years old, in order to bring in additional revenue for the family. Even so, through the haze of hashish smoke clouding the brothels, these women are empowered. They are more than mothers and daughters. They are the breadwinners of the household. “They appear incredibly proud,” Kate reveals. “They live in poverty, under horrific conditions. They are abused, their children are abused. So I had to ask myself, where does this pride come from?” In order for Kate to understand the pride and resilience of these women, she had to understand their history. Centuries before British invasion, Middle Eastern and Asian countries had an incredible amount of wealth due to an abundance of natural resources. During the Mughal era, in the 16th century, the most powerful man in south Asia, Akabar, lived in a world of diamondcovered ceilings and giant fortresses. Akabar had numerous courtesans who would entertain him; they would read poetry, drink wine, dance for him and have sex with him. These women were extremely educated, well off,

These “stakeholders” include her Madam, Pimps, Police, and others, who are greedy and take a large portion of the money from the transaction.

and respected within the community. As the Mughal era vanished and the West took over, the wealth disappeared along with the opportunity for these women to continue working as dancers while receiving quality education. How does all of this relate to present day prostitutes in Pakistan? “Maybe these women have not forgotten their lineage”, Kate suggests. In order to retain their pride from generations before them, they think of themselves as courtesans and dancers. Along with the strong Indian influence of Bollywood, shown in the posters that cover the walls inside the brothels, these women rely on the idea that they are really entertainers, perhaps in order to keep their sanity in a despairing world. The question has to be asked, with that in mind, are these women truly suffering? With no access to education and limited means, is prostitution in Pakistan more than a way to put food on the table? You have to wonder. Some women smoke enough hashish to numb themselves before a session, while other women have developed long-term relationships with their customers. How can we, as Westerners, begin to understand this apparent contradiction of their pride and their modesty? Kate has sought to unravel this mystery by capturing the essence of these women and their environment on camera. Since Kate’s first visit in the Brothels, there has been a significant amount of progress. The Sheed Society has established two schools and a health care clinic. Kate believes strongly in the power of education for all and its ability to not only open young minds, but also break the vicious cycle that keeps the children illiterate and trapped in prostitution, child labor,

crime, and drug abuse. “We believe, with education, they will not only gain new opportunities through employment which their mothers were never given, but as a result they will be able to then be part of improving their own community”, Kate explains. Sheedsociety has also implemented a program where clients can receive free education about STDs and HIV/Aids. “As a stranger, the women no longer see me as a threat, but instead as someone who supports their efforts to improve their own and their children’s lives.” Kate’s ultimate goal with her project is to draw enough attention to this little known community and the plight of the women and the children, joining and supporting the efforts to build a strong and healthy community. However, Kate knows that creating global awareness is not enough. Funding is necessary in order to make a significant difference in the communities. With the sale of each image, Kate uses the proceeds to support the two schools and health clinic that Sheedsociety.org started just a few years ago. www.kateorne.com/projects/school/ www.Sheedsociety.org and myfarawayfamily.org for more information or to find out how you can make a donation.

LAIS

Tempting textures and sensual asymmetry not for the faint of heart. photography_Ryan Michael Kelly fashion_Christine De Lassus

corset covered with nails, stones and chains_THE BLONDS

body suit in fishnet and velvet_PAULE KA

asymetrical printed bodysuit_ MAISON MARTIN MARGIELA pantyhose_FALKE

cropped jacket embroidered with stones and sequins_LANVIN teeshirt en coton_KSUBI

black chiffon shirt_FRANCESCO SCOGNAMIGLIO shorts_KSUBI boots_MANOLO BLAHNIK for ALEXANDER WANG

black python jacket _JUST CAVALLI asymetrical printed bodysuit_MAISON MARTIN MARGIELA silver chains _ANN DEMEULEMEESTER pantyhose_FALKE

multicolor bodysuit _MIU MIU lace up boots and spats_PRADA

Hair_Amy Farid for Bumble & Bumble @ See management Make up_Robert Greene for Mac @ See management Model_Lais @ Supreme Management Photo assistant_Esteban Aladro long tweed skirt with suspenders_YOHJI YAMAMOTO

Making The World Your Own text_Stephen Greco

photo_Jamil GS

Trace has always been about rising to your next level, becoming the person you want to be. That’s why one of our signature themes, “Styles Ahead,” has always been about more than just fashion and beauty. It’s also about the kind of focus, dedication, and, yes, ambition people need to become their best selves—as the actress, model, and filmmaker Paz De La Huerta has demonstrated in the ten years since her teenage appearance in The Object of My Affection, and as Isild Le Besco, Sean Garrett, Katy Perry and the other ambitiously creative individuals we’ve included in this issue are showing, too. ‘Cause when you become the person you want to be, you have your best chance at making the world your own – especially now, when rising to the next level has truly become one of the world’s most catalytic styles, from Washington to Kingston, to Basel, to Tokyo, to…

Behind the scenes, Paz talks growing up, jet-setting and falling in love text_Claude Grunitzky

photography_Matt Black

It has been noted that extraordinary beauty seems rewarding in itself, so after photography the beautiful are much more likely to become famous. There is also a certain kind of hip, young, beautiful downtown New York City starlet who becomes famous for always being photographed with the right person at the right event. If you check Paz de la Huerta’s photos on Style.com, you will see Paz hugging designer Zac Posen, Paz sitting on the lap of young socialite Genevieve Jones, Paz posing with actress Joy Bryant; you will see the young heiress Maggie Betts whispering into Paz’s right ear, and German photographer (and longtime TRACE magazine contributor) Ellen von Unwerth holding Paz with devoted affection. Whether the event in question is the 20th anniversary celebration of the downtown restaurant Indochine, the Y-3 launch party, or the CDFA awards dinner, Paz is always there, smiling for the camera with the lazy, lascivious gaze of the well-connected mid-Atlantic bombshell she has become. Imagine my surprise, at a private dinner held at the Greenwich Village townhouse of the celebrated painter Francesco Clemente, on the fourth of July this year, when I caught Paz hopping from table to table, interrupting conversations with subtlety and poise, all the while catching the eye of notable artists and intellectuals like Salman Rushdie and Fran Leibowitz. The friend I was with, a downtown New York City painter, asked me who that underdressed girl really was, and how could she be so very confidently sexy and sexual in that kind of environment. That night, Paz was mesmerizing, her conversation captivating, and she knew it. Often, the problem with these camera-obsessed New York socialites is that they have very little real talent to show for their undeserved red carpet step-and-repeat appearances. Living and working in the New York media world for close to 11 years, I have seen so many of these pretty young things come and go that I now know when - and how - to keep myself from getting sucked into the Page Six pseudo-celebrity hype. Once in a while, however, one has to admit that the temptation to write extravagant, exaggerated paragraphs about girls like Paz is real. Paz, who has been modeling for designers like Alberta Ferretti and her friend Zac Posen, as well as for the mass retailer Uniqlo, is definitely very sexy and obviously very sexual. The French film director Matt Black, who shot this very cinematic TRACE cover portfolio in and around the Chateau Marmont hotel in Los Angeles while they were filming his new short film “Nothing Personal,” thinks the world of Paz, but he admits that sometimes, people can feel that her intensely sexual aura can be overwhelming when confronted with a controlled working environment. “Paz is a funambulist,” he says, “a mix of raw emotions and ultra sensuality with a love and knowledge of movies that differentiate her from many.” Is it hyperbole for me to state that Paz de la Huerta is, probably, the next big thing in indie film? Time will tell, but for now we can mention that she has, depending on who is counting, four or five buzz-worthy films coming out in 2009. At the age of 24, Paz has already appeared in more than 30 films. Her first big 2009 feature is the much anticipated thriller by Jim Jarmusch, entitled “The Limits of Control.” The story of a mysterious loner, a stranger who is in the process of completing a criminal job in Spain – the lead is played by TRACE favorite Isaach de Bankolé – “Control” features Bill Murray, Tilda Swinton, Gael Garcia Bernal and Paz in a leading role. When I finally got to speak to her about the film, the day after Halloween, she was going up an elevator in a Los Angeles hotel, where she’d been staying with her boyfriend of one year, the 41-year-old rock star Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver fame. “Working with Jim Jarmusch was like a dream come true,” she said, “ but I didn’t realize what a dream it was until I was there with Jim and the crew in Madrid. As an actress, you tend to surrender and become an infant all over again, but Jim just rocks you

“A mix of raw emotions and ultra sensuality with a love and knowledge of movies that differentiate her from many.” 87

delicately and makes you grow up all over again.” Paz met Jarmusch through Isaach de Bankolé – a seasoned actor who is sometimes best remembered as Raymond in Jarmusch’s “Ghost Dog” – and Paz believes that she and Bankolé must have been married, or father/ daughter in a previous life. “When we work together, we don’t talk that much,” she told me. “We let the camera catch our energy, and it’s not that difficult, because we must have had a really strong connection in a past life.” Paz and Bankolé have been in four films together, starting with Kevin Asher Green’s 2004 drama “The Homework.” “In ‘The Homework’ I played a ballerina who was afraid of sex; an Upper East Side girl who is very controlled. Isaach plays an African dance teacher who happens to work in the same dance studio, and I develop a huge crush on him. I start following him home and a love affair develops between these two very different people. Isaach takes my virginity in the film and four years later, here we are on the set of ‘The Limits of Control.’ This time, our roles are switched and it’s more like I am the one with the sexual energy, pulling him out of his shell.” Bankolé, who has worked extensively in Europe and North America in addition to Africa, is equally full of praise for his co-star. “Paz de la Huerta is one of the most, if not the most compelling and challenging character and actress I have had a chance to work with to date. And, I think, one of the most talented of her generation. She is both mature and childlike. I have a great respect for her, and a lot of admiration for her professionalism. It has always been a pleasure to be involved in a film with her.” On the day we spoke, Paz told me that she’d just returned from being on tour with her boyfriend. It was “fascinating,” she said, “we were in Alabama last night for Halloween, and it was good to experience the Halloween thing down there at the end of the electoral season.” The reason they were staying in a hotel was because Weiland’s house, which is located in the Sherman Oaks area of LA, was being renovated. Although Weiland (whose past problems with drug abuse were fully documented in the midnineties media) is highly respected as the longtime leader of one of the best-selling grunge bands of the nineties rock scene, he is said to suffer from bipolar disorder and known for his frequent mood swings. Weiland and his estranged wife, the model Mary Forsberg, have two young children, Noah and Lucy. Paz, who told me that Weiland’s kids were also in the hotel at the time of our interview, was hiding from them because she and Weiland felt that “it’s not time for me to meet the kids yet.” Paz, describing the idyllic vacation she’d just had with Weiland in Mexico two weeks earlier, appeared to be madly in love with the rock star. She said she was now living the bi-coastal life, jetting back and forth between New York and Los Angeles (and traveling to foreign locations often), but that she tried to spend as much time as possible with her boyfriend. “ We love each other so much. It’s intense love, but we’re moving slowly.” Paz and Weiland met “a while ago” and “had a magical moment” but they really

only started dating seriously a little less than a year ago. The relationship has graduated to a new level of professional collaboration, because Paz has been directing the music videos for Weiland’s newly released solo album, “Happy in Galoshes.” Currently on YouTube is the very artsy video that Paz directed for the song “Paralysis,” a sexually charged – and very naked – evocation of troubled passion between Weiland’s singer hero and Paz’s temptress character that is set somewhere between the Hollywood Hills and the Southern California (or is it Nevada?) desert. “I shot that video for Scott with Fred Murphy, an incredible DP (director of photography), and everyone else worked on it for free. It was an amazing experience.” Paz told me that they have a few other videos in the can, and that they will be releasing them gradually, as the double CD makes its way into public consciousness. “Scott is misunderstood by the public,” she added. “I think he’s a very honest soul.” Paz de la Huerta was born a Virgo in New York’s Beth Israel Hospital, to a Spanish father and an American mother. Her parents first lived in SoHo, but when her parents split up her dad moved back to Spain, where he settled on a ranch. Paz and her younger sister Rafaela moved to another apartment in Tribeca with their mother. Paz, who has been acting since she was four years old, trained at the SoHo Children’s Acting School before graduating from Saint Ann’s school. Growing up in a very cosmopolitan New York City household, she always felt that she was a citizen of the world. “My Spanish family is Castilian, but I have a lot of family in Seville, in the South of Spain, so I’ve fallen in love with Andalucia. Seville, with its Moorish and gypsy influences, is a city that I connect to. I’m a gypsy definitely right now in my life, because I love traveling and exploring the world.” Paz’s mother is a well-rounded activist who works for women’s rights in underdeveloped countries. Growing up, Paz was offered many opportunities to travel the world with her mother, and she took most of them. “My mom has taken me to Africa, where I’ve been more than ten times, and I remember playing with the Masai children and getting to know them. That really shaped who I am, because I never got spoiled. I was always able to put American consumerism in perspective. My mom also took me to China, the Middle East and so many other places, but I have to say I do love Spain. When I decide to have kids, I’ll probably end up settling there.” Paz told me that she was finally feeling like a woman, now that she’s really out of her teenage years, with the sense of freedom that comes with finally being able to cut the umbilical cord. Still, her parents’ influence on her runs deep, and her transcultural family environment allowed her to learn and speak Spanish and French fluently, which helps with her cool downtown international girl creds and keeps her on the radar of foreign directors like Gaspar Noé of “Irreversible” fame. This time last year Paz was in Tokyo for four months, working with Noé who’d cast her (after a five-year casting process where he turned down hundreds

of girls) as the lead for his upcoming drama “Enter The Void,” a film that is said to be ten years in the making. Seven years after casting Monica Bellucci and her husband Vincent Cassel in the highly disturbing (and extremely controversial) revenge flick “Irreversible,” Noé is set to release another movie that has the potential to shock audiences and, why not, make them faint again. Despite my probing questions related to the plot behind the new Noé movie, Paz was pretty secretive about the story behind her Linda character in “Void.” This much she would reveal: “I am in almost every frame of the movie, and it was a grueling experience. The movie is based, in part, on the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Linda, the character that I play, is caught in a relationship between a brother and a sister. It’s really about everlasting love.” Noé, a Frenchman of Latin American descent who has built up an arthouse reputation by being secretive and somewhat mysterious, was even more cryptic when he described his new project – on a film blog – in the following terms: “Few of the arts can satisfy man’s need to be uplifted as immediately as film. And none (except interactive video games) can yet reproduce the maelstrom of our states of perception and consciousness. In the past, certain films have tried to adopt the subjective point of view of the main character. ‘Enter the Void’ will try to improve upon its predecessors and accompany the hero just as much in his normal state of awareness as in his altered states: the state of alertness, the stream of consciousness, memories, dreams...” In his 2004 page-turner “Down and Dirty Pictures,” the critic Peter Biskind blames the decline of American independent film on the bare – knuckled tactics of tough-guy impresarios like the Miramax-era Weinstein brothers and the Sundance mogul Robert Redford. The recent difficulties experienced by some of the more prominent independent film studios – like Palm Pictures, Picturehouse and Warner Independent Pictures – have generated much discussion (and anxiety) related to the death of independent film as we know it. Paz de la Huerta, on the other hand, seems to really love (and live for) the world of independent movies. “So much fear goes into the film process overall,” she told me, “and I know that it’s been a really difficult time for great movies that are not bulldozer blockbusters, but I’m hoping that the troubles of the economy will force people to stop living above their means and get back to basics. I was sitting in my hotel room again today, seeing all these explosions on TV. I don’t want these big explosions to be my life. This is not my life.”

“She’s got that special new century aura that the silver screens so desperately need right now”. Ten or twelve years ago, when I was writing TRACE cover stories about the next downtown New York “It” girls who were most likely to make it in Hollywood and beyond, I focused on aspiring actresses like Rosario Dawson, knowing that Chloé Sevigny was already pretty established, and Joy Bryant was still focused on her modeling career. This year, having polled a few of my fellow journalist friends, and also some casual media observers who are able to sort through the most manipulative media stories, and really also just trusting my own intuition as to who has that special new century aura that the silver screens so desperately needs right now, I can safely write, without overstating my case, that Paz de la Huerta possesses quite a few of the unique qualities. She’s got what it takes, and she’s not afraid to show it.

Notorious Jamaica is a seaside lullaby, dancehall heaven and Olympic gold text_Anicée Gaddis

photography_Jamil GS

If you are fortunate enough to spend time in Jamaica, a.k.a. “the rock,” one of the first things you’ll notice is an invisible electricity that lights up the senses from the moment you touch soil. Despite the fact that Jamaican culture – namely its music and dance scenes and unsurpassed street style – is one of the strongest brands on the worldwide map, the island remains an enigmatic oasis lodged in the heart of the Bermuda triangle, an authentic paradise where sea, sun and sky conspire to create a vibrant and soulful Shangri-la. An island of 2.7 million, this Caribbean outpost has historically been coveted by pirates, bandits, sugar cane moguls, rum trade kingpins, the FBI, the IMF, world leaders, A-list celebrities and wanders questing for a new kind of enlightenment. Overstanding, Livity and the Integrity form the Rasta mantra. Gunshot, slingshot and activation form the code of the streets. But Jamaica is no longer just the legacy of Nesta or the kinetic spirit of the dancehall. Jamaica is a movement. It’s a culture. It’s the sublime soundtrack of the Caribbean ocean. It’s the intrinsic vitality of a Saturday night crossing over to a Sunday sunrise. It’s a mountaintop oasis. It’s a seaside lullaby. It’s dancehall heaven. It’s Olympic gold. It’s righteous men and conscious women battling it out between love and lust. It’s God and the devil living side by side in a self-made utopia. It’s about how you walk. It’s about how you talk. It’s a swagger. It’s an attitude. It’s the colors – black, gold and green – you rock. It’s an incomparable lifestyle that exceeds definition. A world apart – the inimitable Jamaican spirit will continue to dominate far into the centuries. And we’re only at the beginning of this chapter. The Danish American photographer Jamil GS has been documenting Jamaica for more than a decade. In this portfolio, which was made possible by the generous sponsorship of Kingsley Cooper and Kelly Rae, Jamil focused on his favorite subject – women – and turned his lens on the overt sensuality that defines the Jamaican experience. “Like Bob Marley sang it,” he says, “there’s a natural mystic in the air, the sky, the clouds, the trees, the flowers, the fruits, the water, the soil, the humming birds. All of this seems to be reflected in the Jamaican people and their soul, who in many instances express it through music, in particular reggae which is like oxygen to my soul. I have always been attracted to extremes, and Jamaica has more of that than any place I know. Extreme beauty and extreme hardship. Life in Jamaica is an experience of constant duality.” Kimanee wears bathing suit by_Norma Kamali

Shevolee wears dress by_Gavin Douglass (Jamaica) bangles by_RJ Graziano

Nicole wears dress by_Norma Kamali shoes by_Cesare Panciotti

Tenith wears dress by_Romero Bryan (Jamaica) shoes by_Carlos Santana

Kimanee wears necklace by_Tuleste market (Jamaica) bathing suit by_Norma Kamali shoes by_Cesare Paciotti

Nicole wears dress by_Nkwo (Jamaica)

Shevolee wears Pink one piece by_Norma Kamali

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Nicole wears zebra print bikini by_Norma Kamali

Produced by_Kelly Rae Stylist_Alfonso Graham Hair_Miyako Make up_Miyako

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The Allure of Isild This Multi-Talented French Actress is Taking the Film Industry by Storm text_Mikaela Gauer

photography_nicolas hidiroglou

For most young teenage girls, the dream of being an actress and gliding down the red carpet with a trophy in hand is almost as far off as landing on the moon. The vision is exciting, the desire is deep, and yet the reality is biting – it just isn’t going to happen. For other girls, walking the red carpet at the age of fourteen is part of a routine that includes eating, sleeping, and making it to set on time. However, how often does a pretty young thing step away from the spotlight and swing behind the lens? In the case of French actress Isild le Besco, beauty and brains collided, and after a few years of success on screen with films such as Emmanuelle Bercot’s La Puce, Cédric Kahn’s Robert Succo and Benoît Jacquot’s Sade (for which she won a Lumiere Award for Most Promising Young Actress), Isild wanted more out of her already blossoming career. “I was 16 years old when I decided to write my first script, Demi-Tarif. I didn’t want to go to school anymore so my mother asked me to prove what I was able to do. That is to say, not being passive and only waiting to be chosen as an actress by other people. So I began to write every day. I finished the script, and looked for a producer, but by then I was only 17 and it was difficult to convince many people to let me direct a long feature film. But I decided to do it anyway and produce this film on my own.” The fact that Isild comes from a film background – her mother, actress Catherine Belkhodja and her sister Maïwenn Le Besco (recognizable as Diva Plavalaguna in Luc Besson’s The Fifth Element)—has helped her survive the industry. Along with her own long resume of acting experience, Isild was able to produce Demi-Tarif, which was shot on a digital camera in her apartment and hailed by Chris Marker as “the greatest debut since Godard’s ‘A bout de souffle’. Isild went on to write her second feature film, Charly, in 2004. Charly, which debuted at the 2008 Tribeca Film Festival, tells the story of a blossoming friendship between Nicolas, a young boy who runs away to the seaside, and Charly, a fiery young woman whom Nicolas meets there and welcomes him into her trailer. The film has a rough, organic feel as the filmmaker uses available light and a handheld camera in order to capture the intimate friendship between these two raw characters. Still fresh faced at twenty-six, Isild is continuing her successful film career that includes acting, writing, directing and producing, with her upcoming performance in The Good Heart, co-starring Paul Dano and Brian Cox, set to release this year. As an already internationally acclaimed actress, Isild’s determination and creative intelligence has taken her impressive childhood debut and ascended it into a successful career, both in front of and behind the camera. There is no doubt about it-- the allure of Isild le Besco will be following us well into the next few years.

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AMERICA NEW How the artist Rashid Johnson came to represent the new American avant-garde: TRACE takes an inside look at the Rubell Family Collection’s PUMA-sponsored “30 Americans” exhibition, as presented last December at Miami Basel text_Claude Grunitzky

art_Rashid Johnson

Rashid Johnson was trained formally as a photographer hence his ability to produce what he calls “competent photographs.” His first transition as an artist came with his decision to turn photography into a conceptual tool that reinforced his ability to express himself as a craftsman. The work that he first showed in New York a decade ago – as part of curator Thelma Golden’s controversial “Freestyle” exhibition – was a series of strong, visceral portraits that fit nicely into the history of portrait photography, but he did not become aware of the subtext of his photographs until much later. From that first moment of awareness, Rashid realized that he was not obligated to produce all his ideas as photographs. Ultimately, he felt that despite his desire to play a more active role in the conception of his photography, it came down to what happened in one thirtieth of a second. Rashid remembers that moment of awareness well, and he admits that from that very moment on, he became interested in “the way material expressed action and time.” That specific awakening led to a body of work that he called “Homage to Chinua Achebe,” in reference to the late Nigerian author of the literary classic “Things Fall Apart.” For that project, he took furniture from his own marriage (which had fallen apart), destroyed it and pieced it back together. “In the age of deconstruction,” he told me during our interview session which took place at the restaurant Schiller’s in the lower east side of Manhattan the day after Obama’s historic election, “most of us (or maybe just certain people in my family) ended up being influenced by socialist ideals.” That all sounded a bit abstract, so I asked him what it meant to be an American artist today, socialist or not. “I would say that specifically today, meaning today the day after this election, and probably for the first time, I feel a responsibility to America. I woke up today, thinking that I should buy an American flag because this country has proven so much to me. I think Barack is a transformational figure that made a lot of us feel some sort of social responsibility. We’ve stolen patriotism from those who’d hijacked it from us. This idea that, to be a patriot you should not ask questions from your leaders, well that idea made a lot of us very uncomfortable with the definition of that word patriot.” Rashid Johnson was raised in a family of artists and intellectuals. His mother is an academic who taught at Northwestern University, and he’ll be the first to admit that he grew up with a decent amount of privilege, deep in the heart of what some seventies sociologists would call the

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black bourgeoisie. “We weren’t wealthy,” he says, “but we were wealthy in opportunity.” His father ran his own electronics business, but in reality both his parents were frustrated artists. His mother was a poet who got into academia, and his father was a painter who never got enough opportunity to continue pursuing his craft. It is telling, in this common African American story of social mobility, that Rashid’s older brother was admitted to Harvard Law School the year after Barack Obama graduated. Even prior to the electoral season, Rashid was thinking a lot about the value of sincerity. Sincerity, one must be reminded, had become a bit of an obstacle for Rashid (and a lot of other artists) who had come to find refuge in skepticism and irony, both of which can be traced to an overall disappointment with American society and its evolution over the last decade. “Now that we have what we’ve said we wanted, we need to approach things through a clean, sincere lens. This coming change in American art may lead to less escapism, and a different comfort level with the here and now. In the most genial way, I am feeling for the first time that I am an American, maybe a bit because I am a black man, and maybe also because I feel there is a valuable contribution for me to make.” That contribution is even more crucial, in light of the lack of true role models for African American artists of Rashid’s generation. True, the generations between Jacob Lawrence and David Hammonds were filled with talented (and promising) black artists, but very few – with the exception of critical darlings like Romare Bearden and Jean-Michel Basquiat – were able to live to reap the rewards that should have come with their prodigious output. Rashid Johnson likes to speak about Bob Thompson, an artist from the fifties who was Basquiat before Basquiat was Basquiat, but the list is surprisingly quite short. In that respect, Rashid may be considered lucky (if such a thing as luck actually exists in art) to have been noticed, early last year, by the prominent Miami-based collectors Don and Mera Rubell. It happened a little like this. Last Spring Jason Rubell, the son of the collectors, went to see Rashid’s show “The Dead Lecturer” at the Nicole Klagsbrun gallery in New York’s Chelsea district. He got so excited about the work that he called his parents and asked them to see the show on their next trip to New York. When the elder Rubells finally saw the show, they ended up buying the majority of the work, from that one visit. Eventually, they took Rashid to breakfast at the Spring Street

Rashid Johnson Self-portrait with my hair parted like Frederick Douglass (2003): lambda print 75 x 43.75 inches 190.5 x 111.1 cm Edition of 3, +2AP AP #1 RJ08

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The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual (The Power of Healing): (2008) shelves, wax, black soap, shea butter, candles, mixed media 96 x 96 x 12 inches 243.8 x 243.8 x 30.5 centimeters RJ19

“The work and the material are extremely mysterious. They reach into something subliminal, a deep subliminal memory of history.”

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restaurant Balthazar and told him about a show they were planning. The show, which was later christened “30 Americans,” was meant to showcase the Rubells’ growing collection of work produced by African American artists. “I really appreciated the thoughtful way in which they approached me,” remembers Rashid. “I think it was the same for the other artists in the collection, and I think it was a great way to check everyone’s comfort level with the project.” I spoke with Mera Rubell twice, in mid-November, when she was on her way to Abu Dhabi for yet another art-related gathering. She was very enthusiastic about Rashid Johnson’s work. “The work and the material are extremely mysterious,” she said, in an elegant phrasing that comes naturally to those who are used to being interviewed. “They reach into something subliminal, a deep subliminal memory of history. I had a rush of emotion

Black Angel: (2008) Black soap, shea butter, wax, brass, incense, gold paint 69 x 69 x 7 inches 175.3 x 175.3 x 17.8 cm RJ55

“The issues raised in the show – race, class, gender, identity – are at the core of the American experience” when I saw it, because it’s emotional history.” Speaking of Rashid’s body of work in general, and the image in the opening spread of this feature in particular - an image which happens to also be the portrait that was used to advertise the “30 Americans” show – she went on. “That image, that portrait, the work is not about a question and answer. The work asks a lot of questions, but you do not get a lot of answers. That’s what makes it

exciting. That portrait, you can take it every which way. There are so many interpretations to that portrait.” Rashid has a slightly different interpretation of that portrait, which, in fact, is a photograph called “Thurgood.” He feels that the viewer may or may not choose to see it as a reference to Thurgood Marshall, but that the real reference is to the new black intellectual. Although “Thurgood” is the only such photograph that is shown in the “30 Americans” show, it is an integral part of a series of portraits that Rashid created recently, with the intention of forming “The New Negro Escapist Social and Athletic Club,” which is actually a fictional group of men who wear their hair like the black liberation hero Fredrick Douglas. Actually, this group references the clubs in Harlem, or in Chicago, during the time of the Harlem Renaissance; it is also a subtle reference to black secret societies.

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“Puma is about joining together creative spirits…We know this exhibition will encourage important debates, promoting social and intercultural dialogue”. I asked Rashid how it felt, so many years after the “Freestyle” group show, to again be included in an African American group show. “It can be either a problem or a blessing. If you put me in a room with a bunch of random wacks, just because we’re black, then it’s one thing. But if it’s people showing their best work, that’s another thing. Context does matter. Any time you put me in a room with some of the best artists in the world, I don’t care what their nationalities are, I’m just proud to be in such esteemed company.” The Rubells chose to name the exhibition “30 Americans,” rather than “30 African Americans,” because they felt that the issues raised by the works in the show – race, class, gender, identity, among others – are at the core of the American experience. In the same way that Barack Obama is the American president, and not the African American president, they chose to dedicate the 27 galleries occupying the entire 45,000 square-foot exhibition space in their Rubell Family Collection (which is housed in a converted Drug Enforcement Agency confiscated-goods warehouse) to a group of emerging and established artists which also includes Gary Simmons, Iona Rozeal Brown, Kerry James Marshall, Mickalene Thomas, Lorna Simpson and the ubiquitous Haitian American Jean-Michel Basquiat. Mera Rubell told me that her family’s process for collecting modern art, which started in 1964, soon after she married Don, is not that complicated. Contrary to professional curators who usually start with a curatorial context before finding artists who fit into that context, they always start by surveying what they see in studios. “We’ve been married 45 years and we’ve always collected art, but we never start by saying we’re going to buy art by a female artist, or a black artist, or a German artist. We’ve collected art by African American artists like David Hammonds and Kara Walker for a long time, but in the last four years, a new generation of artists has emerged, many from Yale, and we started going to studios to see their work, which has been astonishing. So that’s the catalyst. For ‘30 Americans’ we thought about how beautiful it would be to bring all these people together to have a conversation. When Don and I are moved, that’s when the collection

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can become a historical reflection, a conversation that can take place in our lifetime. It’s a tremendous privilege for us to see the younger artists dialoguing with some of the older artists.” In the end, more than 200 works of art were created by 30 artists for this show, which is being supported by PUMAVision, a new division of PUMAVision that brings the athletic company’s philanthropic and humanitarian efforts under one umbrella. In an era where one often finds it difficult to draw the line between art and commerce, Mera Rubell seemed perfectly happy with the way the PUMAVision collaboration came to be finalized. “PUMAVision approached us and just said, ‘How can we help you?’ They ended up sponsoring a series of interviews, where we were able to bring the artists together for these little filmed sessions.” Jochen Zeitz, the CEO of PUMA who is pioneering the PUMAVision project with Marie-Claude Beaud, the former director of the Cartier Foundation in Paris, justified PUMAVision’s involvement in the following terms: “‘30 Americans’ gives us the opportunity to demonstrate our interest in creative talent in a unique and exciting way. The exhibition coincides with the launch of the Reality Bag No. 2, which follows the success of the Original Reality Bag, designed by the Swiss artist John Armleder and inspired by the Serpentine Gallery in London. PUMAVision is about joining together creative spirits with major figures of the sports and fashion worlds. We also have a longstanding commitment to Africa, so it felt like a natural step for us to participate in this extraordinary project. We know this exhibition will encourage important debates, prompting social and intercultural dialogue.” At the end of my long conversation with Rashid Johnson, I realized that this constant dialogue, and the underlying tensions beneath it are the main drivers behind his most bizarre experimentations, and the most abstract expressionist gestures that feed into his craziest creations. In the end, I feel that Rashid may be mapping out a new strategy for afro-futurism, these tribal futurist undertones where, according to him, the future meets the past.

All images Courtesy of Nicole Klagsbrun Gallery

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Urban Safari The people, places and things that make

Johannesburg the economic and cultural hub of Southern Africa text_Yolanda Sangweni photography_Liam Lynch

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Johannesburg is a city of contrasts. On the one hand it is one of the most developed (and economically viable) cities in Africa, on the other it is an urban jungle, the largest man-made forest on earth with one of the highest crime rates in the region. There are gated communities with million dollar homes, electric fences and multinational CEO’s chauffeured in the latest imported cars. It is hardly what most people imagine when they think of Africa. Scattered around the city are informal shantytowns populated by migrants from the rural areas and immigrants from Southern African countries like Malawi and Zimbabwe. The disparity between the “havenots” and the “have-mores” is disparaging. The poor are left to fight for few resources and often make meager wages. Recently this tension came to a head when xenophobic attacks escalated to a national crisis level this past May (62 people were murdered and many more left displaced). Those doing the attacking claimed the makwerekwere (immigrants) were taking their jobs. It is the oldest story in the book. Some say Johannesburg is still rebirthing itself after nearly 40 years under an apartheid regime and so it must go through it’s own growing pains. “We’re still a very young city,” says Zam Nkosi, a former actor and now businessman during our meeting at a television production house in the northern suburbs of Joburg. “I think Joburg is always renewing itself. It’s only a little over a hundred years old and it’s been destroyed and rebuilt like three or four times.” Though Johannesburg is known by many names to the nearly eight million people who live here - Jozi, JHB, J-section, J-Live, eRhawutini - by far the most descriptive name for the city is eGoli (the City of Gold) because of the discovery of gold in 1886. By 1875 the once barren city was soon home to nearly 100,000 people (many from the UK, Europe and the United States), all looking to make it big in gold. The discovery of gold led to a demand for cheap labor, provided by black men from the surrounding rural areas. Even then the rich got richer, while the poor lived in squander, often leaving their families behind for long stretches of time (black mine workers could only go home once a year). The first time I visited Joburg I was stuck by how hilly some parts of it were, only to be told the yellow structures were not hills, but gold mine dumps that stand as a stark reminder of the city’s history. In a sense Johannesburg was born and continues to thrive on the idea of a “gold rush,” a constant quest for wealth. Call it the New York of Southern Africa; a city where dreams are made, and more often than not, broken. Yet despite the problems of the city there is a surge of upward mobility among the black and Indian population that cannot be ignored, many of whom now reap the benefits of democracy, and most importantly, capitalism. On a recent visit to my family in Joburg I was shocked by the number of Hummers on the road. “Aren’t gas prices crazy?” I ask. “Status is so much more important,” snickers my sister Thandi. Filmmaker and longtime Joburg resident Khalo Matabane concurs. “It’s a city of greed,” he says when we met at a nearby mall. “I’ve never been anywhere where people talk so much about who they are, what they drive, what they wear. Everyone wants to define themselves as successful.” Like many cities around the world experiencing a cash flux (Moscow, Mumbai and Luanda come to mind), Joburg is in it’s own season of ‘living it up.’ And the often imported tastes of the nouveau riche are everywhere – from the Louis Vuitton and Gucci boutiques and bauble diamonds to the Italian restaurants that pepper the landscape. Sure I should be happy about everyone’s success because black people had it bad for so long, but that still does not alleviate the guilty pangs I feel when I see how so many people are still living in poverty. And now that we have money, do the majority of nouveau riche South African women really have to look to the likes of Donatella Versace and Kimora Lee Simmons as style icons? I was exhausted by the sheer number of bauble-diamond rings and celebrity-esque shades with gold coin medusas. Once considered a no-man’s land, downtown Joburg is being gentrified

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and is now home to cafes, nightclubs and million rand (the South African currency) loft apartments. Artist Lawrence Lemoana lives in a renovated warehouse in the heart of city. “The whole building is full of people who are in the arts,” he says as we enter a cavernous industrial elevator up to his studio and living space. “Some of our friends do still think we’re kind of crazy for living here,” he says of the space he shares with his girlfriend, who is also an artist. “Living here is not really convenient and the area shuts down at 5pm because it’s still fairly industrial. But my living space is unbelievable. I’d never find this in the suburbs. At night the hookers come out and sometimes people light bonfires on the street. It can be surreal, yet inspiring.” The buzz of the city is always Lawrence’s backdrop. And how loud it is. Downtown Johannesburg gives you a sense of what a real African city should feel and smell like. There are people everywhere, selling everything imaginable: mixtapes, bootleg DVD’s, sheep’s head and cow innards. It’s also where you’ll find some of the best street food in the city. From the magogo’s (grannies) selling steamed or grilled corn to the shisanyama’s (bbq joints) where men gather to barbecue fresh meat and socialize, there is always the feeling that amidst the craziness you can always rely on finding a good cheap meal. Granted the idea of eating food on the street is something I picked up growing up in New York City. I was always disturbed by the fact that in Joburg if you can avoid it, you don’t walk. Everything requires a car ride, even the supermarket around the corner. The city’s transportation infrastructure is weak, to say the least, and so most people without cars rely on the informal taxi (known as combi’s) system. The combi’s are essentially 12-13 seater minivans, but of course, this is Africa so that number is often exceeded. The combi drivers are more often than not, loud and rambunctious, but you deal with it because that’s the order of things around here. Though squeezed into a minivan taxi with 12 other people can be an uncomfortable situation it can also be one of the most interesting rides if someone strikes a debate about politics or the economy. “Talk about keeping your ears to the street,” said a journalist friend of mine. Once in a while you’re lucky enough to come across a great story just by listening to people gossip in the taxi. It is on these loud city streets that so many cultures meet, the old and the new, the imported and the homegrown. Traditionally clothed women walk next to hip hop heads with skinny jeans and fake Sean John tees (who really wants to pay the equivalent of $90 for the real thing?) A few years ago former actress and designer, Nkhensani Nkosi, through her company Stoned Cherrie, was one of the pioneers of a style called “Afro-chic” where the colorful traditional fabrics and styles were modernized. It’s not uncommon today to see young people casually dressed in traditional African clothing. There is development everywhere, from high-end apartment clusters to multinational corporations that have recently reinvested in South Africa.

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Lawrence Lemoana Age: 26 Occupation: painter Where are you from? Soweto, Johannesburg Describe a perfect night out in Joburg. Hanging out outside Antz in Melville and the going to Fuel in Newtown and then to Braamfontein in downtown Joburg. What inspires you about the city? It’s edginess. It’s not a completely comfortable place to be in, like when you walk down the street you need to be aware who’s behind or beside you, but there are certain safe spaces. Define Joburg style. I don’t think there’s one word to describe Joburg; it’s safe, it’s unsafe, it’s intense, it’s calm all at once. If you could write a song or book about Joburg, what would you call it? “The Place of Noise.” Do you feel like a citizen of the world? Yes. What does the world not know about Africa? People still think we have lions roaming the street and couldn’t believe that I had white friends who were born and raised in Africa. Europe and the rest of the world has access to lots of information about Africa but a lot of people choose not to use it. Why do you do what you do? I read a book by Wim Botha where he said “the artist’s existence is to insert doubt into what is always certain.” I try to change perspectives and perceptions in my own way. What makes you loyal to Joburg and Africa? It’s a young city with lots of potential to grow. Who or what is your greatest love? My greatest love of the moment, and for the last five years, is my girlfriend and my art. What can’t you live without? My space, my laptop and digital camera. What words do you live by? I can’t think of a corny line.

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Khalo Matabane Age: In my late 30’s Occupation: Filmmaker Where are you from? I’ve been here for 18 years. Like everyone else, the story of Joburg is the story of migration, people looking for something they can’t find where they come from. Describe a perfect night out in Joburg. Great music, dancing, beautiful women. How does the city’s energy affect your creativity? The city as a physical structure doesn’t really affect my work, but the people in the city that are really interesting. Define Joburg style. Joburg is an interesting place because it’s a battleground for the world; we’re African but we’re Westernized. There’s American and British culture here too. [laughs] We don’t have much Asian flavor yet. It’s also a city of dreams and broken dreams. If you could compare it to any other city, which would it be, and why? It’s got the psychosis of Los Angeles; that adrenaline rush of people wanting to be successful. Everyone is walking on a runway, like ‘see me. I am somebody.’ Joburg is probably the most un-African city I’ve ever been to, but it’ not cosmopolitan enough. It’s not diverse. Everyone will drink Moet and eat Italian food because it’s the thing to do and because they can be seen there. Do you feel like a citizen of the world? No, I feel completely South African. There is some ugliness to this city and there is so much disparity between the rich and the poor it’s disgusting and it’s unacceptable. What makes you loyal to the city and Africa? Joburg is the only place in South Africa where you can live and make films. I have a very complex relationship with the city because at one stage I love it and I feel free and then at another stage I’m like ‘what am I doing here?’ I think what really makes a city great is not the mega-buildings, it’s the culture, the fact that you can find different worlds within that city. We’re not quite there yet. I think we’re not evolving fast enough as a city. We’re moving back downtown and buying million rand lofts, but what does it really mean to be Joburg in 2008? Does it mean more skyscrapers and fast trains like you’re in Tokyo? Right now you go to Sandton [mall] and everything is Gucci and Louis Vuitton. We need to make this city much of a cultural center of the continent. Why do you do what you do? Because of my fear of dying so I hope that my ideas will always live. It helps me understand human nature better, every time I make a film I feel like I get more understanding of human society. I’ve seen the South African response to my work and I know it matters. There’s nothing as incredible as people saying, ‘what you did moved me.’ Who or what is your greatest love? Women What can’t you lie without? Love What words do you live by? Integrity.

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Gavin Morgan Age: 30 Occupation: Skateboarder/Artist

Adrian Day Age: 29. Occupation: Skateboarder, company owner, writer. Where are you from? Johannesburg. What do you call Johannesburg, and why? Jozi I guess, but it feels so overused. In print I’ll write JHB. Describe a perfect night out in Joburg? Not getting shot? I don’t really party in the city anymore. From time to time I’ll head out for something in particular, but I find it quite stressful. What inspires you about the city? Sometimes the weird shit some kook may have written on a wall. And you can piss wherever you like. How the city’s energy affect your creativity? Well, from a skateboarding perspective using the architecture that exists is an obvious one, and then a lot of our outlooks and artworks for Familia are influenced by the grimy and predominantly negative aspects of the city, whether it shows directly or not. Define Joburg style? There is no definitive style. Its style is a mish-mash. Clean to dirty, colorful to dull, safe to deadly. If you could write a song or book about Joburg, what would you call it? The Dichotomy. If you could compare Joburg to any other city, which would it be, and why? I couldn’t. It really isn’t comparable, at least in terms of where I have been. Do you feel like a citizen of the world? Yes. What does the world not know about Africa? That they could do more to fix it, as in many ways they broke it. How about getting rid of a certain someone in Zimbabwe? What makes you loyal to Joburg and Africa? I feel a connection to my roots, but ideas like patriotism seem stupid to me. I think we should think in terms of the planet or world. And I feel transient, I may well not stay here. There’s a lot to be experienced all over. I love Barcelona, SF, NYC... Who or what is your greatest love? My girl Eva, my Three Legged Dog and skateboarding. What is your greatest indulgence? Windhoek Draught. Namibia’s finest. What can’t you live without? Skateboarding. When are you happiest? Skateboarding a backyard pool with friends and heading out to the bar afterwards. Why do you do what you do? It’s blood. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t so. What is your present state of mind? Anxious. What words do you live by? All it takes is doing.

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Where are you from? Johannesburg What do you call Johannesburg, and why? (Jozi, eGoli,, etc…) I usually call it joburg. Names like Jozi or eGoli seem fabricated to me, i grew up with joburg. Still my 2 brothers and 2 of my friends have Jozi inked on their bodies. Describe a perfect night out in Joburg? Joburg city has many vacant buildings. Political, social and economic confusion pushed investors to sell buildings for dirt-cheap so they could get out as fast as possible. These buildings lie empty waiting for profit. Many people have seen potential in these spaces and for the right price use them. So a perfect night out in joburg is going to an art exhibition in a space you have never been to before. Being completely out of your element and seeing the city from a new perspective. What inspires you about the city? In joburg city you have these huge Billboards that deface beautiful buildings so the rent can get paid. That’s one example of how people take from the city and give nothing back. The inspiring thing is that Joburg will always exist and adapt for people to take from it. How the city’s energy affect your creativity? When you go to the city its difficult not to be influenced by it. If you take the time to look around you see some pretty random stuff. Familia did a skateboard video called Bang Chong that was filled with imagery from the city. When you watch the video and see all these clips of joburg you realize how raw the city actually is. I mean we got a shot of this guy pushing a slaughtered cow around the city in a trolley. Where else are you gonna find something like that? Also its not like we go to the city to find this imagery for commercial value. We’ve skated the city for years and this is what we’ve witnessed. Define Joburg style? Hand made. If you could write a song or book about Joburg, what would you call it? Pirates Treasure If you could compare Joburg to any other city, which would it be, and why? I’ve been to London, Barcelona, LA and SF but these cities do not compare. Are you a part of an African renaissance? Yeah, a drop in the ocean. I was skateboarding library gardens on the weekend. Library gardens is a spot in the city where a lot of kids meet up to skateboard and hangout. When we started skateboarding there it was just a small group of us. Now when i go there i see groups of new faces coming there to skateboard. I think people skateboarding is something positive and the energy definitely spreads. Do you feel like a citizen of the world? In Africa you feel pretty disconnected from the rest of the world. What does the world not know about Africa? Joburg is one of the biggest man made forests in the world. What makes you loyal to Africa? I’m leaving pretty soon so i guess I’m not loyal to Africa. Who or what is your greatest love? My family. What is your greatest indulgence? Maybe Chocolate. What can’t you live without? A shower. When are you happiest? When I’m riding my skateboard. It’s when i feel the most true to myself and that makes me happy. Why do you do what you do? It largely has to do with passion. Thinking of something you want to do and making it happen. What is your present state of mind? To make a choice and stick with it. What words do you live by? respect yourself and others

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Zam Nkosi / Nkhensani Nkosi Occupation: Producer (Zam) Designer and producer (Nkhensani) Describe a perfect night out in Joburg? Nkhensani: Three children later, the only time we really get to go out is during Fashion Week, otherwise I’m really more about being in good company. Zam: A perfect night out is the perfect night in. We’re all partied out. What inspires you about the city? N: There’s an urban energy that exists here that doesn’t exist here or other place I’ve ever been. There’s been an exodus of people from all over the continent. Z: The diversity. Seldom do you find such a hodge podge of people and cultures. It’s allowed me to speak multiple languages. Joburg is the economic hub of the continent, which naturally draws people. No two days are alike here. How does the city’s energy affect your creativity? N: It’s unpredictable. There’s just an aliveness that’s inspiring. Z: As a commercial artist I have to constantly be servicing my clients needs therefore I have to be inspired as a means to an end. I’m inspired because I have to be. Define Joburg style. Z: There’s no such thing. That’s like saying what is the quintessential South African. N: But there is a new boldness. the youth culture is bold and assertive and eclectic. If you could write a song or book about Joburg, what would you call it? Z: I’d write two songs. One about Joburg the beautiful and Joburg, the belly of the best. Like life, this city is what you make it. It does have a dark side but I think if you focus on the positive aspects of it then that’s what your experience will be. What makes you loyal to the city and Africa? Z: History, purpose. We’ve had opportunities to live in other parts of the world. There’s the school of thought that you can move to another place, get skills and come back and teach others or you can empower yourself in the space that you already occupy and affect the change that you want to

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see, so said Mahatma Gandhi. Our view was we want to be here because we gripe so much about the crime and slow economy and corruption and those sorts of things. But if you’re not part of the solution then you are a part of the problem. N: It’s where we come from. We’re the people of this land so we must continue to make change happen and not wait to see what the government will do for us. What does the world not know about Africa? N: For so long we haven’t been in control of how we positioned ourselves, someone else was telling our stories. The other day my son saw a jar of African potato cream and said “So what do white people use on their skin?” I was like, ‘no, African doesn’t mean black and it doesn’t mean it’s only for black people.’ I’m always amazed when we do shows overseas because people expect to see something either incredibly traditional or tragic. They don’t even expect that you can speak English or articulate yourself. Z: We have to take some responsibility for that though. It’s really about us being more creative and dynamic about representing ourselves instead of sitting back and going, ‘oh that guy told a crappy story about me.’ I think the world is tired of Africa, the victimized, the poverty-stricken, No one wants to know about that anymore. Who or what is your greatest love? Z: Love N: God What is your greatest indulgence? N: There’s so many...My kids, definitely. Back in the day I would say shoes Z: It’s a combination of all those little things that give me that sense of contentment. What can’t you live without? N: Sounds corny but its love and laughter. Z: [laughs] She loves dates squares and reality shows. When are you happiest? N: At home after work with my family.

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Photography_Mikaela Gauer

Rock nâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Roll Circus

Diesel

flash

lucky 7

Stylish New Yorkers at Y-3 Store Opening 1_How would you describe your personal style? 2_Who is styles ahead? 3_What is more important, style or fashion?

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Justine Sherry (Y-3 Employee) 1_A mix of old and new. I don’t like to follow one complete trend. 2_The Olsens. We’re the same age, and I feel like I’ve grown up observing their style and how it is constantly evolving. 3_Style. Fashion is for everybody, but style is really ‘to each his own’! *Made the necklace she is wearing.

Danny Chavis (Apollo Heights)

Darling Cait (Singer/Songwriter)

1_Me, me, me!!! 2_Sid Barik from early Pink Floyd. I love that mod and early soul music! 3_Style. I mean, I’m here (Y-3 party) for the champagne. I’m wearing the same thing I wore last night!!

1_Vintage, nostalgic, rock n’ roll glam! 2_I love Jack White; he is so fresh and minimalistic. I also really like Lyke Li’s sound, look and energy. And definitely Alexandar McQueen. 3_Style. I need to make it my own. Combining old and new is the only way to progress with your style.

Yoshito (Photographer)

Atsuki

1_Two words: Marc Jacobs! 2_No one. 3_Fashion.

1_Simple and soft. 2_My brother. He dresses nicely. 3_Both! Style and fashion.

Jamie Nelson (Photographer)

Andrew Lockhart (Projekt: NYC)

1_Vintage and edgy 2_Definitely Sonia Rykiel. 3_Style, because it’s the innate ability to mix and match clothes, as opposed to just picking up designer labels.

1_Libertarian. I just wear what I want, when I want to. 2_Belgian design and aesthetic. I love everything that comes out of Antwerp. It is creative and practical. 3_Style, cause it’s all about wearability. Fashion is for the masses.

oakley.co.uk/kye

British Pro BMX Rider Kye Forte wears Oakley Factory Pilot T