Molly Donahue, formerly of the band Love Story, recorded her first solo album this year, entitled Metal Alvin, which is due out at the end of this month. In addition to this, Molly also has a photo blog where she records her life separated into different segments- namely, “eats,”(food) “out of doors,”(nature) “animalia,”(animal friends) “noir”(spooky landscapes) and “people and places.” Friend, fan, and fellow flower girl, Frances Tulk-Hart, sat down with Molly to discuss the inspiration behind her new project.

Frances Tulk-Hart: Hey Molls, I had so much fun shooting you for your new up and coming album, Metal Alvin. Can you tell us a bit about it starting with the rather obscure name? Where did Metal Alvin come from?

Molly Donahue: I had a blast shooting, too. Metal Alvin just sort of came out of nowhere one night, hanging out with Renn and Jason (Love Story band members) and leaving obscure comments on websites. I guess you could say I used it as a ghost name and it just sort of stuck. I like the way it looks on paper and think it rolls off the tongue nicely. People will hate it or not understand it and that’s okay. Such is life.

Frances: What was the inspiration behind the album?

Molly: I’m at a place right now where I’m really missing the woods and open land and the quiet, and i think that is pretty evident in the songs. Oh, and birds. They make quite a few appearances throughout the album…

Frances: This is your third album, but your first solo album. How was it working on your own as opposed to collabing with  your old band “the love story”?

Molly: The Love Story was pretty magical. We fed off of one another easily and songs just formed out of thin air, no composing required. That’s a pretty special thing and made it really easy to be in a band. It helps that they are two of my dearest friends. But I started out as an extremely shy musician. Still am, actually. My dad was my only audience until I began sending Renn Cassettes via snail mail. This album has been a long time coming. It’s very quiet in comparison to The Love Story, which is on purpose.

Frances: You are also a rad DJ. Which band or singers do you think you have a similar sound to? And where do you play?

Molly: Hmm… Vocal-wise I’ve been compared to everyone from Dolores O’Riordan to Siouxsie. They’re both huge compliments but I don’t hear it at all. I just hear myself. It’s hard to separate yourself from your own voice. And Metal Alvin live? We shall see. I have mind-buckling stage fright.

Frances: If you could have any pop star, dead or alive, over to your house for a dinner party, who would it be?

Molly: Oh man, Kurt Cobain. I was 14 when Nevermind came out. That’s a shape-shifting age. How about I go with the less cliché answer and say Liz Phair. Exile in Guyville is a perfect album, start to finish. Her lyrics are brilliant. and she inspired me to learn to play the guitar.

Frances: If the race for the presidency ended up being between Sarah Palin and Kim Kardashian, who would you vote for?

Molly: Ha! Wow. That’s a nightmare in the making. Politics are so depressing. If I have to choose I say Kim Kardashian. I’d rather the earth be plastered in makeup than covered in an oil slick, though I guess they are essentualy the same thing. Humans can be such monsters!

Frances: And finally, what was your New Year’s resolution? Did you figured one out?

Molly: Just to live long and prosper. Is that a Star Trek quote?

You can buy a CD, download an MP3, or buy a cassette by clicking here (yes, you read right. You can still buy a cassette).
Photos by Frances Tulk-Hart

Although the Long Island-based quintet Twin Sister just released their first full-length album, In Heaven, this fall, the band has previously released two EPs (Color Your Life in 2010 and Vampires With Dreaming Kids in 2008), and they have enough unofficial material online to create at least two additional albums. The band’s five members—singer Andrea Estella, keyboardist Dev Gupta, bassist Gabel D’Amico, guitarist-singer Eric Cardona and drummer Bryan Ujueta—first met on the Long Island band circuit, where they grew up in adjacent towns. They officially formed a band in the summer of 2008, layering Andrea’s breathy vocals, which range from a suffused whisper to kittenish purring to a ghoulish rasp, with the band’s hypnotic dreamscape sounds. Since then, they have gained worldwide renown and a cult-like following.

As Twin Sister’s European tour was winding down, Andrea sat down before her Parisian show to speak with us about the band’s homegrown approach to making music videos, old versus new songs, her obsession with zany hairstyles and how Nickelodeon led her to her first rock experience.

Sarah Moroz: You played a cover from Italo-disco maestros La Bionda when you played your Paris concert last year. I can’t think of anything more different than your sound, and yet it was one of the most fun and electrifying covers I’ve heard. How did you decide to do that song?

Andrea Estella: I don’t know how we chose that song, actually. I think I or one of us found the video on YouTube. We really liked [it] and were like, “Oh, we could do this!”

Sarah: Are there any other covers you’d be interested in performing?

Andrea: We haven’t really been working on any in a long time. We’ve been playing longer sets now than we used to; we have more music now. We might work on another cover; I don’t know what yet, though.

Sarah: So can you talk a bit more about the new stuff?

Andrea: We’re playing songs from the album In Heaven. So, it’s kind of pushing some of the older ones out of the way, but we’re still keeping a couple—even bringing back one or two that are really old, and then trying to work out the new songs. We’ll practice them when we get home so they’ll be better developed. We started the tour playing “Kimmi in a Ricefield” and then we stopped because we felt it wasn’t ready yet, even though it’s probably fine. We’re just crazy.

Sarah: On your blog, you have work that references both Kimmi and Lady Daydream in the titles. Can you tell me more about your work as a visual artist? What is the relationship between the art you make and the songs—–do the two bleed into each other?

Andrea: They bleed. Originally with Kimmi, I made a story—a short story. It changed a little bit for the lyrics, shortened the story even more. I just made up characters. And then we made it into a video, which is another version of Kimmi. But that original was a very innocent little…like an anime character.

Sarah: Can you talk a bit more about the child-like tropes? I feel like that’s a bit of a theme. In the video for “Bad Street,” there’s a piñata and chalk drawings—there’s a playfulness.

Andrea: Even me and my boyfriend—he’s the bass player [Gabel d’Amico]—we’re really childlike. We’re always talking in baby voices (laughs), being idiots. I think we’re just a bunch of dopey kids, so it just comes through. I love cartoons and toys and kids.

Sarah: What was your first concert?

Andrea: My dad surprised me. I came home from school one day when I was like…nine—eight or nine. I don’t know if you know the show Pete and Pete? It used to be on Nickelodeon II. They’re brothers and they’re both named Pete. And there was a band at the time that was kind of popular, Luscious Jackson…?

Sarah: Yeah! “Naked Eye!”

Andrea: So they were on an episode of Pete and Pete, and I started getting into the band. I came home one day, and my dad loved to surprise me so he just put me in the car and his friend came, and we saw Luscious Jackson. I was like the youngest kid there, and I still have this tank top that has Luscious Jackson written kind of graffiti-style on it. That was my first show.

Sarah: Do you ever try to channel anyone or use other front women as inspiration for being onstage?

Andrea: I don’t think about it too much. I do like Cyndi Lauper, but I’m not really like her ’cause she’s kind of insane and she does really weird dance moves, stuff like that. I also like how Björk is onstage. She doesn’t talk very much. She just kind of dances silly, like I do, but not as weird as Cyndi Lauper.

Sarah: You have had all different types of hairstyles over the years. Even now, your hair is in this really pretty kind of crown braid. Is that part of your style in general, or is that part of your “I’m performing” style?

Andrea: Hair is like a hobby in my family. When I was in middle school or even younger, my mom let me dye my hair so I had blue hair and purple. Me and my sister would get into extensions and my brother would have to have a mohawk—we’ve always been into messing with our hair. Whenever I go home, my sister is always getting me to dye my hair.

Sarah: So do you have your eye on a next style?

Andrea: I have a tub of violet hair dye that I want to use but now I’m not so sure because this blonde, with the weather changing, is breaking. But I really want to dye it light, light lilac or violet. Sometimes I have sea foam hair and all of a sudden brown, normal; blonde. And I wear wigs. I mess around with all that stuff. I like looking different every day.

Sarah: Being from New York, does being a “New York band” mean anything to you?

Andrea: I mean, we just are a New York band. We all grew up in New York; we’re all from Long Island. We grew up going to the city as kids. We just are a New York band—it’s not like we moved there for college and met up with other kids from Arizona. My family’s in New York. It must feel different for other bands. They go there looking for whether they’re going to be a painter or model. They go there and they’re like, “Yes, I made it! I’ve been here for four or five years. I’m a New Yorker!” I’ve been going to shows since I was in high school in New York.

Sarah: But does being a New York band have a kind of connotation of creative locality? Do you feel part of a New York music community?

Andrea: I guess there are different pockets of people. My friends have always been New Yorkers because we’ve been going to shows there since we were kids. But then there are other people who go there because it’s a hip place to be and it’s this whole cool, hip scheme to play a certain bar in Williamsburg or whatever. We just play wherever. We like Silent Barn. I don’t know; it’s weird when I talk about Brooklyn… There isn’t much going on on Long Island so you just go and travel to Williamsburg. It’s more popular than it ever was. Now it’s like overload, but it’s cool. Especially from touring around the US, there are a lot of special people that need a special place to go that their hometown can’t give them.

Sarah: You made all these extra mp3s available online: demos, different versions of songs that didn’t make it on the album… It’s quite generous to share all of that. Musicians are usually very careful about what songs they release to the public. Why did you decide to put all these songs in varied stages of completion out there?

Andrea: Originally, we used to show ideas to our friends, because we weren’t a band yet. We just didn’t care. Some of them would jump on that idea and think it was really cool. Then it turned into strangers listening to it. I like some of the earlier ideas, unfinished recordings. People are evolving with music because no one really buys music anymore. It’s also cool because you put it on the website and it’s free and [people] like it. It’s better than them getting it from some rip on YouTube. It’s just nice to see early versions of finished songs too.

Sarah: What about the videos? How much do you get involved in those?

Andrea: Oh, I get in there. I’m bad at letting go. I was a visual artist before being a musician, which became more dominant. [The videos] are my way of getting visual with music, which is so fun. I did the art direction for the music videos that we have so far: “All Around,” “Bad Street” and then “Kimmi in a Ricefield.” “Kimmi in a Ricefield” was a big, nice studio. We got to work with a big, nice open space and a team. That one was a step up. It came out cool. It was a 22-hour day, and I got minor hypothermia from that video. I did the art directing but then I also had to do the acting. Luckily, I had a friend to help me with the art direction while I was acting. I sat in cold water in wet clothes on my knees all day, but it was so much fun. Music videos are so old school—when you’re little, you watch music television. It’s my favorite part. It’s like, “Oh, I can’t wait ‘til the music video comes out!” It’s really important to me.

Sarah: ”All Around and Away We Go” is a really funny video—it doesn’t visually match the sound at all.

Andrea: We were supposed to have a studio space…the guy was supposed to pick up the key, but we got locked out. We ended up going to this house on Long Island that we were living in and using it as a practice space, and we had to shoot it in the house. We didn’t have enough room to pull the camera out far enough, [so] we had to cut a lot of it. Dance scenes don’t look good unless it’s the whole body. We had to do from the knee up, which doesn’t register as much. And then we did a lot of stop-animation. It was really fun.

Sarah: The contrast of the kitschy feel with the ethereal sound is quite unexpected.

Andrea: What inspired us for that video was Teen Dream, this little pop trio. They had a one-hit wonder sort of thing. Their video is really scary, because they have a stop-motion animation of a guy coming in and he has a paper body and his head is an actual photograph and it’s moving and then he falls apart and then he comes back together—and there are clouds going by behind him and weird three-dimensional shapes. Then it goes to three girls dancing with a projection on them… The song is “Let’s Get Busy”, it’s from the ’80s.

Sarah: There’s one line I really like: “Feel the power of my many destinies.” Does it feel like you have many destinies?

Andrea: Already, when I go home I want to work on sculptures. I’m really into food, too. I don’t think music is the only thing for me. I’m a Gemini; I want to do many things. So yeah, there are many destinies for me. There’s a lot of time, so I hope to do more—maybe work on other music videos with other people, like friends who are in bands. Oberhofer, they’re also a Brooklyn band; I’d like to make their music video. They don’t have a music video yet. I’d be a lot of fun. There’s no money in that either (laughs).

Sarah: Right, well, why start now?

Andrea: (Laughs) Yeah, why? I’m going to live with my parents forever!

Image by Shawn Brackbill

Psychologist Erik Erikson once noted, “It is human to have a long childhood; it is civilized to have an even longer childhood. Long childhood makes a technical and mental virtuoso out of man, but it also leaves a life-long residue of emotional immaturity in him.”

In other words: Youth is crucial. It’s fragile and complicated. It surrounds us, and not benignly: youth “preoccupies” and “haunts.” Youth “scars,” and it also “defines.” It’s our past—and yet youth is the future.

Matt Wolf is an independent filmmaker. His first feature, Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell, was released in 2008 to significant acclaim. The New York Times’ Nathan Lee called it “a tender, fascinating documentary,” which he predicted would “delight the cult and instantly convert new members.” It was a film that not only reflected but also contributed to the legacy of the enigmatic musician.

But my opening question to Matt is not about Wild Combination and it’s not about what he’s working on, which is what we’re here to talk about. My opening question to Matt is about the first film he ever made—about Matt’s youth and his concurrent roles as a teenager, student and son. (In case you are wondering, Matt’s first film starred his friend, “a butch lesbian with wiry blonde hair,” making out with a piece of Plexiglass in a burnt grass field in California. He can’t remember the name of the film, but it wasn’t Ruby Heat.)

It is exactly this preoccupation with beginnings that Matt will explore in Teenage, his cinematic collaboration with Jon Savage (author of England’s Dreaming: Anarchy, Sex Pistols, Punk Rock, and Beyond and Teenage: The Creation of Youth Culture.) Drawing inspiration from Jon’s seminal writings on the subject, the film will trace what Matt terms the “pre-history” of the teenager, and its timeline will culminate just prior to the identification of the age group as a consumer market after World War II.

“We wanted to make a film that had a feeling of being definitive about youth culture,” Matt says, “the way Dick Hebdige’s book Subculture: The Meaning of Style was. But once you get into youth culture after World War II, it gets incredibly dense. There’s so much activity and such explosive teenager visibility that it almost becomes impossible to get into it in a substantive way. We thought it was just a provocative strategy to focus on the pre-history of youth and to tell a story about how the idea of teenagers as we know it was born. It kind of sets up the model of youth that still exists today.”

“I think that’s the potency of the film: In one way you see how much has changed, and that’s significant, but I think what’s more powerful is to see what never changes. The dynamics between adults and youth, between the state and governments and adolescence… Those dynamics don’t really change. But in this period, before we knew what a teenager was, the stakes were that much greater.”

Where Wild Combination was a portrait in nature as in name, Teenage will address identity from a broader angle. The aim is not to profile the teenager as an entity, but to explore it as an idea—in a way that transcends one face or another (although a handful of individuals will have their stories told). The challenge, Matt says, will be to achieve the acute sense of intimacy that gave Wild Combination its power.

“With Arthur Russell, I felt an incredible draw to all the people in the film and to him, and I could just trust that my interest in and emotional connection to them would translate. With this, it’s always a question of how you make the emotional come across. Being a teenager is the most emotionally intense period of everybody’s life—but how do you make the ideas about youth culture and the role of youth and the birth of teenagers an emotional experience?”

When Matt was 14, he thought he’d grow up to be a “professional gay.” He trained other kids to start activist groups at their schools and lobbied State Representatives to change discrimination laws. It was the older sister of a friend who introduced him to music, another word for The Smiths, and showed him how to make zines. His was called Goat Dreams. Perhaps best not to forget that the man making the film about youth had one himself.

“Every decision I make is something that relates to my interests, my tastes, my point of view,” he says. “But at the same time, the film isn’t about me. Jon Savage has said that I’m 28, he’s in his early 50s, we’re both kind of going through our “Saturn return,” that astrological idea that you go through a period of transition and self-doubt every 28 years of your life. So maybe that’s why we’re making a film about teenagers. At the same time, it’s a process that goes beyond why you’re making the film. I couldn’t tell you why I’m making the film. I just know that I’m completely in it and I live in it, and I made that decision at some point and there’s no turning back.”

All stills from Teenage courtesy of Matt Wolf.

“Everything should be beautiful, if you can just start from there.”- AJR

Meet A. Jason Ross, the designer and master craftsman behind a stunning collection of accessories for men and women rapidly advancing into the realm of ‘must have’.  In truth, Ross already has a cult following of fashionistas as well as those who love to indulge in quiet luxury – his designs are absent of, so-called, ‘neon-sign’ labels.

Ross’s design studio is housed in the former Monarch Luggage factory in Red Hook, Brooklyn.  It’s a fitting home for the designer who crafts leather accessories under the name Artemas Quibble and the Creatures of Mme. Du Barry. Upon entering, you know that you are in an artisan’s lair. A visitor is immediately greeted with the sweet smell of leather and the various rhythms of cutting, sanding, hammering, pounding, forging, casting, soldering and buffing, this as artists are busy at work.  Hand-crafted tools, designed by Ross (he has 27 hammers), share wall space with leather swatches, thick, antique leather remnants, deconstructed keys and crops from other metal artifacts. Ross, with the help of lighting designer Robert Ogden collects a lot of antique materials. Huge windows usher in natural light – showcasing the beauty of the rough-hewn wood floors and the artful chaos of the studio’s walls.

The day I caught up with Ross, he was preoccupied with a new collaboration forged with Donna Karan – a stunning collection of belts for Karan’s ‘Casual Luxe’ line. Of course, that’s not all that’s keeping Ross busy these days. He pedals his wares at Urban Zen. There’s a venture with ABC and handbags for Henry Beguelin. He has also developed a bespoke service with Barney’s called the ‘Watch Transformation Project.’  This is not your father’s watchband, nor is it you your mother’s.  It’s a bold, innovative design embellished with an antique metal over-leather hinge, with a short or long, sinewy strap with or without a buckle. The leather’s rich patina lends a sublime elegance to the band.  Says Ross, “The watch mechanism is a very beautiful thing and I love the idea of having the raw, rougher antique metal work next to say a 19^th, 20^th or 21^st century watch.” A WTP band is a final flourish of one’s dress that uniquely presents a vibe that is both rugged and refined.

It’s a curious mix that is representative of Ross himself. Ross is a history and archeology-buff or “geek” depending on how you look at it. It’s that respect for the past that clearly informs his design sensibility. “My daily read is Archeology.org, Arts and Letters Daily and I also read the latest Discovery and that usually leads me to some kind of interesting website which might lead me in a new direction in my work,” he says adding, “I can look to any ancient period to find inspiration.” Ross admits that as a kid he was eager to dig up dinosaur bones in the yard of his family’s home, alas it never happened. During summer camp in Maine however, he recalls digging up old bottles and fragments of old bottles on the site of a former hospital. “I remember that as being tremendously exciting,” he says adding, “I like, with my work, to have history.”

Ross, who is also a guest lecturer at the Parsons School of Design, describes himself as an ‘abstract perfectionist’. When you look at his work, to the untrained eye, it looks like an accident when in fact there are blueprints, laws, rules and ‘illustrated tales’ that describe everything. “When you work with primitive tools which is part of the process of my work and part of what informs it, you have to have laws that govern the construction of the piece because there’s a certain randomness that happens,” according to Ross. He also gives credit to his girlfriend Natasha Chekoudjian, “She is a muse to me and is really amazing at sourcing ancient references.”

A Philadelphia transplant, Ross has been in Manhattan about a year and a half. The decision to make the move from Philly to Gotham was simple: he had a growing list of clients and business contacts in the City and wanted to be more accessible to them. “The reality is, there was not a store in Philadelphia selling my work,” according to Ross. He grew up on Philadelphia’s Main Line in a home appointed with French antiques, “a lot of gilt bronze,” he says. His mother, the late Caren Ross, in the 70’s, created a line of accessories including belts made of bullets under the label Bang Bang. His father Milton Ross was an inventor and manufacturer with an appreciation for Savile Row suits and Mr. Fish shirts. Ross, the younger, was educated at the elite Haverford School before attending Boston University.

He says he never thought he’d be making accessories. He started off making boxes constructed of reclaimed wood, lined with antique papers from engineering drawings. He then began making furniture. Ross developed an interest in accessories after becoming fascinated by leather machinery belting he saw at a wood-worker’s shop he was renting space in. Eventually, he began incorporating leather into his woodworking. At some point, he was asked to make a bracelet for a friend, Doub Hanshaw, who wore it to work. The buyers she worked with became interested in the bracelet and that ultimately translated into an order from Free People.

The label name, Artemas Quibble and Creatures of Mme du Barry, was initially a character to hide behind, as Ross didn’t see himself as an accessory designer – it was so distant from his woodworking. Nor did he see himself in the world of fashion because he was partly intimidated by it. In any case, Artemas Quibble, borrowed from the Arthur Cheney Train novel, had a quirky, enigmatic appeal. The Creatures of Madame du Barry has its roots in a guide to France from the late 1900’s. The curiously charming collision of the two names to create a label for his brand is also partly Ross railing against the machine. The ‘machine’ that, in a world of texts and tweets, compels ppl 2 shrtn evrythng.

With keen attention to detail a hallmark of who Ross is, intrepid photographer Weston Wells and I were eager to ‘pick his pockets’ and examine the details of his existence.

“I cannot walk out of the door without a journal and a pen in the same way I can’t walk of the door with my inhaler, I don’t know if I’m going to need it but I always have to have it,” says Ross adding that as an artist, “You have to be able to archive your ideas.” Ross makes his own journals using antique book covers. He mixes his own ink for the Mont Blanc pen he carries, “Hopefully it looks like the burnt umber you might find in da Vinci’s notebook or something… I dunno.” The specs are antiques. The two leather cases, Ross made for himself. One is a combination checkbook holder and wallet. The other case, in the photo, plays host to miscellaneous items including business cards, his iPhone, which is great for inspiration photos and mapping. A pocket-knife adorns the keychain. “It’s very functional. It seems like I’m always needing a little blade to open a package or cut a piece of leather,” he says. A final detail, not photographed, is what appears to be a remnant of a shirt or other much-loved article of clothing which has been resurrected as a scarf or roughly tied ascot.

Photography by Weston Wells

In the midst of this year’s CMJ festivities, WDRKMR (Alexander Iezzi and Jordan Robin), caught up with Los Angeles-based musician Chelsea Wolfe. They  found her at stylist Jenni Hensler’s Williamsburg loft for a rainy afternoon of dress-up and conversation.

WDRKMR: Photographing you was especially fantastic because of your visible transformation when you get into wardrobe and in front of the camera. Can you tell us about how style and performance affect you as an artist/musician?

Chelsea Wolfe: I really liked working with you guys too. I found traces of flowers scattered down the stairs later. I’m one of those wear-on-the-outside-what-you-feel-on-the-inside sort of people, so getting dressed or dressed up has a lot to do with what’s on my mind or heart any given day. Lately I’ve been really inspired by layers, furs, leather, and jewelry that doubles as a weapon or armor. I don’t consider myself a visual artist at all, so trying to bring together clothing that suits the music is a good challenge for me..

WDRKMR: You started with theater, didn’t you? Were you playing music all the while or did you transition from one to the other?

Chelsea: I didn’t start with theater, actually… I mean, I’ve been indirectly involved with things of that sort my whole life, but it took me a really long time to feel comfortable as a performer and not just someone who records and stays hidden. I’m naturally a pretty hermitic person.

WDRKMR: Either way, there is a very theatrical quality to your music not only because of styling and performance, but there is also a sonic drama that matches the mood of your look. Which would you say comes first? Does the music develop from the mood, or does the mood develop from the music?

Chelsea: They work together. I’m always trying to create an atmosphere and a film screen within each song. I want something bigger than sound.

WDRKMR: Can you identify a moment when your interest in fashion came to be? How would you explain the role of fashion in your work?

Chelsea: I’ve always been interested in fashion, and of course being able to follow collections from afar on the internet helps create constant inspiration. I didn’t understand what sort of silhouettes I wanted or needed for a long time, I would just wear layers of black. But now I’m experimenting more and trying to find the right shapes for me and clothing that brings together form and function. I need to be able to move around and breathe and know that what I’m wearing isn’t going to come apart. I like straps and laces and clasps. I can’t stand wearing something that feels like it’s going to fall off if I move an inch. I like things that look medical or strangely oversized or out of date. Margiela, Ann Demeulemeester, Alexander McQueen, Mordekai, Iris van Herpen…

WDRKMR: What draws you to the dark and often occult objects that you use in styling? For example the detailed headpieces, oversized spikes, horns, etc. We noticed Jenni had a lot of symbolic accessories for you.

Chelsea: I think it’s an affinity for toughness, warriors, nordic folk and white trash… and something elegant mixed in. Kind of black metal in a less blatant way. Yes, Jenni does an amazing job of understanding my all-over-the-place influences and bringing them together in a cohesive way.

WDRKMR: How do you identify yourself and your work? Would you say that Chelsea Wolfe is a musician, an artist, or something other?

Chelsea: I think musician and artist are the same thing for me. I approach music in a way that has privacy and integrity and is influenced more by film, visual art, books, than by other music.

WDRKMR: Would you say you have a different persona onstage or on camera than off? What are the similarities and differences between Chelsea Wolfe onstage and Chelsea Wolfe offstage?

Chelsea: No, pretty much the same. A combination of shy and rage. I am pretty moody, not a jerk, but my mood ranges in extremes within a day, show, hour.

WDRKMR: We have been interviewing a number of people working in different creative fields, we’ve found that while disciplines and process change, there are two constants in the creative world: wandering and dreams. Would you say that these things are part of your process? Also, do you remember your dreams? Can you tell us about a dream you’ve had?

Chelsea: Well, last night I dreamed that Rei Kawukabo brought me some Comme des Garçons dresses in different shades of red. Usually my dreams are very elaborate, like little movies, with lots of colors and shapes. When I was younger I had night terrors, I would scream in my sleep, but really I was just having these repetitive, maddening dreams about one singular object growing large and small over and over. I think it helped shape my perspective of size and distance, which is really kind of off. If you didn’t mean literal dreams, I’ll say I also find dreams as in goals very important. It wasn’t until I started admitting that I wanted to succeed as a musician that I found a single ounce of success. And I still have a very long way to go!

WDRKMR: Can you describe what your process is like?

Chelsea: Creative process? It depends. Sometimes inspiration hits me out of nowhere, like a crush, you know? And I just become obsessed with something without really knowing much about it, or him, or her, and I follow that inspiration wherever it leads. But sometimes I’ll do research on a subject and fill my head with words and pictures pertaining to something that intrigues me and write songs and work on things that way.

WDRKMR:  Are you originally from Los Angeles? I am. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the unique creative energy I find in LA and how it differs from New York, or another city where there is a bit more of a street culture and a more confined space to walk through the streets. I spend a lot of time walking with my headphones and thinking of ideas, but in LA there is a different way of using the place to find inspiration because of car culture and the way the city is set up. Is there somewhere you go or a location you find inspiring? Do you use the city in your creative process?

Chelsea: I’m from Northern California, on the outskirts of the capital city. I think the place I grew up influenced me a lot. A big, old, overgrown house across the street from the train tracks and next-door to a railroad museum. Something about forward-motion and nature mixing with humanity. I’ve lived in LA for a year and it has new inspiration. This glittering darkness, the constant sun and smog, dirty and sparkling. I love it. I’m constantly surprised by new areas of LA and the different feel each place has. I don’t mind car culture because I’m not really one to be out in the open a lot. Walking around with a lot of other people makes me paranoid. But I do love New York and I think in a setting like that I’m able to actually forget that anyone is around me and just pretend I’m alone. If I ever get nervous onstage I use that same trick.

Photographs by WDRKMR (Alexander Iezzi & Jordan Robin)
Styling by Jenni Hensler

Top image: neck piece made of broken mirror shards, made by stylist; gloves, Dolce & Gabbana; dress, Gemma Kahng; headpiece, Bevel

Second image: chain headpiece, Mordekai; neckpiece, Gris Gris; dress, Mandy Coon

Third image: fur arms, Logan Neitzel; tunic, Gemma Kahng; skirt, Mandy Coon; belt and wrist cuff, Mordekai; headpiece, Bevel

Fourth image: neck piece made of broken mirror shards, made by stylist; gloves, Dolce & Gabbana; dress, Gemma Kahng; headpiece, Bevel

Fifth image: fur arms, Logan Neitzel; tunic, Gemma Kahng; skirt, Mandy Coon; belt, rings and wrist cuff, Mordekai

Sixth image: metal halo, Mordekai; leather top, Gris Gris; vintage lace top, Christian Lacroix; skirt, Timothy K;
gloves, Dolce & Gabbana; ring, Bevel

Seventh image: fur arms, Logan Neitzel; tunic, Gemma Kahng; skirt, Mandy Coon; belt and wrist cuff, Mordekai; headpiece, Bevel; belt, wrist cuff and rings, Mordekai

He may wear a suit and speak politely to each fan at length, but make no mistake, the well-mannered actor/director, Crispin Hellion Glover (most widely known for his role as George McFly in 1985‘s highest grossing film, Back to the Future) does not leave much room for social graces in his artistic approach to film.

For the past six years, the pioneer director has been touring with his feature films, What is it? and It is Fine! EVERYTHING IS FINE., two viciously honest reactions to what American culture has long tried to avoid.  The self-financed, unapologetic masterpieces tap into a wide range of taboo topics long shunned by corporate culture via slug slaughter, blackface, sex lives of the disabled, swastikas and songs of Satan with a cavalier disregard for repercussion. However disturbing and strangely hilarious the scenes may be, Glover’s work is not meant to shock or enrage audiences but instead prompt discussion regarding corporate restrictions foisted onto contemporary filmmakers.

Glover has forever balanced his appetite for the strange and unusual alongside working in the mainstream film industry, successfully profiting off of both. Dressed in full drag playing an unforgettable Olivia Newton John impersonator in Trent Harris’ short film The Orkly Kid, Glover was simultaneously playing father to a spry little actor with softly feathered hair and a puffy, burnt orange vest in the biggest film of the year, if not decade. During his presentations in New York City, I voyeuristically watched as a man, nestled inside the hollows of a giant clam, was “pleasured” by a buxom woman holding a watermelon and wondered how much of this he conjured up while on set rehearsing with the (Charlie’s) Angels. Between scenes of rape, murder and Shirley Temple, my thoughts reflected over the fascinating diversity of his extensive career.

I’ve always adored Glover for his distinctive personal projection onto characters such as Rubin “my cat can eat a whole watermelon” Farr in Trent Harris’ Rubin and Ed, the cousin with cockroach crotch in Wild at Heart, my favorite Andy Warhol portrayal in Oliver Stone’s The Doors and, as I was recently reminded, an epic dancer in Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter. Also, weirdo enthusiasts (like myself) have long garnered Glover with iconic cult status for his roles in River’s Edge, Willard, Dead Man, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues and The People vs. Larry Flynt.

After a fifteen year distance from Back to the Future, a favorite of at least two former (Republican) presidents, the new millennium saw Glover’s surprising return to mainstream Hollywood with significant roles in Charlie’s Angels, Beowulf and Alice in Wonderland. Hardly a sellout, the business minded hero of counterculture began taking on big budget roles with the impetus of funding his personal creative endeavors and distributing his feature films. With two in the can, it appears his parallel enterprises have achieved remarkable synergy.

The Hollywood hustle has allowed for some of the most thought provoking, unrestrained cinematic material from the offbeat character actor turned serious entrepreneur. The eccentric director prefaces each feature a la vaudeville style with a quirky live presentation, Crispin Hellion Glover’s Big Slideshow (a one hour dramatic narration displaying several of his reinterpreted books, available for purchase). Following the slideshow and film, a courteous – but cunning – Glover gives audience members an opportunity to respond to his work during a lengthy Q&A. Viewers have a chance to ask the notable figure anything their heart desires, or, if they wait in line long enough, they can meet one-on-one to have books signed and pose with the enigmatic star.

Photographer Rosalie Knox and I stood for hours to be last in line in hopes of scheduling a full interview and photo shoot. When we finally had the chance to meet Glover, we found an adorably humble, charming and well-mannered man behind the hours of disturbing imagery we had just enjoyed (a sharp contrast to the plethora of spoiled, egotistical, unapproachable artists in the industry). He was warm to our ideas and kindly created space for us in his jam-packed schedule.

While waiting to be interviewed after-hours in the beautiful, spacious Greene Naftali Gallery, one of the oldest and most well-regarded galleries in Chelsea, the debonair auteur curiously wheeled himself around in a soft leather chair, one leg over the next, creeping into the darkened spaces with the gait of a daddy long legs. The cult cinema legend was incredibly patient and allotted us an entire evening, his only free time before leaving New York, to model a few looks worthy of a “perfect gentleman” and speak in straight-forward fashion about the fire that fueled his first two feature length films and the uncompromising conviction it has taken to promote and distribute them.

Jacquelyn Gallo: You look super sharp in that suit, like a real gentleman!  I remember watching this old Johnny Cash prison movie (Johnny Cash in San Quentin, 1969) and all of the inmates in the documentary were so well groomed and extremely well spoken. Even though you make films with very violent and erotic scenes, you come off as very old fashioned and gentlemanly, always in a suit and very polite sort of in that 50s/60s style.  Do you feel a sense of nostalgia for the past?

Crispin Glover: I was born in 1964 at Lenox Hill Hospital. My first memories of life were of the city. There was one memory I have of a Christmas party. I remember how the people looked. I remember what the women were wearing and what the men were wearing, their fashion, the Christmas tree, and I was sitting in a bedroom looking at The Ed Sullivan Show. It was a nice party…the men were wearing dark suits and had short hair with Bryl Cream. It had a very conservative look, kind of like what the 1950s looked like. I remember when I moved to Los Angeles in 1967, or 1968 I guess, it looked, as I recall, what hippies looked like. I didn’t like it, I have to say. I missed New York and I’ve always felt that to a certain extent. I’ve always planned to own property here, but I own property in Los Angeles and the Czech Republic. I’ve made proper business investments in those properties and as much as I love this city, I think there’s a non-cost effective element. If you rent an apartment, even if you buy an apartment, you’re still paying money to a corporation. You kind of have to have enough money to buy a whole building to make it really cost effective.

Jacquelyn: Where did you pick up your well-mannered behavior?  From your parents or your idols?

Crispin: I aspire to be well-mannered and yet I have to admit there have been times where I have gotten angry or lost my temper and I regret those times. That, I think, is just bad business. I read How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie…  Much of it has to do with hearing somebody else’s thought process and not proving people wrong. That was maybe the main thing that I learned…You know, it’s still somewhat in my nature but I avoid it all costs.

Jacquelyn: I like that you can make really good work and stand firmly behind your convictions without having to be standoffish to your fans. You allot so much time to answer their questions and meet them after the show. You even signed like a hundred pictures for that one guy!

Crispin: Oh, well that was an unusual situation. I was supposed to do a show in Brooklyn but there was a conflict of interest so I had to cancel. This guy said that a whole group of guys who had been first responders on 911 were planning on going to the show in Brooklyn.  So he had all of these pictures and like two days from now is like the tenth anniversary. I couldn’t really say, “I can’t sign all these things,” so you know that was an extenuating circumstance. You can kind of understand, if somebody comes up and says that, it’s like, okay, I better do this.

Jacquelyn: It does seem like you have a sort of graciousness about you. Where did you learn it?

Crispin: Well, to be fair, I’m actually being a very good business man. I know it sounds bad, but there’s two sides to that. To be rude is terrible business and I’m very passionate about getting these films out. I mean, I was always nice to people when I did signings. It started from 1993 before I started touring [as an actor] with the films, so I’m being a little bit clinical about it. I believe in being polite, in general, but analytically its very bad business to not be polite. Every person that I talk to has had a genuine interaction with me, and maybe not every single one of them will come back for the next show, but it’s far more likely that they will if I’ve had a genuine interaction with them.

Jacquelyn: Ah, I see. Well, you really did make a good impression on everyone. It’s rare to see an artist who also acts like a gentleman.  My friends and I decided you are the type of guy we should be dating. So I’m hoping in reality you really are this person that I’ve created in my head [Glover laughs] that does have these genuine convictions and that you really care about what you do and it’s not at all contrived.

Crispin: Well, I do very much care about my films and going about doing the tours and doing the shows, mainly to get the films out. I have a very strong conviction to the point where it certainly has affected my life. When you talk about it in terms of what that means in relationships with women, it’s not a good lifestyle for that. I’ve been touring for six years. Last year I took a break for three months and stayed in Los Angeles because I think in the previous five years, definitely in the previous two or three years, I hadn’t been in LA, or any city, for more than two or three weeks at a time. And it’s not just the touring, it’s because I own property in the Czech Republic and I act in other people’s films… I started shooting What Is It? in 1996… I never for a second thought I wasn’t going to finish the film. I always knew I was. I felt that I was going to tour the film with my slide show. I didn’t know the specifics of how it would manifest, but I knew I was going to do this. I was willing to do exactly what I’m doing, meaning take the amount of time that I take. If I had a family, if I had a wife and child, I would not be a good father or husband because I just wouldn’t be around enough. It would be bad.

Jacquelyn: Even the fact that you know – and admit – that is important and really admirable.

Crispin: Right, right, and it’s part of the reason I’m not married, and part of the reason I don’t have children, if not the main reason. You know, it’s something to think about but it’s not my main drive. My main drive is to be doing these films that mean something to me and are important to me and I feel like the only way to do that is to be self financing them, self distributing them.

Jacquelyn: Let’s talk about honesty – how important is that for you?

Crispin: It is important, very much to me, for various reasons. I don’t like lies… and it’s interesting you should ask because it’s actually such a central element in my own psychology. Also it has to do with why I do what I do. I do think corporately funded and distributed film essentially is [lies]. Maybe rather than lies you can call it propaganda. There is a different kind of propaganda that exists in the United States. I would heavily argue that the United States is far, far more advanced and accomplished in it’s propagandistic structures than Communist Russia ever was because in Communist Russia the populace knew they were dealing with propaganda and in the United States… barely anybody realizes how heavily propagandized our culture is.

Really, the best thing I’ve been telling people now is to read the book by Edward Bernays titled Propaganda. Edward Bernays is the nephew of Sigmund Freud and he is the literal father of the public relations industry. He came up with the word combination “public relations” to replace the word “propaganda” which had started to have bad connotations after WWI. He wrote the book in 1928, and what’s fascinating about it is it’s not an expose but an instruction manual on how to make propaganda work for various elements in the US government, US academia, meaning education system, and US media. He goes into the specificity of how education needs to be controlled and how media needs to be controlled. It’s such a clear layout of how things work in the United States, once you read that book you cannot see anything else but what it is… As much as 1984 is a nightmarish novel, Propaganda - I don’t know if you call it a nightmare – but it’s a living blueprint of what our culture does. It’s kind of amazing that it’s open to the public and that it’s not as popularly understood. I feel like it should be tenth grade reading, mandatory for every student. Of course, it wouldn’t happen, it wouldn’t happen exactly because of what is outlined in the book. The education system is controlled so people aren’t asking questions and they are being made to not think about things purposefully so control elements are not being questioned. That’s obviously horrible and I do have strong convictions about this.

Jacquelyn: Last night [at IFC] you were talking about dissatisfaction with the overall morality in Back to the Future because at the end of the story, Michael J Fox’s prize or payoff was money and…

Crispin: [interrupts and laughs] Well, it’s a weird crossover right here, because when I go and I do my shows I speak differently than when I do in published media, and maybe I shouldn’t. I’ve been very, very careful about how I talk about Back to the Future since 1984, I almost never talk about the film. Frankly, it’s very difficult for me to talk about it in a fashion that I think is beneficial to myself in the current mood of the culture. I feel that if I say anything, I have to be very careful about it. [hesitates] I’d like to talk about it more openly then I feel like I can. You see, it’s a weird thing, because I should be able to. I should be able to and it does reflect a bit on what we’re talking about because there’s no question that the experience I have with being in that film definitely has a strong impact on what I think about propaganda within this culture. I don’t know that this interview is the best moment for me to go into great detail about it. But [Dossier’s] probably not the kind of publication that is going to have readers that will get angry or upset.

But, that’s the thing that I have to be careful about, [Back to the Future] does have some resonance within this culture, and I’m a part of it, so I have to be careful with my words, because it can have negative impact if I’m not careful. And, to be fair, there are positive aspects about the story structure. Those writers understood story structure well. I have a great fascination for The Hero’s Journey story structure [a basic pattern found globally in narratives]. It is truly powerful and when you’re talking about religion and about government, it is no question one of the most powerful, persuasive forms of communication. If used properly, it’s one of the most beautiful things there can be, and if used improperly, it’s one of the most horrific things there can be.

I’ve had arguments about that kind of thing and I do have strong convictions about that and, like I say, this is probably not the proper place to go into too much detail. But, I feel that Back to the Future definitely had an impact on my thought process about how things should properly or not properly be used in The Hero’s Journey story structure. Now, something that’s very interesting is, I worked with Robert Zemeckis [director and cowriter of Back to the Future] many years later on a film [Beowulf] written by Roger Avary and Neil Gaiman, who are really both very excellent writers who also understand The Hero’s Journey story structure in a very good way. When you were talking about lies and truth it was a very interesting thing to me because the moral of that film did have to do with truth telling and lying. I strangely have a strong affinity for that film, I think it’s a very well written film. The moral actually has to do with truth and lies. Basically, it’s not a good idea to lie which I think is a very good moral.

Jacquelyn: What are your feelings on gentlemanliness and art, can you be both a true gentleman and a true artist?

Crispin: One can be a gentleman in their private life, but sometimes, and perhaps often, there is nothing gentlemanly about good art. In fact, it could be said that good art may seldom be gentlemanly.

Jacquelyn: Spoken like a true gentleman!

More information on Crispin Hellion Glover’s films, books and live performance dates can be found on his website.

Photographer: Rosalie Knox
Stylist: Jenni Hensler 
Stylist’s Assistant: Sheyna Imm
Grooming: Staci Child 

Special thanks to Greene Naftali Gallery 

Stephen Felton has been making art since he was 15, at first drawn to graffiti, spray painting walls turned to coloring abandoned houses and cars shades of pink and purple, he now makes art that is either really simple or really complicated, depending on how you look at it. Felton chooses to call his work ‘documentary’, meaning that on some level what he is expressing changes significantly depending on the given day- he weaves this autobiographical thread by painting on the backs of canvases, having paint flow off the canvas on to the stretcher and even on to the floor, and sometimes very humbly like the rest of us, he draws, crumples up the paper, throws it away and pulls it out of the trash again. Here, he sat down with art critic Timothée Chaillou to discuss abstractions in art, the nature of fragility and modesty in artists.

Timothée Chaillou: Where do you find the symbols and forms you paint? Have you ever done a series with the same pattern or a repetition of the same motif?

Stephen Felton: I knew when I made the decision to become an artist that I wanted to work from a very personal position. Much more akin to the work of someone like Picasso rather than someone like Sol LeWitt. I was always interested in putting myself in a place where I could work more freely. My aesthetic place has always sided with a more minimalist approach. I knew I had my work cut out for me. My work has to do with this ongoing development of a new language for painting that is a hundred percent documentary. A language that has its own rules, even if they are set up to be broken. A language that goes beyond the markings on the canvas to include the entire painting as a whole: everything, from the stretcher, to the canvas, to the floor. Therefore, I knew I had to strip my imagery down to its simplest form. That is why I tend not to think of my paintings in terms of symbols or forms, but in terms of actions only.

Timothée: When you say ‘painting that is a hundred percent documentary,’ do you mean that your paintings are the documentary of their own production; or do you qualify them as ‘documentary’ as a way to say that you found your motifs somewhere in everyday life?

Stephen: When I say a hundred percent documentary, I mean in the sense that I am working from my own experience. If I am working on a painting when I am happy and feeling optimistic I might paint a rainbow. Whereas if I am in the opposite mindset, I might tear a canvas, or something like that.

Timothée: So, your practice is not connected to the idea of ‘found abstractions’ (like Warhol’s Rorschach or Francis Baudevin’s work).

Stephen: I believe in today’s world where we are drowning in history, it is impossible to say no. However, I feel I am searching for something else. I used to believe you need to ‘kill your history’ in order to find some space to work. Now, I believe I am accepting such history a little more. I guess you could say I accept that all my images are found imagery. I just don’t believe I am appropriating these images.

Timothée: Do you attempt to neutralize the idealist and mystical duty sometimes contained in the abstract art?

Stephen: I don’t believe in religion, idealism or mysticism in general: I believe in the act of painting. When one puts something out in the world to be viewed, one never knows what a viewer will take from it. That’s as close as I get to the mysterious. Abstraction has a deep history in dealing with these factors but I think of them as something of the past.

Timothée: Do you look at the work of Philippe Decrauzat, Stephane Dafflon, Blinky Palermo, Imi Knoebel, or Helmut Federle? In your work, what can be identified with the work of these artists and what sets you apart?

Stephen: I admire each and every one of the artists you mentioned. When I think of them in relation to my own work, we differ not so much in image but we do in the ways we approach the act of painting. I would have to say Steven Parrino is someone I feel the greater relationship to. I believe I have set up the rules of my work not so much to predetermine the outcome, but more so to have a place to start. I never really know what I am going to paint from day to day. This allows me to be more aggressive, and work from my gut. I know within my painting it is impossible to make the same painting on Tuesday as Wednesday. I hate to use the term freedom, but I am looking to place myself in a position where I can work freely, not really knowing what is truly going to happen. If I am at liberty to poke fun at myself, I think of my work as being a little less smart than the others.

Timothée: What do you mean by smart in this context? Are you working on a reduce iconicity?

Stephen: I use the term “smart” to signify a type of work that tends to be more conceptually based. I tend to think of the iconography in my work simply as a starting point. Sometimes the image is something mundane, other times it is an explosion. Just like the terms of a day. What I am expressing here, does not only reflect the day to day practice of painting but expends to life. So you could say I have broken down the power of the icon. I prefer the word module, since it signifies more of a building block. Module is a little too close to minimalism, but to me it seems more like a start than a finish.

Timothée: I think that one aspect that move you away from Philippe Decrauzat or Stephane Dafflon is the connection with the Optical Art? Am I wrong? Are or were you interested at some points in the Optical Art movement?

Stephen: I am interested in Optical Art; solely as a spectator. I think that Phillipe Decrauzat and Stephane Dafflon are the two artists who are producing some of the most interesting work in that field. In my own practice though, I feel I am looking to make something a little more raw.

Timothée: You mentioned ‘raw’ and ‘less smart’ to described your work in comparison to these artists. Could you please define this ‘rawness’, this ‘weakness’?

Stephen: I always use the word raw to describe my work because I want it to have an edge, something to bite into. I feel my work does not have this “finished quality” which I believe is a strength. It puts me at a place where the painting is more physical, less programmatic. I am pretty sure I never used the term weakness (laughs).

Timothée: I, maybe, feel a kind of weakness or maybe fragility in your paintings because you paint some “light” and simple motifs, like if they were lost in the big space of the painting, and your drawings are crumpled. Am I wrong? Is it relevant somehow? Is this fragility melancholic?

Stephen: I definitely like the word fragile. A lot of people mention the light in my paintings, this is something I think about. Definitely. I tend to allow myself to show the fact that there is a very human aspect to my work. Melancholic? At times, yes. For instance, you mentioned my drawings. I will make a small painting on paper and crumple it up. Then, I would decide to come back to it and straighten it out; or not. Then it will be trashed. This practice comes from how I think about painting. I work in a way that allows me to be more in the moment, not concerned if the painting is going to work or not. I can always do it over. I have always said I want to go big. I would much rather go big and fail, rather than tip-toeing around some ideas. That is one of the things that brought me to work on the paintings I call “B” sides, where I work on the back of the canvas. It is like having another shot.

Timothée: Do you share Sol LeWitt’s point of view when he says that ‘prolixity created simplicity and unity’?

Stephen: Absolutely. A great debt is owed to someone like Sol LeWitt for paving the way on that ground. Not only to my generation of artists, but also the previous generation. Now as a result, we are in the position to take these histories for granted.

Timothée: Do you try to create in this way?

Stephen: When I am in the studio it is not something I think about. When I am thinking about the bigger picture, I think about the steps of modern picture making. Someone who would be between these steps is someone like Dan Walsh. He is a painter I really admire and someone who I feel is in the middle ground between myself and Sol LeWitt in a way. He is more aware of his own position, but in a more playful way.

Timothée: Could you please describe this liberty? Does this freedom refer to the fragility of your motifs and their supports ?

Stephen: I guess you could say I feel I have the liberty to act in a way that I don’t need to respond to these elements in history because they have already ran their course. When I think about painting, this is something completed. Now to work in what I feel is a modern position I do not need to reiterate something that I believe is already true.

Timothée: As I’ve said before I feel some melancholy in your work, as well as some joy. When one would ask Agnes Martin what would she wanted her pictures to convey she answered that she ‘would like them to represent beauty, innocence and happiness…Exaltation.’

Stephen: I like very much what Agnes Martin said about her paintings, and I cannot think of a more accurate description. If I were to answer that same question, I would love to be able to say something similar. I might just add distraction, misbehavior, disappointment, connection, disconnection, the absurd, fear, excitement, exhaustion, and mortality.

Timothée: Do see your work as tentative? Would you qualify it as modest ?

Stephen: Tentative, yes. I like the synonym conjectural even better. But modest, no. I am interested in making a statement, to me there is no real room for modesty.

Timothée: Could you please go further on this idea that “there is no real room for modesty”?

Stephen: When I think of the idea of making art, I think if it as three things: a culmination of ideas, work and of course, the unknown. When making a painting you have an idea and most of the times you stick to that idea and see the painting through. Other times, you end up on a different path somewhere along the way, so you just go for it to find out where it might take you. What I am trying to explain here is that being an artist requires a certain level of confidence not only in what you already know but also a confidence in your ability to proceed into a new territory with your personal history under your arm ready to take whatever comes at you and make it your own. I am not quite sure this answers your question about modesty, but I guess it describes the way I work. I know modesty is not a word often used to describe me. That is a good thing in the studio.

Timothée: Agnes Martin also said: ‘I considered myself as an abstract expressionist’. Do you think the same about your own production?

Stephen: That is a funny question to answer in 2011, because it feels so out of date. However, I cannot say I don’t like the term. I also cannot say in the most stripped down terminology it does not apply to me. When I think about abstract expressionism I think about letting ones self go, this is at the core something I work with. But then again, I don’t even really like the term abstract either.

Timothée: I was thinking of your patterns as more ‘expressionist’ than, for instance, Philippe Decrauzat or Stephane Dafflon. In a way, when you say about your work that it is less “smart” than us, I was thinking that you were more “expressionist” than them. Is it the meaning you would give to the word ‘smart’?

Stephen: This is true. When earlier I was using the term ‘smart’ what I am referring to is the idea of a rigorous program. So yes, I do believe my work to be expressionistic.

Timothée: Do you consider your paintings as sensual?

Stephen: No. That would be something which exists deeply in abstract expressionism, but it does not apply to me.

Timothée: Do you agree with Olivier Mosset who said ‘What I want is the opportunity to see the painting for itself’?

Stephen: I believe that to be true. Any artwork today should wish to be viewed in this way. Not to mention Olivier is probably the coolest guy whoever walked the planet.

Timothée: Do you think your work is materialistic?

Stephen: I think that most artists are aware they are making materialistic work. Hopefully along the way you are learning from your experiences, from the documentation of the whole process.

Timothée: Do you think that in the pyramid of things, forms precede ideas? Does form lead to thought?

Stephen: Pyramid is a great word. There is no question that images materialize from thought or ideas. Then they move on from there, taking on new meaning, or even sometimes new forms.

When at night we close our eyes, the ensuing darkness wraps us in a blanket of fear. Photographer Lele Saveri’s latest book, Incubi et Succubi, is about turning this notion on its head, bringing his most intimate nightmares to light through visual tales of fear—and love.

Olivia Fincato: Why “incubi”?

Lele Saveri: I wanted to do something around horror. I grew up in Rome with Dario Argento and the [Roman Catholic] Church. I remember going to Dario’s shop; I loved that little museum with props, dummies and images of his movies. Then I remember going to church; my parents weren’t so religious but it was the only place to hang out. I was always fascinated with horror and mystic forces. In this book, I wanted to recreate visually one of my nightmares. I tried to visualize some recurrent images… It was also a way to exorcize them.

Olivia: What is your most hidden fear?

Lele: I am scared of many, many things. Physically, I am very scared of snakes. Mentally, I am very scared of wasting time… If I sleep more then five hours, I freak out.

Olivia: And how do you exorcize those fears….

Lele: For snakes, I directly face them! I did a photography project on snake compositions. I had to touch and move them around. I tried not to think about it and keep doing things…but when I stopped, I started shaking.

Olivia: And why “succubi”?

Lele: Incubi et succubi, incubus and succubus, are two demons, male and female. In the past, they were used to explain nightmares. If you had a bad dream, the Church would explain it as this little evil being coming in the night. If you were a woman, there was an incubus visiting your dreams; if were a man, a succubus.

Olivia: Really sexually related…

Lele: Yes, but I was more interested in the way they were used to reassure people…

Olivia: How long did you work in this project?

Lele: I started a year ago. During this year, I traveled a lot. I went to Sicily and Rome for some religious subjects, then I went to Staten Island to visit some haunted houses… Finally I went to New Jersey to shoot snakes—there are so many snake lovers in New Jersey!

Olivia: Who was the most melancholic character featured in the book?

Lele: I am interested in how the Church would represent the devil in human forms and this subject, the giudei of San Fratello, is very interesting. They are a group of 200 people in a small Sicilian village of 2,000. They dress up during the week of Easter to celebrate the death of Jesus, and they disappear after his resurrection. In the past they were supposed to scare people.

Olivia: They are more odd then scary… What is was the scariest thing you photographed?

Lele: This book was a full immersion into fear. In Sicily, two kids on a scooter tried to rob us in the middle of the day on the main street of Catania. That was scary. Then I was afraid of this big snake biting the owner, or when we got locked in the cemetery of Rome….there was a black cat following us everywhere.

Olivia: Some of the photos are very romantic indeed…

Lele: Fear is one of the most fascinating things for me. It is a strong emotional that makes you feel alive. I look at fear with love.

Olivia: Your girlfriend Giulia was one of the main inspirations for this book…

Lele: During this project, Giulia was always next to me and everything was in some way related to her. When the idea of the title came into my mind, I realized that I’ve been always chasing somebody in my nightmare. She is my succubus. I also like the idea of being scared with somebody else, feeling protected.

Olivia: Together with Giulia, you also directed a short movie, To Lie Under, which corresponds to the book.

Lele: Yes, everything you see on the pages of the book was also filmed. The movie To Lie Under explains the figure of the succube. The soundtrack is amazing. After we shot and edited the piece, the band No Age created the music inspired by the images.

All images courtesy of Lele Saveri

Richard Kern is difficult to pin down. He has shot for some of the most well-known publications in contemporary culture, including GQ, Hustler, and Playboy, as well as independent magazines such as Purple and V Magazine, but it is his work for the subversive cult publication Vice with which his style is most affiliated. Kern has used Vice as a platform to showcase his unfaltering approach to shooting young women. Intimate, candid and almost always nude, his work squares up to the viewer. He provides pace and respite by oscillating between direct confrontation and a more voyeuristic gaze. Adolescence and eroticism play integral roles in his depiction of the ‘regular girl’, and his adopted style, usually reserved for soft-pornography, raises fundamental questions about the relationships between fashion, photography and art. The agent provocateur (and Dossier contributor) took some time to speak with us, and hand picked some of his favorite shots from his vast back catalogue for us to enjoy.

Natasha Arnold: Can you color in your childhood for us a little? Was art prevalent in your upbringing?

Richard Kern: I grew up in a small town in North Carolina so there was zero art in my enviroment or at least anything that was called art other than “art class” in high school. It was a popular class because the teacher never reported us if we skipped school, so I was rarely there. I did know an old man who was an abstract expressionist painter (in addition to being a sign painter). In the 50′s and 60′s I hung out with some adults that I would now think of as arty boho types.

My father was a newspaper photographer, so I learned how to process film, etc, from him when I was in the 5th grade or so. I didn’t think of art as a career choice until I started studying it in college.

Natasha: Who are your key influences?

Richard: Some of the people I was into in college were big influences – Chris Burden, Bruce Nauman, Carl Andre, Joseth Kosuth, and my ceramic sculpture instructor at UNC-CH, a guy named Mike Cendric. The art critic Donald Kuspit taught one semester there and I took him for the History of Modern Art – that was a giant thing to me because he really looked down at the artist types. He preached how we were nothing without the critics. That was the school of thought back then and probably still is now. I was also inspired by an art fanzine in my school library called Artrite by Walter Robinson (and I don’t know who else did it).

Bear in mind this is all in the mid 70′s. My biggest influence was a philosophy of art instructor visiting from Harvard’s philosophy department. The entire semester we discussed the sentence “This is good art” and multiple variations of sentences like that, and went back and forth, breaking them down to basic logic and trying to determine if there is a formula for something to be called “art”. Of course the answer is no.

Natasha: You’ve spoken before about the importance of the ‘regular girl’ and experimentation with models. How fundamental is the casting process to your portraits?

Richard: I only shoot girls I want to shoot. I’m shooting a girl this week because she has blond armpit hair and a blond bush. I think she will work for a bunch of series I’m working on.

Natasha: Freud argued that scopophilia is a natural human impulse (scopophilia:  an infantile habit, the pleasure involved in looking at other people’s bodies as particularly, erotic, objects). What do you make of the detractors who call the voyeuristic/erotic aspects of your work perverse?

Richard: I’d say they are right. For something to appear successful to me it has to have a bit of a sleazy aspect, something that bugs the viewer and makes them feel like there is something about the image that they feel not comfortable with.

Natasha: How do drugs fit into your art practice? Do they inform your process or subject?

Richard: I did drugs at one time but don’t now. I like to shoot people doing them cause they are a sort of hidden thing. I’ve got a great drug project going now called Medicated that’s about medicated teenaged girls.

Natasha: Can you talk to us more about the Medicated series?

Richard: For the medicated series, I’ve shot maybe 20 girls that are on pills or have been on pills since they were young.  There’s an accompanying film in which I interviewed and shot some drug based footage of about 10 girls of all types, that were taking pills since puberty, or still are taking different pills perscribed by doctors to treat various mental disorders.

Natasha: What impact do you think the internet has had on your work?

Richard: Well, I used to sell a ton of DVDs, and that’s dried up now. My show on Vice.com has been really good for me because that mag, although not noticed so much in New York, is really influential worldwide. In a lot of places that Vice is published – I think there’s about 30 offices around the world – it’s the only place for kids to find out about weird and cool things happening outside of their neighborhoods.

Natasha: Are you at a point where you are satisfied with your body of work or is there still subject matter you would like to explore?

Richard: I doubt anyone who is doing any kind of exploration using some art form is ever satisfied with their body of work. What else is there to live for?

Natasha: You’ve shot various decades of girls, do you have a favorite?

Richard: My favorite decade is tomorrow.

Artist David Malek composes otherworldly yet industrial paintings that at first glance look as if they could be digital, but instead are painstakingly handcrafted, rooted in symmetry and color reminiscent of another time. He does all of this with ordinary, hardware store bought materials and a head full of philosophy. Here he talked with Timothée Chaillou about his unique technique, sci-fi leanings and the reasons he is not an abstract expressionist.

Timothée Chaillou: Sol LeWitt once said: “prolixity created simplicity and unity.” Do you agree with that?

David Malek: I don’t know if it was tedium that created clarity, but surely effort has something to do with it. During a studio visit, someone once said: “practice makes perfect.” I think there is a lot of truth in that. Technically, the paintings are made by superposing many layers of paint. First, I draw the lines of the image with a pencil. Then I paint each band of color, one after the next, proceeding from the lightest color to the darkest. I put as many as ten layers of paint. Paintings such as Inverse Hexagon have as many as twenty seven colors. Multiplied by ten, that’s a lot of lines. Clearly at a certain point something obsessive is taking place psychologically on my part. Yet at the same time, objectively, something almost alchemical takes place. With each added layer, the paintings become more beautiful, luminous and pleasing. So through the force of effort, or tedium or prolixity, if you will, interesting art takes place.

Timothée: What would you like your pictures to convey?

David: I am not sure I can answer this question generally, because each painting, exhibition or project is different. For one show in Lyon, the curators employed a term used by French geographers called “The Diagonal of the Void,” that describes a vast unpopulated area in eastern France. In the case of the exhibition, they used this term as a point of departure for a sci-fi interpretation of space. For that show, I made my very first gray scale Icosahedron painting and I found it very successful. When Chris Rawson invited me to make a project in his gallery, I knew from the very beginning that I wanted to share the kind of work I had shown out of town with a local (New York) audience. So in many ways Hexagons was the logical extension of La Diagonale du Vide. Given the context of the gallery space, I was curious to play with mirror images and the ideas for the paintings took shape from there. The two Icosahedron paintings are inverted mirror images. The icosahedron is a regular polyhedron that is part of a series of platonic solids. This form therefore relates to the history of philosophy, alchemy and proto-science. The two concentric hexagons are mirrored images as well. What inspired me for these paintings was the use of hexagonal shaped corridors in science fiction films. For example in Outland, 1982, hexagonal corridors play a critical role in the film’s climax. I was curious to use the concentric hexagon imagery from films as a way to create illusion in a painting. The last big painting, Benzene 2, hung alone on a shorter wall and so I tried to imagine a painting that “mirrors” itself. Hence the use of an equally divided surface. It feels kind of like an origami structure to me. Last, I placed a small painting near to the floor as a kind of punctuation. I hoped that it could provide a kind of narrative to the installation, where the large paintings were “crystalizing” or expanding or evolving to create further possibilities. I hope the interior logic each painting corresponds to the over-all logic of the installation and that a theoretical viewer might come to understand this through looking.

Hexagons, Rawson Projects, 2011

Timothée: Do you think that your paintings are melancholic?

David: I do think that the apperception of colors and forms has a direct emotional result. Yet every individual’s subjective response is different. For this reason, I am very skeptical of theories of color that say for example that blue is “sad” and that red is “passionate.” Colors change constantly according to their context and we can surely find examples to the contrary. Certainly I want the paintings to convey feeling, but I cannot define for anyone else what they will experience. For my part, I didn’t consider the paintings “melancholic” when I made them. I think I was searching for a luminous and harmonious affect. At the same time, I think they are interesting because they have a nice synthesis between hot and cold. They are “cold” because they are very measured, achromatic and shiny, but at the same time they are “hot” because they are very painterly and there are lots of human errors. Perhaps when looking at art a feeling arrives from our understanding of this synthesis.

Timothée: “Luminous and harmonious affect”- is that a definition of the sublime?

David: Perhaps. Maybe artists are working with only a few key ideas and the advances in style and technology only provide new means by which to look at them, but do not alter their fundamental content. Nietzsche talks a lot about an “a-historical sense”. From my understanding, this is a notion of history that is non-chronological, where ideas, or works of art for that matter, share as it were a common plane and echo across time and space outside of linear time. He came to this conclusion after his study of the ancient pre-Socratic philosophers whose ideas were shockingly modern. For example they deduced the atomic theory of matter and were skeptical of the existence of the gods. Heraclitus, standing in the river, proposed that the universe is in perpetual flux, which influenced Nietzsche’s concept of the “Eternal Return” and shares similarities with contemporary physics. When he read these old Greek texts, he felt as if he were reading the work of a contemporary, someone with whom he shared a great deal, although they were in fact separated by thousands of years. I mention all this to illustrate the idea that if we are talking about melancholy or the sublime, maybe there exist key concepts that don’t actually change. A simple way to put it is—maybe there is nothing new. And so maybe there isn’t a “contemporary” sublime or “contemporary” melancholy, but rather these emotional states persist unchanged across time.

Untitled (Red Hexagon 2), 2010

Timothée: Do you think of your paintings as sensual?

David: Yes, very much. I hope very much that the paintings elicit feeling in a potential viewer. Although I have no way of knowing or predicting what that feeling will be. Although some of the entries of the word “sensual” in the dictionary have a negative connotation, I do think the term can apply to the paintings. First, sensual is that which appeals directly to the senses. I think the paintings appeal directly to vision and the joy of looking. The moral dimension of sensuality has a negative connotation because it can be considered lewd or unrestrained, although I do not think the paintings can suffer that critique. Interestingly, the sensual also has a philosophic dimension. First, it is considered materialistic and godless. Second, it pertains to philosophic sensationalism, the doctrine that knowledge can only be obtained through direct sensory experience. I like to paint because it provides an epistemological challenge. By mixing and matching colors and by engaging images directly, I wonder if I can arrive at some kind of understanding. So, painting is for me a kind of pseudo-scientific and pseudo-philosophic project. Yes, the paintings are sensual because they correspond to a certain materialist worldview, they provide an epistemological exercise and they appeal to the pleasure of looking at beautiful surfaces.

Timothée: Agnes Martin once shockingly said: “I considered myself as an abstract expressionist.” Do you think the same about your own production?

David: Certainly not. The Museum of Modern Art recently mounted an exhibition devoted to abstract expressionism and I found it very strange. I think great artists such as Martin, Reinhardt and Newman open many rich doors for minimalism, the monochrome, conceptual art, phenomenology and even installation and therefore maybe they are wrongly categorized as “expressionist.” What stuck me in the recent MoMA exhibition was while those artists abounded in self-seriousness, they lacked self-awareness and humor. I recently read Plato’s Symposium. It treats a very serious subject —the nature of love in life, both romantic and between friends. But the book is super-ironic and really funny. While the philosophers are philosophizing, they are drinking and making jokes at both each other and themselves. I think serious works of art shouldn’t take themselves too seriously. Works of art should display a sense of self-awareness that can be ironic or humorous. Having said that, I am not sure the term “abstract expressionism” has any sense for artists today. Earlier, I discussed some of the ideas behind the work. The influences range from science-fiction movies, polyhedral solids, alchemy, crystals, mirrored images, an exhibition about French geography, Google image searches, etc. At the same time, the way the paintings are made, they are almost like copies of themselves because each painting is made the exact same way and they are painted over and over again to build up the surface. From what I understood at the exhibition at MoMA, the painters of that time were seeking some kind of direct gesture that was “free” of external influences. I feel more at home in our own time where we are skeptical of an “original” and prefer copies of copies of copies.

The White Diamond, 2008

Timothée: From my point of view words like recycling, appropriation and postproduction are just theories which only help the critics not the artists. Are these theories important for you or not relevant?

David: I admit that my answer to your previous question may have seemed a little bit like “art theory 101.” I don’t begin projects as illustrations of theories. Yet I think critical tools are helpful to everyone, not just critics, because they provide perspectives with which to engage ideas and works of art. While answering your question about abstract expressionism, I was trying to frame my response in the context of an exhibition I had recently seen. I have no way of knowing whether it’s a matter of instinct or taste, but I felt a kind of rejection of those artists, especially the “brushy” ones. It seemed to me that those artists were self-serious but not self-conscious in a way that I didn’t like. Whatever theoretical definition we choose to apply, I think we can all agree that today our attitude toward artistic production is more detached and self-aware than in the 1950’s. I am not sure what it means to “lose a sense of the ecology of images.” It seems more that we have been discussing an “archeology” of images and ideas. Yes, I think it is important to maintain an awareness of that history or archeology.

Timothée: How do you look at, for instance, Philippe Decrauzat, Richard Anuskiewicz, Victor Vasarely, or Bridget Riley’s work? In your work what can be identify to the work of these artists and what move you away?

David: This question is very difficult for me to answer because I have not yet figured it out for myself. In my own recent thinking, I have been trying to distinguish between an art of ocular phenomena, which I find very interesting, and “op art” which I find much less so. As a young student I was initially attracted to the novelty of “orthodox” op art such as the work of Vasarely and Anuskiewicz, but today, with further study and education, I find this kind of work very mawkish. I recently saw a film by Brian de Palma about the 1966 Responsive Eye exhibition at the MoMA which I think illustrates this mawkishness. Not only that, but the early black and white paintings of Bridget Riley, for example are terribly violent. They are painful to look at. I don’t think I am interested in that kind of visual violence. At the same time, other artists have employed similar formal means-bands of color, contrast of hue, etc. to create an art of ocular response that I find very rich and open-ended. I include here classic artists such as Josef Albers and Jo Baer, but also peers such as Phillipe Decreuzat or Alex Kwartler or artists one generation older such as Rebecca Quaytman, Dan Walsh or Chris Martin.

In 1962 Thomas Kuhn wrote a book called The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. In a complex argument he basically says that science operates in two modes; what he terms “scientific revolutions” and “normal science.” Revolutions are those moments in history that change the game, such as the invention of the telescope. But Kuhn argues that periods of normal science are almost even more interesting. That is when after a revolution the scientists return to their laboratories and continue and deepen their research. They adapt to the new paradigm and explore its specificities; for example, building bigger and better telescopes with greater and greater magnification. Perhaps art operates similarly. Perhaps we are in a post-revolutionary period where artists are deepening the specifics of what was discovered in the twentieth century. I think I am conducting normal science.

Timothée: Do you try to neutralize the idealist and mystical duty sometimes contained in abstract art?

David: I think we are compelled to make paintings because we are curious to see a new image. Artists have ideas and the work of art is the physical manifestation that communicates the idea in the world. I admire artists like LeWitt where ideas precede and generate the work of art. But this does not mean that ideas precede reality. Instead ideas are a part of reality in the minds of individuals, they can be physically measured with instruments, and are willed into the world to share with others. Nor do abstract paintings represent an alternative reality. Rather they are real illusions in this world. Now, these illusions in painting; their properties of color and proportion, illicit powerful feelings in us. Are these feelings “mystical?” Spirituality entered our discussion of the sublime above and I described how the sublime can be understood as a function of proportion, not “spirit.” I really do not know what people mean when they say “mystical” or “spiritual” and I replace these two confusing notions with term “feeling” or “emotional response.”

Let’s take a seemingly unrelated example. The practice of yoga is often called “spiritual.” Indeed, during yoga, we feel many unusual feelings and if we are lucky we can sometimes even enter strange states of consciousness. Do we have these feelings because of access to “spirituality” or an “alternate reality”? Or are they instead the result of muscular activity, heart rate, oxygen conversion, and mental focus? I think it is clearly the latter case. These feelings are special and mysterious, but are firmly grounded in this world. I think the same is true for the experience of works of art.

Shimmering Waves, 2007

Timothée: Do you think that in the pyramid of things forms come before ideas?

David: Yes. Do ideas precede reality or does reality precede ideas? From my understanding of philosophy and life-experience up to this point, I agree with the latter premise. Cartesianism doesn’t make sense to me. Just because we can imagine a perfect thing does not make it so. The idea exists, as measurable in electromagnetic waves and calories, but the thing imagined does not.

Timothée: Is your work materialistic?

David: Yes, definitely. I defend a materialist understanding of the universe and I hope that if my work is successful, that this will be communicated to others. We live in a time of regression on many cultural, political and moral fronts and it is the responsibility of conscious people to stand up for what is right. Even if I am doing the modest work of a painter, as opposed to something more engaged, I hope that my work is consistent with ideas I defend. In this country they are still trying to stop the teaching of Darwinism in schools, for example. Torture is being practiced around the world and there are multiple illegal military occupations. We must all do our part to fight against this nonsense, even if our actual engagement is very far away from the school board council or the centers of government. I would hope that my work is one small weapon in this arsenal. Admittedly, I am only making abstract paintings, but I ask myself “To what kind of subject do these images appeal?” or “To which ideology do they correspond?” I think they are anchored in the Enlightenment, Humanist, Scientific, Materialist, Democratic tradition. While perhaps my work requires a certain familiarity with the history of painting, I don’t consider this a reactionary position. Hardly, given the present state of things these positions are worth defending.

Physicists distinguish between the Strong and Weak Forces. The Strong force is the atomic force, which can obviously cause a cataclysmic explosion. The Weak force is gravitation, which attracts all matter across infinite distances. Maybe works of art function like the Weak Force, subtly but surely, across time and space. They cannot change the world as directly as politics or revolution, but they can seep into consciousness and alter individuals’ relation to perception of the world. One individual at a time.

Timothée: Do you think that your paintings are in an altered state more than being altered images? Are you more interested by an altered perception than simply making an altered object?

David: I like very much the idea of “altered states.” Recently, I was looking at a large mostly black and white painting by the New York painter Chris Martin. This painting has a black ground with seven white undulating forms equally dividing the space, kind of like a row of sinuous columns. This painting is very strange because my initial gestalt of it was that seven equal undulating white columns equally divided a black negative space. However, with continued looking, one realizes that the undulating columns are not equal at all, that each is unique and they are not parallel. This had a totally destabilizing affect on me. My initial percept and that which gave itself after sustained effort were opposite. This had happened before with a sculpture by Dan Graham. The piece was a triangular solid about two meters high. Each face consisted of different types of glass, two way mirror, etc. While my mind understood the sculpture to be a triangular solid, my visual perception of it completely broke down. I could no longer comprehend the visuality of the transparency and reflection. I would call this a “trippy” or “psychedelic” experience or an “altered state.” Now, their work and mine have different concerns, I think. But, if my work is successful I would like it to have a similar “far out” feeling. Perhaps this can occur, for example, in the tension between the illusion of the image and the materiality of the surface.

Timothée: Do you agree with what Olivier Mosset said, that: “What I want is the opportunity to see the painting for itself.”

David: Yes, I think that is very accurate. Olivier Mosset also once said, “I don’t know how to make a painting. So, I make one, and then I make another one.” I like this idea very much. Making paintings is like doing experiments where each one leads to a new idea, a new painting. Often, before I begin working on a painting, I ask myself, “What would it look like if I made this or that painting?” The only way to find out is to do it. I don’t have anyway of knowing whether it’s a question of taste or of instinct or of education, but I have always been attracted to Apollonian artists such as Sol LeWitt or Francois Morellet where an idea precedes and generates the work. I make a painting in order to see what it looks like. Another painter I respect very much, Dan Walsh, once said, “You should be able to squeeze about five paintings out of each painting you make.”

Red Blue Diptych, 2009

Top Image: David Malek, Astronaut Food, 2009