Dana Dawud’s Open Secret is a psychological operation with Buddhism in its heart. The primary body of the O.S orbital system is Monad (2024-), recut for every screening- so far it has evolved across 20 countries, conjuring the angelic aliens of the New New international style in film. Dana’s ambient theory podcast Pleasurehelmet and her writing series Interview with an Artist are on Soundcloud and Substack. Here is her "Artist Take" with Hollywood Superstar.

Open Secret x Hollywood Superstar at Sands Cinema on 14/4/25, 6pm.

"Internet cinema is waiting for something to happen altogether".

Liza Tegel, choreographer, poet, dancer, internet poet, internet dancer.

Exceptional presence and so important to the movement of my thought is Liza Tegel, I just revisited the pleasurehelmet episode she did and she says that her work is defined by the phrase “I live to get away from which I lived”. I have always been really into Swedish art/poetry and when I found Liza Tegel https://on.soundcloud.com/eNZYwRSyLxCjjLxs9 Elis Burrau, Jonathan Brott of L’Amour La Mort, Albin Duvkar and others, I was in a way reunited with a scene that somehow I always ready knew and didn’t know and what connects us is understanding that internet poetry is real. She says “Posting is a platform which directs me where I don’t have to be physically present”. In a way posting becomes this movement that carries into these different lines of thought and intersections of subcultures, and Liza’s posting/writing and her dance practice embodies that and more. She is the contemporary to me. The Swedish internet is 10000 years ahead of the west.

Helen Cioux’s on Rembrant’s Slaughtered Ox, from her essay ‘Bathsheba or the Interior Bible’ (1993)

Bataille argued that the slaughterhouse and the museum share a strange intimacy; this closeness is often expressed in the historical development of both spaces and how the objects in the museum function as the skeletal remains of death and violence, or event the fruits of it. However, Helene Cixous’ reading of the Slaughtered Ox turns the slaughterhouse/the painting into a church, the Ox is crucified and the space of the painting creates the space of that possibility.

Helene Cixous has been very important to me as a writer/painter; her essays, specifically in that book where Rembrandt’s painting is featured, attend to writing/drawing/painting and how the possibility/impossibility of their convergence create new meanings and textures. Typing this on my phone right now makes my thought run differently than typing it on my computer; the screen's smoothness and the touchscreen's intimacy make me feel stronger about every word. I actually started answering these questions on my computer, but I would write only the first sentence. The rest flows better from my fingers into my phone.

Monadology, Deleuze’s take on the Monad, as inspired by these two pictures.

What interests me the most in Deleuze’s take on Leibniz is the POV of the subject/object and the idea of Baroque perspective. And that is what I’ve been exploring in my film, a baroque perspective in cinema, with folds and unfolds of memetic references, digital imagery and multitudes of iterations from cinematographies from all corners of the planet. The seriality and the iterative with each cut function as an unfolding/folding that takes us closer to the Baroque.

Driving your car in Dubai

Those who know me (specifically my online friends) know that I’m always sending voicenotes while driving my car. Driving, walking or being in any other vehicle while moving through a city is such an immersive experience, there’s always something to look at that passes you by faster than your ability to capture it. The temporality of how things pass you by is always faster than the duration you need to take a photo on your phone; the car is anti-photography. I find that poetic. In Dubai, you have to drive faster than in other places, and the highways are vast and open. My favorite moments are when light refracts off glass skyscrapers.

The Cross Versus The Circle

Spinning the cross quickly creates a circle, and parts of the longer line of the cross can make a tangent while the small one can create a chord. If the cross had equal sides, then it could be a diameter. The cross and the circle are too intimate, like the museum and the slaughterhouse.

Alien subjectivity in internet Cinema

Going back to perspectivism and thinking about the alien as subject, the alien as the main subject or feminine hero, following Chris Kraus's Alien’s and Anorexia. The image dictates the cut and acts as the alien subjectivity. Internet cinema acts as a space or an environment where alien encounters are expected to happen. It’s like in Chris Kraus’ Gravity and Grace where the group waited for the mystical experience to occur and realised it had already happened because now they are all together waiting for something. Internet cinema is waiting for something to happen together.

A Rrose By Any Other Name, Hans Goodrich

I appreciate the opportunity to see work by celebrity artists where that celebr(ity)ation is usually local, or confined to spaces such as Gray, Corbett vs. Dempsey, the museums, the Ren, etc. So - how the hell did this lineup get into a space that’s only held three shows? The trio are clearly connected — unsurprising, given the directors’ previous tenures at various spaces in Chicago and beyond, one of which, ironically, was called Hans Gallery. In some way, this seems to presage Hans Goodrich itself- a name that, according to the show’s accompanying text, originates from the family name of a Trinidadian restaurateur in the greater Chicago area. This empty string of nomenclature functions as the lore for the gallery, and it kind of creates an odd relationship to the thematic of the show itself: ‘the malleable nature of identity’. The lore is an anecdote within the text, and so these constructed and referential actions are not only bound by the limits of the show and what’s in it, but the gallery apparatus that puts it on. Is this actually an interesting gesture? I think so, but I don’t think you have to read too much into it as I have - if anything, it allows you to have an ‘aha’ moment of connecting the conceptual space bounded by the show to something more informal and exterior to it.

Genesis Breyer P-Orridge and Pippa Garner’s inclusions are probably my favourites in the show - I feel like there is less setup in how the work meshes with theme, and even outside of any ‘does this piece fit in the show’ problematics Breyer’s Shoe Horn #9 (2016) is a hilariously alluring amalgam of mentally, physically and interpersonally preserved objects. If the show’s position is indeed ‘the malleable nature of identity’, the flipside of the viewer’s position is that of untangling it, being a sleuth. Cursory Google searches will give you some, but not all, answers. I find that this resulting subterfuge around gleaning the truth contained within each work is best when the trail runs cold, or at least gets muddy: Vern Blosum is forever a mystery, as per his wishes, and his painting A Rose (2016) is an identity matrix, with no way out, yet even the name can only function as a descriptor of the initial oeuvre: “vernal blossom”. Karen Kilimnik’s Kate Moss at the Beginning (1996) is a deadpan de/reconstruction of early Kate Moss footage, to make as many Kate Moss-es as there are interpellations of her character: it’s Re-materialised lore (it’s actually available to watch on this random youtube upload).

You could say that a symptom of this kind of thematically organised show is an attraction to answers over reflection, which I think holds true for A Rrose… but is not constraining. Even the more direct ‘constructions’ of identity - (Lynn Hershman Leeson’s video work and Larry Johnson’s instructive Untitled (How To Draw Chelsea Manning) (2023), for example - ) hold their own. Its big names with a reasonably high level of quality are installed in an unobtrusive, slightly predictable setup. Leaving with answers is leaving educated, knowing John Dogg is Richard Prince with/and/for Colin de Land, and knowing about J.T. LeRoy and Roberta Breitmore (even if that’s not in the show). We’re supposed to leave with something, right?`

The Old Grey Liver Test, Curated by Galerina at Arcadia Missa

There was no overarching theme in Old Grey Liver Test. A cursory glance at the artwork list, which reads titles like “Youth cult synthesis” or “Dead at 55” alongside the title's explicit reference to a rock-defining 70s show, The Old Grey Whistle Test, makes clear an intention to reach a sardonic middle ground between sincerity and outright irony.

Youth Cult Synthesis, or Dead at 55, 2024, is contained within a neon-orange wood frame. Paracetamol instruction leaflets are layered on top of each other, the text sutured together through a technique (welting) particular to pocket making. As the show text notes, this skill was learnt in Mckenzies days as a studio assistant for Vivienne Westwood - a fact that lends the artist’s late 90s works And I’m Not going to let you wear me like a Tie Pin (1998) and Who Can Out Ferry Ferry (1998) a punky gravitas. These earlier pieces combine tacky, collaged strips of leopard print, the words “Bryan Ferry” written in cursive and a brooding, B&W portrait of the 80s singer. The effect is a fantastically dated, fragmented image of what it is to be a metrosexual ballad singer. McKenzie’s work makes me wonder what it feels like to have one's youth fetishised as a romantic idyll, your memories translated into collective nostalgia, and to laugh about it. Which discarded memories from our time might be framed: a fidget spinner, an obsession with identity, an ironic starter-pack meme?

In Stuart McKenzie’s Left Right, Left Right (2024) the word “Alt” appears on a square of printer tape, hand cut from food packaging. Above, the words “Left, Right, Left, Right” appear printed, like military steps, from a label maker. This semi-serious commentary on our misguided, but ultimately regimented contemporary vision of “The Alternate” (alt-girl, alt-boy) contrasts with less political collages like E’s ruining My Life (2024) whose text reads “Mistaka” on one line and “E,E,E” on another, but is more obviously funny than Gender Critical (2024) which simply reads “He is He”. Sarcasm was inherent to the show - something that feels, now, far more refreshing than an outmoded sincerity.

Brad Kronz’s works are witty, but not about pop culture. In 80s, 70s, a diagrammatic pencil drawing of a shaded square labelled “70s” containing a lighter square labelled “80s”. The paper is framed by two thick, wooden blocks where Kronz has placed strips of paper at an obtuse angle - acting as a sort of theatrical curtain for the minimal drawing. It’s a commentary on performativity within timelines and art historical nomenclature that is felt but not overstated. 80s, 70s aesthetically pleases like a mid-century modern drinks cabinet, while commenting on something as nebulous and subjective as decades.

The curious part of Kronz's works is the presence of the figurative. For Independent Artist (2025) Kronz cuts out the internal corners of the frame, forming pockets of shadow that can’t be seen from a frontal view. Frame and drawing become subsumed into a singular artwork, contrasting the separation of the two in McKenzie’s pieces. Kronz’s soft, graphite lines depict, unnervingly, a cartoon fish with a woman's face. Faintly nïave, slightly perverse, resembling a pre-millennium illustrated children’s character or a Henry Darger prepubescent girl.

Old Grey Liver Test is the antithesis of what is leveraged in the more mainstream, highly publicised art world. A show in summer at The Approach made it clear the veracity with which people impose the past onto an indifferent contemporaneity, comparing a new graduate class with the YBA’s, albeit, “more friendly, supportive, inclusive, diverse and international”. Old Grey Liver Test is curated by Galerina, a nomadic gallery run by two twenty-something’s. I felt a strange relief at seeing a show that was not groundbreaking. It neededn't be; it was not trying to redefine, rehash, or rebut anything. The curation proposed a witty, slightly tongue-in-cheek conversation between friends about taste, material fetish and personal nostalgia, focusing on the artists’ careful attention to craftsmanship, wood-making and paper constructs, collage and sewing, word-play and framing.

Allie Anime ASMR Documentary (10 HOURS) is Now Showing as part of Hot Ticket to Public Cinema Programme

Like the covid era in which it was filmed, Allie Anime ASMR (10 HOURS) is haunted by a masturbatory subtext. The film, presented here in its 4-minute (short version) follows Allie, and how she came to practice drawing hentai. The space of Allie Anime is restrained and titillating. In this analgesic documentary we are invited into two locations: a deserted neighborhood park and to Allie’s apartment, which is stacked with a liberal arts college book collection and covered in unframed posters of glowing girls in purple swimsuits. The binaural 500 Hz Frequencies, the violently saturated green/purple/pinks and the sparse dialogue mix together like the video version of a big spoon of Cal-pol. In this cramped and hypnotic film, the editing takes centre stage in what the VideoExpert call- facetiously- ‘post-liminal cinema’.

The layers of glow filters, lens flares and cartoonish colour grading from self-proclaimed Video Experts Neal Wynne and Sabrina Greco, recalls Damon Packard’s Foxfur (2012)- incidentally, another film built around a sweet and mentally-unbalanced internet artist traipsing delusionally around California. ​​Unlike the blood-pressure-raising plots of Packard’s films, the narratives in VideoExpert films are sparse. Stock characters drift through a (2000s) Lynchian Meta-LA. Allie Anime- a video with just 220 views on YouTube, tucked away in a playlist titled "Sketches"- serves as an early experiment in developing an aesthetic that would culminate in their first feature, VideoExpert1, which premiered at VenueMOT in 2021.

Like Lynch, there is a skin-crawling uneasiness to Allie’s social world that feels like a parody of human connection. Iris-effect red circles pick out frames-within-frames with the hallucinatory objectivity of an outsider conspiracy documentary. The ugly overlays of anime girls that divide the film into sections ‘Documentary’ and ‘ASMR’; fragment the frame and call attention to the surface of the screen, holding off the pleasure of sinking into the smooth depth-illusion of what could-be-called Allie’s ‘Goon Cave’.

“Okay so everyone is playing Mario Kart on the switch and I drew Princess Peach and it came out kind of weird, but everyone said that looks good.” she says. We watch her make an ugly drawing and share it online; we watch her make an ugly loaf of bread and share it online. The film loops for 10 Hours, I once went to bed with it playing and woke up to her repeating: “everyone said that it looks good.”. Doomed to repeat herself; a victim of mass lifestyle influencing. An animated girl, making her art for others and maybe for her own ambient, alienated, sexual gratification.

Allie’s terrible art and terrible baking is a spoof of brightly-lit didactic lifestyle tutorial content. What Salomé Aguilera Skvirsky has called ‘The Process Genre’ (2024): easily digestible representations of labour that become an aesthetic salve for a society too complex for anyone to understand. The final shots of the film are incredibly mortal: she photographs her loaf in the dark.

Gisele Vienne @ Haus am Waldsee, Berlin

Outside, snow falls and you take off your gloves. There is: a tie-dyed hoodie, a turned back, a pair of hand-cast Mary Janes. To the left, a teen-sized marionette, her feet bound in plaster Fila Disruptors. Behind her, a neon Soundcloud scene is scattered with galaxy print, puppets and luminescent sweets. This is ‘L’Etang’ 2021-ongoing...

The main room holds 12 identical adolescents. Dolls in glass boxes: 2003-2021. They lie in glass caskets, ordered and equally distanced. From inside, there is a secondary view of L’Etang (2020). Here, Vienne’s ability to choreograph space stands out: she dictates the audience’s ability to perceive the artworks, not just compositionally, but via the title. A play insinuates noise and movement, yet I was struck by the profound silence and immobility of the dolls. Directly above the neatly lined glass coffins are identical wooden boxes, bloody and open, remnants of the show I Apologize 2004-2017. Scattered and smeared with gestural marks, tiny handprints: suggestions of action. I get the impression that this is where the dolls “come from”.

The other connotations of “Play” is the anthropomorphic: teen-sized dolls, girls playing with dolls, the gallery as a dollhouse and the sculpture as a set. A concern with the semiotics of the body is characteristic of Vienne's practice. Her decision to use adolescent figures relates to her vision of the body as battleground: “Pallid complexions, blank stares, frozen faces sometimes splattered with blood and tears…like clues to a culture of repressed violence that haunts our myths of innocent, purity, whiteness.” (Elsa Dorin ‘The Colour of Anguish’ 2021).

What do the dolls represent and what do they tell us about ourselves?

Vienne employs the doll's form as it allows for projected consciousness. The doll's ability to be projected upon enables them to be characterised: “They are also Snow White and Sleeping Beauty; they are the bosom blonde who runs screaming into the forest, believing she is escaping the serial killer” (The Colour of Anguish).

The form of the dolls remains the same, yet each is personified separately through styling. In her styling, Vienne references culturally built up languages, how style can denote personality through the idea that “It’s not only natural but cultural to perceive” (Interview with Gisèle Vienne and Anna Gritz). Vienne adds to the canon of dressing up frequented by artists like Laurie Simmons, Mathilde Ter Heijne and Cindy Sherman. Sherman’s photographic characterisation is a further influence, Vienne captures dolls and puppets as a cast in the photographic series 63 PORTRAITS 2003 - 2024. Here, the dolls are equal parts sad, dejected and self-conscious.

Vienne cites subculture as a crucial backdrop to her work. This is expressed sartorially through delicately articulated styling—a baby pink lace-trimmed top peaks out from beneath a Bambii jersey. Heavy metal merchandise is paired with a monster mask, adjacent to badly applied New Romantic makeup and sportswear.

As our present era emerges as a Victorian parody, it is natural that steampunk is everywhere. In this aesthetic world dolls, automatons and puppets convey anxieties surrounding developments in robotics. Philosopher Kathe Hicks Albrecht believes steampunk has turned from subculture to philosophy: “Many proponents of today’s steampunk aesthetic are part of the burgeoning do-it-yourself (DIY) subculture”. As our technological developments speed up, technocrats emerge, genocide and war rage, Gisèle Vienne’s dolls feel strangely poignant for their rebellion against “mass production…it is this group which interests most directly align with steampunk” (Kathe Hicks Albrecht ‘The Machine anxieties of Steampunk’ 2024)

As Open AI prepares to launch the humanoid robot Neo in 2025, Vienne’s ‘A Puppet Play’ takes on a more urgent meaning. Perhaps we can learn from Vienne ’s understanding of the power of articulation in stage setting, styling, movement direction, and craft, as well as the underlying sensibility of care in the perception of humans and the post-human form.

Claire Buchanan expresses nostalgia for the world-building of the forgotten pixellated shoe brand United Nude.

Listen while you read: Miss Kittin & The Hacker - L'Homme dans l'Ombre

When I was ten years old, I had a babysitter named Shira-Rose. Shira-Rose was in her twenties and part of an improv dance troop. It was 2012. I idolised Shira-Rose in the way that any ten-year-old girl without a sister would idolise a cool babysitter. She was funny and intrepid and spoke to me like an adult, even if I was only ten. She also dressed like no one else I had met before. She wore a lot of neon spandex and what seemed like fifty-thick plexi bangles on one arm at all times. She cut up her t-shirts and tied them back together to make braided cutouts on the side. She wore stilettos to pick me up from the school bus.

Shira-Rose had one pair of heels that I remember distinctly: foamy-looking rubber wedges in bright apricot with a shiny white patent strap. They were the perfect shoe for a babysitter on the move: practical, otherworldly and simultaneously elementary - elementary in their colour scheme and silhouette. Years later, I was scouring the internet for a pair of heels and found Shira-Rose’s apricot pair staring back at me from the screen. I bought the same pair in grey, becoming obsessed, not only with the shoes, but with their strange maker: United Nude.

United Nude was founded in 2003 by Rem D Koolhaas (nephew of postmodern Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas) and Galahad Clark, heir of the Clark’s shoe family. Their website contains a laughably aspirational blurb, citing heritage and architectural pretensions:

“As the brain-child of architecturally-trained designer Rem D. Koolhaas, the nephew and namesake of renowned architect Rem Koolhaas, the brand is guided by an unwavering commitment to pushing the boundaries of footwear design. Each product is a reinterpretation of an architectural object - an exploration of the possibilities offered by movement, colors, and materials.”

In the noughties, United Nude shoes were made in bubblegum pinks, hazy, eggy yellows and electric blues. They had patent straps as shiny as new cars; clean matte leathers like a psychiatrist's sofa. Mylar, PVC, and soft rubbers constructed a feeling of minimalist space-age. Campaigns featured hazy silhouettes with illuminated, glowing feet. The shoes were by no means athletic but displayed some level of corpo-athleticism, the kind that occurs on the floor of a sleazy gallery like the one Marnie works at in Girls. United Nude collaborated with Iris Van Herpen, Zaha Hadid and Viktor & Rolf. In 2011, during Miami Art Basel, they opened their Miami store and ‘gallery’ where they showed photos and sculptural works alongside their shoes. The perfect shoe for an exceptional babysitter could also be a perfect shoe for the aimless dilettante: halfway between the art world, fashion week parties and her own self-delusion.

Iris Van Herpen x United Nude (Source: United Nude Spring Summer 2011 UNCover Publication)

Koolhaas’ Mobius Prototype (Source: United Nude)

United Nude released a line of shoes called ‘Eamz’ in 2011, named after the leather office chair Ray and Charles Eames designed in 1956. This series of shoes featured heels, boots and lace-ups with a protruding steel heel that imitated the base of the chair. The shoe's construction created an illusion of a foot suspended in mid-air, as if the wearer might exist in some zero-gravity space when she slips it on. The ‘Eamz’ shoe concerned itself structurally with negative space, balance and stability. While contemporary clothing design doesn’t necessarily need to respond to the same level of practical parameters, the shoe, as it holds up the foot and aims to keep the wearer balanced, must consider some small feat of engineered function. United Nude shoes were a moving structure, carrying the wearer through the city, from hot pavement to air-conditioned offices to trembling dance floors beside thronging, open bars.

The ‘Eamz’ Shoe (Image 1: eBay, Image 2: United Nude)

Situating themselves within the world of avant-garde design, United Nude also heavily co-opted the aesthetics of futurism, which was rampant following the millennium. The conceptual holo-screen, megapixel or the flash of a DSLR is realised in United Nude’s ‘Lo Res’ shoe. Inspired by early digital 3-D rendering systems that Koolhaas used at university when studying architecture, the shoe took on geometric surface like a glitchy disco ball. United Nude also designed a model for a Lamborghini using the same system, displayed in their flagship stores alongside the shoes. Techno-optimism was central to United Nude’s direction, reflecting a fantasy relevant at the time, that to most of us now feels painfully tired and charged. Actually, Koolhaas recently contributed to the prototype design of Tesla’s Cybertruck. As tech and automation industries become increasingly adjacent to rising fascist aims, garnering the same optimism for a future of technology no longer seems plausible.

The ‘Lo Res’ Shoe (Image 1&2: United Nude)

On Flickr, I found a lot of images of the store displays. At its peak, the brand had flagship stores in New York, London, Miami, Amsterdam and Shanghai. The lighting was akin to swanky downtown clubs, walls lined with shoes nestled into grid cubbies engulfed in glowing LED hues. The store wall concept was trademarked by United Nude in 2009 and called the Wall of Light™. The LEDs were programmed to oscillate with whatever song would be playing inside. One Reddit user described their shopping experience in the Bond Street store as “utterly overwhelming, nauseating and hypnotising… Ladytron was playing so loudly I couldn’t hear myself think.”

The Lamborghini Model, Lo Res Concept Car

Having never visited a United Nude store or any store with such an ambitious concept, I can only fantasise about what kind of feeling a shopping experience like this would have left me with. For those of us born either just before or after the millennium and interested in clothing and shoes of the past, the act of shopping is almost inseparable from another, sometimes arduous and definitely anonymous process of scrolling. Pixelated square images replace the windows of stores that were once designed for consumers to absorb a message, concept or feeling --then buy something. While the stated ambitions of United Nude, to stand as some convergence of architecture, design, fashion and technology are kind of goofy at best and fall ostentatiously flat at worst, this level of considered world-building around the marketing of one product and spatial concept is something that I wish we saw more of now.

By 2016, United Nude closed almost all of their storefronts. The only store left standing today is in Amsterdam. United Nude still makes shoes though much of the vibrancy and bubbliness has now been replaced with safer silhouettes and lackluster beiges. The futurisms of early United Nude, the frenzy around the potential of technology, where shopping in stores was still a default on the precipice of an internet that would become a constant presence in our pocket, have quickly been replaced by rightful skepticism, malaise and nostalgia for something
much older. But the shoes themselves remain, at least to me, as rubbery relics of a strange, playful mirage before the storm.

Hollywood Superstar asks The Femcels for inspiration and recommendations to increase our cultural capital. “We want to be able to talk to girls at parties” we exclaim, prostrating ourselves at Gabi and Rowan’s feet while they vape. Their hit song “He Needs Me” is about being a crazy manic pixie dream girl and a fem (cell) in 2025. He needs me, He needs me, He needs me, He needs ME. He blocked me on Snapchat. He won't text me when he skateboards.

"Sometimes I trip over so he doesn't think I'm too perfect"

Femcel No.1 Rowan (24)

Dancer, Edgar Degas (1891) Hamburg, Hamburger Kunsthalle.

It’s at the Hamburg Kunsthalle - where I did Erasmus, and I thought I had seen into a wormhole where Edward Degas had painted weird sci-fi dogs. That is, until my boyfriend at the time ruined it. I work as an illustrator, which is already being replaced with AI. Rich people will always want to buy real paintings. Rich people will always want to buy my paintings.

Fluffy (1980) by Gloria Balsam

Fluffy is a dog who tries to run from her but she always knows it will be by her side. The song makes me feel like I’m in a musical in a parallel universe where everything is so beautiful and strange. I’m in contact with Gloria - I am going to interview her soon : 3 I can do a perfect off-pitch impression of the song, and I’m gonna sing it to her on Zoom. Singing always sounds better out of tune.

The Cuck Song by Leonard Cohen

“What really makes me sick is that everything goes on as it went before.” I’m not really a jealous person (I’m so chill), so maybe I would be susceptible to taking cuckoldry like a chump. Cucks should have rights. I read somewhere that allegedly David dobrick is a cuck, and I see that for him, it kind of humanises him. My favourite bit of the poem is where he keeps putting his full name in a line: “You just wanted to cuckold Leonard Cohen”. Then he goes: “I like that line because it’s got my name in it” he’s so funny and real.

I think you have to revel in the cuckoldry. Last year at a party my friend and I [name redacted] were standing next to a sofa of people, and we were saying how we were both flirting with someone, and that it was going well. Then we look down and the two people we were flirting with start kissing. They start lying down on the sofa, caressing each other and smooching their hearts out. It was unbelievable. We put on some cucky drake song and started jumping around and singing it to them, but they were too into it to notice.

Also, I feel like Leonard was kinda being cucked on that record (death of a ladies' man) because Phil Spector kind of ran away with his music and made sweet love to it, and Leonard had to hate it even tho it’s amazing because he fucked his girl.

Soft City (2008) by Pushwagners and Ghost World (1995)

My tutor at university showed it to me, so maybe in 2021. I think dystopia is so hard to do well, and this is a true masterpiece If you like 60s/70s style illustrations then you should buy this. My friend Barney was upset that I didn’t show him sooner and told me off for gatekeeping.

If the Femcels were in a comic, we should find god. Or go up to strangers and ask them random stuff. Ghost World (COMIC, NOT FILM, NO OFFENCE) is a good reference point. It’s so perfect. I love that half the comic is them just saying random ugly men are hot. I think that’s so real. It’s the meat and potatoes of life.

London could be a soft city. I’m on set as an extra on a Jason Statham movie. All of us are dressed in uniforms of green satin Zara and suits with powdered foundation so it feels like a slay soft city.

Buildings used to be scary because people had more hope

Femcel No.2 Gabi (24)

Shiki-Jitsu or Ritual (2000) Hideako Anno

It’s crazy how a 40-something man can know how to convey exactly what a 16-something girl can feel like around a 40-something man. Teenage-girl Gabriella feels like a dream away, but love and pop force me to remember how I felt. I think all I wanted to be was dope and cool.

As a female, I think an appeal of an anime girl is to go “she’s literally meee” when watching; they tend to have hyperbolic versions of our characteristics. The muse in Shiku-Jitsu is psychotic yet relatable; her psychosis is loveable, but the uncovering of her is too grotesque to be an animated chick. She only wears red and lives in a castle she crafted herself, an abandoned warehouse filled with red umbrellas; she’s flesh, a human flesh version of a big-boobed blue-haired character.

“Could I be an anime girl in real life?” Maybe I could if I got a boob job. The closest we ever got to being anime girls was the 2020 e-girl culture. Maybe if we locked ourselves inside for another 10 years, we would come out as animations.

Lip Kit Glosses by Kylie Jenner

Glosses is a 2018 cinematic masterpiece. Kylie Jenner. IG baddies. Convertible. LA. 3 Strikes by Terror Jr. “Literally so cute”.

As a teen, I was prone to disregard anything mainstream, but I always loved Kylie; she’s just an emo chick in a millionaire's body.

Snap Maps (2017- present)

I am a bog-standard victim of panopticism. I can’t do makeup without pretending I am in a YouTube video. My internal monologue sometimes transcends to a podcast; when I have a crush, I dream about how they view me. I would definitely live off-grid. But yeah, I fuck with snap maps, bitimojis, everyone knowing where I am. Dope.

Knockout by Lil Wayne and Niki Minaj (2010), Young Money Senile Ft Nikic, Wayne, Tyga (2014)

Damn young money senile is fire. It's a rap version of a Melanie Martinez video. Knockout is perfect song-wise, though my dream is to scream like Weezy. “Hey, barbie, can I call you Barbra” Perfect. Video-wise, maybe Senile.

Putting socks on top of ur shoes and tying it for security with another sock

Rachel Fäth and Zazou Roddam at Brunette Coleman, London

American neoliberal doctrine has found an ultimate expression in the technopoly of contemporary America - Meta, Pfizer, Dogecoin, and the Department of Government Efficiency. This post-industrial, post-everything condition, now inseparable from a malaise in Western society, began to dominate some decades ago. Francis Irv’s show of work by artists Rachel Fäth (b. 1991, Berlin) and Zazou Roddam (b. 2000, London) (hosted by Brunette Coleman for Condo London) makes no direct reference to any of this; in fact, the show is sparse, minimal and oblique. It is, however, through the material decisions made by the artists that the works not only speak of capitalism, but embed themselves in it.

Fäth’s two sculptures sit directly on the gallery floor, whilst Roddam’s contributes a wall-based work, two framed polaroid photographs, and a small sculpture atop a plinth in the gallery’s side room. In Roddam’s Lot 2454/ Lot 5152 (2024–2025), crystal doorknobs affixed to their relevant painted wooden doors, or rather to the truncated sections of what were originally wooden doors, protrude from perfectly circular holes that have been cut into the front-facing surface of two plexiglass boxes. The boxes are mounted to the wall in a manner reminiscent of a Judd ‘Stack’, out of which the crystal handles jut into the viewer's space. Behind the plexiglass the slices of door form a pile which produces a whimsical effect, whilst acknowledging the weights and shapes of the wood, juxtaposed satisfyingly by the flawless edges and inset screws of the boxes. Both are transparent, but there are subtle differences between the crystal and the plexiglass - the crystal looks hard, old (vintage) and provides an evocative glimmer of late 20th-century affluence, whilst the plexiglass seems recently fabricated, an inert frame derived from minimalist or conceptual art modes. I imagine the former to belong to a category of other crystal glass objects that includes chandeliers and champagne flutes, and envisage the interiors of yachts, expensive real estate portfolios.

The work’s only pronounced colour derives from the coats of paint that the doors have retained from their original function as front doors of houses. I think of handshakes and the opening of a door. And then of a house as the site of the intimacies of daily life and of the intimate calamity of the mortgage crisis of 2008, who’s long shadow is still felt. Lot 2454/ Lot 5152 looks skeletal, like the vertebrae of a spine within a plexiglass body - a nimble metaphor for the methodology she deploys. Her materialist critique reveals the skeletal structure of significance both within the work she makes and with regards to the conditions of its display.

Some of the materials for Lot 2454/ Lot 5152 were acquired at public auction. This nod to the economics of the work is a neat gesture. It functions as an ironic appraisal of the luxury status of the art object as something that could itself end up in an auction lot. Roddam offers a critique of the status of the artwork as autonomous and gently reveals it instead to be historically and economically contingent and part of a context, in this case, the context of the market.

Fäth’s work shares this stringent attention to form. Her materials are selected and reclaimed; heavy, rugged and industrial steel. Sitting side-by-side on the gallery floor, Locker 5 (2024) and Locker 6 (2024) are forms determined by the size constraints of storage lockers, a materialisation of negative space in welded steel. Some of Fäth’s earlier work sourced its steel from a New York production plant (Francis Irv is an NYC gallery). Steel was a chief American industry before globalisation took those factories and jobs elsewhere. Within this glib generalisation are the experiences of countless individuals of grand economic manoeuvrings. To intuit these poetically, as textures, is to jump between the general and the personal. The scrap steel is not, significantly, in its raw form; it is post-industrial, after the fact. The surface of one work is rusted in places, indicating the chemical entropy that takes place when the metal is left to the elements. There is an association here with industrial decline, alluded to in the colloquialism ‘rust belt’.

“I have more sympathy this time around towards myself and to Libya. She looked tired.”

Franz Fanon describes the American flag flying as a reminder of reality’s conditions, recognized through its tension, a stimulant. At first the flag appears graceful, but as you get closer, that grace seems to break apart, and we pick up as many pieces of mercy we can find.

I’m drawn to that visual stimulant of tension because it feels energised. Fanon described the moment of this encounter as a “jolt”. A "jolt" represents a profound moment of realisation, rupture, or awakening that disrupts the established order of consciousness or being. It’s not necessarily a shock in how we might think of it objectively, but a transformative moment where existing structures—psychological, social, or colonial—are disrupted. It signifies a moment of profound disillusionment. The catalyst that is a transformative possibility. It’s as much about the shattering of the old as it is about the emergence of the new—a dynamic, often painful, necessary step towards agency.

So I find myself in Libya for the first time in 12 years, where these “jolts” visualise that Libya is still a child learning how to walk. The flag came to symbolise the reality of a country stuck in time from conditions of a civil war that the West conditioned to happen; I saw faded flags everywhere, often distressed, covered in dust, tied up underneath air conditioning vents. Not too much has changed since the last time I was there. Lanes still don’t exist. Men do donuts with their cars in the middle of an intersection. Libyans are quick to find humour in their situation. They have to laugh a little at themselves - try not to lose themselves to the stress. I found myself doing the same. All my relatives said the same thing - “it’s Libya, that's how it is”.

When you think of the American highways, you think of open roads, long-haul trucks - Road trip Americana. Maybe country music is playing in the background. Every car I saw in Libya was missing a tail light with fake Mercedes Benz emblems on the hood of Hondas; at least one door wouldn't be able to unlock on its own.

After 12 years, I was ready to document everything. In 10 days, I had taken nearly 1,000 photos and videos. The last time I was there, I disliked everything that it was to be Libyan. In retrospect, I was a kid who hated myself—living in Portland. I begged my parents to buy me a patagonia puffer vest because it was “cool”. So here I was, in a much better place, eager to prove to myself that I had changed and that validation existed in that act of catching these jolts. I came out of that tension and discomfort I had held within myself - that I was always scared to grow out of.

Here’s my top 5 photos from that trip:

1: First Look

There is no such thing as “too much” in an Arab wedding. The glam and drama of the brides’ sisters and friends having the first look at the bride was all too good. I was lucky enough to sneak a picture before the hijabi security guards tried to follow me around all night to tape the back of my phone to stop me from documenting. Weddings are like the club: You can tell who’s single based on how much they shake their hips. Aunties sit and gossip to figure out which ones they can set up with their sons.

2: Bootlegs Galore

If the fakes on Canal St were actually all storefronts, then we’d all agree it would be a game-changer for the market. That was Libya. These shops' dedication to having lights, mannequins, etc, is all for their culture of logo-mania. They love a logo. None of the major fashion houses have an actual store in the country, except for Omega Jewelry (thanks to Ben Saoud). This hijab store plastered all the logos of the ‘designers’ they sell—big fan of the directness here.

3: Passport Photo

One of the most important things I had to do in Libya was to get my first passport. The order of events to get a passport there is like the plot of a well-awarded indie short film. When we needed to take our photos, I noticed that they had a menu of outfit choices one could be photoshopped into. Seeing that half of the options became increasingly militant made me laugh. How many men decided: “I want that one.”

4: Beautiful

The freshest orange juice would cost you maybe 50 cents for a bottle. Even gas was cheaper than water at 30 cents a gallon. I miss how simple it was. The beauty of everyday life in Libya is that, as chaotic as it might get, they take pride in the simplicity of executing their tasks. If you’re going to do something once, you had better do it right - and do it the “easy” way. They have an eye for finding the shortcuts on the street or the “DIY” approach to fix anything - literally. Driving on the freeway, I saw these guys on the side with hundreds of oranges, and it felt like they were just emanating a glow onto the street. Orange juice tastes better here. Maybe it’s because it's made by two chill dudes posted on the side of a high-speed freeway with no lanes: like this ^.

5: She’s tired

Any neighbourhood I visited in Tripoli and Benghazi was never short of a Libyan flag. They were everywhere. I had revisited the area called “The Old City,” where my Dad spent most of his childhood selling Jewelry in the Medina. He took us on a tour of his old spots. During my 10 days in Libya, I took a photo of every flag that I saw - this one made me the most emotional. Just a faded flag folded up on itself, tucked in the corner of an arch, in a place I hadn’t seen in 12 years. It felt like you could see the flag's life, not only because it was faded but because it was alone. It hadn’t been interrupted by anything else, no wires, graffiti, or even more flags surrounding it. I think this sums up what I felt like coming back. Tied up, faded…but still the same. Older now, understanding what a flying flag aloft in the wind means when you see yours faded and blue. I have more sympathy for myself…for Libya. She looked tired.

Isabelle Frances McGuire’s Year Zero at The Renaissance Society, Chicago.

Isabelle McGuire has given us an America in tripartite form. Inside her show Year Zero at The Renaissance Society in Chicago, a life-sized recreation of Abraham Lincoln’s birthplace cabin, whose ‘real’ equivalent (Kentucky’s ‘Abraham Lincoln Birthplace National Historical Park’) is itself a facsimile cabin, alongside two slightly undersized figures of Santa Claus and Jesus, who prostrate on wood-and-dirt-mound pedestals. These cultural figures’ apparent exhumation, however, feels almost entirely depoliticized, positing them in the press release as “‘revisiting the past, re-animating old models, or re-wilding familiar symbols”. This seems like a poetic way to say that you’re picking and choosing from a cultural consciousness that you know will be shared but defining it as active engagement. I am more inclined to feel that “re-wilding” is predominantly passive: a languorously ironic presentation of referents, successfully bolstered by confident and considered choices of material and scale. It does not share the high buzz that McGuire’s more directly funny work exudes - a child’s call of duty cosplay and animatronic baby Yoda at King’s Leap, SuperBaby2(Unmanned) {“The Child”, “Reborn”} (2023) spring to mind. But the eerier tone (the Lincoln house approximates the haunted house) provides visual dividends for a show of empty spaces and characters to be projected onto, even vampirised ones. I enjoy work that pokes at open-ended interpretation, and there are lots of threads to tug, but don’t tell us to look out for it in the accompanying text. Reticence works far better when simply shown, not didactically spelt out.

The Renaissance Society occupies the odd position of being Chicago’s closest approximation of the Kunsthalle format, geared toward commissioned work by living artists. TRS has shown Ghislaine Leung and Aria Dean - always leaning towards reasonably reticent content which balloons to gorge on its own context, for better or worse, under the guises of various forms of sculpture and new media practices, with a yearly-ish dense yet star-studded group show. This is fine and usually stands out in Chicago, not only due to its usually high quality, but by a relative dearth of that form of contemporaneity’ in other art spaces. Given the literal academic backdrop of the space (on the UChicago campus), all the vitrine installations in the hallway vaguely blended in with the incessant postering of doors and walls you see if you climbed the four flights up to the show. Supplementary material, choices for how you might approach the work in the main space, completely separated from the grist of the exhibition. It sucked because McGuire’s sole video in this, Frankenstein in the Underworld (2024) shown in a vitrine, was fucked-up and really good. It firmly illuminated a strain of body-mod which runs through the show. The two disinterred figures are qualified as “bodies printed from medical CT scans of anonymous women” in the accompanying text and fit nicely with McGuire’s previous relation to kitbashing (creating new models from an assortment of different parts) and video game culture.

The show poster, Depo Provera (2024) a work in itself, listed on the checklist - which I don’t think I’ve seen before - shows a staged photoshoot of McGuire injecting her mother’s behind. It was named after a dubiously effective hormonal birth control her mother had been taking while pregnant with McGuire. This oddly heart-warming personal history complicates the previous historical referents. But, when combined with the specificity of the CT scans and the exclusively male personae in the work, spins a discussion around the agencies of differently gendered bodies. Year Zero (alt-history, rebirth, cycles, sublimation, etc.) is a satisfying show, and at its base has a tonal consistency and specificity that I very much appreciate, even though that was exactly what I expected. More of this in Chicago, I think.