Author: Stephanie Janssen

GUSTAVO DUDAMEL

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

GUSTAVO DUDAMEL: How is everything?

HUMANITY: Everything’s good. We’ve wanted to do this for such a long time. So you became music director here in 2009, and it’s pretty safe to say you had your choice of anywhere in the world, so why did you accept the job here in L.A.?

GD: I think it was a period of an explosion of things that happened to me. I won the Bamberg competition in 2004. It was a German competition, and then internationally I ended up becoming the symbol of a young conductor. I did have a position before becoming music director here, with the National Orchestra in Sweden, but I came here to visit and I didn’t understand anything. I came to Los Angeles; it was my first time here and I didn’t connect with the city. I watched the Hollywood Bowl for three days and it was like, “Wow, this is so big.” Musically it was wonderful, but the city was not connecting for me. But the second time it just clicked and I made a real connection with the orchestra.

I remember musicians coming to my dressing room to say, “What a wonderful way to make music—let’s keep doing this,” and at that point it was not a difficult decision to make. I think the conditions that Los Angeles brings to artists is amazing, is fresh, is new, is open. We have this wonderful hall, we have an incredible audience, the Hollywood Bowl. The orchestra is fantastic. We have been really working to create a personality together, so it was a combination of many elements. I started here when I was 29—I was a baby. It’s been a real time of growth for me and I’m proud of what we have done and for our future.

HUMANITY: Outside of the music, what do you love about living in L.A., and what do you end up missing most about home?

GD: Do you say diversity? Is that the right word?

HUMANITY: Yes.

GD: I love the diversity of the city. As a young person, it is really interesting and important to me. It’s inspiring how the community connects with the orchestra, with the art. How symbolic art is to this community. I think for a long time the world had a misconception of Los Angeles—it’s so much more than Hollywood. Los Angeles is full of so much culture and opportunity. We have to remember that in the middle of the 20th century a lot of artists came here—great artists, painters, philosophers, musicians—and the same thing is happening right now.

HUMANITY: What do you miss most about home?

GD: A lot of things—family, of course; friends; and the energy. But I feel Los Angeles has a similar energy to Venezuela; it’s one of the things that’s connected me with Los Angeles. There is this kind of energy—the traffic, the people.

HUMANITY: What do you think have been the major challenges so far in your tenure here?

GD: Challenges? Well, artistically, of course, always, and today I have more. It never stops. It’s kind of insane, because you get older and your brain opens, and opens, and opens—you’re searching for new things, new challenges. Of course we have many challenges to build on, as I mentioned: to grow our audience here; even though it’s big, and we are proud of that, we want to get bigger. For example, this season at the Hollywood Bowl I found the connection. It’s not the same to be in a hall with the perfect acoustics; it’s really not the perfect environment to play classical music, but I found that it’s perfect because it has the access. Every night we had 11,000, 12,000, 13,000, 15,000 people listening to classical music. So it’s these kinds of challenges, and every year we want to bring a younger audience, so we have to do programs that connect more with them, keeping the condition of the classical music but bringing something new. I think it’s fun.

HUMANITY: This kind of goes to that thought. In Venezuela, the idea of El Sistema is to bring music to all, correct? Music education for any child who has the desire?

GD: Yes. It’s about inclusion. The program is more about inclusion than the music even. It’s to include children in art, and that is beautiful because at the end of the day art is beautiful, you know.

HUMANITY: I would think it must be challenging to connect to those people who might not necessarily be seeking out classical music or even thinking it’s for them. Is that important to you to try to open up to that audience?

GD: It is, and we do in many ways. First with our programs, creating greater access, doing concerts for all communities; we also have YOLA, which is our youth orchestra, similar to Sistema. That connects with parts of the city that see classical music as very distant, or something very elitist. These may be the children of parents that are working very hard to support their families; maybe some of them are undocumented. These can be tough conditions for anyone, much less a child. Music and art can be healing; you see how the programs can change a child, change a family.

 

Gustavodudamelcontentimage

 

I received a letter about a month ago, a father writing to us saying, “Thank you. My daughter is going to college. She’s confident, helping other people, even writing poetry.” It’s how things can change through music, and imagine it’s not only one child you are impacting, it’s all the people around them—their family, their community. It’s an interaction that is amazing.

HUMANITY: L.A. has a huge Latin population, and you are a huge cultural figure here. A Latino who’s a cultural figure in Los Angeles—it’s a lot of responsibility …

GD: The important thing for me is how art can be an important symbol for people and inspire them. Last week I was at the White House for the National Medals for Arts and Humanities. I gave a speech about the importance of art in society, and how we must bring art to the heart of the community. Unfortunately the simple fact is that when we have a crisis we cut art immediately—cutting the one thing that can connect all parts and levels of society. It just sends completely the wrong message. So when we talk about a symbol or a hero of the community, it’s more about being a vehicle or vessel of hope to people, a new vision of life, a new concept of community. So if life gives you the opportunity to be a hero and a symbol, then it’s something one must not take lightly.

HUMANITY: You mentioned wanting to expand the audience, and it seems like more recently you’re starting to bring more and more guests in to collaborate with. Is this something we will see more and more of? Any insight into ideas you’re exploring?

GD: I have many. During the Super Bowl we had our children there playing with Coldplay. I’m very good friends with Chris [Martin], and we have plans to do crazy, exciting things. I’ve had conversations with Beyoncé. We both said, “Let’s do something together,” so these kind of crazy things like what we have done with Rubén Blades or Juan Luis Guerra—there are so many people and ideas to create these bridges between all the different kinds of music that exists.

HUMANITY: Because you look at someone like Beyoncé or Coldplay, they’re known by the masses, so it almost brings in a whole new audience who might not otherwise be interested …

GD: Absolutely. They have an audience that is not this audience, and this audience is not their audience, so imagine that mix of things you create, and I’m very open. People think that classical musicians are crazy, only caring about reading classical music and philosophy. No. I love to dance—I just love music. I’m obsessed with the Beach Boys and Brian Wilson; the other day I went to see Sting and Peter Gabriel. This was the first time that I saw Peter Gabriel and I was amazed. I want to do something with them. These kinds of things.

HUMANITY: Who were your musical heroes growing up?

GD: Well, my father was one of my heroes because I wanted to play salsa. It was my dream to play trombone like my father and to play in a band, to have people dancing as I played. In my family, of course, my father and my grandfather, they are my heroes. My maestro, Antonio Abreu. He created this concept of art as an element of social change. He is a hero. And just so many more …

HUMANITY: What about bands or even musicians?

GD: Wow, my god, many of them. Brian Wilson, I think he’s one of my heroes, in the way that he saw music in that moment, especially with Pet Sounds; he connected with song cycles that Miller, Schubert, Schumann were writing in the 19th century, this new way to think. Juan Luis Guerra; I love Pink Floyd; so many …

HUMANITY: What do you think it was about Sistema that was able to foster such talent? What was the environment like to learn in?

GD: In Sistema you don’t grow up individually, you grow up as a team, and that is great, because you are creative together with others. It’s really an example for society, that we can be better together. We live in a very “individual” society, and that is why we are as we are right now, where the strong beat the weak, and it shouldn’t be that way. I think at Sistema what’s great is that if somebody was sitting next to you and was not as good, you helped, and I think that is my treasure as an artist—that I feel. It is not my knowledge about music, because you can learn music; that is not difficult. It takes time, but it’s not difficult. It’s something technical, this kind of understanding of people. That is why I say to the orchestra, “I was sitting there.” I know I have to read 200 eyes every time that I arrive here, and every one of them have their own reality, family; some of them arrive sad, tired, bored, happy, excited, and then you have to combine all of that and inspire them to play a piece that they have played 1,000 times before with different conductors, so this is the thing, the understanding. That is the thing that for me a conductor is; it’s not about music only. Yes, music is the main thing you are doing, but it’s a lot about how to work together. A conductor is nothing alone—you need the musicians in front of you to make it work.

HUMANITY: I think throughout your life definitions change—definitions of words like success or accomplishment—so now for you, what gives you a sense of accomplishment? What makes you feel like a job well done? What is success to you?

GD: What is success to me? Wow, what a good question. I think when you are young you believe that you can do everything and that you are right in everything that you do. You are kind of arrogant in a way, but my success I think is to understand right now that there’s a lot of space, a lot of ways to go in my life. The things that I thought I was doing really well before right now make me think, “Why do I want this sound? Why do I want to make this faster or this slower artistically, technically?” And that is a success for me—to open my mind, to have the knowledge to see there is more.

Also, another success is how we are participating in community. If one child out of a thousand can change his or her future for the positive in our programs it’s a success, and it’s not going to be only one. In Venezuela it’s been hundreds of thousands. In Los Angeles it’s in the thousands. The other day I went to Sweden; I started a program there when I was music director in a community of immigrants who were living in ghettos about 30 minutes outside the city. These people had never before been to the center of the city, and now the program is huge—more than 7,000 children participate. I’m no longer there, but I’m so proud of what has been accomplished. It’s a real success and I’m part of it and I’m a part and a product of that movement that Sistema and programs like these create.

HUMANITY: I have a 2-and-a-half-year-old, and becoming a parent changes you in so many ways. So my question is, since becoming a parent, what are the major changes you’ve noticed in yourself?

GD: To have a child is the most beautiful thing—it’s a miracle. If you don’t believe in miracles when you see something that you create, in a way, together with your wife or your husband, whatever, it is a miracle completely. That is the first thing, but what we have lost in our society, which is so important, is faith. We have to recover faith, but it’s a scary time. Sometimes you see the world, what is happening in it, and it’s a lot … we cannot predict what will happen. But at the same time, it’s this paradox. It’s beautiful because, again, kids bring new light, and I think having Martin, for me, it is the hope. You go into parenthood thinking you have to teach your children about everything, but it’s quite the opposite; your kids really end up teaching you how to and what to do through those moments all the time, and for me that is a miracle. My energy and my hope is bigger right now having him next to me, and it’s all the motivation you need to work together to build a bright future.

HUMANITY: With that idea, you’re a cultural and world icon, and that can cast a shadow for a little kid to follow. Have you ever thought about how you will support him to not feel overshadowed by your accomplishments?

GD: First of all, I think he’s proud of me. I feel that. He likes to come with me to work, listen to the music, and I’m proud of him. This feeling is mutual, so whatever he ends up doing I will support him and he will always know his father is in his corner.

HUMANITY: You’ve mentioned in several interviews that music saved your life. How so?

GD: Well, I come from, let’s say, a difficult area in my town, a beautiful one by the way, but difficult. I have friends that are not anymore because they took the wrong way. Fortunately I got an opportunity; my parents were very young when they had me, and my mother was also a musician. She sang in the choir, so I was surrounded by music all the time, and music saves. And it has all my life. When I’m sad I go to the podium and it’s like I’m instantly happy. It’s a wave of energy, of beauty. Music saves my life every day. Not only at the beginning of my life, but every day since.

 

—

RETURN TO THE HOME PAGE

VISIT CITIZENSOFHUMANITY.COM

FRANK GEHRY

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

Born and raised in Toronto, Gehry moved to Los Angeles with his family as a teenager and launched his architecture practice there in the early ’60s. Gehry remains based in Los Angeles, but his work is everywhere; in just the last few years, he’s opened prominent museums in Paris and Panama City, and a signature business school building at Sydney, Australia’s University of Technology. Gehry’s buildings are rarely not in the news, as I know from interviewing and writing about him in articles and books for more than three decades. Every time we speak there’s something new to talk about—and it’s always interesting.

Today, at 87, the Pritzker Award-winning architect shows few signs of slowing down.

BARBARA ISENBERG: You’ve been practicing architecture now for more than 50 years. You’ve built important buildings all over the world, won loads of architecture prizes and yet you say there’s a lot of folklore about what you do.

FRANK GEHRY: There is. People say I design from the outside in, and that’s not true. Once I engage with a client, I try things. I try to discover the feeling of the client, what he’s asking for and needs and what I can bring to the table.

BI: At this point in your career, what leads you to take on a project?

FG: I take on projects when I feel comfortable with the client and relationship. I don’t take everything that comes our way. The project also has to be something I’m interested in.

BI: What are you interested in these days?

FG: I’m interested in projects I think have a good social impact. I take on commissions that have to do with art or music or philanthropy and that help to make the world a better place.

BI:  Can you give me an example?

FG: I was recently in Berlin for auditions for Daniel Barenboim’s West-Eastern Divan Orchestra. It’s a youth orchestra, and the musicians come from all over the Middle East. There was an Israeli violinist, a Syrian oboist. They were all playing together, and it brought tears to my eyes. I designed their new concert hall in Berlin, which opens in March, as a gift to them.

BI: So you’re doing more of this sort of work now than in the past?

FG: Probably. Because I can. As I get older, more of the work now is philanthropic for me, although not necessarily for the office. My son Sam, who works with me and is showing talent as an architect, has also worked on some of those projects, like the Children’s Institute campus in Watts and the Jazz Bakery.

BI: What is it like working with Sam?

FG: It’s great working with him. He’s 36, married now, a new father with an 11-month-old daughter. He’s been here about 10 years, watching. I’ve been having fun working with him on a new house for my wife Berta and me, which he’s taken most of the responsibility for and which is almost done.

BI: Do you bounce ideas off Sam as you might your senior staff?

FG: I try not to infringe on his growth, but I pull him in a little. And if I ask him, he doesn’t hem and haw. He usually says something … and sometimes it’s devastating.

BI: Who did you find inspiring when you were a young architect yourself?

FG: Many of my early influences were Japanese, because so many of my teachers at the University of Southern California were GIs who were returning from Japan. The wood style of that time is in my DNA. I loved Harwell Harris and Frank Lloyd Wright. I didn’t like Frank Lloyd Wright’s politics, and so although I had three opportunities to meet him, I didn’t, and I regret it. When I got to Harvard Graduate School of Design, I learned a great deal about Le Corbusier. I had been so focused on Japan because of USC, and Corbusier’s work convinced me to go to Europe and look around. Corb is number one on my hit parade.

BI: You’ve also spent considerable time with Los Angeles artists. Could we discuss the influence of those artists when you were starting out in the ’60s?

FG: They were really important to me, and I understand it more now than I did then. When I got out of architecture school, I did [the graphic designer] Lou Danziger’s house and studio in West Hollywood, and I got a lot of flak from practicing architects here. This and that were wrong. So I felt alienated.

It was different with the artists. When I went to the Danziger site one day, the artist Ed Moses was wandering around, and he’s a friendly guy. He was very complimentary and came back with some of his artist friends. Later, I went to see his shows. I also went to shows of other artists in that group: Richard Diebenkorn, Billy Al Bengston, Sam Francis, Alexis Smith, Michael Asher. They liked me, and I felt honored to be in their presence.

BI: What did you learn from them?

FG: I learned an ability to take risks, to get an idea and to follow it through.

BI: How was the artist’s approach different from the architect’s approach?

FG: It was the immediacy of it. The results are quicker. The artists would talk about a painting, and a few days later it was done. With architecture, you have to work everything out. There are lots of legal issues and moving parts. Architecture takes longer. You come up with an idea and it takes a year to be built. And the bigger the buildings get, the longer the process.

BI: What do you do to decompress?

FG: I go sailing. Sailing is something I accidentlly became interested in a long time ago. I fell in love with it. I would go sailing with whoever asked me. Then, years later, I bought a boat.

BI: What is it about sailing? What’s the feeling?

FG: It’s quiet. You have to know what you’re doing. You have to focus on the mechanics of it, and it’s different every time. The wind is slightly different. So are the conditions of the sea. It can be overcast, sunny, foggy. You get into all kinds of problems, and you have to be aware. The aesthetic of it is beautiful.

BI: You recently designed a boat yourself.

FG: Yes. People call me to do all sorts of stuff, and I like it. I’m open to things, and I’m curious.

BI: You often talk about the importance of curiosity.

FG: Curiosity came to me through discussing the Talmud with my grandfather. The Talmud starts with the question “Why?” It’s all about challenging and searching and wondering and asking questions. My upbringing and Jewish training exposed me to the Talmud, and I would talk about it with my grandfather when I’d help out in his hardware store. What you learn from the Talmud is a willingness to entertain change, and change is inevitable.

BI: Actually, both your grandparents had a great impact on you when you were a boy growing up in Toronto. You’ve told me in the past about how remembering the fun you had building things with your grandmother later nudged you toward architecture as a career.

FG: When I was a kid of 7 or 8, I would go around with my grandmother to shops to get wood scraps for the stove. The scraps came in burlap sacks, and every once in a while, when we got home, she would empty the sacks on the kitchen floor. Then we’d sit on the floor together and build stuff—bridges, cities, buildings—and she’d talk with me about it. She was from Lodz, Poland, where she ran a foundry, so she had some stripes in building things. It was something she knew, and it was so much fun for me.

BI: Now a grandparent yourself, you’re taking on a whole new challenge: the Los Angeles River. Why did you take on such a huge project at this point in your life?

FG: Our mayor asked me to do it, and he sent some emissaries who said the city of New York built the High Line, which is getting a lot of play, and Los Angeles should be able to capitalize on its river and become a destination. I said the High Line was a rusting railroad bridge they put plants on, and it was fun and nice, but the river is a flood control project so it has its own mandate. I said if they would clear a path for me and protect me from all the people who have been working on the river for the last 20 years and are going to claim that I’m an interloper on their territory, I would take it on and study it pro bono, which I’ve done.

BI: Do you think of it as your legacy for Los Angeles?

FG: No. I don’t think of it like that. I don’t presume to be anything more than a facilitator. We’re letting a billion gallons of water go out of the river into the ocean that should be captured and cleaned and reused so we can lower our purchases of water by a significant amount of money. There are public health and other significant issues yet to be dealt with and solved, and they would pay for themselves in the long run.

BI: You’re 87 now. Do your projects ever get easier?

FG: I haven’t made it easier on myself. I’m still on that quest for visual answers. I’m still seeking the way to put inert materials together and evoke lasting feelings.

BI: Are there advantages to being older?

FG: The advantage of being older is that if you’re still standing and working and doing significant work, you get more credibility. You also have a clearer picture of what’s going on around you, and you understand the futility of trying to harness it all into the great cause for  humanity.

BI: Yet you remain optimistic.

FG: If I wasn’t optimistic, I’d stop working. You see small victories that keep you alive. You make headway here and there. You’re not in a vacuum; there’s creative activity on many topics, which creates an exciting environment that’s engaging and keeps you interested. You see a lot of progress in many areas of society, which you always hope will prevail, and the world will continue to become a better and better place to be.

BI: Does that optimism explain your passion for Miguel de Cervantes’ Don Quixote and Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland?

FG: I love them. They are both on my nightstand.

BI: Because?

FG: Because they are telling us about the frailties of human nature and the joy, fun and nuttiness of it. We are all living like that. Most of our lives are more crazy than Don Quixote’s. Cervantes nailed us.

Barbara Isenberg is the author of the Los Angeles Times best-seller Conversations with Frank Gehry.

—

RETURN TO THE HOME PAGE

VISIT CITIZENSOFHUMANITY.COM

GILES DULEY BY ANGELINA JOLIE

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

I met Giles Duley the day he introduced me to Khouloud, a Syrian refugee mother paralyzed from the neck down after being shot by a sniper, who lives in a small tent in a refugee camp in Lebanon with her loving husband and devoted children. I know that anyone meeting her would completely change how they think and feel about Syrian people and refugees. Few people will have the chance to meet her in person, but Giles’s photography introduces her to the world.

Different photographers can use the same camera or light, or all shoot the same frame. But what is different is the soul of the person behind the lens, and the moments they recognize and are drawn to—the emotional connection they make. That is what I love about Giles’s photography. Looking at his images, we can feel what he feels. It’s clear that he connects deeply to the human condition of people from all over the world. He himself has been through an ordeal. They say that adversity helps grow compassion, and Giles’s art certainly seems to bear that out.

 

Giles-2contentimage
An Afghan woman, with her baby, sits in shock by the beach moments after their boat landed. Lesvos, Greece. 28th October 2015.

 

ANGELINA JOLIE: You describe yourself as a “storyteller”—what is it about the nature and power of stories that inspires you?

 GILES DULEY: Stories have incredible power. I don’t truly understand, but they have a mojo, a magic that helps us to comprehend the world and others. Since the birth of humankind we have been telling stories to each other; from campfires, cave paintings, books and film, storytelling is central to our culture and being. I follow in that tradition. I’m not a journalist—I don’t focus on facts and figures. I’m interested in our shared humanity, our empathy for others and the details in life that help us to connect.

 AJ: You tell stories to change the perceptions and emotions of your audience, but do you find that they change you as well?

 GD: My story lives in the stories of others. This work is my life, so of course it deeply affects you. Many of those whose lives I document I’ve known for years; they are my friends, and sometimes I struggle to sleep knowing where they are and feeling I haven’t done enough. But this work also gives my life so much; the experiences and friendships have brought me laughter and tears, and I have received far more than I have given.

 AJ: After a year covering the refugee crisis from Europe to the Middle East, what have you learned that you were perhaps not expecting?

GD: I have covered the effects of conflict on civilians across the world for over a decade; what I didn’t expect was to be covering those stories in Europe. It’s maybe an obvious thing to say, but being in Lesvos, meeting Afghanis, Syrians, Iraqis who were fleeing wars I know all to well—to see them landing on the shores of Europe I realized how small and interconnected our world really is. What shocked me the most was Europe’s response to the crisis, or rather lack of it. It was shameful.

 AJ: Your photography has raw emotional force. You show people as they are, not as they are labeled by the world. Your subjects are not “victims” or “refugees” but people just like us. Why is it so important to you to show the humanity of families affected by conflict?

 GD: It was never anything I considered or thought through; it just came naturally to the way I work. I see everybody the same, whatever your status, whatever your religion, your country; I see a shared humanity. Wherever I go, people’s hopes and dreams are the same; to see their families protected, their children educated, their loved ones treated when sick. In a sense my camera is completely democratic—it doesn’t judge or label, it sees all people equally.

 AJ: How has your own experience of adversity affected your creativity?

 GD: My accident changed everything. For over a year in hospital I was told I would probably never work again or live independently; nobody believed I would be able to return to work again. But early on I made a decision; I decided I would never focus on what I couldn’t do. Instead I would focus on what I could, and excel at that.

So of course I am severely limited as a photographer by my injuries. I can’t move quickly, kneel down, climb on something for a better view. I get tired and I live in pain. But I don’t think about that. What I focus on is the fact that despite all that I can still take photographs and do the work that I love. And for my injuries, my empathy and connection with people has grown—and that outweighs the bad. I can honestly say that since my accident I am stronger, more focused and a better man and photographer.

AJ: I know that you often go back to visit families you have photographed, sometimes many times. Does the fact that so little has changed, that they are stranded in refugee camps or informal settlements with dwindling amounts of food and money, ever shake your faith in your calling? What keeps you going in those darker moments?

GD: If you believe in a story, you have to keep telling it. Eventually somebody will listen. Too often we in the media are guilty of always moving on to the “next” story. If things haven’t changed for a family or community, I think it’s my job to keep telling it. But of course that can get you down. To go back, to see somebody living in the same terrible conditions, it makes me feel like I have failed.

Khouloud’s story was exactly like that. When I first visited her in 2014, she was so vulnerable and in need of support. So when I discovered she was still living in the same makeshift tent two years later I felt sick in my stomach. I thought “What’s the point of telling stories if it doesn’t change lives?” I went to see Khouloud and her family and I actually burst into tears when I saw her. For over two years she had not moved from her bed, in a tiny room that had no windows. It was like torture and yet she was still smiling. My first words to her were “I’ve failed you.”

 

The Greek Red Cross treats an Afghan refugee who is suffering from hypothermia. The boat had partially sunk, leaving the survivors in the water for nearly six hours. Lesvos, Greece. 29th October 2015.

 

A father carries his two children from the boat after landing. Lesvos, Greece. 26th October 2015

 

Visiting the municipal dump near Molyvos gives a true scale of the crisis. A mountain of life jackets—each jacket represents a life and a story. Shockingly, many of the life jackets, bought in Turkey, are fake. Lesvos, Greece. 1st November 2015

 

Giles-7content
Zahra, 54, from Abou Dhour, near Idlib.

 

Giles-8
Ibrahim, 25, from Idlib.

 

Giles-9content
Hussein, 8, from Aleppo.

 

gilescontent10
Halima, 60, from Idlib.

 

Giles-11content
Lamis, 5, and Jad, 1, from Homs.

 

Giles-12content
Murad, 5, from Idlib.

 

Giles-13content
Khaled, 12, and his brother Fadi, 7, who is blind, from Homs.

 

 After some time, though, I thought of my own words: “If you believe in a story, keep telling it.” So I did. I tried to document every part of that family’s story, to do it better than before.

Just a few months ago an organization in the U.S. called Random Acts contacted me. They had seen the story and they wanted to act. We worked on a crowdfunding campaign together and in the end people from over 100 countries donated close to $250,000 for Khouloud and three other refugee families living in Lebanon. That’s the power of a story. That is why I do what I do, and I will keep telling stories till people listen. I don’t think a photograph can change the world. However, I do believe it has the power to inspire the people who can.

 AJ: Why has so little changed? What are we getting wrong? If you had the ability to influence the foreign policy of the U.S. and the other powerful nations, what would you change in relation to their policies on the refugee crisis?

 GD: The refugee crisis is a global problem and it needs a global solution. Most politicians have been reactionary rather than visionary in their approach. Until world leaders work together and create a long-term plan to tackle the root causes, the crisis will continue. Sadly I can’t see that happening and instead we are seeing the continued use of negative and fearful rhetoric by politicians. If I could do one thing? I would take every politician to visit the families I document. Of course I can’t do that, so I will continue to strive in bringing the stories to them.

AJ: You have spoken of your hope that your photography will inspire people to act, to do whatever they can to help address the refugee crisis, from giving money to lobbying their governments and helping in their communities. Is one of your aims to counter the sense of powerlessness people can feel in the face of relentless negative coverage about refugees?

 GD: The refugee crisis can be overwhelming for people. Faced with the sheer numbers and scale, again and again people say to me “But what can I do?” And when faced with the negativity and hate seen on social media, in the press and in the words of politicians, that sense of helplessness grows. But I believe we all can and should make a difference. I believe we will look back at this time as a turning point in the history of our humanity; do we choose to turn our backs on those in need or open our arms? It is for those who know what is right to stand up and be counted and not be silenced. We can support grassroots organizations who are helping refugees directly, raise money for organizations such as the UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner of Refugees), write to politicians, speak up on social media when we see hate speech. We can’t change the world on our own, but that mustn’t stop us doing what we can. If we all do what we can, then the world will change.

 AJ: You recently described a woman in Finland telling you about her community’s efforts to help Syrian refugees, saying, “It’s better to light a candle than to curse darkness.” It seems the same could be said about your photography. Is that a fair characterization?

 GD: In 2015, one hundred refugees and asylum seekers were temporarily housed in the small Finnish island community of Nagu. It was a decision that not all welcomed, and most had their doubts. In Nagu they are a small, close-knit community and during the winter months have few visitors. They had worried about bored young men, of attacks on women and how would these Muslims integrate with their customs?

 

A young Afghan boy is looked after by his aunt, whilst his mother receives emergency medical treatment. As the boat landed, she had collapsed. Lesvos, Greece. 28th October 2015.

 

FYR Macedonian military use razor wire to construct a border fence. Idomeni, Greece. 29th November 2015.

 

‘Muna’ with her daughters. In 2015 a rocket hit their house, killing two of her children. She also lost her leg due to her injuries. Jordan. 27th March 2016.

 

Khouloud with her husband Jamal. Khouloud, who is from Mo’damiyat al Sham in Syria, was shot by a sniper in 2012. She was left tetraplegic, paralyzed from the neck down. She lives in a makeshift shelter in the Bekaa Valley with her husband, Jamal, and their four children. Jamal is her full-time caretaker.

 

Aya, who has spina bifida, being pushed in her wheelchair by her brother Mohamad. Tripoli, Lebanon. 22nd February 2016.

 

 But the community made a decision—they would not treat these families from Iraq and Afghanistan as refugees. Instead they would treat them as guests. The warm welcome did make a difference, but the benefits have not just been felt by the refugees. Despite their initial reservations, the people of Nagu now feel it is the refugees that have brought them something.

One of the islanders, Mona Hemmer, described their philosophy to me. “It’s better to light a candle than to curse darkness.”

I don’t know if that phrase reflects my work, but I certainly aspire to that. In the darkest places you discover light; through my work I get to see the best in people, to witness the strength of family and to see true love. It’s in those places that I choose to focus my work, because we see humanity and hope. Many photographers want to show the differences between us; I want to show the similarities. Despite showing the stark reality, I hope my photographs also give hope.

—

LEGACY OF WAR

Legacy of War is a five-year photographic project exploring the long-term effects of conflict globally. Most specifically, Legacy of War documents the lasting impact of war on individuals and communities, told through the stories of those living in its aftermath.

With the mainstream media firmly focused on the short-term economic and political consequences of conflict, LoW is concerned with the human and the personal. It explores the local landscapes and everyday lives of those affected by conflict—often decades after peace treaties have been signed—and raises issues that are often neglected by mainstream news and history.

For more information, visit legacyofwar.com.

 

—
RETURN TO THE HOME PAGE

VISIT CITIZENSOFHUMANITY.COM

MUHAMMAD ALI in conversation with GEORGE FOREMAN

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

One fated evening in 1979, my father was driving down the street in Houston, Texas, with my mother (Veronica Porche) and his photographer friend Howard Bingham, when he suddenly spotted George Foreman, standing on a cardboard box in the middle of a vacant dirt lot and preaching the word of Christ.

It had been five years earlier that my father “shook up the world” by regaining his heavyweight championship at the age of 32 in an eight-round battle against a much younger, stronger George Foreman. The legendary fight, dubbed “The Rumble in the Jungle,” which took place on October 30, 1974, in Kinshasa, Zaire, had already reached mythic status and to this day is considered one of the greatest moments in boxing if not all of sports history.

However, a fact few know is that following this devastating defeat, George Foreman fell into a deep depression and eventually retired from boxing altogether. Emerging with a newfound purpose, Foreman became a changed man. He sold off all of his personal possessions, houses, cars, etc., and embarked on a new journey—one that he felt was in fact the true meaning of his life.

My father, who had always been guided by his beliefs, faith and principles, became intrigued by the sight of this. Wanting to better understand, he parked the car on the side of the road and walked across the street toward Foreman.

The following transcript is taken from a conversation my father recorded not long after between the two of them. Once adversaries in the ring, they came together in the spirit of peace and brotherhood as they discussed a range of topics but most notably faith, commemorating the beginning of what became a very meaningful and beautiful friendship.

 

Neil Leifer/Neil Leifer Collection/Getty Images

 

December 3, 1979

1:45 p.m.

MUHAMMAD ALI: George Foreman!

GEORGE FOREMAN: Praise God, man!

MA: Hey, how are you doing?

GF: Miracle! Doing just fine, man. I’m just thinking about you every day.

MA: Good. What are you doing now?

GF: Man, I’m just sitting down here, working for the Lord every day.

MA: Hey, George, have you ever thought about getting some type of building or some old place where you can get a lot of people in one space and not on the street, where they can hear you good?

GF: Well, see, this Gospel here is “Preach to the poor people,” and the way you find them is where you and me used to be when we were little kids, just hanging around the streets. Jesus said, “Go to the highways and to the hedges,” but right now I’ve been in a place. It’s just a small, common place which can hold a thousand people.

MA: Man, that’s a lot of people. A thousand people, that’s a big place … I always wonder why the preachers talk about Jesus so much, like, why can’t you just pray to God and serve God and follow just God … I’m not trying to say that you’re wrong. I’m trying to learn … what do they mean when they say, “God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost.”

GF: What happened was, there was a Scripture when Jesus spoke to his disciples. He said, “You go, ye, and teach all nations. Baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost” … like the name of your child and of you and of your wife is one. It’s one name for all three of you. But that doesn’t mean you are the mother or that you are the daughter. You are just the father, but you’ve all got the same name …

MA: That makes sense. I’m glad you straightened out something.

GF: See, the Holy Ghost itself is like the spirit of the living God. The Son, he is subject to God himself, and there’s one power of them all. That’s God …

MA: What about this, George. There are one billion Muslims on Earth, which is a thousand million, enough to fill America 10 times. Saudi Arabia is Muslim; Morocco, Egypt, Syria, Pakistan and all of the Muslim countries. Prophet Muhammad was sent to Arabia 1,400 years ago to the Arabs who had gone astray. And they say Buddha was sent to the Chinese and Krishna sent to the Indians and Jesus sent to the Jews and Gentiles. All the Muslims pray to Allah, A-L-L-A-H. The supreme being, they say his name is Allah. Jesus prayed to Allah. He didn’t speak English 2,000 years ago. Jesus said “Allah.” … Do you ever run into the Muslim brothers in Texas?

GF: Oh, yeah, man.

MA: You’re friendly?

GF: They know what I’ve got. … They don’t bother me …

MA: [laughs] Yeah.

GF: I start talking and they get violent-acting … I said, “Wait a minute now. My God has given me the power to love” …

MA: Muslims are peaceful people. Violent people are not Muslims. They’re misrepresenting us—we’re not violent. … Where are you living now, George?

GF: I live here in Houston now, man. I gave up my range, because I had to come down here and preach to these people—we’re preaching at a little common church now …

MA: You gave up all of your earthly stuff, like land and houses and cars and all of that?

GF: I sold all of that stuff, man, because it just spread me out thin, you know? I can’t be taking care of all of that stuff. I sold it.

MA: You’re right. All of the stuff I’ve got. I feel it too.

GF: Yeah, it just spreads you out too thin. You know, I had close to 20 cars. How can I drive all of that jive?

MA: What do you do for income?

GF: I’ve been living off the stuff I sold so far.

MA: How old are you now, George? I’m 37.

GF: I’m 30.

MA: Damn, man, you’re young!

GF: Yeah, but you are, too, man. You know, you did some great things in the past, but the greatest thing you’re going to ever do is save your own soul …

MA: I’m going to tell you something.

GF: All right.

 

AFP/AFP/Getty Images

 

MA: I think that God has control over all people, all minds. I think he knows what’s in your heart. Man judges a man’s actions, but God judges a man’s heart. And I think if your heart is right and you really mean right … and you help people, you give to charity, you hold no hate in your heart, I think you go to heaven, whatever you call your religion. … See, man named it Catholic. God didn’t name them Baptist or Jehovah’s Witness or Muslim. God never gave them that title. Man gives the title. It ain’t but one religion, and that’s the religion of the heart. And if you’ve got the right heart and you mean right … George Foreman don’t know what’s in my heart.

GF: I know what’s in your heart, man.

MA: No, you ain’t God, George.

GF: No, see, you love me the same way you love yourself. You have the spirit of God.

MA: So what I’m saying is I think that whatever you call yourself, if you have the right heart, you’ll go to heaven. … Christianity and Islam is almost alike, the closest two religions in the world. … I heard you preaching, and I liked what you were saying. You said, “I was the champion of the world. I had this, and I had that.” Man, that’s powerful, because people knew it was true—if you want to, you can still have women, and big houses … you’re still young—you can fight if you want to, so they know that you’re really giving all of that up. That makes people believe you …

GF: Man, can you please call me a little bit more?

MA: OK.

GF: You and me are closer than you think. We’re going to be old men and old friends together. You should call me up, at least once every month—could you?

MA: Yeah.

 Hana Ali is currently working on a book: At Home with Muhammad Ali, Penguin, Random House, with a scheduled publication of late 2017. The transcript featured in this article is a small portion of the hour-long tape recording between her father, Muhammad Ali, and George Foreman. It has been edited for length and readability.

 

—

RETURN TO THE HOME PAGE

VISIT CITIZENSOFHUMANITY.COM

VENUS WILLIAMS

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

HUMANITY: So, you’ve been a professional tennis player for three decades. What keeps you motivated?

VENUS WILLIAMS: Three decades? I’m 36.

HUMANITY: But you started playing professionally in the ’90s …

VW: But I feel like it’s probably been more like two decades. I don’t need another decade added to my life and career—don’t make me older than I already am, please!

HUMANITY: No, of course not. You’ve just accomplished so much. When you’ve accomplished as much as you have, what gets you going?

VW: I love what I do. I love the challenge and I appreciate it. I think that makes a big difference, when you appreciate what you do. It makes you want to strive and be the best at it and bring out your best. That’s what I want to do every time: Bring out my best and prove that to myself.

HUMANITY: Did you feel that way when you were a little girl starting out?

VW: Perhaps. But I really didn’t think too much. I just loved playing. Subconsciously, or when you look back, you have to think … you have to love it because it’s a ridiculous amount of work and you give up so much. If you don’t love it, it’s impossible to keep that sort of pace.

HUMANITY: What do you love about it?

VW: Of course, I love competition. I think that’s the best part, but also I love the physicality of it. I love putting in the work, and then when you go out and get the results, I think that’s probably the best part. But when you don’t get the result it’s upsetting because you know you have to go back and work even harder, and oftentimes you go back and work harder and harder and harder until you get to where you need to be.

HUMANITY: What advice would you give to kids who dream of being a professional athlete? What would you tell them?

VW: I would say, first off, enjoy it. Enjoy it and believe in yourself, because a big part of it is believing. Everybody’s good, everybody’s trained hard, a lot of people have put in the work, but at the end of the day, do you have the confidence? If you step out there confident, then it’s pretty hard to be beaten. But it’s not easy to step up confidence. It’s a challenge. It’s tough.

 

venuswilliamsimage

 

HUMANITY: Where do you find that confidence? How did that get instilled in you?

VW: I think I was raised to be confident. That was how I was taught, but also, you’re not going to feel confident every time. So sometimes it’s about portraying that confidence. It’s about faking it. It’s about doing whatever it takes to step out there and do what you need to do to perform, and that’s on the tennis court but also off of it, just in life. You can’t expect to be a hundred percent always, but if you believe in yourself things can start to fall into place.

HUMANITY: The meaning of success can change over time, and I imagine maybe what you thought when you were younger is different now. How did you think of success when you were starting out versus how you think of it now?

VW: In my family, success wasn’t really defined by anything at all. It was more or less defined by being a good person. We weren’t really taught, “Oh, you have to win to be successful” or you have to do this or that. We were taught to go out there and try to be a success at the things that you try, so I think I have a more relaxed definition of success, even though I’m a really hard worker and I push hard. I don’t really define my life on the wins or losses or any of those things. I feel like those aren’t the defining moments in my life.

HUMANITY: So what does success mean to you now?

VW: Success for me is being able to live my life with no regrets. To be able to look back and say “I enjoyed my life. I had a good time whether it was win, lose or draw. Whether it was a tough time in life or a good time, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed living.” I think that’s very important. It can’t be a successful life if you didn’t enjoy it. Then what’s the point? Just giving your best every single time. You can look in the mirror and say “I tried. I gave it all. I know I left nothing.” That, to me, is success.

HUMANITY: As a kid growing up, who were your sports heroes?

VW: I only watched tennis, so … I loved Boris Becker and I loved Monica Seles, but I wasn’t like, “Oh, my God. I’m so wrapped up into this, I have to be exactly like them.” I thought they were cool, but I also was just focused on my own goals. But I always just admired their game style and of course their tenacity.

HUMANITY: Who are some of your heroes off the court?

VW: Definitely my mom and my dad, and Serena is a huge hero for me. I think all my heroes are close to home, because those are the ones that motivated me through the tough times.

 

venuswilliamspic2

 

HUMANITY: What values did they instill in you or did they have that really makes you look up to them and appreciate them so much?

VW: My parents taught us to be our own person and to be confident and take risks, to work hard, to believe in ourselves—all those things that you’re supposed to do but sometimes don’t. That was everything. Then of course Serena is so courageous, and I’ve learned so much from her in life and in tennis. She’s definitely been there for me every single moment whether she meant to or not, just showing the way.

HUMANITY: Did your parents teach you any mantras growing up that have stuck with you?

VW: My dad always said a lot of different things, like “A slow walker is a slow thinker.” And I’ve always walked very fast. I don’t know. My dad and my mom said a lot of stuff. But we were always taught to put God first.

HUMANITY: Sounds like you had incredible support growing up. Any thoughts to how you would approach parenting?

VW: I don’t know. I would hope to be not lazy. I have a dog, and taking care of him seems like a lot sometimes. I do my best, but last night I came home and his water bowl was empty and I felt like such a bad mom. I was literally thinking to myself I don’t know how I’m going to have a child. It would be so hard. That’s the hardest job in the world.

HUMANITY: You broke a lot of barriers of race in tennis—were you aware of what you were doing at the time?

VW: I wasn’t thinking about that. It was about reaching my goals, and I wanted to play pro and to play in major tournaments. I was more focused on that than anything else.

HUMANITY: Was there a point, though, where you did realize that what you were accomplishing was really a big deal?

VW: I don’t see myself as a big deal. I see myself as someone who’s working toward her goals, and I’m still fighting to live my dream out there. So maybe at some point I’ll step back, I don’t know. I feel like I’m caught up in still trying to be more.

HUMANITY: What about the idea of you being a role model to so many?

VW: It’s not necessarily that I ever think “Oh, I’m a role model” or that you’re aiming to be one. It’s just that you realize there’s certain things I probably shouldn’t do because that just wouldn’t be good for myself or others. There is a point when you think about that.

HUMANITY: You’ve advocated for equal pay in sports for women. Why is that important to you besides the obvious? How did you decide to get involved?

VW: I think oftentimes people find themselves involved in things that they weren’t planning on. It’s just about standing up for what you believe is right. For me it’s more and more important to get involved and give back to the next generation. Tennis has given so much to me that I feel I’m at the point where I just want to try to find ways to support others in their goals. And obviously, with equal pay in sports it’s the greater issue of inequality that exists everywhere, unfortunately. It’s sad that we still have to fight for that. The fight for equal pay was really just a bigger conversation of what’s happening around the world with women in the workplace, and I just want to be a part of correcting it.

 

venuswilliamsimage3

 

HUMANITY: What kind of messages do you hope to put out into the world? What do you hope people can take away from your story?

VW: I hope people are inspired to live their dream, because there’s nothing as exciting and amazing as living your dreams. I definitely hope to inspire people to do that.

HUMANITY: As a professional athlete your career ends when you’re still very young. Have you thought about a career after tennis?

VW: We were taught to think about our life after tennis and to develop who we were. That was part of our upbringing. I guess our parents just wanted us to not just be an athlete because that would be so one-dimensional. They really encouraged us to not be defined by our accomplishments in sports.

HUMANITY: You just got your bachelor’s degree last year, and did I read that you’re working on another?

VW: Yes, in business. I’m working on my MFA for interior architecture now, and if I go back again it will be to get my doctorate so people can call me Dr. Williams!

HUMANITY: One thing that women seem to struggle with in general all over the world is this feeling like they need to be beautiful. You’re someone who is really beautiful and in the spotlight. I think sometimes it can be hard for people to see someone like you and ever imagine that you struggle with different things, like feeling not beautiful or feeling not valuable. Have you had moments like that, and can you share what gets you through them?

VW: Everybody wants to be beautiful. I think it’s how we’ve been trained, not because being beautiful is important but because society has placed a value on it. So it’s really the psychology and philosophy of it all, but I think there are moments when you look in the mirror and think “Whoa, what happened to me?” But honestly I’m more focused on what I’m accomplishing than what I look like. That’s always been how I felt. What am I accomplishing when I wake up in the morning? It’s about how do I get better, what am I achieving? That’s pretty much what I recommend—focus on what you want to accomplish. It doesn’t matter what you look like on the outside. You can look amazing, but in the end it’s what we do.

HUMANITY: Can you talk a little bit about your relationship with Serena? How you manage to be the ultimate competitors and each other’s ultimate fans too?

VW: We walk on the court. We push each other whether we’re playing against each other or not. We’re playing side by side or in practice and I want to see her win. A win for her is a win for me, and I think she feels the same. It’s pretty much just that simple. We have a lot of fun and a really great time. She’s a blast and very funny. She’s my little sister but she always has a lot of great advice.

HUMANITY: What’s some of the best advice she’s given you?

VW: The best advice she ever gave me in terms of tennis or even life is, you have to show up, so why not compete? You have to be there. You can’t run away from it, so why not compete? That was the best advice ever. I try to apply that daily.

HUMANITY: You’re cemented in tennis history. What do you hope your legacy is, both in tennis and just beyond?

VW: I never really dreamed of a legacy that much. I’m definitely a very in-the-moment person, so I would just like to be remembered as a person who loved the game and gave back to the game and gave back to life.

 

 

 

—

 

RETURN TO THE HOME PAGE

VISIT CITIZENSOFHUMANITY.COM

Shelley Kleyn Armistead

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

Shelley Kleyn Armistead’s two sons are hoping to open a bakery—somewhere they can do recipe development and eventually incorporate a marketplace, if the economics work out. But since they’re 8 and 12, they may need to put their dreams on hold, at least temporarily. It’s only natural that they’d be interested in the culinary arts, given that their mother is partner and COO of L.A.’s Gjelina Group, which runs the celebrated eatery Gjelina, the more casual Gjusta, and GTA (Gjelina Take Away). They’re some of the most-beloved dining spots in Los Angeles, and Armistead’s central role means her sons are thoroughly exposed to the ins and outs of the business. “They’re in the food story whether they like it or not,” she says. “Just by osmosis.”

Her sons aren’t the only family members with a passion for baking. From around age nine, when Armistead was growing up in Cape Town, South Africa, she’d get home from school and bake. At college, she and her roommates lived in a “glorious house” and were all food-obsessed. “Of course, that was partially because everyone smoked copious amounts of weed, so we always had the munchies,” she laughs. Armistead spent college afternoons reading recipe books and coming up with dishes; she saw the food world as her ticket out. “Let’s face it: If you can use a knife or take orders, you can pretty much get work on any continent,” she says. “Those skills can take you everywhere—and they have taken me everywhere.”

Armistead’s journey started with waitressing at night to pay for her first degree. After graduation, she took off traveling, making her way through Africa and Europe before ending up in London. “I wanted to study again,” she says, “and like everyone else, I was obsessed with the River Café there, so I was very, very lucky to get a job with them as a server while I studied for a bachelor of science degree in nutrition and homeopathic medicine.”

As she was graduating with her second degree, River Café co-owner Rose Gray convinced her to stay in the industry. “I said, ‘No, I’m gonna change the world through homeopathy,’ but she said, ‘Bullshit.’” Given that Armistead was stepping out into the world with copious student loans, she relented. “Being in the nurturing bosom of Rose and Ruth’s family and going straight into a salary just made complete sense,” she says. Armistead stayed on as manager until leaving to help open what would become Notting Hill’s members-only club Electric House of the Soho House group; she stayed on in the company for nearly 12 years.

Three years ago, Armistead joined the Gjelina family as a partner. “We’re all obsessed with food and great wine, but beyond that, we’re passionate about art and literature and poetry and music and politics, particularly when it comes to environmental sustainability,” she says. “This job just felt like a natural evolution.” In addition to the as-yet unnamed Japanese restaurant opening in L.A. this year, (the fourth jewel in the Gjelina crown) she’ll become bi-coastal when Gjelina opens a farm-focused restaurant in NYC, its first business on the East Coast. There’s even a Gjusta Goods, a shop which opened in December 2016 and offers a slew of unique pieces—from pottery, to vintage clothing, to poetry books, to table linens—that fit into the company’s overall ethos, some of which Armistead sourced on her travels. “The store’s a representation of things we love,” she says, “a sweet, evolving snapshot of our conversations over the past three years.” Overseeing all those properties certainly keeps Armistead on her toes, but she doesn’t seem fazed. “If you think about it too much, you can get overwhelmed,” she says. “But I’m surrounded by great people,” she says. “It sounds cheesy, but I literally have the best job.”

 

 

—

FRANCA SOZZANI

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

franca-primary-image

“When you are so lucky to do in your life what you like, it means you have freedom,” says Franca Sozzani, whose long wavy blond hair and strong features make her look sympathetic and commanding at the same time. “I probably didn’t know that I was a free person when I was very young,” she says. “I realized in the years, working. And I did only what I liked.”

Sozzani has been Vogue Italia’s editor-in-chief since 1988, the year she turned 38 and the same year Anna Wintour took over at American Vogue. Then, photographers like Bruce Weber, Mario Sorrenti and Steven Mesiel were finding their footings and the faces of Cindy Crawford and Linda Evangelista were becoming synonymous with the seemingly off-the-cuff, grungier glamour of the late 1980s and early 1990s. Sozzani had worked at the children’s fashion magazine Vogue Bambini and at the fashion magazine Lei before arriving at Vogue Italia, and she meant from the beginning for that magazine, which had previously focused mainly on Italian designers, to have international appeal. She succeeded almost immediately.

If you look back at her first covers–a colorful one of an orange-haired model and the severe one all shades of brown, where the model glares back at the viewer–it’s hard to place them in the 1980s. They look more in step with the ethereal, edgy fashion imagery that took hold a few years later, when waif-like Kate Moss was the girl of the moment.

Conde Nast, the publisher of all international versions of Vogue, describes Vogue Italia as the “most influential Italian fashion and style magazine,” “always a pioneer,” setting “the pace of the fashion world” and taking on “topics that are powerful, contemporary and cutting-edge, with an unmistakable style.” Paris Vogue, in contrast, is less floridly described as a universally recognized… key source of inspiration,” and UK Vogue is called “pre-eminent.”

Part of what distinguishes Vogue Italia from other fashion magazines is its overwhelming reliance on images–often, covers will only have the magazine’s title and the name of the month on them, none of that brand of copy meant to grab your eye in a supermarket checkout line.

“The Italian language is spoken only in Italy,” says Sozzani, explaining her overwhelmingly visual approach, “and I thought that if I wanted to be [heard], or even better seen, worldwide, I had only [one] way: To invent a new language.” Even when the photo essay was the main editorial approach of magazines like Life and Vu, words played essential roles: they still shaped readers’ understanding of the cultural or political stories being told. In Sozzani’s magazine, pictures had to communicate everything to the reader; fashion spreads had to be initially gripping and then provocative enough to propel readers through the pages. “The images can talk to you instantly without words or any explications.”

Sozzani has an instinct for finding image-makers, and is committed to the best of those she finds. “I love to meet different kinds of people. I learn every day from everybody,” she says. But learning from people is not the same as choosing collaborators. “You become friends [with people] because you love them, not because they are inspiring or useful. In choosing people with whom I work I want, of course, talented people who can help e. What does it mean, ‘talented’?” Sozzani adds. “Creative and intelligent and ready to change their mind.”

Since the first issue she helmed, Steve Meisel, a photographer who began his career as an illustrator in the 1970s and never privileges prettiness over precariousness, has photographed every cover. “It’s been the most creative outlet that I have,” Meisel has said of Vogue Italia, to which he has also contributed some of the most memorable features. In 1992, for the cover, he photographed Madonna barefoot in the street, in a newsboy cap and trench coat open enough to show a bra, heavy belt and black pants. She’s unsmiling, looking suspiciously at the camera. The accompanying spread inside the magazine showed the pop star as a chameleon. In each photos–some black and white, others in color–she channels an entirely different version of headstrong femininity: she’s a gypsy, a mystic, a sultry belly dancer, a tough-girl rock star and a fur-wearing royal.

Just over 20 years later, in 2005, he photographed Makeover Madness, a feature in which model Linda Evangelista went under the knife, wearing evening gowns and fur coats while in surgery. Dimly lit and half-noir, half-documentary, Meisel’s images had that combination of grit and otherworldliness that particularly characterizes the work he’s done over the last decade.

Features like Makeover Madness have prompted criticism, partly because they don’t usually take a clear ethical position. Instead, they use glamour to complicate an issue: What does it say about the beauty machine to see a figure like Linda Evangelista with bandages around her face, or with bloody scalpels surrounding her? Why is it so squirm inducing?

“I didn’t choose to please everybody,” Sozzani says of her work at Vogue Italia. “I said since the beginning, ‘Vogue is for many people, not for everyone.’ ” The editor–who uses Twitter and blogs almost daily about the places she visits, art she sees and causes she supports, always with optimistic urgency–says she feels no need to hold back or to muffle editorial choices. She may even aim for more extreme content in the future. “I still have time,” she says.

 

—

RETURN TO THE HOME PAGE

VISIT CITIZENSOFHUMANITY.COM

JANUARY BOOK CLUB

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

 

 

Nonstop Metropolis by Rebecca Solnit

University of California Press

Rebecca Solnit is, to put it bluntly, one of our heroes. Known for penning cultural histories and searing critical essays, this third and final installment of her atlas series tackles the lesser-known histories of New York City. Filled with beautifully illustrated maps, Nonstop Metropolis is enchanting, engaging, and teaching us so much about a city we thought we knew!    

 

 

Swing Time by Zadie Smith

Penguin Press

Following two girls from North London as they bond over their love of dance, Swing Time is Zadie Smith’s fifth novel, but is her first written in first person. Our narrator remains nameless, some may say “shadowy”, as she interacts with three very strong female relationships in her life. Her oldest friend, who she met in dance class as a child, her fiercely independent and politically active mother, and her employer, an international pop star Aimee (think Madonna), all challenge her perception and understanding of herself. Ruminating on rhythm, movement, and female friendships, we love how Smith explores race, privilege, and identify shifting across time and space.

 

 

Frantumaglia: A Writer’s Journey by Elena Ferrante

Europa Editions

If you are anything like us, you’ve probably had a taste of #FerranteFever at least once since My Brilliant Friend was published in the U.S. in 2011. The anonymous Italian author writes with verve, unafraid to show the passionate, if not always attractive, side of life. She made headlines, often compared to fellow international literary sensation Karl Ove Knausgaard, but with one major difference– she had no intention of being a public figure, keeping her identity hidden. As if anticipating the obsession with her unveiling, Frantumaglia, a Neapolitan dialect word meaning “bits and pieces of uncertain origin which rattle around in your head not always comfortably,” is a collection of her nonfiction writing organized into letters, essays, interviews, and reflections that gives readers a deeper look into the mysterious writer and her brilliant mind.

 

 

White Trash by Nancy Isenberg

Viking

In the wake of Trump’s election, there has been intense conversation about the position of the white working class. Isenberg’s analysis of this complicated cultural and economic group is perfectly timed for the discussion of American identity politics. Indeed, the white working class has been at the center of our political system for years. White Trash opens up the dialogue for a much larger picture of racial and wealth inequality in this country, and is a welcome companion to understanding America’s roots.

 

 

Pond by Claire-Louise Bennett

Riverhead Books

Deceptively thin, this book of poetic meditation-like pieces does away with genre. Channeling fragments, short stories, and narrative at times, Pond asks us to savor each word Irish author Bennett writes. From the inner monologue of a fairly solitary and eccentric woman, she finds vital connection and kinetic energy with her surroundings and the physical world. Pond contains the kind of writing that plops you into someone else’s head and leaves you thrilled, if not slightly off-balance, to look around for a while.

 

—

RETURN TO THE HOME PAGE

VISIT CITIZENSOFHUMANITY.COM

CHEF RAVINDER BHOGAL

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

Chef Ravinder Bhogal recently moved into a new apartment in northwest London; in the kitchen, there’s a marble-topped butcher’s block, where Bhogal can sprinkle flour and knead dough. Since she opened her restaurant, Jikoni, in fall 2016, though, that butcher block hasn’t seen much action. “I’m at the restaurant 90 percent of the time,” says Bhogal. “It’s more home than home is at the moment. I was warned it’d be like this, but I can’t complain—it’s a privilege.” Diners who make their way to Bhogal’s comforting space in Marylebone, which is adorned with vintage-inspired tablecloths and plush pillows, aren’t complaining, either: Jikoni’s rich, inventive dishes have earned rave reviews from critics, including four stars in the Sunday Times. Her regulars have also helped boost her confidence. “It’s a huge compliment when we have repeat customers,” says Bhogal. “We’ve only been open four weeks, and some people have already been back six times.”

Bhogal grew up in Nairobi, Kenya, among an extended family “for whom meals never seemed to stop,” she says. “It was just a constant feeding frenzy, with between 15 and 25 people at each meal.” She learned to cook from her mother, whom she refers to as “the commander-in-chief of the kitchen.” At 5 years old, Bhogal was enlisted to help out with prepping and cooking: peeling carrots, potting peas and making pastry. “She sort of dragged me in kicking and screaming,” she laughs. But she credits her passion for cooking to her grandfather, who encouraged her earliest efforts in the kitchen, however amateurish. “He bought me a little aluminum stove and I’d make flatbreads on it,” she says. “They were very charred and not very nice, but he would gobble them up with sheer delight, and comment on what a brilliant cook I was. I thought, ‘Wow, if you can garner such praise through something you’ve cooked, this must be a wonderful thing.’ ”

 

RAVINDER-BOGHAL---1

 

At age 7, Bhogal moved with her family from Africa to the U.K., and she wasn’t especially thrilled about the transition. “I’d been running wild in a lush, tropical garden, and then suddenly I was in this gray, wintry landscape.” But decades later her food career blossomed in London. Bhogal was working as a fashion and beauty journalist but was still infatuated with cooking in her free time. A friend saw an ad for a reality show in which superstar chef Gordon Ramsay would anoint a new food personality; Bhogal was one of 9,000 entrants and won the series’ third season. “It changed the course of my life,” she says. She had a book deal within three months, did some TV shows, then cooked at a series of restaurant pop-ups and residencies. A business partner approached her about opening a space of her own, and the result was Jikoni.

“I wanted to bring people the kind of food I love: unadulterated and un-fiddled-with,” says Bhogal. “Almost an un-restaurant, where people could enjoy a meal and the kind of service you’d have for guests in your home.” She describes the food at Jikoni as having a “mixed heritage”—a heady blend of influences from Africa, Persia, India and Europe. And as for its intimate decor, she says it’s all a natural extension of how she ended up in restaurants to begin with: “The look of Jikoni is almost maternal, because I learned how to cook from women. Wherever I’ve traveled, whether it’s Zimbabwe or Palestine or Kenya, I’ve always ended up in the kitchen with a woman, learning. I wanted to celebrate all the women who’ve taught me, who’ve generously shared their kitchen with me.”

 

RAVINDER-BOGHAL-3

 

—

RETURN TO THE HOME PAGE

VISIT CITIZENSOFHUMANITY.COM

DECEMBER BOOK CLUB

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

Jennifer Baker of Bookmarc picks the best new reads out in December.

 

  • Alternative Vision - Martine Sitbon - Humanity Magazine

 

Alternative Vision by Martine Sitbon

Rizzoli

Back when an alternative vision was acceptable and exciting, Martine Sitbon offered new, strange, beautifully cut clothes. An homage to her as well as her tribe of collaborators including Marc Ascoli and Craig McDean. An homage to what was perhaps the last truly creative era of innovation and style.

 

  • Another Girl Another Planet by Valerie Phillips - Humanity Magazine

Another Girl Another Planet by Valerie Phillips

Rizzoli

A visceral celebration of girls being girls and all things girly. Unapologetic, edgy, happy.

 

  • Power to the People: The World of the Black Panthers - Humanity Magazine

Power to the People: The World of the Black Panthers by Stephen Shames and Bobby Seale

Abrams

Have we made no progress since the Panther Party was created in 1966 to confront violence and protect the community?  Party founder Bobby Seale and photographer Stephen Shames offer a careful and moving history commemorating the Panthers’ 5oth anniversary.

Andy Warhol: Factory by Stephen Shore

Phaidon

Who knew? Shot in black and white when Shore was just 17, he captured the Factory gang at work (?) and play, smiling before danger and drugs changed everything. Brilliant text from Shore, Lynne Tillman and key players offer real insight into an over scrutinized party. A textbook of an era and the origins of a pioneer of American photography.

 

  • Skinny - Terry Richardson - Humanity Magazine

Skinny by Terry Richardson

Idea Books 

A sweet, romantic, honest love story. We love Terry and family!

—

RETURN TO THE HOME PAGE

VISIT CITIZENSOFHUMANITY.COM