Author: Stephanie Janssen

CLARE VIVIER

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

Clare Vivier distinctly remembers the day she stumbled upon four $100 bills lying on Piedmont Avenue in Oakland in 2000. At the time, she was holding down a number of jobs to make ends meet, including working alongside her now-husband, journalist Thierry Vivier, to produce a news magazine about Silicon Valley for television in his native France. “Four hundred dollars was a ton of money to me,” she recalls.

But in her mind’s eye, Vivier had already been toying with the idea of launching a handbag line, prompted by her discovery of a hole in the market for stylish and versatile laptop cases for women, and her subsequent decision to craft her own.

“I took the money as a complete sign,” says Vivier. “I thought immediately, ‘I am buying a good sewing machine, and I am going to make bags.’ ” Through that machine, the Clare V. line was eventually born, evolving from a collection of classic, minimalist bags into the beloved, made-in-L.A. luxury lifestyle brand that it is today, spanning accessories, apparel and home decor.

Vivier had always envisioned a career involving fashion, though one wielding a pen over a needle. The youngest of six children born to a Mexican lawyer father and Irish teacher mother in “beautiful and bucolic” St. Paul, Minnesota, Vivier decamped from the Midwest to the Bay Area to study English at the University of San Francisco. “I just wanted to write fashion journalism. I think it was just a way to get into fashion for me—which is where I always wanted to be.”

After earning bylines penning pieces on fashion, food and culture for the likes of the San Francisco Bay Guardian following graduation, the 23-year-old journalist packed her bags and headed to Paris in 1994, fueled by a desire “to be in a big city where things were happening,” she says.

Vivier spent the next year learning French, in between waitressing and working as an intern at a documentary film production company. A year later she returned to the Bay Area, bringing Thierry (the pair met at a dinner party in Paris, and were married in 2002) and a newfound appreciation for the timeless and chic aesthetic of French design, which eventually played a role in shaping the aesthetic of her line. “It is definitely something I always keep in mind when conceptualizing new bags,” she says.

In 2001, the couple moved to Los Angeles’s Silver Lake neighborhood, where Vivier worked as a prop stylist and production assistant, all while focusing on ways to grow her vision. A hunt for leather around town eventually led Vivier to her first factory in 2002 and, in turn, her first mentor.

“I think she really respected that I knew how to construct things, and I didn’t want to be a designer on a whim,” says Vivier. “It was a great education for me on how bags are made, and I don’t think I would be where I am without that.”

Following the birth of the couple’s son, Oscar, in 2003, Vivier shelved her fashion aspirations to focus on motherhood, not knowing if she would ever return to making her line. “Whenever we drove by the area where the factory was, I could almost cry that I had let this dream go. It was something I really believed in,” she says. When Oscar went off to preschool three years later, Vivier returned to the factory. “I said, ‘Remember me? Can we do this? I really want to do this.’ ”

Clare V. had momentum from the get-go, but over the years, a string of events helped boost the brand, including a mention of her laptop bag in the highly influential, now-defunct newsletter DailyCandy in 2006. Two years later, Vivier landed her first major wholesale account with L.A.’s Mohawk General Store, followed by Steven Alan in New York. “Those two stores were the best marketing and accounts I could have asked for,” she says.

In 2010, Vivier hired her first employee (she now has 55), and opened her flagship in a sunny spot on Sunset Boulevard in Silver Lake in 2012. Today, she has seven boutiques throughout New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles. “We’ve done everything at a very organic pace.”

“I don’t know if it’s superstitious or not, but I don’t know if I have ‘made it,’ ” says Vivier, who admits that there have been plenty of “pinch me” moments throughout her career—like the time she was introduced to one of her childhood fashion idols, model Amber Valletta, who happened to be wearing one of Vivier’s bags in the brand’s infancy.

“I run a business, and I am still happy I get to do what I love, and employ a team of wonderful people in our studio,” she says. “It’s like a dream come true.”

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STEPHANIE GILMORE

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

Stephanie Gilmore is a six-time world surfing champion; she won her first by entering as a virtual unknown, then taking the greatest title in professional surfing. The 30-year-old world champion is quick to give credit where credit is due—to her coach, who happens to be her father. “As a kid, I had an excellent teacher and surfing role model: my dad. However, my two sisters and I didn’t really have a choice in the matter—we were taken to the beach,” says Gilmore. “He lived and breathed the salt air and the ocean, and because he led by example, I was introduced to it in a fun way rather than, ‘Here’s what to do, you’re going to be a pro.’ ” She was about 7 years old when her first informal surfing lessons started and “really got into it. Some of my best and earliest memories are from paddling myself out and back and pulling my father around,” she says.

Though it started as a hobby, Gilmore says she eventually was overwhelmed by the same surfing passion as her dad. “I played all the other sports—hockey, soccer,” she says. “But surfing just consumed me. It was the first thing I’d think about in the morning and the last thing I thought about when I was going to bed, still covered in sunscreen and saltwater.” At school, she says she was “constantly in fear of missing good waves.” And at 12, she made a decision: “Surfing was what I wanted to do with my life.”

Luckily, growing up on the coast of Australia made that goal a little easier to achieve. “As a teenager, I’d skip school and sneak on the public bus to go surf Snapper Rocks, my favorite wave,” she says. “Nearby, in Coolangatta, was an abundance of world-class surfers.” There, she got even more essential training, in the form of observing her fellow athletes. “When you watch someone surf, you can really notice when they’re actually just feeling it and not forcing things,” she says. “As a kid, I would sometimes try to force maneuvers—my thoughts were just ahead of where my actual body was. Someone once said to me, ‘Hey, you really need to read the wave,’ and from that moment on, I’ve always used that to my advantage,” she says. “Reading the wave is about being ready to adapt—every single wave breaks differently, so I’m changing every split second, reading how fast the wave is breaking and how to fit in certain maneuvers.”

Surfing isn’t just a brute-force movement, says Gilmore, “it’s an art form. It’s not like there’s a specific finish line” she says. “It’s about the way you paint a picture on the wave, and it reflects whatever you’re going through at the time. You can see it in how they’re paddling. You can see when people are a little bit frustrated, or they’ve had a bad day. And you see people just stoked to be out there. The ocean kind of reflects what you’re feeling.”

Technique-wise, Gilmore is often praised for her effortless, elegant style. It’s one she adapted after watching her peers and idols, then finding her own path. “Surfing is definitely a male-dominated industry, and has been for a long time,” she says. “As a young girl, I looked up to both female and male surfers, but mostly to men, because that’s how I was trying to surf. I think that helped make me more of a balanced surfer. I’m not pro-woman or pro-man—I’m just like a creature in the ocean, which is a special thing.”

2018 marks Gilmore’s 11th year on tour with the World Surf League, which can be a mixed blessing. “I get a real kick out of paddling out in front of thousands of people and performing on this stage, the ocean,” she says. “I’m a pretty relaxed and happy person, but realistically, to win these events, you have to be ferocious,” she says. “I have to go into competitions as if I haven’t eaten for months and my opponent is my meal,” she says, before hesitating. “I feel like I’m giving you all my secrets . . .”

She’ll need that fierce spirit even more in about two years. As you may know, surfing was approved as an Olympic sport for the 2020 Tokyo games. Watching it transform from a niche culture to a mainstream event has been, for Gilmore, a fascinating and odd experience. “At first, it was a little scary. The Olympics is a huge platform and surfing is such a spiritual experience; people think it will end the purity of the sport, but I think it’ll shine a light on how wonderful surfing is, and introduce it to an entirely new audience.”

Her father’s influence is undeniable, though his lessons permeated more than just Gilmore’s sports technique. “When I was a kid, I remember dinging up my surfboard on some rocks,” she says. “And I said, ‘Oh no, what am I going to do?!’ I remember him saying, ‘Don’t worry, it’ll make you go faster.’ I’ve never forgotten that. We really do sweat so much small stuff, and I try to appreciate the fact that no matter what, we’re just pieces of dust floating across the Earth. We’re supposed to do what we do well, make a positive impact on others and be on our journey into the next ball of energy, wherever that is.”

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STACEY GRIFFITH

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

In 2006, Stacey Griffith was working as a fitness instructor, holding down several different jobs, when she made a very important new contact. She met Elizabeth Cutler, who had dreamed up a new type of cycling gym. Spinning had been around for about a decade at the time but didn’t have much momentum, especially on the East Coast. “Elizabeth took my class in the Hamptons, and we just fell in love with each other’s spirit,” says Griffith. “She said, ‘We’re not open yet, but I’d love for you to teach for us when we are. In about October of the same year, I got the call and moved to New York City. We had 26 bikes in a former funeral parlor.” That little gym? SoulCycle, which now has 84 locations across the country.

SoulCycle has, of course, become more than just a place to burn off calories. It’s a cultural phenomenon—a nationally recognized name, shorthand for a workout that’s not just a workout but an immersive emotional experience. “I think we nurture and motivate and inspire people,” says Griffith. “We ask people to—for 45 minutes, three days a week—spend time aligning their thoughts, their heart rate and their lungs, and answer questions about how they want to live. When you line up all those different pathways, that’s when you actually create change in your life.”

Griffith says she was essentially “raised by coaches,” given how much time she spent playing sports as a kid. “My mom says that I came out of the womb swinging a tennis racket,” she jokes. At age 18, Griffith landed her first teaching job in a YMCA, when she was asked to teach an abs class. “Once I got a taste of being in charge of the music and the activity, it really snapped in my head that I wanted to be a fitness instructor.” She took her first spin class at age 27 and started to lead classes two years later. And teaching is clearly an innate talent for Griffith: Midway through our interview, she leads me through a quick alignment and breathing exercise.

She’s come a long way since that first YMCA class, both in her skills and on a personal level. “Before SoulCycle, I was not a sober-living person,” says Griffith. “There were times when I’d show up places high on drugs, hungover or drunk. But in the last 11 years of my sobriety, I can guarantee you that 99.9 percent of the time I walk through that door, I am bringing my best self. SoulCycle was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I think I matched that opportunity by cutting out the things that were making my life not great. Friends who remember my wild days are like, ‘Oh man, I miss crazy Stacey.’ She was fun, but this Stacey is one who’ll always show up for you. That’s the best feeling ever.”

Another great feeling? Inspiring women to follow in her foot pedals. “Now there are so many females leading the way; I hope that I can reach young girls who might want to pursue a career in fitness. I’ve written a book. I’ve opened studios. I’ve been working to impact lives.”

Griffith, who now teaches close to 900 classes a year, has a slew of fond career memories, including touring with Oprah on “The Life You Want” and speaking about branding at Columbia Business School. The latter was especially impactful for her. “It was crazy,” she says, “because I was a high school dropout. And I had so much shame about my lack of education. But after teaching for 20 years and helping create this brand, I stepped out of that shame box. My self-awareness has elevated to a whole new level.”

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AMY CAPPELLAZZO

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

IF ANYONE EVER DOUBTED THE EXTENT OF MONEY FLOWING IN AND OUT OF THE ART WORLD, THEY HAD BUT TO LEARN OF THE RECORD $450 MILLION AUCTION SALE IN MID-NOVEMBER OF LEONARDO DA VINCI’S SALVATOR MUNDI PAINTING. OR THEY COULD CHECK IN WITH PROMINENT ART EXECUTIVE AMY CAPPELLAZZO. A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE HIGH-END ART MARKET, IN 2014 CAPPELLAZZO LEFT CHRISTIE’S AUCTION HOUSE, WHERE SHE WAS CHAIRMAN OF POST-WAR & CONTEMPORARY DEVELOPMENT, TO CO-FOUND ART AGENCY, PARTNERS, A WIDE-RANGING ART ADVISORY BUSINESS. AFTER IT WAS ACQUIRED BY SOTHEBY’S AUCTION HOUSE IN JANUARY 2016, CAPPELLAZZO EMERGED AS CHAIRMAN OF SOTHEBY’S NEW FINE ART DIVISION.

BARBARA ISENBERG: Let’s start where you started, in Buffalo, New York. Were you interested in art as a child?

AMY CAPPELLAZZO: My hometown had a superb museum, the Albright-Knox Art Gallery, which had a great collection and which I loved. I had a sense of wonder about art, and it was a great inspiration to me as a child. I had a curiosity about making art, but the history and legacy of art was more interesting to me. I pretty much knew early on that I would be more successful on this side of the business.

BI: You began your art career in Miami?

AC: That was the beginning of my real art career, for sure. I had gone to NYU as an undergraduate, worked in New York for a time and gone to graduate school there. But I felt sometimes you have to leave New York, which can be an overwhelming place where it’s hard to find your voice. I liked that Miami at that time was very much a city in the making, and it was fun to be part of its becoming a global city in the cultural arena.

BI: Do you recall what your early career goals were around that time?

AC: Definitely. To make art happen, rather than to make art.

BI: How did you go about making art happen? The art world, like so many other industries, has always seemed to me like a boys’ club. Was there some success that made the next success happen, or people who were encouraging you?

AC: I don’t know about momentum. Sometimes you make life happen and sometimes life happens to you. I have always been a firm believer that you make life happen and sometimes things happen to you, but if they’re not good, you make them “unhappen.” I have a sense of foolishly thinking I can control my destiny a little bit.

BI: What are your own personal art interests?

AC: I’ve always been interested in living artists, and I’ve always been interested in pivotal moments in art history, when artists changed the course of things. I’m always interested in artists who work on the periphery and stayed with their concepts even though they didn’t have a market or academic recognition.

BI: Could you give me an example of any of these artists?

AC: For example, a lot of the women artists who are currently getting their due worked for years and years in absentia, without any prospect of financial success in their lives. Now, a lot of them are getting their due, and that’s really fantastic.

BI: What do you think changed?

AC: One change is greater recognition of people from other parts of the world and other backgrounds. There is also the desire of art history to expand its canon and the desire of the market to have more inventory to sell.

BI: How would you describe the art market these days?

AC: I feel the art market is in a moment of massive disruption, and that’s a very exciting place to be. It’s a very exciting time to be a part of this industry, because the marketplace is in constant reconfiguration, recharacterization and redefinition.

BI: Could you elaborate on how all that spurred you and art advisor Allan Schwartzman to start Art Agency, Partners?

AC: We saw a gap in service that wasn’t being filled in the art world. Collectors had questions or needs, and one particular entity couldn’t be a full-service entity. There was also a different kind of data and information that collectors were yearning for. I could see that for someone to make a decision to spend many millions of dollars, certain kinds of information were needed or would be useful to help guide that collector. It was hard to go to one place and get all that information. You could get it from a variety of different sources, but it was a lot of work.

BI: What did Art Agency, Partners bring to the table?

AC: I think typically you have a lawyer who does one thing, and you have a financial advisor who gives you a different kind of advice. You have a dealer or friend in the art world who sells you things or helps you sell things when you want to sell them. Ours was the concept of a full-stop shop.

BI: How do you help people curate a collection that’s both personal and right for them?

AC: You want them to be comfortable starting the process, so you want to see what they are guided by or what tastes they have and work with some impression of what you think they’re going to like. If they’re really attracted to Picasso, you wouldn’t tell them “No, you should buy these minimal sculptures.” You take who they are and what they like and you help them become very sophisticated about it using market data and information about works of art and their value, and collection management.

BI: What about the notion of encouraging love of art as well as seeing it as an asset or commodity?

AC: For centuries, art has been collected because it’s been desired and loved. People should always retain that feeling about art. It also has turned into a proper asset class, so you can take a calculating view of it and forget the personal passion, but why do that?

BI: As you help clients with estate planning, are you also encouraging them to think about the legacy side of leaving their collections to museums?

AC: I think a great collection is certainly a way to leave a legacy. There are lots of ways to leave a legacy, as we know, and there are very few ways that are as much fun in the process as art collecting.

BI: I’ve noticed in interviewing very successful artists that many today are thinking more about what they do with all the money they’re making. This seems relatively new to me.

AC: It is relatively new as a service, and we have an artist advisory division so we can help artists structure their own estates and think of their own legacies with their work. Normally you would go to your dealer or lawyer, but never the twain shall meet. But a lot of artists with big markets are getting to a certain age or certain station in life where they want to consider what to do next. We’ve been very quickly successful in that arena, so it shows we’re filling a need.

BI: What’s next?

AC: I don’t know. I’m just going to grow what we have for a while.

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Posted in Art

PAT STEIR

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

CHARLES MOFFETT: Alright. How are you doing today?

PAT STEIR: Oh, I have terrible back problems every day.

CM: Oh, I’m sorry. Are you still up to chat today or would you like me to try you another time?

PS: No, this is OK.

CM: OK. Well, thank you for taking the time to chat with me today, especially given your back problems.

PS: Oh, thank you.

CM: I don’t want to take up too much of your day, so if you’re OK we’ll just dive right into some questions.

PS: OK.

CM: I’m curious to know what you hope the viewer sees when standing in front of your paintings and this common thread becomes known.

PS: Well, I hope the viewer sees their own heart, not mine. I hope it triggers something in the viewer that the viewer wants to see or needs to see. In other words, I think of it as a trigger. I don’t want to put a message on somebody, I want them to see what they see and find what they find and hopefully it’s a trigger for an inner dialogue with themself, whoever the viewer is and why that would be different, whatever that person’s story is. So I think of art—not only my art but of all art—as a trigger rather than a message.

CM: Along those lines, you once said that through your work you were hoping to reach the soul of other people. Is there a certain audience that you’re trying to reach?

PS: I once said it but I don’t mean that anymore.

CM: That’s interesting. Why is that?

PS: I don’t know why—I guess I’ve changed. In other words, I want the work to trigger what that viewer needs to trigger. Like landscape, when you look at landscape, beautiful landscape, each person gets a set of emotions and thoughts that are not the same as each other person. It comes from their own history and their own background and their own ways of seeing, and so I’d rather it be approached like landscape rather than like a message.

CM: That’s very interesting. I’m fascinated by the idea that the message has changed or it has evolved . . .

PS: It hasn’t changed. I’m old now—I said that when I was young. Everyone changes. I hope everyone changes.

CM: As do I, especially I think in this day and age. I guess along those lines of evolution, and maybe this has changed as well, but referring to abstraction as taking a lifetime to figure out, I’ve noticed your vocabulary around this idea has changed, and now you refer to these paintings as “nonobjective” rather than abstract.

PS: Yeah, because I think of abstraction as abstracting something, but I wanted them to trigger their feelings of landscape but they’re not imitating landscape. They’re not abstractions of landscape. Nonobjective is the best way to call them. In abstracting you abstract something, some figure in some way. I think people call them abstract paintings because that’s the available language.

  • "Aporia" Pat Steir, Oil on canvas, 72 x 72 inches (182.9 x 182.9 cm), 2016-2017

 

CM: Is each painting started the same way? How do you start each painting?

PS: They start with the same green underpainting.

CM: And when you first started using the green underpainting, is this a color that you arrived at organically or did you know immediately that this was going to be the best way to push out the color?

PS: Well, I just knew that it would because of what I know about color, that this color would do what I want. It defects everything on top of it through layers and layers of paint, one on top of the other.

CM: I read where you talked about painting as being an object and also a voice, which I thought, especially in today’s political, social and cultural climate that we’re in, is there a voice of your work that may be different now than say in the late ’80s or ’90s, or even two years ago?

PS: The voice always changes, like it does in a person, you know? You read a book and you have additional thoughts or other thoughts or change your mind. So the voice changes. But maybe the voice for me is that right now a lot of young people are making ugly art, purposefully ugly, and they’re reflecting the ugly times we live in. They might not even know it, you know? It might not be an overt political statement, might be just a reflection. Art reflects the moment, and I’m making overtly beautiful paintings, or trying to for sure, and I think as a political gesture to put some beauty into the conversation.

CM: I absolutely agree. I tell a lot of my peers that there’s nothing wrong with beautiful paintings. I think it’s an important thing to add to the conversation, especially in today’s environment. Along those lines, when you taught and lectured, was there a certain message, or did you have some advice for younger emerging artists who are grappling with not only a changing political landscape but also the way that the galleries function today?

PS: Well, I wouldn’t want to be young trying to find a gallery, that’s for sure. There’s so many artists and so many galleries and so many opinions and so many ways to manipulate opinion, it’s really confusing. I’m trying to help a young artist get her work seen, and it’s difficult. My advice is just don’t give up. If it’s really the only thing you can do and the only thing you want to do, don’t give up. But if you’re iffy about it you’d better give it up.

CM: I find the power of experience still to be incredibly important, with seeing work and seeing work in context, which my fear is if we were to see more closings for small and mid-level galleries, we’d run the risk of becoming a totally art-fair-centric culture, yet being able to see everything in context in an exhibition as yours is now I think is wildly important.

PS: I think so too, because how can you know a young artist by one painting or one piece of sculpture, whatever they make, in an art fair? You really can’t. I think everyone under 40—40 and under or even maybe 50 and under—has a hard time. It used to be hard to get into art school, so that weeded out a lot of people who weren’t totally committed.

CM: Where does the work start for you?

PS: Everything begins with a concept. I always say the cat sits on our refrigerator and looks at the door and suddenly jumps up and jumps out the door. He had a concept—he knew he wanted to get on the other side of the door. Anyway, I start with a set of limitations, that is for each painting I would set a limitation.

CM: That’s interesting. What are the limitations?

PS: Limitations are I choose a set of colors to work with and I don’t waver. I don’t madly struggle with the painting and change my mind in the middle and try another color. I just follow what I set out to do. The other limitation is pouring the paint. I pour the paint, the colors that pour the underpainting, and then the wind in the room and the heat in the room and the coldness in the room affects how the painting looks, how the colors are layered, so those are the decisions I make.

CM: In the studio do you move between works or is each canvas a start-to-finish process?

PS: No. I work on a few canvases at the same time, because I work with oil paint; it takes a long time to dry, and if I just worked on one painting at a time it would take me six months to finish a painting because it’s layers of paint and I let the layers dry slowly, so I work on two or three at once.

CM: Given the layering process of your work, I imagine it would be difficult to stop or start over. Is there ever a time where you think I need to stop or shift directions or is each one truly completed?

PS: Each one is completed. If I think it’s not up to par at the end I don’t exhibit it. I save it, though. I save everything. Sometimes I go back to see it and I think why didn’t I want to show this one, and then I show it at a later date.

CM: There’s this one question that I’ve been thinking about quite a bit and maybe the answer’s very straightforward, but since I visited Lévy Gorvy and saw the show [Pat Steir: Kairos], I’ve watched the interview a number of times, and you mention going to visit Agnes Martin out in New Mexico, somebody who became a dear friend. And there’s a part when you’re retelling the story, you mentioned that she asked to see your sketchbook when you saw her.

PS: The first time I visited her, yes.

CM: And if I understand it you said no, and I was just curious to know why you didn’t want her looking at the sketchbook.

PS: I was very young and I had thought they weren’t good enough and I didn’t want her to see something that wasn’t good enough. I was just starting to make paintings.

CM: Did you begin sharing work with her in future visits?

PS: No, but I’ll tell you a story. My first exhibition was at the Philadelphia Museum, the art school there, and right after I had my exhibition Agnes had an exhibition there and Agnes saw my work there and she sent me a postcard. She said your paintings made me feel real good—that made me feel real good.

CM: Well, it’s a beautiful hang and I’m glad I had the opportunity to speak with you. I thank you for taking the time to chat with me for a bit today.

PS: I hope I’ve been helpful … and thank you for such insightful questions.

CM: Well, thank you. That makes me feel good. To be honest I was a bit nervous to get on the phone with you. You’re very accomplished and I’ve long admired your work, so this has been a true pleasure.

  • "Golden" Pat Steir, Oil on canvas, 132 x 113 inches (335.3 x 287 cm), 2016-2017

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MARGARET KILGALLEN

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

In May 2001, Margaret Kilgallen approached the 30-foot interior walls of the Institute of Contemporary Art in Philadelphia with buckets of recycled house paint, and without the aid of guides or stencils trusted her hand and instinct to spell out the phrase “Main Drag” in carnivalesque letters nearly three stories tall. Along the base of her oversized lettering, Kilgallen hung small paintings on salvaged panels and stitched-together canvases. Each added element extended further across the museum’s walls, until illustrations and words were clustered edge-to-edge and Kilgallen’s hand-painted lettering spilled into the open space of the museum and onto shacks built of reclaimed wood. By the time Kilgallen had completed the installation, “Main Drag” was an immersive survey of the artist’s prolific body of work. It was a tribute to her heroines, an homage to her community and a celebration of the myriad subcultures from which she drew inspiration.

Through the installation, Kilgallen depicted a world that combined surf culture, old-time music, hobo graffiti, the coastal landscape, the signage that adorned her neighborhood and illustrations of women at work and play. Each image and phrase was personal and specific almost to the point of being esoteric, yet each felt essential and interconnected. “Main Drag” was the swan song of an artist whose impact and legacy is greater than the sum of her artworks and exhibitions; Kilgallen passed away later that year at the age of 33.

Born in Washington, D.C., Kilgallen studied art and printmaking at Colorado College and moved to San Francisco in the early 1990s, where she would come to prominence as part of a group of artists dubbed the Mission School, after San Francisco’s Mission neighborhood, which included Barry McGee, Alicia McCarthy and Chris Johanson, among others, who all shared a handmade and intuitive approach to art-making. Like her peers, Kilgallen was incredibly resourceful; she was an optimist open to the world around her, finding beauty in discarded panels and paper and gathering knowledge from the disparate traditions of sign painting, printmaking and book restoration. She was deliberate in her pursuit of an eclectic array of techniques and influences.



Soon after arriving in the Bay Area, Kilgallen found work repairing books at the San Francisco Public Library, where she learned the arts of bookbinding and paper restoration under the tutelage of Dan Flanagan, a conservator whom she would later cite as a primary mentor. Through this apprenticeship, Kilgallen cultivated the skills and knowledge that could have made for a career in conservation had she not instead chosen to apply her skills to her studio practice. The artworks she made reflected her training: Discarded endpapers became grounds for drawings and paintings, and her canvases were frequently stitched together like the spine of a book. Kilgallen developed a profound appreciation for the character and quality of objects made and restored by hand. She saw potential in the weathered surfaces of old books and paper, and she often sought to reproduce those textures in her artworks, intentionally burnishing her brushstrokes and sanding the edges of her paintings.

With the library archive as a resource, Kilgallen absorbed as much information as she could about typography and hand lettering. Building on her background in printmaking, she became particularly fascinated by the works of Japanese woodblock printers and painters like Hokusai. She admired the economy and elegance of their techniques; a single brushstroke could become a tree or drapery as readily as it might form a character or word. She sought to constantly perfect her hand and develop her own visual language, where foliage, figures, letters or even a fragmented letter were given equal visual weight. Kilgallen’s works began to use words for both their forms and their meanings. Throughout her artworks, words and letters feature prominently, as a centerpiece in “Main Drag” or as one of many phrases that take on new meanings when repeated from one artwork to the next. Even the artist’s illustrations of trees and plants occasionally bear the marks of ligatures and serifs taken from letterforms.

Kilgallen’s fascination with lettering extended from poster typefaces to the casual typography of the hand-painted business signs from her neighborhood. The unschooled and intuitive quality of these letters found their way into Kilgallen’s drawings and murals, spelling out phrases and names like “Linda Mar” and “Lowers”, which refer to her favorite surf spots along the California coastline, or terms like “Drop Knee” and “Kooks”, which come from the jargon of surf culture itself.

Among the most iconic elements of Kilgallen’s work are the monikers and images that stand in for her heroines, each of whom were characters from underappreciated subcultures, women whose achievements occurred on the margins of the mainstream. The name Fanny appears periodically in Kilgallen’s artworks, referring to Fanny Durack, an Olympic champion swimmer from the early 20th century.

A banjo player herself, Kilgallen had a special adoration for Matokie Slaughter, a pioneering banjo picker of the 1930s and 1940s, and a fellow artist who followed her own path despite the ubiquitous difficulty women face to be recognized as artists. “Slaughter”, “Matokie” or simply M.S. became monikers of sorts for Kilgallen; writing on walls, canvases and train cars, she used the name to evoke folk heroines and elaborate on a legend of her own making.

For Kilgallen, taking her hand from paper to panel to murals to massive installations and out into the world onto the walls of buildings and trains was a natural progression. For her it was all part of the same gesture. She trained her hand to capture the world around her, and left her hand out in the world. As with any attempt to know our heroines, no profile, interview or artwork seems quite adequate to capture her contribution, but each piece suggests a similar story: Margaret Kilgallen was an idealist, intuitist, inventor and in all likelihood, a genius. A generation of artists, writers, designers and craftspeople feel her absence poignantly and her influence pervasively; each painting, drawing or print that survives her tragically short yet meteoric career is imbued with ardor and stitched together with her inimitable hand.

 

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Posted in Art

WOMEN OF KENYA

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

I traveled to Kenya to visit the Turkanas, a Nilotic tribe that lives a very traditional and simple life in the Turkana district. Their land has been heavily affected by drought due to climate change, which has resulted in the livestock migrating or dying and the vegetation drying out. I spoke to several women via a translator and they’re all very concerned about the future of their tribe and their children. The time spent with these women was a real eye opener for me and I am grateful and honored to have photographed them.

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KATE BOSWORTH

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

When I first met the team at Humanity magazine, I expressed my desire to work behind the lens rather than in front of it. I adore acting, but I have discovered a fierce hunger to expand my contributions in the arts. Fortunately, Humanity was game. I was given total creative control to choose whom I would like to photograph and how I would like to capture them. This being my first time professionally published, I put an enormous amount of thought into my choices. Who is the definition of a great “Citizen of Humanity”? As this issue is a deeply inspiring and timely one, I began to think of the women I know who have made a significant impact, both in their professional lives and beyond. Three women came to mind immediately, and lucky for me, they all agreed to participate in this piece. The ideal trifecta was put into motion.

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I met Donna Langley nearly two decades ago. I was 18 years old and the lead in Universal Pictures’ new movie, Blue Crush, a film about female surfers. Though admittedly I had never surfed in my life, I nonetheless felt a deep affinity to my character. We were both confronting our fears—though the desire to achieve our DREAM far eclipsed the trepidation. Little did I know it then, but a third party was also experiencing similar emotions. Blue Crush was Donna Langley’s first film as a junior executive at Universal. Over the years, I have loved watching her climb the mountain. I am certain it wasn’t easy. Getting to the top never is. However, Donna is known for her conviction and grace, and her extreme cool when encountering adversity. Later in life we connected again, but with a different goal in mind: To make the world a better place. Donna is deeply committed to Vital Voices, an impressive organization that devotes itself to shining a spotlight on women around the world who have literally been a vital voice to a vulnerable group or community. I recently produced a movie called Nona, about the devastating effect of human trafficking. I believe we are similar in that the focus remains the same but the mission expands. I knew Donna would be a perfect subject for this issue. I was thrilled when she agreed. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as I made the recent elevator ascent to Donna’s top-floor office. I wanted to take a photograph she would be proud of . . . to create an image that may surprise her. I knew exactly what I wanted—and Donna is a stunning subject. I only took 12 shots. As I was leaving, something caught my attention that epitomized why I love Donna Langley so much. There, sketched on the wall of a small enclave behind her desk, are the penciled markings of her children’s heights throughout the years. Yes, the top floor is an enormous accomplishment. But the writing on the wall is what gives us life.

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I first noticed Courteney Monroe before I actually knew her name. I have always adored the National Geographic Channel. Who doesn’t love to travel the world, experience new cultures and discover the history of our Earth and its inhabitants? But something new was happening. Something fresh. Someone was clearly respecting the iconic yellow border—but also expanding the perspective of the frame. Oscar winner Geoffrey Rush as Albert Einstein on National Geographic? The kicker for me was when the show’s advertisement aired directly after Lady Gaga’s epic Super Bowl performance. Geoffrey Rush (as Einstein) plays a rendition of “Bad Romance” on the violin. Quite simply it was genius. These moments don’t happen accidentally. I had to know—who was the Wizard behind the Yellow Borders? Enter CEO Courteney Monroe. Incidentally, the week I requested to meet her, I was offered a role in Nat Geo’s next limited series, The Long Road Home. I have since had the extraordinary pleasure of getting to know Courteney throughout the making of the series and the release of it. She is dazzling. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then hers are two steps ahead of you. She is complex, like a Ferrari, pushing the boundaries and expectations in both an inspirational and an aspirational way. The most stunning part of all? She is just getting started.

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Martha Raddatz needs little introduction. Not only does she work tirelessly behind the lens, but she is also most likely to appear regularly on your television screen. (Though I will say, she is hardly looking to be a recognized “star”—one gets the sense that she is in front of the camera more for necessity than anything else.) Throughout my life, I have watched her career and held an enormous amount of admiration for her. If I were a journalist, I would want to be Martha Raddatz. She is the definition of BADASS. As chief global affairs correspondent for ABC News, she has traveled to the most dangerous places in the world. She has moderated presidential debates. She has revealed groundbreaking stories. (Does this ring a bell? On the fifth anniversary of the 2003 invasion of Iraq, Raddatz posed a question to Vice President Dick Cheney about public opinion polls showing that two-thirds of Americans had lost confidence in the war, a question to which Cheney responded by saying “So?”) She has seen war up close and personal.

Little did I know, war would be the element that would bring us together. The Long Road Home is Martha’s devastating account of “Black Sunday,” a battle during one of the deadliest periods of the Iraq War. In her book, she gives a vivid and agonizing description of the experiences soldiers endure away at war and their families’ difficult reality at home. It is Martha’s dedication, perseverance and intense personal reporting that revealed critical details of the 2004 ambush. She also brings a deep and piercing humanity to war that is not only heartbreaking but unique. It is this book that was identified by Courteney Monroe at National Geographic to be made into a limited series (where I was cast as Gina Denomy, wife of Captain Troy Denomy). We are so proud of the result, in which we sought to honor our troops and their sacrifice for our country. From knowing Martha as well as I do, I say this with my hand on my heart: In a time when we continually question the merit of the news—Is it real? Is it fake?—Martha Raddatz only seeks the truth. And nothing but the truth.

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A leader in film. A leader in television. A leader in journalism. I hope you all enjoy these photographs and the interviews as much as I did creating them. All three of these women have had a profound impact on my life—and most likely, they have had an impact on yours too. Whether you know it or not.

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DONNA LANGLEY

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

KATE BOSWORTH: How did you arrive here?

DONNA LANGLEY: By doing the work, staying focused and having great mentors.

KB: What is your earliest memory of cinema?

DL: Fantasia. I was terrified.

KB: What made you decide to be involved in the filmmaking process?

DL: When I arrived in L.A. more than 25 years ago, I always knew I wanted to be a storyteller in some form, but my film career really took root when my good friend and mentor Mike De Luca hired me at New Line to develop and make actual movies.

KB: What drives you? What inspires you professionally?

DL: The beauty and possibility of storytelling. Reading a great script or story, with characters and a narrative that everyone can relate to but that’s told in an original way.

KB: Is there a person or event who impacted who you are today? What inspires you personally?

DL: Easiest question so far! Having my children was the single most impactful experience of my life, and meeting my husband, Ramin. The sense of purpose and meaning that comes with having a family is my constant source of inspiration.

KB: How much doubt versus faith do you use in a percentage of a day? Is there a decision you have made or have not made that you wish you had or had not?

DL: My approach to decision-making isn’t really a matter of doubt vs. faith. I’m a practical optimist. Marketing and research information is incredibly important to the greenlight process. I’ve made a fair amount of decisions based on my intuitions and life experience that there will be an audience for a movie we want to make, even when the research didn’t necessarily make it an easy decision. Fifty Shades Darker is the perfect example of this. There was a lot of discussion around acquiring the literary rights to make this movie, and I had to make the call. It went on to be one of the most important and successful titles in our portfolio.

KB: What do these two words mean to you: Blue Crush?

DL: One of my favorite movie experiences. Everyone worked so hard, training to surf, acting for the first time, working on water—but we were all in it for the right reasons. Many of the actors were doing it for the first time, and it was my first film at Universal, so the stakes were high for all of us.

KB: Do you have fear? How do you move through it?

DL: I’m not a fearful person by nature. I love taking risks and approaching life as an adventure. But of course, as a parent and chairman of a studio there are days where the fear can feel real. In those moments, I ground myself in finding out all the information I need to know about the situation and move through it by using my problem-solving skills.

KB: What words do you have for anyone aspiring to be a leader in the entertainment industry? How do you feel about being a leader in the film industry?

DL: As a community of storytellers with unparalleled reach, being part of this industry gives us an endless opportunity to move audiences around the world—to see life through someone else’s eyes, and that is an incredible thing. I am so grateful to be a part of this community and take so much pride in all that Universal has accomplished over the years.

KB: Multiple choice. “This Is Your Life”:

A. Novel

B. Movie

C. TV series

D. A theme park ride

DL: A movie!

KB: What has been a great accomplishment for you?

DL: My family first and foremost, my work with Vital Voices, reaching record-breaking success over the last few years with the best team in the business. I have so much to be thankful for.

KB: What does a Citizen of Humanity mean to you?

DL: Fighting against systematic, global inequality—finding ways to empower and connect the disenfranchised with solutions that can have a lasting impact.

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WE ARE HERE BECAUSE WE ARE STRONG

Posted on by Stephanie Janssen

“IT WAS ALL VERY QUICK. I HEARD VERY LOUD SHOOTING. MY HUSBAND WAS AWAY WORKING. I WAS CONFUSED AND TERRIFIED SO I RAN WITH NOTHING BUT MY BABY IN MY ARMS. WHEN WE ESCAPED TO THE BUSH IT WAS AS IF MY BABY KNEW OUR LIVES DEPENDED ON IT BECAUSE SHE NEVER ONCE CRIED. I HAD NO MILK TO GIVE HER BUT SHE NEVER CRIED.” —A YOUNG CONGOLESE WOMAN ON ARRIVING AT THE UNHCR RECEPTION CENTER IN ANGOLA

“REFUGEES WERE ARRIVING IN TERRIBLE CONDITION, SOME WITH MACHETE INJURIES, MANY HUNGRY, EXHAUSTED AND TRAUMATIZED.” —PHILIPPA CANDLER, REPRESENTATIVE, UNHCR ANGOLA

“VICTIMS ARE THOSE WHO WERE UNABLE TO ESCAPE AND DIED IN THIS ATROCIOUS CONFLICT. REFUGEES ARE SURVIVORS. THEY LOST ALL BUT THEIR LIVES AND THEIR DIGNITY. WE [UNHCR] ARE HERE TO PULL THEM BACK UP AND HELP THEM RECOMMENCE. REFUGEE WOMEN MIRROR THAT INCREDIBLE STRENGTH BETTER THAN MOST. THEIR ABILITY TO ADJUST, KEEP THE FAMILY TOGETHER AND COPE WITH ADVERSITY WITH A SMILE STRIKES ME EVERY TIME. THEY ARE NOT MADE OF STEEL; THEY ARE HUMAN BEINGS MADE OF ALL-HEARTED MUSCLE.” —MARGARIDA LOUREIRO, UNHCR EXTERNAL RELATIONS OFFICER, ANGOLA

GILI NTUMBA, FROM KAMAKO

In modern conflict, it is often women who carry the greatest burden. Wars no longer have front lines. Civilians are increasingly targeted. Rape and sexual violence continue to be used as weapons of war, and when forced to flee homes, it is women who take charge to hold families together and support children.

The viciousness against women was particularly brutal in the recent outbreak of violence that began in March 2017 in the Kasai region of Democratic Republic of the Congo. It triggered the internal displacement of some 1.4 million persons and the flight of over 34,000 refugees into Lunda Norte Province in northeast Angola. The newly arrived reported widespread violence, mass killings, mutilations, burning of property, destruction of villages, schools and churches and human rights abuses, as well as food shortage and the lack of access to basic services and goods.

Most specifically the refugees arriving in Angola spoke of government forces and militias deliberately targeting women in some of the worst gender-based violence the region has seen. As families fled across the border to neighboring Angola, the medical staff that received them were shocked by the stories and medical condition of many of the women and girls arriving.

Many of the Congolese refugees who arrived in Angola have been relocated to the UNHCR settlement of Lóvua. Currently there are over 9,000 Congolese refugees there, but the settlement has a capacity of 30,000. In Lóvua, 75% of the Congolese living there are women and children. With men often missing, dead or unable to work, it is the women who have to try and rebuild shattered lives and support families.

When I visited the settlement, I was immediately drawn to join three women who sat outside their tent: Rose (who would soon become Aunty Rose to me), her sister Mimi and Bernardette. We sat all day telling stories, laughing and sharing food.

Together we decided to do a series of portraits of just the women, for them to tell the stories. When I returned the next day, the scene was more like a party. No children or men were allowed; food was prepared, new batteries bought for the radio. We danced, we ate and we made portraits. It was truly the most memorable photo shoot of my life, in many ways a celebration, a celebration of life.

Resilience is a word used too easily, but with Aunty Rose and Mimi, and later all the women I met in the camp, I found its true meaning. The women I got to know and visited each day were full of life and joy despite all they had endured, and all radiated a deep strength that rooted their whole families.

Though I am also aware that we must be careful not to romanticize resilience. By its nature, resilience is a necessity born of suffering. It is not a virtue one aspires to, because its journey is hardship and pain. So whilst I admired the strength and resilience of the women I met, it was impossible not to be impacted by the terrible violence that they had witnessed and suffered on that journey. For some, those experiences were still too raw and violent for them to cope with, which is reflected in their words and the eyes of the portraits.

These portraits show the strength of women. But they are also a reminder of the terrible gender-based violence, rape and sexual abuse of women in conflicts around the world.

On the first day, sitting with Rose, Mimi and Bernardette, I asked them how they had endured and survived.

“That’s simple,” was the reply. “We are here because we are strong.”

COCO MAWA, 35, FROM KAMAKO

“Life in the camp is not easy. It is the woman who works, who cooks, who looks after the children. Sometimes when I go into the woods to gather leaves to cook with, I dream of my past life.”

ROSE LUSANDA, 46, FROM KAMAKO

“A woman is a helper. We carry the strength. The women hold the community together,” explains Rose, or Aunty Rose, as she is known. She is in many ways the matriarch of the group. “In the markets, they would charge us more because we were Luba. They would say ‘kill all the Lubas.’ Then when the soldiers came, we escaped. They were killing everybody. Threatening the people, raping our daughters. They were forcing fathers to sleep with their daughters, and if the men refused, they were shot. Being a woman we were stripped of our strength by their threats. Kabila made us suffer.”  Then Rose pauses and looks at me as she raises her finger. “But we cannot be weak. We escaped the war. No other human will give you that strength. I had that strength inside of me. I had the courage to do whatever has to be done. Sometimes I say to my daughter, now we are here [in the camp]. I tell her to feel the courage. To find the calm, be calm, stay calm.”

MIMI MISENGA, 45, FROM KAMAKO

“Sometimes I am very sad at all we have lost. Other times we let it go, we have our lives. They killed my uncle, his sons. We couldn’t even bury them. It was too much. My neighbor, they made him rape his daughter. Then the troops raped the daughters in front of the family. I was so afraid for my children. We escaped barefoot into the bush and then found a way to escape. I had nothing. Then I looked at my children. They gave me strength. I am never tired. I am so strong. My body is always moving, ready to work, even when I sleep! Honestly, I don’t know where that strength comes from. I am never tired. I say to my daughters, ‘Stay calm, find a good husband and follow my example. Follow my strength.’ ”

CARINE ROLENGA, 20, FROM KAMAKO

“When we heard gunshots in the village we knew it was time to leave. As a woman I felt particularly under threat. At night they would take the men and rape the women. In truth I don’t understand why people would do this. It’s beyond me.”

MUZI KINGAMBO, 26, FROM KAMAKO

“It is not easy. I suffer here. I have many pains in my back, my bladder—pains women shouldn’t have. In Congo I lived with my husband. I want that life again.”

THÉRESE MANDAKA, 19, FROM KAMAKO

“Here we suffer a lot. For us women, we were particular targets. The biggest suffering was kept for us. When the soldiers came, I was separated from my husband. He’d gone to look for work; I was home and sick. I was pregnant. But my strength comes from my home. Even though I was sick, I knew I would have to escape. I thought they would kill the baby inside me—that’s where I found my strength, nobody else but me. “Now here in the camp I am a mother, so I must be strong.” Thérese pauses and gathers herself. She has not seen her husband since she fled to Angola. He hasn’t seen their child, Munduko, who’s now 4 months old. “I just want us to be together again.”

 

ANI TCHEBA, 19, FROM KAMAKO

“We left our village in Congo on a Monday morning at 6 a.m. I remember I had no strength. I was heavily pregnant. It had been a difficult pregnancy and I was so worried I’d lose the baby. My husband pulled me. As a refugee it is harder as a woman, as we have the responsibility for food and the children. But here the women have given me inspiration. We share food. When I am missing something they give it to me and vice versa. We help each other with the hardships. We are stronger together.”

GERMAINE ALONDE, 25, FROM KAMAKO

“We had good land at home, a good life. Then the militias and the armies came. They took everything. They killed my older brother. It was terrible. We saw so much blood, and each time my heart would stop. I couldn’t sleep. Then one day they came near to our home to start their killing and we all fled. We were terrified; everyone was running. We knew what they would do. My oldest daughter, Therese [who was 7], took my baby Helene [who was just 2 years old] whilst I ran back to the home to gather what I could and get the other children. At the border everybody was pushing and shoving. It was chaos. I couldn’t see Therese; we were all separated. And in that chaos she dropped the baby. We lost her. It was the worst moment, but I couldn’t be angry with Therese. How could I be? My oldest child is just a child. It wasn’t her fault. For two weeks we thought Helene was lost. Then one day in the camp my neighbor came up to me and said she’d seen my baby. I couldn’t believe her! But she had-—she’d been walking past a center for unaccompanied children and she’d seen Helene! We went straight away and were reunited. There was so much joy.”

SYLVIE KAPENGA, 26, FROM TCHISSENGUE

“Being a woman and a man is the same. They were killing us all the same. Where we were we caught between two sides. Everybody wanted us to die. I have four children, two girls and two boys. It’s tough here—little food, no clothes, just what we have. As a woman, I am the one that works. To be honest, I am not that strong. I lost everything. I am not sure how to carry on.”

BERNADETTE TCHANDA, 42, FROM KAMAKO

“I ran from Kabila’s war [Joseph Kabila, president of DR Congo]. We saw the troops come. They killed many people. They pointed a gun at my husband, but we managed to escape with our two children. As a woman I was particularly afraid. The sounds of weapons, the sound of death. I was afraid. The troops would rape, they would kill women. This happened to my friends. I feel protected here, in the camp. In the past, my husband would beat me, but not here, they have laws and he is scared. I have a lot of joy…” At this point Bernardette breaks from the interview and begins to dance. “I get a lot of strength when I dance. Women get strength from dance.” She stops dancing for a moment and looks at me. “Women suffer the most, so they have the most strength.”

LINA MANANGA, 18, FROM KAMAKO

“Here,” she tells me, pointing at the camp around her, “each day we wake in the morning, we collect water, we clean clothes, we look for what we can eat, we cook. This is our day. It is tough, physical work. When we fled Kamako, I remember the day; the children were dressed in red when the troops started arriving. As soon as they arrived they started shooting, cutting people’s heads. I was repulsed. As a woman I felt in a lot of danger. I was with child and I knew that even if I gave birth that day, they would kill the child. I have seen this. I have one child. Because of this violence, I had a miscarriage with the other. I am young, so I have to be strong. But some are not.”

CHANTAL KUTUMBUKA, 45, FROM KAMAKO

“I used to be a farmer. I’m used to working with my hands. So it’s hard for me to be here. I just want to work. We had land, we could sell things. I could look after my children. When the violence started I lived in fear. The militia would go to a house and I would see them carry out the woman. I knew what they were doing. I was afraid—I couldn’t have endured that. Then one day they killed my husband, who was a policeman, and we fled. We abandoned everything. It’s hard. I’ve lost weight, the children cry. At times I don’t know what to do. But I carry on.”

http://www.unhcr.org/

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