Down the Rabbit Hole

May 06, 2020

No state comes with a bigger set of expectations than Texas. Just mentioning the Lone Star State conjures up images of ten gallon hats and confederate flags. But with their new book Rabbit / Hare, Pennsylvania-born photographers David Billet and Ian Kline hope to confront stereotypes of John Wayne-esque masculinity and age-old Texan mythologies.

Sure, Rabbit / Hare covers the basics: open fields, roadkill, and manly men. And while the cowboys may be few and far between these days, Billet and Kline captured many red-blooded Texans holding onto some semblance of traditional, gun-slewing masculinity. The result is a monograph meant to defy an older generation’s ultramasculine ideals while embracing less known understandings of the state.

Interview by Logan Brown
Photos Courtesy of Dead Beat Club Press

“If these pictures and book can open up a new way of thinking and feeling for a viewer rather than telling them something they already know, that's a win and is beautiful.”

office sat down with Billet and Kline to hear from the photographers about the process, feelings, and ideas that brought this piece together.

How did Rabbit / Hare come about?

During the very confusing socio-political atmosphere that began to scream in the summer of 2016, the idea for the project started coming together right before the start of our final year in undergrad. We had this broad idea to go to Texas for its importance to our understanding or questioning of American masculinity that trickled down to us through our fathers and families’ relationship to Texas. The project took on the form of a two month road trip through the American south to Texas and back, because the road is what best facilitated our interest in embracing the unknown, interacting with people and looking at the country following the election of the 45th president.

It had actually been largely fueled by where we grew up and who we grew up around. Both of our mothers’ sides of the family are from small farms in Spring Grove, PA, two of the men in our lives drove trucks, both our parents are seperated, and we lived a few blocks away from each other for the majority of our adolescence. Depending on who you talk to or what timeline of documents you look at, York was the first capital of the US or the fourth. Either way, you’d think this would somehow ground this place. But it never felt that way. It always felt like this place was constantly in between identities. The area we grew up in was largely middle class, blue collar with some shades of baby blue. The men in our family and in the general area held their visions and lives to a certain hard-edged, emotionally distant masculine stereotype, a stereotype neither of us felt at home in and butted heads with.

On I-83 going north out of York there is literally a 15 foot tall ripped man lifting weights spinning in circles at the York Barbell company. This identity made up the environment we were growing up in, so there was always a push and pull with our relationship to this heteronormative lifestyle that made up the majority. The way that Texas had been mythologized, romanticized, and dramatized for us through family and media, it seemed like the epitome of the identity we were questioning since we were in middle school, so we needed to go. We didn't have an option.

Did the state’s polarization play any role in the idea for the road trip?

There were political motivations going into thinking about the project before we hit the road. The nature of Texas being a largely red state, specifically in relationship to the resurrection of outdated “shoot first ask questions later” ignorant views that were coming back into the spotlight during the 2016 presidential election, was definitely important. But at the same time we weren’t going into this with the idea of illustrating these things we were already seeing in the media and things we already knew. Why make anything if you know what the outcome is going to be? The world needs to talk back with you.

However, as we mentioned before with our upbringings, Texas has always played a big part in our lives, even though neither of us had been there before receiving the grant. We used those elements and larger political motivations as jumping off points to get us on the road. But as soon as we got on the road it was important to keep our minds open and embrace the unknown chance encounters to form our new experience together, rather than let someone else tell us what’s what, and make images that can exist outside of a confined political discussion.

How does the contradiction of “gentle,” being in such a polarizing state, come about for you? Are these motifs you purposely set about creating?

Billet: With everything we photographed, we had an open mind and heart towards it. We went into this space having no idea what to expect but trying to make our own sense of it. This contradiction came from us trying to escape from a place we called home, and expecting to be greeted with animosity. However, we were surprised to find the opposite: we found pieces of home along the way. We realized that the harder we pushed and tried to escape the place we knew, the more we found people and places that reminded us of where we come from. Since we shot on film we didn’t look at any of the images until the project was done and we developed it. We had no intention of this while making the work.

Kline: When we were getting ready to get on the road we had a few people and professors express explicit concern for the two of us. They knew how we worked and were concerned for our safety going into new places during a tense time in the country. We may have been a bit naive going into it but as soon as we got on the road and throughout the entire trip we really didn't run into any opposition. So right from the beginning, these expectations of tension made way for the openness.

Photographically, I think it comes across most literally in the portraits of men. This might be obvious but many of the men we photographed just totally opened up in front of us, letting their guard down and sharing themselves, breaking down a bit. Which I do think was also pushed by the way we held ourselves and also the common trait shared between us of being male. If we wanted to work with people we had to open ourselves up as well and be vulnerable in the collaboration and spend the time in conversation to try and make a picture with them. Most of the people were just as interested in us as we were in them. As soon as we described what we were doing, that allowed for a way where we wouldn't just be just taking [photos].

We didn’t set out to illustrate these motifs of contradictions happening in a seemingly polarizing state, because we couldn’t. This was our first time being in any of these places so it was all new and we were learning on the road daily. One of the things that I think brought out the resulting gentleness was just how generous most people on the road were. Southern hospitality is totally a thing. But there was still a feeling of violence floating in the void just outside of the light that countered the openness, even if it wasn’t tangible.

What is it that attracts you to human vulnerability and producing art that provokes thought, possible discomfort, and possible pleasure?

Billet: Well, honestly I’m not a very good musician and I wish I could be. [laughs] But, in all seriousness, I think one of the most beautiful things about producing or making an image is that your emotions going into it can be seen. You have an opportunity to construct how this moment makes you feel, it’s not only what you’re seeing but a document of the atmosphere and thought of the place from my own viewpoint.

Going back to music, it creates a mood and evokes a whole array of feelings. Through my practice both in collaboration with Ian and on my own, I’m trying to do the same and allow for the viewer to enter my version of the world we’re living in. I think about the pictures, how all parts of it create meaning, and these parts of the image that we see are so familiar to us because they are an actual thing. The nuances of color, the space, and tones of an object that you can relate to, and they are not just an idea of an object. Everything around the object gives context to what is being shown. All of these aspects don't force you to try and automatically feel. With a photograph, you allow yourself to enter the space and work your own way around it. For me, a picture can be an individual experience guided by your private personal associations with the subject or object.

Kline: People are so interesting and weird and beautiful. Making work that provokes thought is so much better than just waiting around to die. To make something that makes me feel, that can make someone else feel is so goddamn special. We fuckin need people. If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around does it still make a sound? If I exist in the world but no one else is around do I still exist? I don’t think so.

Maybe that’s dramatic, but everything right now is dramatic. We need people and the variety of experiences that each and everyone of us brings to the table to open up the world and open up the stories. Even if opening the dialogue up brings in views we don’t agree with, that's what makes the stories more complex and interesting and human. Thank god everyone isn't a replica of each other in grey suits. It’s essential to produce art that provokes thought, possible discomfort, and possible pleasure because we need to, because that is what life is, it’s a spectrum of confusing emotions and our role is to embrace that and make something weird from it.

You can purchase Rabbit / Hare here.

Culture

Mowalola x Miss Sixty Launch with H. Lorenzo

I swing my legs over the ropes that guard the VIP entrance. Always over (I’m 5’10), never under. I’m late to the H. Lorenzo x Mowalola event, and the line is wrapped around the block. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I hate waiting in lines; it just ruins everything.

“Hey, my friend is DJing right now. My name should be down,” I say.

The youngish security guard looks me up and down. I have made an adventurous choice for this type of crowd. Neon pink hoodie, bright orange vest, my Raimundo jeans, and Jeremy Scott animal print sneakers. I let him take me in and look over his shoulder. Hmmm… I will be swathed in darkness when he lets me in. Dark night, dark clothes, dark makeup, furs, hoods, leather accessories, and sunglasses. I don’t recognize anyone, but it’s hard to tell who anyone is because I can’t see after 8 pm without my glasses. Night blindness. I can still catch a vibe though.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Mr. Guard says, interrupting my squinting.

“Who?,” I ask.

“The woman in charge of the list.”

That’s a drag. I want to dance. Lately, I am going out in the name of music.

“So…can I go in?” I ask.

“Just wait for her to get back.”

That sounded fine. I wait. The outdoor smoking area is packed. I imagine the inside to be a mirror of this, hopefully with people dancing instead of blowing smoke in each other’s eyes.

“You got instagram?” The guard asks me after about ten minutes of flirting.

“Can I go in?” I said.

He laughs. He lets me in the event without a wristband.

Inside, I understand why the other guard was gone for so long. I made a mental note to not drink too much liquid, the bathroom line is almost as long as the line outside. The party is popping, far from a flop.

I push through the crowd solo, following the speakers to the DJ booth. The immersive visuals provided me with enough light to make out Mowalola in a gold bikini and her low rise denim. My pulse races like the horse printed on the front of her coochie. That’s the point of the collection, obviously.

My hips swing around before I head towards the open bar. I smile to myself, noting that it’s a mezcal forward menu. I see a drink that disgusts me so I order it without hesitation. It’s a mezcal coffee concoction. My heart ’s ran through already, why not go all in? I head back to dance when I hear Shigecki’s set start. I’m jumping around, sweating, and when I pause for a beat I let out a yelp. There are strippers working poles opposite and behind the DJ booth. Good. Events should be sexy.

I end the night smoking my friend’s Korean strawberry cigarettes taking in the air of cool- when a man comes up to me wild-eyed exclaiming that we look just like one another. I look at him- no, not at all. I turn slowly, remembering what I should be doing: listening to DJ G2G’s set. Back inside, she is playing reggaeton type beats with lasers beaming out of her headphones (I want these). A rave in it of herself.

Too bad all the events end at 2 am in LA.

Culture

Vans Pipe Masters 2024

On the first night, Steve Van Doren and the Vans team hosted the heat draw for the competitors at a casual backyard barbecue. The son of Vans’ co-founder Paul Van Doren, Steve has worked in the family business for decades, and is now known as the Ambassador of Fun. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cowboy hat made out of old shoes, he was definitely dressed for the part. The surfers, along with family and friends gathered in a relaxed setting as 40 men’s and 20 women’s names were drawn from a shoebox. The competition would run in 3 rounds, the top 4 men and 4 women with the highest scores moving onto the finals. When asked about their strategies, most gave answers along the lines of “get waves.” Refreshingly simple.

After waiting a few days for favorable conditions, the first day of competition kicked off with Women’s Round 1. It was finally time to see Pipeline in action. Banzai Pipeline is known as one of the most dangerous places to surf due to the powerful waves breaking over shallow and sharp reefs. With the potential to crash into the rocky edges or have leashes caught in caves, it takes a ton of skill–-and even more courage–to surf here. No stranger to these risks, the first heat included favorites Caity Simmers and “Queen of Pipeline” Moana Jones Wong, who showed off exactly why they’d been successful here in the past. Midway through the heats, Mother Nature decided to throw in another element as a light drizzle turned into a proper downpour. Rain or shine, the athletes went out unfazed, focused on getting their first points on the board.

After another short day’s break, the competition continued with the women’s second round and the men’s first. The beach was filled with spectators, locals and tourists alike, as the competition was free for all to attend. While fans rooted equally for the women and men, the most popular were the local Hawaiian athletes, which made up about half the competition. The women started off the day again, hyping up the crowd with incredible rides. One ride by Bettylou Sakura Johnson earned the first Bag of Cash of the day– a cash prize (of undisclosed amount) awarded in a brown paper bag to any surfer that pulls off a wow moment, excites the crowd, and pulls off something spectacular regardless of what the conditions might look like.

Winds picked up as the men’s competition began and two strategies quickly emerged: an aggressive approach, targeting any decent waves to build small scores; and a patient approach, waiting for the perfect wave to chase a high single score. Even the waves that were unrideable were a spectacle in itself. The sheer size, illustrated by the length of surfboards riding up and over, and the following crash of white water spray was hypnotizing. Then imagining having to experience it out on the water, duck diving under or being lifted over, brought a renewed respect for the surfers.

After watching these early rounds, it was time for office to head back to the cold. With the competition officially spanning from December 8-20, it seemed the forecast was gearing up for some massive waves— and it didn’t disappoint. Following from afar through Vans’ Instagram and live updates, we saw the full extent of what it means to surf at Pipeline. After a series of electrifying and daring surfs, the 2024 winners were crowned: Erin Brooks and Nathan Florence.

The thrill of watching top athletes compete at the highest level of their sport, even remotely, never fails to inspire. Few sports surrender so completely to the forces of nature as surfing does. And at its core, surfing is all about having a deep respect for the ocean—its unpredictable whims, its immense power, and its ever-changing moods.

Culture

The Cost of Queendom

December 17, 2024

One summer afternoon in New York, a few days after their New York premiere of the acclaimed documentary Queendom, office met up with documentary filmmaker Agniia Galdanova and producer Igor Myakotin at a tattoo parlor on the west side of Manhattan. While Agniia received a tattoo of the portmanteau “DOCU CUNT” across her fists, she — unfazed by the needle on her knuckles — answered our questions alongside Igor about the making of the stirring story that has traveled around the world.

One of the opening scenes of Queendom depicts a ritual many of us are all too familiar with in the 21st century. Jenna Marvin, the documentary film’s central subject, takes her friend along with her to take photos for Instagram. When she finds a suitable backdrop, she poses, poses, poses, and then reviews the photos. Dissatisfied, she gives her notes, and then returns to pose, pose, pose again.

By Brook Aster
Photos by Liv Solomon

The ritual may be familiar, but nothing else about the scene — from its setting to its stakes — is ordinary. The backdrop behind Jenna is a sweeping expanse of ice and snow in a small Russian port town called Magadan. Jenna is dressed in drag, but not drag of the Rupaul’s Drag Race variety; her drag has been referred to as “creature drag.” Her signature white face paint, platform heels and surrealist costumes, with their exaggerated sculptural proportions and use of duct tape and repurposed items, catches the ire of her neighbors and the love of online admirers alike. Jenna eventually accrued a following on social media for her public and technically illegal drag performances, which often involved little more than her walking or being in public spaces but nevertheless were often met with abuse and threats of imprisonment.

But when Agniia first encountered Jenna, she hadn’t yet reached the level of virality that would eventually come in the years to follow. The filmmaker was researching different drag performers in Russia for her sophomore project, which she thought would be a docuseries, when she heard from a friend about a young drag queen from Magadan. “I was like, this is impossible. I have to meet this person,” Agniia remembers. “And I could not actually go meet her because I was in Moscow and she was in Saint Petersburg, so I sent a friend of mine with whom I’d been studying with in film school, and she went and filmed the sample.” The simple video, showing Jenna and her friend getting dressed up for a party, struck something in Agniia. The drag was an earlier, more prototypical version of the style Jenna is now known for; less duct tape and ornamentation, but still that signature striking makeup. “Something sparked. I knew I just had to stick to this feeling,” Agniia says. She decided to turn the docuseries into a documentary solely focused on Jenna.

Around that time, the entire world came to a grinding halt: the onset of COVID-19 pandemic had just led to lockdowns around the globe. With only a couple thousand followers on social media at that point in time, Jenna had tried to branch out and connect with other drag artists in Moscow and Saint Petersburg, but faced rejection; her drag was extremely unconventional, and not even other drag artists quite understood it. “I think we found each other at the right moment, because nobody knew what to do, how to cope with all this,” Agniia says. “Jenna was saying that she was lost, and she also didn't know how to develop her art next.”

Unlike some of the other artists Agniia had initially researched, Jenna didn’t need much convincing to allow the camera into her life. “[Especially] after COVID came, there wasn't really [any] drag in my life,” Jenna recounts when I speak to her later over Zoom. “I realized that what drag is for me is not just a costume, a dress, something that you leave, that you take off and then in the dead of the night you put back on. Later, I understood that this is who I am, that I am art and I am drag, and that this is way bigger and more important than just clothing or costume.”

[LEFT TO RIGHT: Agniia Galdanova, Jenna Marvin, Igor Myakotin]

When it came time to move into production stages, Agniia sent a clip to Igor, who had been referred to her by a past colleague. When Igor saw the footage, he was similarly struck by Jenna — and even more struck to find out she shared his small hometown of Magadan. “It was just so fateful to know that I also come from this town, and I've never seen it through this cinematic lens, through the vision that Agniia has,” he says. “I was mesmerized by the footage, mesmerized by Jenna. I thought to myself, I have to do everything I can [for us] to work together, whatever the collaboration is gonna be.”

The two followed Jenna for over three years; Agniia first relocated to St. Petersburg, where Jenna had taken up residence after leaving her grandparents’ home in Magadan, and later Jenna moved in with Agniia in her home in Moscow. All the while, Igor and his team worked remotely from the United States to meet Agniia’s production needs. Inevitably, with all their time spent together, Agniia and Jenna became close.

“There is an unspoken rule in documentary filmmaking that you have to keep this line, and you can’t overcome certain boundaries,” Agniia explains. “In my first film, it was not an easy subject [to do this with] as well. I was following a family for seven months, and [we became] close, but I always was trying to keep my distance, and was constantly thinking about it. How much should I say? How much should I give?” But as she got to know Jenna, it became clear that this time, that distance wouldn’t be possible. “With Jenna almost from the very beginning, I was like, fuck it. That’s not going to work with this one. I'm going to break this rule 100%. I never regretted it, because that's actually what built up the trust that is there.”

As Jenna's public performances continued and began to garner more public attention, her online audience multiplied. Among her virtual admirers was French fashion maven Michèle Lamy, who would eventually sign onto Queendom as an executive producer. Lamy's discovery of Jenna led to an invitation to walk in the Rick Owens show in Paris — her first time modeling, and her first time leaving Russia in her life. Of course, Agniia and her camera followed. But most of their excursions were not so glamorous; many of Jenna's performances shown in the documentary were undertaken at a real risk to her physical safety, and by extension, to the safety of Agniia. But neither of them were daunted.

I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.

After all, Jenna was used to both taking risks and documenting them well before she was the subject of a film; she and her friends long filmed the often impassioned, sometimes violent reactions of strangers and policemen to their mere existence in public spaces in drag. And after a protest performance in which she wrapped herself in the Russian flag, Jenna was kicked out of beauty school, her last attempt at a practical route before pursuing her drag as a full time venture.

The only time Agniia tried to dissuade her was on Paratrooper’s Day, a Russian military holiday often characterized by the drunk soldiers roaming the streets. The risk for violence was especially high. “On Paratroopers Day, people say you can't come out in skinny jeans or with nail polish,” Jenna describes. “[I think] you should do the opposite. You should really make a statement and come out wearing what you want to wear. I think that clothes, what we wear, is really at some point beyond our psyche, our mind, our understanding. It is as if it's a certain kind of spice that is enticing you and you follow the scent of that spice and you don't see anything else except that scent and you follow it. That's how I see it.”

“I was like, ‘girl, maybe we should not do that,’” Agniia says. “Igor was stressing out and she told us, ‘well, you don't need to follow me. I'm gonna go and do it. I don't care if you're coming or not.’” In the end, Jenna ventured out for her performance anyway, protesting the then-recent invasion of Ukraine. Agniia followed. Not shown in the film is that the two were arrested, and managed to talk the police out of their arrest.

Not too long after, she would have to leave Russia again, this time moving for Paris for good; the film follows her struggles to get a visa in time to leave the country after the onset of the war. “It's already been three years that I've been in France, and it is important for me to understand and remember who I am, and to remember that pain, those moments when we were back in Russia doing drag, fighting with the police and law enforcement,” Jenna says. “It is important that this resistance continues and that those voices are not being silenced. Yes, here there’s much more freedom, there are pride parades and queer people can get married, but this is an illusion because there are also places where you cannot get married and you cannot enjoy the same freedoms. I cling to who I am, who I was from the very beginning. I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.”

“Meeting Jenna gave me hope for the future of the country, because governments come and go, people in power come and go, but the generations change at the same time,” Igor says. “So it warms my heart to see that someone like her came from somewhere like that. If I saw her back then at a similar age, it would be even more personal. I think I would’ve accepted myself as gay quicker, and I wouldn't be nervous or closed and not open to the world or myself… Working with this project also meant that we were amplifying the voices of many, many people who couldn't speak like Jenna could.”

For Agniia, the honor of telling Jenna's story is only paralleled by the honor of having her in her life. “We found each other,” Agniia says. “And what I learned from Jenna is so precious; about life, about art, about surviving. And I appreciate it a lot. This film grew so much larger than just a documentary, because I have a family now, a working family.”

Queendom is now available to stream on Apple TV.