Bre Scullark Is All About Liberation

I want to hear about teaching yoga in jail, but before we get to that I would love to hear more about your background and what led you to this form of yoga.

I was born and raised in Harlem. Both of my parents grew up poor, but my dad got a really good job on Wall Street when Chase Bank was Chemical Bank. He made VP of his company, but he had his own issues and he molested me for a really long time. I think that was my first introduction to being an outsider. I was being molested, so I had secrets.

I wanted to be one of the ghetto girls because they were cool so I’d go hang out in the projects all the time. I lived a very street life by choice because I wanted people to like me.

What does a ‘street life’ mean?

I was hanging out on the streets with people who sold drugs, who were in gangs. I didn’t have any fear when I was around them. The energy was so high all the time, and I loved it. The culture of my community is smoking weed and drinking. That’s it. So I got high a lot and drank a lot. I ended up getting raped one night in the park on 124th street.

Bre… I’m so sorry.

No worries. I mean, thank you. I think that’s where my life took a shift. I was 17 and I went from being in this exciting world to being stuck in it and then I felt trapped. It wasn’t my escape anymore.

When did America’s Next Top Model start happening? How did that come about?

I had been kicked out of my first college because I was fighting. I moved back home and was attending City College and working at the H&M that had just opened on 125th street. This beautiful, beautiful black girl came into the store. She was tall, thin and had really long hair, she looked like what I thought a model was supposed to look like. She was the one who told me about Top Model.

There was one audition left in New York at Macy’s on 34th street. I spent the night outside. They gave us a piece of cardboard to sleep on. That night there were 11 of us, and the next day there were 2600 in line. They chose three people from New York.

A month later I was over on 127th street, and I get a call from a 310 number and they said that I was on the show. Well, that’s how I got to LA and then I got on the show.

What happened to your life after the season aired?

No one from that season got signed to an agency, so I freelanced. I booked Pantene Pro V and Old Navy in the same day. I booked over $200,000 that day, so Ford [Models] called me and was like, “We want you exclusively.” I worked my ass off and moved to Chicago and then LA, so I worked out of three regions for about 5 or 6 years.

The drinking and the drugging escalated. I was super lonely all the time. I was a hair model and this hairdresser cut all my hair off one day, and all my agencies dropped me within a week. I just didn’t have it in me to keep on fighting. Then I did Top Model All Stars and a season on a Tyler Perry show, and then I bottomed out. I crashed Tyler’s car and it was so fucked up… so he didn’t call me back [laughing].

Oh wow [laughing]. That’s wild.

Well… I booked one job that year and right after that job I went to rehab because I passed out in an alley. The next day my therapist showed up at my house and she’s like, “So, you’re going to pack your things and we’re going to rehab." I’m like, “Alright.”

In rehab there was a Brazilian lady who taught yoga every Wednesday. She would put lavender oil on me and made me feel like I wasn’t the shittiest person in the world.

You stayed in LA for a couple of years after rehab. How was it coming back to New York?

Coming back was hard because when I left I was a star and people had created their own fantasies about what I was doing in LA. I had to practice being uncomfortable. I had to fight with myself and work on acceptance.

How did you shift towards teaching yoga?

I got this check out of nowhere for $10,000 and I had to pay off my car, and by then I had found a yoga studio that I really liked. My sponsor lives on the Upper East Side. She’s this beautiful, white woman from Massachusetts. Total privilege. She took me to this yoga studio, and I did teacher training there. I was going to train with the best.

It was 2.5 month of gruesome, intense yoga and then I couldn’t get a job because I’m a black woman in a yoga community, which was at the time still very white. It was almost taboo for a black woman to be in a yoga studio on the Upper East Side. They were not hiring me anywhere so I went out to Brooklyn and out to urban communities, but what I noticed was a lack of yoga studios in urban communities. We like church, we don’t like yoga.

I was like, “Fuck that,” and I rented a dance studio down the street from here. It’s was a community class, pay what you can. People came and they came consistently.

I decided that I was going to travel with yoga. I started going to ghettos everywhere. I started going to Camden, New Jersey. Bridgeport, Connecticut. Atlanta. I would just teach yoga and we’d sell out every time.

So how did you get involved in prison yoga?

Through rehab, I went to Rikers to bring a meeting inside and I loved it so much.

What did you like about it?

I remember being that hopeless myself. It was so familiar to me in a nostalgic way. There’s so much possibility when you’re hopeless. You just don’t know it. I knew that I wanted to come back so I asked around and heard about Liberation Yoga. I emailed them, and Anneke [founder of Liberation Yoga] called me back the next day.

Anneke is this beautiful woman. She has such peace about her, and as soon as I met her I wanted to cry because she was okay [Anneke grew up in a sex ring]. I never see women like me that are okay, and she has a daughter. I felt like I found my long lost mom. She introduced me to incest anonymous meetings and taught me how to show up everyday.

So walk me through how is yoga in prison different than yoga out here.

I have to focus on safety first.

What does that entail?

We’re in a square with cells surrounding us so you have to be very conscious of the postures that you’re in because most people in jail have some sort of sexual trauma. We don’t want to trigger our students' pasts of sexual abuse, and we don’t want to over sexualize yoga.

Also, jail is fucking loud! There are a million things going on at one time. We’ve gotten whiffs of pepper spray, there’s lockdowns, alarms. When they open the gates they scream, “Sliders!” So you hear that on and on. Sometimes there’s fights in the middle of class. I’ve had students get sexual and just get on each other’s mats and you’ve just got to teach through it. Shit gets crazy.

What does yoga give the students?

To be quite honest, they’ve got nothing else to do. They’re bored. For me, I don’t necessarily like that a lot of them remember me from Top Model because they come to the mat and like, “I know her.” But whatever gets them to the mat.

They also want different. When they’ve been in and out of jail their energy is different, they’re tired. Newbies are not tired, their energy is up, they’re not settled yet. People who are repeat offenders want a different way of living, they come to every class.

What do you gain from teaching in jail?

I feel healed and needed. I always felt disposable modeling. There was no real need for me.

In February, we taught a class to sex offenders. The cell we were supposed to teach was on lockdown and they didn’t want to waste the trip. Anneke asked which unit we’d be teaching and they said “sex offenders.” My heart stopped. I’m pretty cool doing a lot of things but I was not okay with teaching child molesters and rapists, but I did it and when I saw Anneke get down on her knees to help a rapist get into a posture, I cried and I was thinking, “I can do anything. I’m free.”

What’s next for you?

I want to create more programs in my community. I have a program in Yonkers where I teach every other Saturday. I want to create a couple of those in the city and I want to create programs for my students when they come out of jail so that they have a routine.

Make sure to keep up with Liberation Prison Yoga and Urban Peace Squad.

Culture

The Club Is Coming to the Stage

We enter and make our way to what is approximately front left of the DJ booth, where we’re accustomed to dancing at clubs in New York. “So is this a techno club or a dance performance?” yells an uncertain participant in my boyfriend’s ear. He laughs, bouncing along to Ben UFO, and yells back, “It’s both!” The club has long been a hot topic in European contemporary dance but it is only now making its way into New York performance venues, largely through transatlantic tours. R.O.S.E. follows recent examples like Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1 (May 2024), (LA)HORDE’s Room with a View at NYU Skirball (October 2023), and Gisèle Vienne’s Crowd at BAM (October 2022).

Do these performances compromise the club’s spirit — a space idealized for its anonymity, dark lighting, and thundering music? The notion of the club as a utopian escape is admittedly just that — an ideal — because of how its intense conditions can create barriers to entry. Still, the club remains sacred for many, a place to forge connections and embrace an alternative state of being. Looking at how performances transfer this spirit to new settings reveals what aspects of the club are essential and those that aren’t.

Sharon Eyal, R.O.S.E. 2024. Photography by Stephanie Berger, courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

Eyal’s dancers make their entrance. The lighting shifts from roving blue to yellow spotlights as Ben UFO’s tracks transition to more melodic beats. Clad in deconstructed lace Dior lingerie with dark red tears painted on their faces, the dancers move cautiously in a tightly maintained pack, slicing paths through the horde with hoof-like steps and jerky leg extensions. After around ten minutes of this controlled choreography, the dancers vanish as the lighting shifts back to blue and Ben UFO picks up his dubby beats. The club, as we knew it, resumes. This cycle of tightly executed movements and free-flowing club-goers repeats several times, each time emboldening the dancers to plunge further into the crowd.

Clubbing in a building once built for the U.S. Army National Guard on Manhattan’s Upper East Side turns out to be surprisingly successful — at least for the audience. What starts as an awkward, scattered group searching for their non existent seats gradually gels into an engaged, bouncing crowd that erupts in cheers each time the dancers enter and exit. Performance patrons who might never step foot in a club find themselves swept up in its potential for communion, moving in unison with fellow ticket holders. But it isn’t until the very end of R.O.S.E. that the dancers finally break free from Eyal’s choreography and join the fired-up audience in a brief moment of improvisatory movement with the music. By keeping her dancers at arm’s length, Eyal seems more interested in the club as a backdrop for her signature movement style than wholly as a space with meaningful stories to be told.

Michele Rizzo, HIGHER xtn. 2024. Photography by Cameron Kelly courtesy of MoMA PS1.

Back in May, I attended Wire Festival, a multiday electronic music event at Knockdown Center that had no shortage of organically united dancefloors. It attracted a crowd of seasoned ravers who were eager to celebrate the start of spring as they danced alongside DJs who played well into the daylight. I left Wire in an afternoon daze to see Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1. My sleepless euphoria only deepened as the performance unfolded, starting with a lone dancer who looked plucked out of the festival.

The dancer, dressed in sneakers, baggy jeans, and a tight tank top, shuffled slowly into the gallery, perfectly in sync with the looping bars of an understated electronic melody. Soon, other dancers, clad in the same staple rave uniform, joined him — each having traveled from Europe for the U.S. museum debut of HIGHER xtn., which premiered at the Stedelijk in Amsterdam in 2018 and quickly became a fixture at kunsthalles and festivals across the continent. As the score’s tempo climbed, the choreography locked into a 16-count sequence, which the dancers executed with precise synchrony. They remained intensely focused, never making eye contact with each other, as they sought release in the endless repetition of synthesized beats. Once the dancers reached their limit, they stopped the sequence and exited the gallery, one by one.

HIGHER xtn. used the focused daylight of the gallery to highlight the meditative release found in the repetitive movements that dominate dark dancefloors. The performance’s restraint brought more consistency and intentionality than Eyal’s all-encompassing club construction in R.O.S.E. Yet both performances offer enticing entry points into club culture for those who may not frequent raves. Rizzo’s ecstatic, hypnotic repetitions reveal how the club can mirror other meditative practices, while Eyal’s interpolation of performance and clubbing helped hesitant audience members blossom by the end. Still, both works overlook one of the most underappreciated aspects of clubbing — its potential for individual expression. HIGHER xtn.’s pristine uniformity especially risks promoting the outdated techno trope that there’s a “right” way to dance to electronic music.

Maybe this shortcoming is, in fact, a benefit. For habitual ravers jaded by one too many sunrise sets, it’s a reminder to return to the club with more intention. If you pause and peer through the darkness, you’ll see hundreds of people moving to the same beat, each with their own subtle variations. This collective choreography is a ready-made spectacle that doesn’t need validation in a theater or museum. And when the music shifts slightly, you can watch the ripple effect sweep through the crowd while feeling the new beat in your body. Maybe this small bit of magic is best left on the dance floor.

Culture

Real Slick, Jack: Psyche Organic Arrives in New York

Shop Psyche Organic at Happier Grocery and Dimes. Coming soon to @citarellagourmetmarket @unionmarket @gourmetgarage @deciccos @fairwaymarket plus many more.

Culture

Porsche SCOPES Brings Art, Music, and Design to Toronto

The festival was a full immersion into Toronto’s dynamic creative energy. Day one set the tone with DJ collective Living Room, followed by an experimental performance by Claire Rousay that captivated the crowd. Jewelry designer Steff Eleoff unveiled her Porsche Taycan 4S art car installation—a bold fusion of automotive and wearable art inspired by her Sedona ring—while OVO Sound’s Naomi Sharon and DVSN wrapped up the night with powerful, genre-defying performances.

We witnessed SCOPES Toronto bridging underground and mainstream with day two’s lineup. DJ Korea Town Acid’s set paved the way for Angelphroot and Dameer’s debut of BASSMATI, a track blending South Asian influences with bass-driven sounds. Chippy Nonstop’s return to Toronto and Richie Hawtin’s extended set were milestones of the evening, proving that the city’s underground scene has a global resonance.

The final day featured standout performances from local pianist Harrison, Indigenous artist Tia Wood, and hip-hop visionary Sean Leon, who elevated his set with a live choir. Moonshine Collective’s film and musical performance explored themes of African utopia, showcasing art’s power to bridge culture and technology. Rising Toronto star SadBoi, who paused her tour to perform at SCOPES, further underscored the festival’s commitment to nurturing local talent.

Throughout the weekend, we experienced installations from artists like Mitsu Mitsu and culinary creations from Bar Mordecai, capturing the multifaceted creativity Porsche SCOPES brought to Toronto. This milestone 10th edition, open to all, allowed Toronto’s vibrant arts scene to thrive, underscoring SCOPES’ mission to celebrate local talent while connecting it to a global audience.

office had the chance to connect with rising star SadBoi ahead of the event. In our conversation, she shared insights into her creative journey and reflected on what performing and growing up in Toronto means to her and her work.

How are you, and where are you at right now? You told me you were traveling.

Um, I’m good, I’m feeling really good right now. I’m traveling back to Salt Lake City. I had a show yesterday in Seattle. I’m on tour right now with Coco and Claire.

How is touring life treating you? Do you like it?

I love being on the road. To be honest, I feel like I don’t know—like I’ve had good experiences and bad ones—but this time it’s really fun, especially with the people I’m surrounded by. It’s also the longest tour I’ve been on; I have about four more weeks to go. I’m trying not to think about how many days I have left.

Do you feel homesick?

Yes, because when I start thinking about how many days are left, I start to miss my dogs. I’ve just been trying to stay in the moment—I don’t even know what day of the week it is, to be honest with you.

Oh, sweet! What are your dogs’ names?

Jillian and Winston. I know, they’re crazy names.

You’ll be performing at SCOPES in Toronto, which is where you grew up. Do you feel like the crowd is different when you perform in Toronto compared to other cities?

Yes, I mean, Toronto just feels different because it’s home. Every time I come back to perform, something in my career has changed. The last time I performed in Toronto, people just wanted to have a good time, and I’m excited to perform back home again to see everyone’s reactions. I know it’s going to be different from the last time. It’s exciting to see your own growth. Toronto is a tough crowd, though. If we’re with you, we’re really with you.

So, they’re super picky? You have to gain their respect, or what is it?

I think Toronto people are in their own world, but when something really connects with them, they’ll lose themselves in the moment. But it takes something to bring them out of that. Toronto crowds are tough because even if they like you, they won’t show it outright until they’re really vibing with you.

It’s like a vibe check, right?

Exactly. They’ll enjoy your performance, but it’s hard to explain. When people visit Toronto, they often say, “Oh, you guys are so nice,” and I’m like, “I don’t think we’re that nice, we’re just polite.” Like, you can walk down the street, and no one will say anything, but it’s just our mannerisms.

You mentioned Toronto can have a moody energy, especially at night, and that the underground night scene there really inspires you. Can you talk more about what makes Toronto's nightlife so influential for you?

Absolutely, Toronto has this unique energy that comes alive at night. Similar to New York, there are the popular clubs everyone knows, but you need to find your niche—the people who know where the real parties are. I remember going to raves in high school yards, sneaking in because I wasn’t old enough. Events like Baby, Jerk!, and Yes Yes Y’all were pivotal, exposing me to DJs blending dancehall with EDM—something I hadn’t seen before. Toronto nightlife is moody and intense, but when everyone’s out, it’s like the whole city is alive.