Lead image: ‘No_Code Shelter: Stories of Contemporary Life’ by Tod’s and Studio Andrea Caputo.
For those four months, Botting counted beautiful things; from buildings passed by to birds that seem to flock over the margins, there is something soft to his interactions with the city. This cultivation of appreciation for his new surroundings distanced him from the loss of leaving England.
Saying goodbye to his preconceptions about the past year, the project captures Botting’s organic evolution and subtleties in a landscape unfolding out of heartbreak.
View an exclusive preview of images from Barcelona Boy below. The book is now available for purchase from Manchester-based magazine ONSETT here.
While Danzig also skates, models, and writes poetry, her approach to photography has never felt like a career choice. She takes photos to immortalize the fleeting, in-between moments of her life since moving back to New York from Philadelphia two years ago. Much like Night on Earth cycles through a revolving door of characters, Diary #1 unfolds through Danzig’s tight-knit group of friends. Her love for Jarmusch and filmmakers of a similar style is evident in her use of moody, intimate hues and settings that evoke the cinematic stillness she enjoys.
Below, we dive into the last few years of her life, discussing desert living, sobriety’s impact on creativity, and New York’s generational echo.
So you've been traveling a lot between LA and Paris, what have you been up to?
Efron Danzig— Skating a lot, I was in LA, stopped in the desert where my kinda-boo lives. Then it was back & forth between Paris & New York until now. But I kind of want to move to Paris.
I love being in the desert. It’s nice to not be in a big city.
It's really pretty. Where he lives you have to dig a hole to shit in.
I heard that’s better for you.
Yeah, honestly, it's good for your bowels. My friend has a little stool for his toilet so you're in a squat position and it just comes out smoother. I want to get one, but I think it'll be crazy. People would come over and be like what the fuck is in your bathroom?
[Laughs] So what's inspiring you right now?
Over the past few days, I've been watching Sandra Bernhard on The David Letterman Collection because she reminds me of my sister, and of course, Jim Jarmusch.
What’s your favorite Jarmusch movie if you had to pick?
Besides Night on Earth, maybe Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai with Forest Whitaker.
What do you love about his movies that other people might not notice?
Oh, that's a hard question. I don't know what other people might not notice, but I love the lighting in those films, like the orange and blue Tungsten lights.
Get your copy through Raw Meat Publishing here.
Tell me about the subjects in your book.
They're all people I love. The original incarnation of the book featured a lot more of my friends, but I wanted it to read more like a cast of characters. Like a show where you see the same eight or nine people over and over in certain situations. I wanted people to be able to recognize the characters; if you have too many people, it gets harder to do that. I wanted to capture those in-between moments where maybe nothing even is necessarily happening.
Walk me through a regular day of hanging with your friends.
I love playing pool at the end of the day, sitting in a park, going to a show, riding my bike, the usual shit.
I know you’ve exhibited your photos in shows before. When did you decide to put your photos into a book?
So I met Kyle who runs Raw Meat Publishing, at an Eight Ball zine fair and gave him my email. He hit me up a few weeks later asking to see my photos, so I sent him 50 and he asked to see more. So I sent him 600, and he told me he wanted to make a book. He's made everything easy for me in terms of the logistical aspects, and he allowed me to take my time with this project.
I wanted the book to feel and read like a visual diary or film. I used to write a lot, but at one point, I had a knee injury, so I wasn’t skating and had a lot of time to dwell. That's when I started loving photography as a way to document my life apart from the poetry I’d write.
Does your photography feel like an extension of your poetry?
Once you start writing a lot of poetry, certain things people will say in conversation seem like you have to put that in a poem. It makes you see the world differently and I feel like photography does the same. It changes how you see things, which keeps it interesting for me, but I wouldn’t say it's an extension exactly. To me, they’re separate.
How do you know when you’ve taken a photo you love?
Sometimes you just feel the magic in that moment when you take it, I don’t know. I love people smoking. That's a big part of my life in a stupid way, because I've been smoking since I was young. It's a big social thing for me, so I definitely love shooting my friends at the end of the day when we're just laying in my bed smoking a spliff after a party or when they wake up.
Do you have any favorite moments in the book?
I was sitting inside a car and my friend Kader was skitching while he was on the phone with his friend, smoking a spliff, and it just looked so insane. But honestly, my favorites are the really tender moments where my friends and I are chilling at my house or their place at the end of the day, just smoking. That’s often when I’m like, Can I take a photo of you? And that's it. Maybe I'll move the lamp a little bit closer or something, but it's that candidness I like to capture.
Are you still writing a lot of poetry?
Not as much. Photography works well with skating because you're just out all the time, and when you're with people, you can photograph them. I was definitely writing more poetry when I was playing music; you have more time to dwell… I was drinking a lot too & that helped. I’m 7 months without alcohol now though. Weed and other things yes, but no alcohol. A lot of my favorite poets would always go on about how they were writing when drunk, I don’t know, I would always be drunk too. As soon as I stopped drinking, I stopped writing as much poetry and I've been out skating more. I've realized that I’m not necessarily in a good place in my life when I'm writing a lot of poetry.
Would you say that poetry is a way for you to process more unsettling emotions and experiences as opposed to photography as a medium to document the world around you?
Yeah, definitely. Although I do like using photography to capture loneliness, mundanity, and monotony in my life…. I do write a lot now, but it's more journalistic, very matter-of-fact, recording details about my day or just gratitude lists.
It's so funny that you say that because I feel like I was always writing poetry when I was younger, but I stopped when I stopped drinking as much.
Why is that?
I don't know, but I know we’re not alone. I was reading Maya Angelou’s interview in the Paris Review which talks about how she always wrote in the same hotel room in whichever town she was in. She’d never sleep there and always wanted it to be the same when she walked in. She’d arrive at 6 AM with her notebook, a pen, the Bible, and a bottle of Sherry. She’d start drinking upon arrival or later around 11, and it would get her into the mood.
I don't understand that. I mean, I do understand that, I just don't know why it works that well. I would take Adderall, buy a bottle of wine, sit at my desk, and just drink, write, and smoke for hours, and hours, and hours, and now I can't do that. [Laughs]
Do you feel like your perspective of the world has changed since you've gone “New York sober”?
I'm a bit more of a grandma and a bit more responsible. I feel like it was easier to float through my day when I was nursing a hangover half of it. Now I'm more aware, so I have to figure out what to do with all that time I was missing out on.
It's like your consciousness is numbed out until you start sobering up at 3:00 PM and then you're ready to go. Now that I'm drinking less, I'll go to a boring party and not stay until the end because I can see how boring it is. If you're drunk at a party, you stay a lot longer.
I know, I'll do one of these where I [stands up to emulate walking into a room, looking around, and walking right out]. I've been doing that a lot recently.
[Laughs] I’ve yet to ask if you’re excited to have a book out in the world now.
Yes, I'm so excited because it's my first one. I'm super nervous too, and kind of shy when showing my work, so it's also scary, but I'm excited for my friends to see it.
I noticed that you rarely share your photography on social media. Is that intentional?
It is intentional because, well, I don't do photography as my career. I was talking to my friend who's a career photographer and they have to post their photos in order to get work. For me, it's just fun, so I can choose to not post. And I want my work to exist in a very particular way so that audiences are only able to consume it in that likeness. I used to play in punk bands and I don't have any of that music up on the internet. We would sell tapes at our shows, and it's like, if you come to the show and buy a tape, you can listen to the music.
Everything created isn’t necessarily made for mass consumption.
Exactly, I'm not making it for hella people to see it. I'm making it for you if you care. I like the privacy of not putting stuff onto the internet, and I would definitely share less of my skating too if I didn't have to. I feel like less is more, quality over quantity.
How do you balance expressing yourself through skating with these more personal mediums like photography and poetry?
Skating, it's so different, it's like dancing. It's one of those activities where you do it and your brain shuts off until you're done, whereas photography requires me to think actively. It comes in waves. There are some weeks when I'm hitting up my friends to shoot an idea I have, or taking a lot of self-portraits, and then if I'm skating or traveling, I won't take many photos for a month.
Are there any photographers you admire?
Nan Goldin is one of my favorites. Ryan McGinley too — we use the same point-and-shoot.
I love that you bring up Nan because she's also been in movies herself.
I love Desperately Seeking Susan. I fucking love Rosanna Arquette, she's amazing and Madonna too. She still lived in the East Village back then. That era was so cool. I also love this other Susan Seidelman movie, Smithereens — I love Richard Hell.
Your photography, similar to Nan’s, reflects the community around her, in this very neighborhood as well. How do you perceive the continuity of the intergenerational conversation between these scenes?
That's something I've always been inspired by, New York music & musicians specifically the CBGB scene. When I was a kid, my dad would play a lot of Johnny Thunders, Patti Smith, and Blondie and he put me on to Richard Hell. All of those people have been in my life for so long. My dad was a musician in New York in the nineties. It’s funny because I feel like that scene is still very present in our world now.
It's always in the background in a way. I love it when I'm at a reading and I see Patti Smith or Richard Hell randomly sitting there. I was at KGB Bar and he was there on some random night recently.
Of course he was. The first place I lived in New York was next to KGB Bar. People would tell me that he goes to readings there.
How long have you been in New York now?
I lived here from zero until I was 10, and only moved back two years ago.
Have you been modeling a lot recently?
Yeah, it's been pretty good. I love that shit, it's so fun to be fab, you know?
How does modeling bleed into your perspective behind the lens?
Besides the technical aspects, through doing all of these shoots you learn that when you're with a good photographer, they go out of their way to make you feel comfortable. I appreciate that and I want to make anyone that I shoot feel comfortable too. It's really reflected in the photo if someone is comfortable or not, you can really tell.
How do you get someone comfortable when you’re shooting something more stylized?
If it's a setting up an idea I have, I'll get them a beer. Or, cigarettes if they smoke. [Lights a cigarette]
What was your process for choosing the spreads and the way you placed images together?
Honestly, when I was making the layout with Kyle, we just went off feeling. We didn't overthink anything. We were just like, Oh, that feels like it should be there and this feels like it should be there. We mostly just placed images where we thought they should be.
Do you feel that if you were to release a second book, you'd continue with this diary format?
I definitely like the diary format because it feels comfortable for me, though I also have other little photo projects that I want to work on. I used to take the Megabus every weekend when I was living in Philly, so I started taking a lot of photos of Uber Eats drivers and people in the bike lane. I used to be an Uber Eats biker, I would wait for the bus and take photos of dudes in business suits on their little one-wheelers. I want to make a little zine of silly shit like that, but separate from the diary project.
Your work is an enriched mixture of artistic disciplines: performance, sculpture, painting. How did this hybridization emerge in the first place?
When I started, my very first impulse was to construct exhibitions as sensorial environments for viewers to immerse themselves in. I am greatly influenced by architecture. My first shows were always conceived as site-specific installations, created with the public in mind. I am particularly interested in exploring how to seamlessly integrate artwork into a specific context. I’d say that this investigative process has influenced my own architectural practice. I would create ad-hoc landscapes dependent on, and in relation to, the exhibition space and craft new objects that narrate their own distinct stories.
The idea to work with large-scale sculptures began quite organically, as a byproduct of curiosity. Rather than “just” making an artwork, I had an urge to dissect and develop a situation. The objects themselves look like collections of small, torn-off pieces sourced from various landscapes.
I have implemented performance art since the beginning — I also created costumes, adjacent paintings, and embroidery. I guess this approach is similar to Gesamtkunstwerk, each aspect of the practice serves the same absolute creative vision, one where all elements and disciplines resonate with each other.
What about the references that you incorporate? I particularly like the confluence of heritage and futurism.
Cross-generational references have always interested me. Much of my work involves research — including both aged techniques and heritage know-how. I then source the right people who can help me duplicate and integrate these findings into my artistic practice often topped with modern infusions. I like to take inspiration from our collective memory and mix it with fragments from our contemporary reality. I never strive for historical accuracy; I’d rather create something new.
Klára Hosnedlová: Sounds of Hatching, exhibition view, The 16th Lyon Biennale: manifesto of fragility — A World of Endless Promise, LUGDUNUM — Museum & Roman Theaters, 2022.
Photo: Aurélien Mole. Courtesy the artist; Hunt Kastner, Prague and Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler, Berlin.
You work a lot with embroidery, which I suppose qualifies as a more traditional technique. How did you first get introduced to the craft and why does it interest you?
The first time I worked with embroidery was during my art studies, but I knew about it for a long time before. At the time, especially in art school, embroideries were not really considered an art form per se. People viewed it as a technique only, either used in the textile industry or as a domestic activity, and I quite liked that. I think it has to do with my need for intimacy. This categorization outside of the fine arts framework made me feel comfortable. I never felt any pressure to master the craft. For me, it is a tranquil practice that creates this meditative sphere where I feel free to create.
I’m curious about the visual connection — I read in another feature that your embroidered pieces often are based on photographs. Could you share more about the process?
I would say that the workflow is quite organic. Usually, my embroideries are based on photographs from previous performances. So in most cases, the current exhibition includes references from the one before. I think of it as an endless circle, where all the artworks relate to one another. My work addresses themes of memory and replacement; it fulfills a need to perceive everything from a wider context and make new connections.
Klára Hosnedlová: To Infinity, exhibition view, Kestner Gesellschaft, Hanover, 2023.
Photo: Zdeněk Porcal - Studio Flusser. Courtesy the artist; Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler, Berlin and White Cube.
You mentioned performance art before. It’s interesting how each performance targets you and your performers, but also heavily emphasizes the audience and their own involvement.
I think it’s important to explain that my performances are not open to the public. They are always conducted in advance, even before the actual exhibition opening. Once an exhibition opens, each performance is relayed through pre-recorded documentation, usually a mix of photography and video. However, the audience is encouraged to navigate the space in a similar manner as the performers. I want them to walk in the same path, yet bring their own presence and traces to the installation.
For me, the dialogue between performer and environment is as important as the dialogue between audience and environment. I don’t request the installations to be “protected.” Once they are open to the public there are no barriers or limitations. Essentially, you can walk on them if you like. It’s not uncommon for visitors to step on a piece of tapestry or an epoxy puddle as they navigate through the show space. And that is fine. I really value the viewer’s freedom to circulate with full integration in the environment. This is crucial to me. It resonates with the whole idea of exhibition as an experience, to blur the long lasting hierarchy between artwork and scenography.
Your recent exhibition GROWTH at Kunsthalle Basel provided a form of commentary on time, as it linked our past, present, and future society, while it also addressed the fine line between dystopia and utopia. Could you explain how this idea came about?
I rarely develop any personal themes through my work. I’d rather provide a commentary on society based on ordinary details from our everyday lives. Take, for instance, the motifs of the embroideries. They depict situations where a performer manipulates quotidian objects which we’re all familiar with, like smartphones or UV flashlights. By purposefully ignoring the sophistication of these objects, I reduce them to their purest form and empty them from their function. I want to shift the focus back to the human figure. If there is any melancholy attached to these images, it is not meant to play on either dystopia or utopia. It has never been a conscious intent, at least. Actually, I particularly dislike when people label my work as post-apocalyptic. I am more interested in the individuals themselves and the emotions involved when we are confronted with specific aspects of society.
What lies ahead? Any upcoming projects that you can share with us?
Right now, I am preparing a solo show for the Historic Hall of Hamburger Bahnhof, which opens in 2025. I am also preparing an exhibition at White Cube in London.
