Gabrielle K. Brown: Holy Desire










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Lily Lady: You both head up influential NYC-based magazines, and you’re dating. Tell me about your relationship. Ripley, why are you squinting at me so skeptically?
Ripley Soprano: Sorry, I’m not squinting, it’s sunny.
LL: It looks really cloudy over there. But okay, let’s start with a softball. Why don’t you tell me about your magazines?
RS: Ladies first.
Penelope Dario: Petit Mort is a magazine and archive celebrating the intersection of art, sex work, culture and fashion. [The goal is] to showcase the cultural influence and wisdom of sex workers. To preserve our history. It's growing into other things, too, like a production company, because I want to break into other forms of media.
RS: Rock star over here.
PD: No, you're the rock star.
RS: Dirty is about documenting our lifestyle. It’s not unlike what Vice did. But we’re closer to the ground, with people who are actually engaged in the culture doing most of the writing. It's very design-forward. I have an incredible creative director and designer, Maia Raymer. We’re focused on New York City, and have a New York attitude in the voice. Both Petit Mort and Dirty’s writers are close to their subjects, which is different from what we've seen in other journalistic projects.
PS: Yeah, I can’t speak for Dirty, but reporting on marginalized spaces often feels like a National Geographic documentary about some exotic species. Instead, [our approach] is to actually have these exotic birds writing stories about themselves, talking about themselves to other people in the same spaces.
I try to straddle the line between things that are not too inside baseball, so that the general public can also enjoy them and feel like they're getting a voyeuristic experience without it being exploitative. There’s no, you know, what's your worst experience? or what's the craziest thing you've ever had to do? That feels like the National Geographic approach, no shade on National Geographic.
LL: The Petit Mort and National Geographic beef starts here.
RS: Or the collab starts here!
LL: Both of your magazines have been in print since 2021. What’s the key to longevity?
PD: I feel like I've been sitting in a casino for five years, and I just keep waiting to win big. Thankfully, I haven't lost the house in the process. Sometimes it feels like I've invested too much to stop. But [I tell myself], if you're working hard, and you're dedicated to the craft, things will happen. That faith is a huge part of it.
Also seeing people respond to [the magazine]...even if I’m not making a million dollars a year, even if it's just an archive, I think that's meaningful. It's a physical product that will outlive the blogs and the digital files. If I die tomorrow and all I ever did was create this physical archive of the sex workers I was able to report on, then that makes my life feel meaningful.
RS: Wow, that's such a good answer. Yeah. For me, longevity means evolving. The first issue of Dirty was so different. Now, I have this great team, between Maia’s design vision and Max Lakner [Dirty’s in-house photographer], it feels so cohesive. Now I feel like I can look at something and be like, Oh, that's Dirty. It definitely has a pretty strong sense of humor that I try to push for in all the editorial, the photography and some of the voice. But it's earnest. It's so much more earnest than I ever imagined it would be. For me, longevity is being open to evolution.
PD: We’ve been inspired by Dirty to be more funny, and not so serious.
RS: But I love serious.
LL: How important is being in print for each of you, as opposed to a primarily online presence?
PD: Making the [physical] magazine beautiful is important, because beauty softens the edges of learning and can bridge the cognitive dissonance between someone who has no respect for sex workers, no understanding of the industry, thinks it’s all sex trafficking you know, whatever. And then they open up this book because they think it's pretty, and they’re like, whoa.
[Graphic designer] Paul Glover did our redesign and was pushing for the matte. Paul said that for whatever reason, things that are glossy feel disposable. We’d been glossy until that point, and I hadn't really thought about it that way, but it makes sense. Like, there's something about it that feels like a catalog.
RS: This is where we diverge in an interesting way, Dirty started as a glossy, and around the time of the fourth issue, Maia had this idea to do a newsprint. It was hard for me to wrap my head around, since I felt attached to being a traditional glossy magazine. It took maybe two more issues before we did a newsprint, and I can't imagine going back.
One of the selling points of the newsprint is that it’s more disposable, and something that people can pass on or leave in a cafe. We can print more for less money, which is a selling point for advertisers.
The ideas in Dirty don't belong to anyone. I want these ideas to be proliferated. At Dirty, we believe that all good ideas come from the margins. Harm reduction and community care are big themes. The newsprint really holds the ethos of a street paper, of New York City papers.
PD: ‘What role does a magazine play?’ is something I've thought about a lot. Making it a beautiful item that you want to display in your home like an art book serves two purposes: it makes the physical product desirable, and it also allows me to raise the ticket price on the cover.
Coming up as a young sex worker, I thought, why don't we have our own Vogue? We are stars.
RS: But in terms of print media in general, there are so many underground magazines popping up and I'm not sure what their longevity is going to be, but it’s cool and inspiring. They all come in so many different shapes and sizes. Whether it's Dirty, Petit Mort, Byline, On The Rag…this is a movement. Nylon is going back into print, No Agency has a magazine, Vice is coming back. It seems like Playboy is going to do a print magazine, wonder where they got that idea….
There’s a print movement that's very much coming from young people, which is cool, and it's a response to COVID, isolation and overconsumption of digital media. I think it’s exciting.
PD: Because of the nature of the publishing industry, advertising money just isn't there anymore. So how do we survive in this landscape? That's something that Dirty and I share, since we came into this space at a time when magazines were dying. Niche magazines are kind of coming up, but these niche magazines come from companies that have tons of money that essentially can blow a marketing budget on a print product. But how do we exist, grow and survive in a landscape that's becoming more and more hostile to what we're doing?
RS: Wanting to be in print is also a response to FOSTA/SESTA, because we still face different types of payment processor discrimination.
PD: For both our magazines, [foregrounding] print definitely has to do with online censorship around sexuality. My threshold was always Vogue Italia. I was like, if Franca would publish it, I'll publish it. But I think ideological accessibility is important in terms of reducing stigma. People aren't going to be as compelled to read the stories I'm publishing, and to actually get into the psychology and philosophy of sex work, if they just open it up and see a porn magazine. I want them to open it up and see a fashion magazine. Or an art magazine.
That being said, my payment processor got shut down within the first three weeks of launching the shop, and it took two months to get it back running.
LL: What’s the business model sustaining both of your magazines?
PD: Listen, I’ve chosen to be a sex worker because if I'm gonna suck dick for money, I need to be sucking dick for money. In and out in an hour. I cannot suck corporate dick for endless hours over weeks of conversations for no money.
Maybe I haven't gotten to that point in my con-man journey of selling ads, because I don't even care about selling ads anymore. If a brand wants to collaborate and it makes sense, then great. But I'm much more interested in generating value as a publishing company, whether that means raising the price on the issues, or just being more creative about the product model.
I can't really say what the sustainable business model is right now. A lot of this is still funded directly by me. We have a fiscal sponsor that essentially allows us to get tax deductible donations from the public. Doing more fundraisers and having it be more socially supported is something I'm looking into as well. Profit isn't really the goal. Longevity and sustainability is the goal.
LL: What about at Dirty? Ripley’s over there, squinting, with a no free ideas look on his face.
RS: Nah, I mean, we dropped the cover price on the magazine. The idea is to subsidize it with advertisers and partnerships. We do a lot of events, too. The dream is to have a pretty hefty online shop with more merch so that it’s more likely that if someone buys a magazine, they'll also buy a $25 T-shirt. I want to get to the point in the next couple months where we're selling enough merch to keep us afloat on a monthly basis.
PD: We can't look at legacy publications and see what they're doing. That is a business model that doesn't even exist anymore for them. Flip through a Vogue and you’ll see…they don't even have any good advertisers anymore.
What could be really exciting about this new wave is how to figure out a new business model for these magazines.
LL: What magazines do you read, other than each other’s?
PD: Once in a while I'll go to a magazine shop and do a big haul. Just to see what people are doing and what's happening.
RS: I try to support the smaller magazines that are coming out when I can.
PD: I like Hommegirls, even though they did switch to glossy. But they're actually one of the most successful magazines right now. They were started by a fashion designer who also does a clothing collection for the brand.
RS: I like Hell Gate for New York focused news. It’s not print, it’s online. Their reporting is great, especially on the Eric Adams indictment. They’re super snarky. But I love old magazines. Old Playboys. Big Brother.
PD: Don't forget those copies of Project X I got you!
RS: Yes, Project X, which was Julie Jewels and Michael Alig’s magazine.
LL: So okay, we get the deal with the magazines. What's it like being in a relationship?
PD: It’s very sweet! We understand what each of us is dealing with, whether it’s production stress, printing stress, or talent stress, whatever it is. It's tough sometimes when we're both dealing with the same unknowns, because we don't necessarily have the answers for each other. But if you’re walking around in the dark, it's better to be holding someone's hand!
RS: I couldn't really say it better.
PD: We bounce ideas off each other, too. Even though Dirty and Petit Mort are so different, we share contacts and have a nice cross-pollinating space. I like to say Petit Mort for the girls and the dolls, and Dirty is for the boys.
*Ripley squints*
PD: Is there tea?
*Ripley squints harder*
PD: Okay, wow, you're bringing it there. You really want to spill the tea in this exclusive?
LL: Let’s hear it!
PD: So Dirty and Petit Mort started at the exact same time. And I had a crush on Ripley for a long time, before the magazines were even twinkles in our little eyes. I actually slid into Ripley's DM in maybe 2019, and got totally ghosted in a social media air ball!
A few months later, I'm about to announce Petit Mort, and a friend was like, wait, did you see that Ripley started this other magazine?
I was like wait, what? what the fuck is this?
I was a little bit of a hater for a minute. Dirty had a humorous sensibility that I struggled to tap into. I was struggling with my own self-censorship. Seeing what Dirty was doing, the risks they were willing to take…I was like, fuck that's so fucking cool.
Then we did the feature on you, Lily, when you guys were an item. You invited me to a Dirty party, which I went to, thinking, I guess I’ll find out what this shit is about. And Ripley was just so sweet. I had no idea that they were such a cutie-pie sweetheart. I thought they were just a hot fuck boy. And I thought, wow, lucky Lily lady over here.
A few months later, we got lunch and talked about running our magazines. And then [Lily & Ripley became best bros 4 life] and Ripley and I started hanging out every day. The rest is history. It’s funny how life works.
RS: The first time we got lunch, I remember leaving with this heavy feeling because I saw something reflected [in Penelope] that was very hard to receive at the time, because it felt like such a reflection of the difficulties [of running a magazine] that I really try not to show.
When I meet up with people, I try to be super positive about how it's going. And I am very positive, but to feel seen in this way, in terms of personal financial investment and sacrifice…it's really heavy. That's something we can relate on a deep level. That was a really moving part of getting to know each other.
LL: So sweet. What a well-rounded romp. Anything outstanding either of you want to convey?
RS: Petit Mort has a really awesome launch party that’s about to happen.
PD: Dirty is about to release what I think is their best issue yet.
What was life like growing up in Orange County?
Life was good. I describe the town I grew up in as a kind of blue-collar beach community—nice, sunny, and clean on the outside, with a dark, somewhat Lynchian underbelly. Drug trafficking out the back door of local businesses, hobos, drunks, and Nazi Surf Punks. Yes, that was a thing.
You were initially drawn to engineering and space—how did that interest evolve into a visual art practice?
There was a Navy base, and Boeing was there—previously McDonnell Douglas. Several of my friends' parents worked for these companies and/or lived on the Navy base. So, engineering, aerospace, and the military were always in my peripheral vision as something to do after school. There were always rumors floating around about secret advanced technology and bizarre aerial phenomena happening in the area where I grew up, so I naturally had a curiosity about what was going on.
Your work is deeply rooted in cosmic and celestial themes. When did this fascination begin for you?
I was always interested in the metaphysical from a very early age. When I finished art school in New York, I was in my studio experimenting with materials. Once I started to let go of what I was trying to do, I realized the material reacted in a certain way depending on the elements and gravity. The forms started to resemble surfaces of the Earth from an aerial perspective. When I switched to dye, I noticed the same type of reaction happening—the elements doing their thing—and the formations became a reflection of the opposite perspective. It was an "as above, so below" aha moment. That discovery laid the groundwork for pretty much everything that followed. Each painting still starts with the abstract process of laying down dye on raw canvas and allowing chance and nature to take part in the process with me. The fascination with celestial themes is an ongoing development—I don’t think it can ever be completely understood in a human lifetime. Once I started introducing figures into the paintings, it reinforced the concept that everything outside the human body exists inside as well. We’re all made of the same elements as our sun, just molecularly organized differently, so in a way, we’re all part of the same thing.
You’ve spoken about how travel has shaped your practice. Is there a particular place or experience that had a lasting impact on your artistic vision?
I think, in general, travel is paramount to my art because it informs and inspires things I normally wouldn’t think about or notice. Over the years, I’ve discovered many different methods, techniques, insights, ideas, and philosophies through travel.
What about a specific piece of art—has there been one that felt especially transformative? You know what?
I can’t say a specific piece of art was transformative per se, but once I saw Raymond Pettibon in the MoMA, I was hooked on art. Seeing his work in the museum made me believe that if he could do it, I could too.
How much of your creative process do you feel is driven by the subconscious? Do you actively try to tap into that space when creating?
Lately, almost everything I do is informed by the subconscious. I believe that this is our true self, and to create great art, you really have to know that part of yourself—and ask it what to do. Some intriguing characters appear in your work—who are they?! Most of the characters are people I know or have known over the years. Sometimes, I incorporate contemporary cartoons that shaped my consciousness as a child.
Any recent moments of insight or "enlightenment"?
Every day, I try to have a moment of insight or enlightenment. From my experience, the way to channel that information is by being open to it and trying not to think too much. Everyone is born with a creative spark—it’s just a matter of being aware of it and listening to it.
How has your personal style evolved over the years?
When I was younger, I was really inspired by people who just looked different. I was adopted, and my parents were pretty conventional, so when I saw punks on the street or on TV, I was always curious about counterculture and underground movements. As I grew older, music and art influenced my style and attitude, and I started opening up to different ideas, philosophies, and genres of music and art. All of these things have shaped my current style—artistically and otherwise.
Looking ahead, are there any new concepts or mediums you’re excited to experiment with?
Right now, I’m working on a podcast with my friend Jesse Camp, where we interview other artists while I paint their portraits. We’ve just finished filming the first few episodes and are now editing them. His brand of comedy meshes well with the core theme of the show—how art and spirituality are synonymous, rooted in the idea that the artist is a conduit for spiritual manifestation. The podcast is called Art Show. I think film is the medium of today’s age with the greatest potential to influence people.
What’s playing in the studio right now?
Blur. Is Costa Mesa calling? Always!
(Photo by Robin Hart Alexander)
A self-taught painter, Schneiderman likes to embrace the spontaneous interplay of materials. “The dyes create a pattern or an idea that I can later dissect or intervene with a brush,” Schneiderman tells Office in a recent interview. Plant dyes, which he encountered while working in a Denver boutique, introduce an element of chance into the process. Images and ideas often germinate organically, as Schneiderman’s materials mirror his own physical and emotional landscapes.
Contrary to the title’s implied minimalism, The Big Empty—a phrase borrowed from the country singer Coulter Wall—is activated by a potent kinetic charge. Some of the show’s paintings were made in a small Los Angeles garage before Schneiderman relocated to a larger space downtown. The frenetic energy reflects the cramped nature of the studio he was working in. Limited room and constant movement infused the pieces with urgency and tension, as if the paintings were pushing against walls.
“I like to lay out all the paintings in my studio and see how they vibrate, how they talk to each other,” Schneiderman says. He prefers working on multiple pieces at a time to capture this emanating dialogue. His canvases are linked by a subconscious symbiosis, a quality that has attracted viewers seeking a harmonious connectivity with art. During the pandemic, Schneiderman’s work swiftly gained an online following; his paintings serve as portals into a shared space of introspection.
“A feedback loop starts to occur, and I start to notice how one painting might influence or inform another, ” the artist adds. Familiar shapes and patterns—concentric circles, opaque nebulae, and flexuous earthworm-like squiggles—recur across the canvases, contributing to a visual ecosystem fueled by a cross-pollination of ideas. Each painting is its own ethereal landscape of ecstatic forms, evoking cosmic explosions (How the Heart Unfolds), desert storms (Playing the Bones), lightning sprites (Visitor Map), and molecular fusion (Dweller on the Threshold). Schneiderman also had David Lynch’s catchphrase “Catching the big fish” in mind while painting The Miraculous Draft of Fishes, inspired by the director’s idea of meditation as a means to deeper creative expression.
The large-scale canvases reflect a conceptual evolution for the artist, who has more recently shown in Italy and Switzerland. “Abstraction has always been a destination I’d wanted to arrive at,” Schneiderman says, “but I had to chisel away at my instinct to make references to get there.” There is an apparitional quality to a work like The Magician, which alludes to a figure hidden from view. Remnants of these specters haunt the canvases—a fishing net, a disembodied ear, a snow-covered forest—but Schneiderman’s interest lies beyond the recognizable. His works are imbued with a latent spirituality that bridges the ecological and the transcendental.
“I think about ‘the big empty’ as this location or headspace, a kind of collective unconsciousness, where ideas exist and are exchanged,” he says. The painter, then, is like a medium, divining vibrant, imaginative visions from plant matter and pigment.