The Holy Third Gender

Lead image — Shalu, Manisha, Rishika, 2020. C-Print Fujicrystal mat. Courtesy of the artist and Perrotin.

Ziccarelli's new exhibition at New York's Perrotin Galerie, titled 'The Holy Third Gender: Kinnar Sadhu,' is a series of portraits and video confronting the compelling history and current situations of these Kinnar Sadhus. Elusive French artist and activist JR sat down with Guillaume to discuss the exhibit and his personal connection to India and its people, especially the beloved Kinnars.

How did you discover the situation in India for transgender people?

I have some close transgender friends, and have worked on a few different photography projects around portraits of transgender people since the early 2000’s. They have real resilience and beauty, and taught me what it means to stay true to your own identity, even when faced with tough outside pressure. The trans friends I knew before going to India were mostly in France, the U.S., Myanmar, Thailand, Vietnam and Cambodia, and I wanted them to see what I had discovered in India.

Since 2008 I’d been really interested in this massive Indian festival where 100 million people gather. And then I heard that the Kinnar Sadhus, who I call the Holy Third Gender in the exhibition, were making history, because they were allowed to officially take part in these festivals. It was all over the news how they’d been formally accepted as a group into this ancient religious ritual, with a kind of status they hadn’t had before. [They had participated in one previous Kumbh Mela, but they did it more on their own, without the same recognition, and some of the privileges you get with that recognition.] I was impressed that an age-old tradition would open up to this community like that, and I wanted more people to see it, learn about it. I know trans people also struggle in India for equality and respect, but this was one important step toward progress.

Tell me about this festival that takes place every 12 years.

It is a bit more complicated than saying every 12 years…It happens in a few different towns, depending on the year and moon cycle. There are also some half festivals. I’m really not the best expert on it, and prefer letting you know what I felt and learned. When I heard that over 100 million people attend the festival, I told myself I had to experience what that energy was like. Of course, all those people don’t come at one time. It’s spread over a 2-month period, but you still have about 4 to 6 million people there at any single moment, which is why the Kumbh Mela is called the largest human gathering in the world, along with Mecca. Whole temporary cities must be built to accommodate them, with roads, bridges, temples, shops, restaurants, campgrounds – all from scratch, built on top of a no-man’s land of sandy, rocky, and wet earth.

And the other important thing to know, is that pilgrims come to the festival to cleanse their sins in the Ganga River. I really wanted to see all those people experiencing the joy of washing away their sins in the water.

Was this your first time in India?

No I have been to India 5 times. The first time was the most important one. I was 18 years old, and you don’t ever forget your first visit to India. India changes everyone who really sees it. If you’re curious, India gives you a lot to think about, and learn from. The people, religions, traditions, colors, how people live. India is an explosion of energy and culture.

Left — Manisha, 2020. Digital pigment print. 90 x 60 cm | 35 7/16 x 23 5/8 in. Courtesy of the artist and Perrotin.

Right — Rishika, 2020. Digital pigment print. 90 x 60 cm | 35 7/16 x 23 5/8 in. Courtesy of the artist and Perrotin.

What are the challenges of working in India?

I’ve actually had less difficulty working in India than in many other countries. First of all, their English can be better than mine, and creating connections and making new contacts happens very quickly there. Plus, they put a massive amount of energy into projects they are involved in.

The challenges I’ve had have been around the number of people, and the dense population there. The waits and lines are long, but I can pretty easily start to forget about that. So when it can take 40 hours for a bus to drive you on a 200km trip, it starts to feel long. But you learn a new kind of patience. Plus, you’re also a bit more free, in a way – on those long trips you’re allowed to sit on the roof of the bus [I know it may not be the safest]. Once I got to watch the Himalayan Mountains passing by from the bus rooftop. It felt like a kind of magical, real-life movie. When you take France’s high-speed TGV trains, you have no clue what is happening outside, between going from A to B.

Have you done a series of portraits before?

Yes. My first published series of portraits, which I worked on the early to mid-2000’s, was called the House of Love. I shot it in the MDT in Paris, an apartment with a bar on the ground level, which actually acted as a cover for the parties that went on upstairs and in the basement. Upstairs there was another bar, a lounge, a stage, karaoke, and a pole for shows. Nothing was ever planned, and the stage belonged to anyone who wanted to perform. It was a place for live, hot, kinky sex in full effect. Bodies, heat and pleasure.

I shot portraits in the MDT, but also in the homes of the transgender regulars who came to this underground kind of club. I wanted to see them outside the party context too, around their personal belongings, and in their everyday lives.

Kinnar Alter, 2020. C-Print Fujicrystal mat. 40 x 60 cm | 15 3⁄4 x 23 5/8 in. Courtesy of the artist and Perrotin.

How do you get your subjects to accept being photographed?

The first thing I hope for, is a kind of flow, a kind of electricity that passes between me and the person. And if that happens, I try to make friends. I always try to take my time, because it ends up making all the difference when you eventually do start shooting. I spent 2 to 3 days with the Kinnar Sadhus without any equipment when we first were getting to know each other.

I can’t take a portrait without having a chat, and having the person understand what the project is about, and where I’m coming from, and what I’m trying to do. Of course I also need to better understand who they are, how they talk and express themselves, how they react to what’s around them. Then I can think about where to place the lens.

Have you stayed in touch with them?

Yes, of course. I’m in touch with about 15 Kinnars Sadhus, but I talk regularly to 3 or 4 of them, that I’m closer to.

In what cities do Kinnars mostly live?

They are spread all over India, randomly, I’d say. They join up for the festival under the same temple, but then they return to different parts of India.

What is the difference for you, between photojournalism, and an artistic project?

I think documentary photography and photojournalism can cross over into art, and the reverse is also true. The video in the show feels more like a documentary piece to me, whereas the photographs reflect a more artistic project and perspective. I wasn’t shooting images for the news. I wanted to show who these people were, something from inside of them. I don’t think you can always allow yourself to do that when you’re trying to report on what is happening for the news. With these portraits, I was actually thinking of my photographs as a kind of version of religious iconographic art, where I try to show these women almost like goddesses – which is how I saw them. So I’m showing a perspective, and for me, something of their inner soul, so that others might feel or connect to what they see there. To me art is one good way to express that, versus photographic reporting, which is more about saying: this happened here at this time, and it’s a fact.  

During this unprecedented period where people are protesting for Trans Black Lives Matter, what can New Yorkers learn from the Kinnars?

I hope these portraits and the video, can add another piece to the protests, by showing how another culture is handling this. The Kinnars fought and succeeded in getting a legal status for the third gender in 2014. So on their passports it states that they are third gender individuals, and this makes them eligible for affirmative action types of aid. The Kinnar Sadhus in particular have had to push to get recognition of their religious group, and they spoke to me a lot about wanting equal opportunities to work like everyone else.

So to answer your question, I think the idea here is that trans communities are fighting everywhere for more acceptance and equality, and seeing that, and seeing where they’ve succeeded, and where and how they are still being held down, is important for everyone – whether you feel part of the LGBTQIA+ community, or not. We all need to know more about what is going on outside our own, smaller worlds.  

Left — Shalu, 2020. Digital pigment print. 90 x 60 cm | 35 7/16 x 23 5/8 in. Courtesy of the artist and Perrotin.

Right — Prachal, 2020. Digital pigment print. 90 x 60 cm | 35 7/16 x 23 5/8 in. Courtesy of the artist and Perrotin.

What is it like to have your first solo exhibition at Perrotin gallery, where you have worked for years, typically helping other artists exhibit their work?

First of all, I am very honored to exhibit in such an important gallery. I feel thankful to Emmanuel, and to Peggy, the gallery’s New York executive director.

Yes, it’s definitely a switch to go from taking photographs and videos of exhibiting artists, and producing their shows. In a way, that goes back to what you were asking about the division between art, and photojournalism or documentary. Categories don’t matter all that much, in the end.

But yes, getting the chance to show my work was amazing news to get right in the middle of lockdown, when things had been looking pretty dark. For me this has been a huge opportunity that I take very seriously. I didn’t want the gallery to be let down, and I wanted to create a show that Emmanuel would be proud of. And after years of working for him, I gained experience that helped me make this show happen, big time. Over the years I’ve learned how to select and present work, and I could use that experience with my own show.

There were challenges to working during the lockdown, but you know all about that! When I started at the gallery, there was only one exhibition space, and maybe 10 or 12 staff. Now there are 9 galleries around the world. So I did a lot of different jobs for the gallery, since I was there in the early days, and I was exposed to a lot of new and different tasks, so I could use all that when I put up my own show. And yes, it’s not the same to work on your own show, versus another artist’s. So I’m very happy.  

Who are some photographers or artists who inspire you?

Catherine Opie. Philip-Lorca diCorcia. Nobuyoshi Araki. Lee Friedlander. Garry Winogrand. AND OF COURSE, YOU!

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.