LOEWE announces winner of 2017 LOEWE Craft Prize

Sergio Farias Knows the Girlies Have to Swim with the Sharks

Farias’s 12 new works follow the trials and tribulations of the seedy underbelly of club culture and the selective upper echelons of the entertainment industry. Growing up in Southern California and coming of age partying with Paris Hilton up and down the Hollywood scene, Farias has seen his fair share of this specific kind of exploitation, and how its currency can leave its participants mangled. In his work, his “girlies”— the audacious subjects of his artistic world— traverse shark-infested waters, searching for something that might resemble peace.

But can you truly find peace on the dance floor? Farias isn’t entirely convinced. We met over Zoom one Friday afternoon and swapped stories of L.A. clubs, bartering away our youth, the bouncers who broke our hearts, and the cruel balancing act of staying afloat in the scene, or being a creative in the Year of Our Lord 2026.

When we spoke, Farias took me from his bedroom drawings to Hollywood’s shark tank, where the girlies learned to swim, and where even the best night out can leave you wondering what exactly you traded for those free drinks.

Your girlies often appear in scenes where innocence and danger sit side by side. There's this tension. How did you develop this recurring image of the girlie in danger, and what does it let you explore about vulnerability, power, and survival right now?

The girlies came from the innocence of me drawing in my bedroom, to living it, and the dangerous situations that have come from the experiences, and seeing a lot of my girlfriends be used and abused by the system of men and power. I used to be such a club girl, and there were systems in place to put you in danger without you even realizing it. I'm very observant. I'm a Virgo. But I'm also like, “Am I feeding into the system by being there and being a voyeur to this?” But you're young. You're having fun. I never paid for a drink in a club, because they were using us for our youth. We were paying with our youth, our naïveté, our innocence, and then you become numb to crazy abuse around you. That's where the girlies were born. I feel like I'm a girlie, too. With my friends, we're a little team. We're gonna get our drinks, and then, of course, we're gonna encounter these predators, but we also benefit from it, swimming through the sea to get to our goal.

Do you think of your work as being political, and what ideas or experiences are you working through in these paintings?

I do feel like [my work is] a little political for sure. Growing up gay, I was always getting used for something. This girl came up to me and was like, "You should come to my church with me." She was trying to befriend me and convert me to be straight. And I thought, "Why is she trying to force me to be something [when] I don't even know what I am?" I'm finding myself out. I feel like a lot of these institutions and systems are predatory, even religion, so I draw a lot of religious aspects. I love God. God and I have a friendship. I shouldn't be defined by my sexuality. I struggled with that a lot. I would even pretend to like girls just to trick myself. A lot of these political systems, they raise you up, and then they're like, "Oh, we're gonna take away your rights." And you're like, "How are we going backwards in these systems? Who are these systems benefiting but the people in power that are probably getting money from it?"

Your work looks at power, desire, and ambition through these characters and settings that might seem a little fantastical. What parts of the real world do you feel is most absurd or disturbing right now?

It goes back to the rights of women. I think it's so crazy that these governments take away those rights. Certain states are taking [abortion] rights away, and I'm a person who believes that [you should] do what is best for your situation. I'm pro-choice. We shouldn't define people for their choices, so a lot of [my inspiration] is pulled from that. It bothers me when you don't have a choice. A lot of my pretty friends were really innocent, and they would go become sugar babies to these wolves and these people just to have a cute bag for the day. You sell your morals, but at what cost? I'm almost selling myself to be part of this system that isn't here to serve me unless I keep swimming through it to get to the other side. What I want is peace. I just want to live in upstate New York and be by myself or with my boyfriend and dogs and some calm, calm energy. There's always just a system that's here to screw you over, and you have to swim through.

We were paying with our youth, our naïveté, our innocence.

I know exactly what you're talking about. It is just the most bizarre feeling in the world. When did you start painting, and when did you start building this artistic world for yourself?

I would draw on cards when I was younger, but I was always so scared to put anything onto canvas. When I met my boyfriend, I finally started to feel calmer in the space that I was in. I was like, "Okay, I have something that's fulfilling and real and tangible, instead of these fleeting moments." 'Cause a lot of fame stuff is fleeting moments. They're little highs. They're not real, [even though] it felt real. One winter, [my boyfriend] said, "You should put these characters on canvas." And I thought, "What if I fuck up?" But if I fuck up, that's life. You fuck up. The mistake makes it beautiful. I know that Andy Warhol used to leave paint splatters on the canvases 'cause he liked the little pop of paint. Mistakes are beautiful. I have no regrets in my life. When I paint, I try to keep the same approach.

This exhibition, my dear, I think you started in the final act, is about moving through these challenging experiences in search of peace. Has making these paintings changed how you think about peace in general?

Yes, because why is peace the hardest thing to get? It's so crazy. If you see a lot of the paintings, the girls are missing body parts. It's all metaphorical; it's not supposed to be dark like that. Sometimes you lose parts of yourself to get to this place of stability and peace. It is also so expensive to be a human in 2026. You almost have to be a stripper and a full-time worker to hustle. Everyone's really just swimming to get from paycheck to paycheck. If you don't have these wolves around you giving you free meals or drinks, it's almost impossible as a girl in New York or in Hollywood or in Miami or wherever you are to survive. Whether it be a director— a lot of my inspiration was a Harvey Weinstein-like character. He'd put systems in place for him to attack, and women would be there too, facilitating these attacks. You almost have to be naive and look the other way if you want to find peace, and a lot of these girls didn't get the chance to achieve the peace that they probably wanted.

It's placing a woman's desire to get ahead, and there are all of these kinds of forces trying to bring her down in this very, very specific way. And I think you can really see that in your work.

Thank you. I have three sisters, and with my mom, I always felt like I was one of the girls. When they step into that world, I want to protect them at all costs. I've seen the sweetest girls become so dark and bag-obsessed that they'll do whatever it takes to have this curated image on Instagram that they're wealthy. But it's like, I know they're not. They would rather get a Cartier bracelet than the actual money, just to show that they’ve made it.

It's complicated, especially with how our attention economy and social media have taken over so much of how you're perceived as a human being.

Yeah. I buy into it too. I'm a consumer myself.

Totally. How much of your own life makes it into your paintings? Are there things that you find difficult to paint about?

I have ADHD, so I can't really focus too much unless it's interesting to me. It's almost like a lot of these people and their situations are like fires. You can't take your eyes off it. A lot of the paintings pull from artists that I love, like Tracey Emin or Damien Hirst. The title was taken from a conversation between [Lucien Freud and] Hirst. He told him, when he saw this morbid, dark stuff, "I think you started with the final act, my dear." I feel like it's the same with Hollywood. You're put to die, but you have to keep swimming in order to get to your goal. One time I went out with my friends from school, and I thought we were the baddest bitches going to the club. This promoter told me, “Don't bring those ugly bitches to the table ever again.” You almost have to obey, or you're out. And you're like, "Wait, what did I do? Why are they ugly bitches? I think they're such good people." They mold you to their liking and to how their system operates, and if you don't, you won't have access to the people you wanna hang out with.

It's no joke. It seems almost archaic, this system that's kind of very misogynistic at times, yet still very tied to how the modern-day entertainment industry operates. When someone spends time with your work, what do you hope stays with them after they've gone?

With every darkness comes some kind of beauty. The darkest moments don't define you. You're gonna get to where you need to. If you don't, at least you tried. Life is so short, so if you wanna get that bag, get the bag. No one's here to judge you, but just do it with caution. Stay alert, stay alive. Marilyn Monroe is a big inspiration for me. So beautiful, so talented, so gone. People are still monetizing her image. Authentic Brand Group owns the rights to her face and her image, and they're still profiting from a woman who struggled so much. It’s a lot of unfairness, but if that's your passion, just keep swimming. Be resilient. I'm someone who never really likes to follow the rules, but I feel like with the systems that are in place, I have to follow them because if I'm not, I'm out of the system and I won't have access. But now I’m 35, and if I'm out, I'm out. [Painting] is like gossiping without actually telling people what's going on from my perspective, my involvement, and my views. The only way I'm allowed to gossip is through the paintings.

The only way I'm allowed to gossip is through the paintings.

What are you curious to paint next that you haven't tried yet?

I just love the voyeuristic part. I'm painting from what I see in my world. Anything past that is not my story to tell. When I'm painting from something else, it's almost inauthentic, because it's not my story, it's not my place. I'm just being a fraud. I love Ed Ruscha's words. I put some of his words in the paintings. [And] Richard Prince, I pull a lot of his names [and put them] into the painting in my own way. That's my way of incorporating worlds that aren't mine into my world. I don't think I would want to paint something that I can't visually see or understand, because then it wouldn't be true to me. That's what people are buying into: the truth of the story, the truth of the art.

Is there an aspect of your truth and your life that you would want to explore next in your work?

I know it sounds crazy, but in my 20s, I almost feel like they were gone like this (snaps), because I was chasing so much. I feel like now that I'm in the New York chapter, I'm still happy, and everything's still very fairy tale-esque with some dark elements. Obviously, as I get older, tragedy will still be around somehow. I would probably paint from those inspirations. I would love to paint more large-scale. In New York, you really have no space to store a lot of these paintings, but I would love to paint larger. I would love to paint murals. I would love to paint a big mural in New York as a gift. People could pass by and go, "Oh, there's the girlies. Hey, girlies!"

Art

Debora Brune's Photos Put Disability in the Foreground

October 27, 2026

Almost everyone will become disabled at some point in their lives. Age is a grindstone through which we’re passed through, and the question is not if, it’s when. And yet, the Sysyphian task of outrunning our mortality and entropic fate through so-called ‘healthy living’ has become so pervasive that even popcorn has protein in it. When the political landscape is so unsteady, we turn towards self-improvement as a form of control, and people with marginalized bodies are treated as collateral. What does it look like for an artist to reject those notions? Fashion photographer Debora Brune’s new photobook, Uncool, explores this through her lens of beauty, gathering a group of twenty-six people with various experiences of disability. “It actually started with a London-based agency representing models with disabilities and visible differences, which I'd come across through a job,” Brune commented. “The photographs show my perspective, but I didn't want the people in the book to be seen only as models or subjects of my images. The book isn't just a fashion project.”

Words by Nicky DeMarie
Photos by Debora Brune

Uncool begins with a quote. “I no longer want to explain myself as a body.” To explain, rather than present a body, is a delegitimizing endeavor. It begs the question: which bodies necessitate explanation, and which ones are unquestionable? Tobin Seibers, one of the principal figures in disability studies, wrote in 2003 that “the disabled body provides insight into the fact that all bodies are socially constructed.” In the digital era, the most dominant form of social construction is image-making. Examining our current culture of images, especially in fashion, differently-abled bodies are hard to find. The conservative pendulum swing has left us back in a drought of representative figuration. So how can people left out of spaces of beauty define it for themselves? It’s a similar question to the structural one of access. Public spaces are often built without proper ramps. The cultural sphere tends to be devoid of people in wheelchairs, with port-wine stains, with albinism, with scars. Both of these gaps connote a wider societal detachment from people whose existence is a reminder that our bodies are constantly in flux, and access can always change.

Brunes photos shift a consideration of what beauty is. “I was drawn to physical features that are often perceived as flaws or ‘deficits’, but which I personally find fascinating.” She says. “A lot of the process was about following that curiosity, meeting people and exploring what exactly interests me visually, and how I want to photograph it.”The photos are strikingly delicate, reckoning with personhood through points of disability, rather than in spite of it. Close-up shots show interlocking patterns of scars, blush creeping up the side of an amputated arm, an eye clouded by stormy grey. There’s so much beauty here. Brune’s methods of portraiture force an unbreaking gaze between the viewer and subject. Their unwavering stares assert a belongingness in the very cultural space of photography, art, and fashion.

Alexandra Bondi de Antoni, editor of i-D Germany, writes the closing essay for Brune’s book. Her kaleidoscopic prose echoes the same sentiment that Seibers wrote twenty years ago. “Your body is ever changing,” she states. “Your skin, your muscles, your joints and your tissue carry that change… your body speaks of resistance and transformation. This is the language of survival.” For people with disabilities, survival is evident on their skin, but societal treatment is context-dependent. One of Brune’s subjects, Catrin, a physiotherapist and model, recounts how her perception has changed after a life-altering ski accident that left her with burns all over her body, stating that “a woman with scars is often looked upon with sympathy – a view that has been created by unrealistic expectations of what beauty is.”

Elle Jo, another subject who uses a nasojejunal feeding tube, said that “[her] illness cannot be hidden, so [she has] had no option but to face people’s judgement and curiosity head on.” Elle Jo graces the cover of Uncool, facing us head on, her feeding tube accessorized with a Supreme sticker. The act of brand adornment on something like a feeding tube, considered utilitarian, gets at the heart of this project and its title. Coolness is a phantasm that’s as powerful as it is moldable.

Art

YAKIKAT Debuts A Vengeful and Erotic Art Performance

October 27, 2026

That weekend, the L train wasn’t running. But in the East Village, a few dozen people gathered to witness VENGENANCE (is a love language), the debut performance by New York-based interdisciplinary artist YAKIKAT. I was running late, and I got off the bus one minute before the show was going to start. In front of the gallery space, there was a mattress on the street with a chain drilled into it, with a woman wearing nothing but underwear, laying on the bed.

VENGENANCE (is a love language) was an immersive and vigorously emotional experience. Spanning about an hour, YAKIKAT, with a small cast of about two to three other people, explores rage, eroticism, control, and reclamation. Performance and dance were the driving forces of the show, but with the heavy and sometimes unnerving music, it completely captured the audience in the psyché of YAKIKAT.

Words by Jack Devitt
Photography by Chris Denman, Marien Wilkinson, and Madison Paloski

There are numerous phases in the performance, divided into four chapters, in which YAKIKAT lets her frustration and anger sink into the audience with her intense dance sequences and overt physical exertion. She battles for control with a mattress, runs on a treadmill in heels and a latex bodysuit, and balances a flaming birthday cake on her head. YAKIKAT also presents pseudo-commercials projected onto a wall, advertising the fictional drinks ‘SPITE’ and ‘REVENERGY’ before cast members throw cans onto the audience.

The climax of the performance comes near the end, when YAKIKAT interacts with another person in the show for the second time. Where there once was the treadmill from the beginning, there are two mattresses and a weighted pole in the middle of them. The benches were moved to surround a motorcycle pointed at the two performers.

The two become a mirror for one another, where they fight, touch, and lick each other. They possess the necessary eroticism, and both become fulfilled with the exasperation that the show calls for, and it pays off with a flawlessly choreographed pole dancing sequence. At some points of their routine, they become attached to each other and become one, before splitting off, with YAKIKAT regaining her control and declaring victory over the now whimpering and defeated partner who lies on the bed. The show ends with YAKIKAT calling their partner from the mattress towards the door leading to the basement. Their partner crawls over eagerly, and YAKIKAT leads them both downstairs, slamming the door to the audience behind them.

A balance of physical expression, an astounding sonic atmosphere, and ironic-yet-symbolic visuals, YAKIKAT’s debut show VENGENANCE (is a love language) is a poignant and perfectly distinctive display of multidisciplinary artistry. With the displays of eroticism and sexual frustration, anger is recontextualized less as an emotion and more as a state of being–something that should be encouraged rather than subdued. The result is far from lethargic; she produced a highly energetic, experimental performance that cements YAKIKAT as an audacious and valiantly expressive creative.