Orion’s World

October 02, 2023

In an idyllic world painted in nostalgic hues, the talented Orion Carloto, a writer and poet, invites us into her world of picturesque prose. At 27, an age when the realization hits us that we’re not getting any younger and the importance of capturing memory is necessary, Carloto melds her worlds of photography and writing to invoke something in her readers. She reminds us to be mindful, to find beauty in the mundane, and she does so with apparent simplicity.

From watching her niece and nephew grow up before her eyes, the Georgia-native writer finds herself looking inward, even doing so while sitting in the childhood bedroom of her own. Releasing a zine titled Beds I’ve Slept In Orion warmly sparks something in us. Whether that be remembering our own childhoods, or thinking about what lies ahead, but most importantly — relishing in the moments we find ourselves in presently.

Interview: Cassie Jekanoski
Photography: Sam Bryant Knolton
Styling: Tana Grossberg
Makeup: Alejandra Ascencio
Hair: Alexandra Khozhieva

I find myself introspectively looking inward and questioning the meaning of absolutely everything. And sitting with Orion and hearing her speak about life from her point of view was an eye-opening conversation nonetheless. We empaths exist and creation is the best form of cathartic release.

Hi! How are you?

I'm excited, I'm fully still in Georgia in my teenage bedroom, so love that.

Oh my God. I feel like that's super nice though. For me, I'm super nostalgic.

Fully, the nostalgia has eaten away at any remaining sensible thing in my brain these days. I've just been crying all week thinking about growing up. Basically. I came home today and my mom got me flowers and it was just so sweet because last night I was a mess. It was horrible.

How often do you visit home?

I think twice, three times a year. I have a niece and nephew who live with my mom, so I'm really realizing now that I think the passing of time just never really occurred to me until recently looking at old videos of them. I'm like, “Oh my God, they're teenagers now. It's so painful to see this passing of time with them.” I get really emotional over it.

I feel like because you're traveling and living away, it's nice when you get to go home and you get to see everybody growing up, especially yourself.

I think it's so easy to be selfish and think about yourself growing up, and I don't think I ever really thought about seeing everyone growing up as a sad thing until recently. It's definitely time to start seeking an existential therapist because it is not fun to have the negative thoughts filter in through good moments that I'm having in current time.

Yeah. Sometimes I just stop and think about how those happy moments are fleeting. They just happen so quickly and I wish I could have lived in them a little bit longer. But yeah, let's just jump into it. What kind of space are you in now?

Right now? It's very melancholic. I think as an individual, a happy person in life, it couldn't be better, and I'm very grateful for the life that I have. But I have been genuinely overtaken by this wave of nostalgia that I think I used to view as a writing tool. Or something that was really beautiful that I could step back and look at and know in the moments that are happening that it will be a special moment. But recently it's felt more like a problem rather than a gift. And I've only come to terms with that in the past two days because as much as I appreciate being a sensitive person in that aspect, I think it sometimes feels like it does more harm than good.

I feel like so much of it takes me away from the great moment that I'm having. And all I could think about is, for example, the other day, me and my whole family drove up to the North Georgia Mountains. My stepdad was driving his pickup truck and my niece, my nephew, and I were all in the back of the truck in the bed, and it was this beautiful moment just seeing them. My niece was eating watermelon, and my nephew ripped his shirt off, and I'm just observing these two gentle children in front of me, and I was so upset that I had left my video camera at home. I really wanted to just capture this moment. And so my brain would go from, "Oh, it's fine next summer, they'll still be kids. We'll do this again next summer." And then I'm overtaken by the thought of, "Well, what if something happens between now and next summer and we can't have this moment again?" So I think I'm robbing myself of having a good time because I'm thinking of the potential of not having a time as great as this again.

I think it's so easy to be selfish and think about yourself growing up, and I don't think I ever really thought about seeing everyone growing up as a sad thing until recently.

<em>FULL LOOK, MIU MIU</em> — *FULL LOOK, MIU MIU*

<em>FULL LOOK, BALENCIAGA</em> — *FULL LOOK, BALENCIAGA*

Do you find that there's beauty in just living in a moment and not having to capture it? Or do you think that you need to capture a moment so you can look back on it nostalgically?

It's so funny because lately I haven't been capturing things even with having a job that pretty much lives online. I find myself being so poor at it because I'm like, damn, I just lived a whole great day and I didn't document one thing about it. And that thought came from realizing a couple days ago, my niece is now 12, and it never occurred to me that I shared so many moments with her as a child that she wouldn't remember. So there's a part where I was just like, "How dare you? Am I nothing to you?" But of course she's not going to remember anything. So we were going through my phone and I was showing her, do you remember this?

I realized how little I had, I didn't have very much. And so that was then fast forward to a couple days ago where I'm like, “Oh God, I should be capturing this moment because I let myself live too much without having any evidence of it other than stories, which really is all that is important to me.” These past few days I've just realized how much I really do value photographs and in a way that I think I just viewed it as capturing slivers of moments that felt maybe curated, but now I regret not capturing more. I feel like I am very proud that I got to live deeply in whatever moments I'm reminiscing on. So I guess maybe to answer your question, it doesn't feel like a need to, but now especially I think with my existential thoughts it feels like I need to now in retrospect.

No, it's definitely a valid thought. I feel like especially as we're getting older and the babies in our lives are not babies anymore.

Totally.

So you're coming out with a new zine, right?

Yeah, it is aimed to come out in the fall, and it is just a one-off. I think when I say zine, it's very easy. I feel like I'm overexplaining myself because it's not a series of things. It's been a while since I've released a book and it's always so fun to connect with the readers. So last summer I was talking to my best friend Enya, and I was like, I have all of these photographs everywhere I go. I always take photos of the beds that I sleep in, whether it's at a friend's house or really anywhere. I just had a collection of all of these beds and I didn't know what to do with all of these photos, so I threw the idea of maybe I should just post this all on a blog or somewhere. And my best friend was like, "Why don't you compile it into some sort of book? You've been working towards something and here's the one thing that you should do." And so yeah, I'm releasing a zine called Beds I've Slept In. It's about capturing these mundane moments in my life that are special in some way. The bed doesn't seem like much, but I feel like that's where you're the most intimate, and I don't even mean sexually, I truly mean just as an individual.

Just even being vulnerable too.

Pillow talk right then and there. It's all in the word.

So I've read your past work before, and I think that you have such an incredible way of describing the mundane to life with your word choice. And I don't know, you bring life to those things that people might just overlook. Would you say that this new zine is going to have your writing alongside or is it just photos?

I think it will. It would feel cruel to not add any writing in it, mostly because I would never call myself a photographer. So it's almost necessary to have a piece of writing. And I've written a few things and I think it's really about deciding the length of how much time I want to take from people.

<em>FULL LOOK, GUCCI</EM> — *FULL LOOK, GUCCI*

... the bed doesn't seem like much, but I feel like that's where you're the most intimate, and I don't even mean sexually, I truly mean just as an individual.

How similar or different is it to what you’ve released so far?

Definitely different in terms of the capacity of it. But in terms of sensibility it's very much the same. I think it's similar to Film For Her, it's photos and not so much about the quality of a photo because there are iPhone photos in there, not everything's taken on film. So it's kind of like these snapshots of the years of my life and I got. I think the similarities in Film For Her is I feel like this is unintentionally been something that I've been working on for over a decade. I'm opening the book with these photographs that I found that I've taken throughout the years, and it was a span of every two years of me sitting in my bed at the time. So I have a Polaroid of me sitting in my childhood room at 16, I have one at 18, I have one at 22. And for no reason did I take these photos other than I guess to just document that. But in making this, it was really special to go through the archive and use these photos that I didn't think would amount to any use.

I think it'll be really beautiful. When it comes to your work, especially with Film For Her and Beds I've Slept In coming out, you do a great job at pairing your photos with your words. So which one comes first?

The ethos of Film For Her was always that the photographs came first. It was birthed through the concept of everything that I release just kind of happens to me. And I think that's why there is no third book right now because I'm waiting for something to happen, something to appear. And Film For Her appeared in the sense where I got my hands on my first film camera and was very cautious about taking these 36 photos because it costs money to take a photo and it costs money to see the photo. By the time I got the rollback, everything was so boring and I was so disappointed at myself that every photo I took felt like it amounted to nothing. I guess I quickly realized that, of course they amounted to nothing now, but in those moments, a photo of a sidewalk or a picture of a friend holding a balloon or whatever it may be, was more about the moment that was being had rather than the photo that was being taken.

And so with Film For Her, the photos came first and it was really fun going through these years of photographs. It wasn't about choosing a photo that will look really good in a book, it was really just looking at the screen in front of me and seeing everything and remembering what times or what memory had come up from whatever photo was in front of my face. So definitely photos come first. And I think the same with Beds I've Slept In. Photos just happen to be there and I get to do something with it, which is really exciting.

It'll be exciting to see. I just want to touch further upon where you mentioned that a third book hasn't come out yet because nothing has happened. Do you find that as an artist, a writer, a poet, creative that something has to happen? Or are you somebody that can find creativity in the nothingness?

I think a little bit of both. I've always tried to make sure now that writing has become a job for me, whereas it was once not a job. And I think the only way for me to keep that sacred to myself is to allow it to come to me. Whereas it would be great to be the writer who's releasing a book every year, and I know so many who do and they're great. I think that they could tap into something that I just can't tap into. And so I think really both my enemy and hero here is the passing of time. And I will say I think this summer has felt extremely eye-opening to me and it almost feels like there is something happening, but it doesn't need to be something as big as a breakup or a life change.

It's more so this bewildering mix of discovering who I am because with every month that passes, you're like, "God damn, I didn't know this about myself and I've been living in this body for who knows how long." And it's kind of exciting despite how terrifying it is, learning more about yourself. I am not waiting for a big thing to happen, but I'm waiting for new thoughts to transpire or at least a space to make sense of the thoughts that I have more or less.

Do you find the process of how you write now different from when you first started writing? Now that it has become a job for you whereas before it could simply be a cathartic release of emotions.

I mean more no than yes. I think it's really easy to get in your head and read reviews or get in the brain of the readers. And while that is important to me, and I do actually appreciate a lot of the constructive criticism, I don't think I would be anywhere without it because you could think that you're great, but many of people could be like, this is a little amateur and could be a bit better, which is totally valid. I'm growing and I think that I need to hear those things I guess. But no, that is probably the only sensible thing about myself is that I've managed to continue looking at writing as something that's entirely mine until it's released to everyone else and then it belongs to everyone else. Otherwise, I feel like anytime I've tried to just write and for the sake of having something new for other people to read, I almost always look back and I hate what I've written because it felt like it came from a place of somebody else's desire to see something rather than my desire to show myself for it.

I wish for myself I could be one of those writers that can just sit down and write something. But most of the time it comes from heavy places of emotion and things just really happening to me to get those words to flow out. Yeah, I think I am also extremely guilty of that. I think last year or the year before I went to see Patti Smith, she released A Book of Days and she did a little concert and book reading and she said something that I already knew was important, but I feel like it took really hearing her say out of her mouth for me to understand the importance of it. And that's just to write every day, even if you have nothing to write about. And the past two, three years I went from writing in my journal every single day to being very on and off about it. I could go weeks without writing anything just for the hell of it. And I think that's mostly due to the fact that I've grown such a close relationship with my friends. So everything that's in here will immediately go to them instead of resorting to a journal, which as it always has. But I feel like I'm getting back in touch with my teenage self in terms of making sure that I write every day.

I feel like oftentimes too, a lot of the times with mixed media and photography the visuals are captured, but not so much of what you're actually thinking about in those moments.

One hundred percent. And it's so funny too, I think my mom had found an old middle school journal and I was reading it the other day and it was so funny. Just the jots of us talking about a substitute teacher or some boy in my class, which I would have never thought of today had I not read that piece of writing. So I feel like I owe it to 50 year old me to be as honest at 26.

What were some of your earliest memories when it comes to your writing?

I remember the earliest memory I have of writing ever. I used to keep a diary on me as a child, and I just have this vision of me sitting in my room in a kind of fetal position. I don't remember being sad, but I remember writing in this diary, and I don't know what I was writing about, but my brain wants to go to who I saw myself in the future. And I swear I saw myself marrying a man with blonde hair and blue eyes, and it was this fantasy that I'd always write about. It was ridiculous, but I think you're allowed to be ridiculous as a little kid. I noticed how much I became attentive in class when it was literature class, and I think it was like the fourth or fifth grade is when you start learning about poetry.

And I remember having a really good time with that. And you get to high school and then you start really reading the classics and you have more creative freedom to write about what you're feeling rather than a Cat in the Hat poem. God, I was so in love with my literature teacher in class, and that was really when I felt like that I found something that worked for me. I didn't know what I wanted to do. I didn't know anything, but I knew that writing felt good. And of course, this is the age of Tumblr, and I have this space where no one knows who I am online, and I can just throw it all in there. I was probably 16 reading Sylvia Plath for the first time, and I'm like, "oh my God, this is everything."

This is so not like anyone I knew. I grew up in a super hillbilly redneck town where I can't even think of one person on the top of my head that had a love for writing. So it almost felt like I was living a double life where I was trying to keep up with this, whatever the zeitgeist is at the time. I wouldn't say popular in school, but trying to fit in while also writing and posting these things online where people who don't know me see a much more sensitive side of who I am rather than this goofy side that I'm showing to my classmates. And from there on out, I knew immediately, I knew when I was 17 that I wanted to write a book, but I don't even think I actually thought it was possible. I know that I wanted to do it, but I didn't think that I could actually do it.

You assume that you'd have to be really into the world of academia and have a college degree to write a book. I had no idea what the process of all of that was. So I was working towards my first book and I was like, I guess I'll self-publish this. I don't know what else to do. And everything just kind of snowballed from there on out. I'm really lucky that I get to do what I love. But I don't think I knew that it would kind of go this far if I'm being honest. I probably didn't think it would at all.

Is there a place you go to when looking for inspiration?

Away from anyone I know. I mean, actually, no. I don't think I go anywhere looking for inspiration. I think I found what works for me is the mundane, and seeking that in an everyday scenario is really easy. It just feels like I let life happen to me and I figure out what to do with it. But in terms of writing, I say getting away from anyone I know because I'm so easily distracted and I need to be alone in order to write.

I think I found what works for me is the mundane, and seeking that in an everyday scenario is really easy. It just feels like I let life happen to me and I figure out what to do with it.

Last question I have is: would you rather relive your happiest memory or forever erase your worst one?

Probably relive my happiest memory. There's this movie called Afterlife, and the concept is that you have all these people who've died and they get sent to a waiting room, and in this waiting room there's somebody across from them saying, you have three days to figure out what your best memory while you were alive was. And then we'll record that memory for you and you'll get to watch in front of you and then you'll pass over to the next life. You had some people who were like, "I didn't have a happy life. I have no happy memories." There were other people who were like, "oh God, how could I choose?" I had so many, and I would like to believe that that would be a beautiful way to take one's final breath and leave this earth. And I think it would be unfair to erase your worst one because without knowing, I think there is no good without experiencing bad. You wouldn't know how good something feels if you didn't know how devastating something once felt to 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.