Without Permission

Tell me about the title of your book.

Tanpa Izin is Bahasa Indonesia for “without permission.” When I was first looking at the phrase, I thought it meant one thing and… I’ve been sitting on this work for about a year, so it started to mean some other things as well. But originally, I was looking at the notions of permission when documenting others—it’s very aggressive in certain places that are monetized by photography. This work is a meditation, not an answer, on otherness told by another source. And otherness is all relative and it speaks to that and the experiences I was having that summer. I was traveling a lot. So I was kind of looking at my own permission creating this critique and what came with that. I considered myself an other in a lot of ways, and realized in some other ways there are other others. Right? So we think about that, but especially as a black person sometimes, especially in American Western mindset, you think it’s like that. Your comparisons sometimes stop, and I really learned that past summer to go so much deeper. And it’s funny because I’m actually Ghanaian and American so I grew up in an immigrant household. I already had a lot of those comparisons where I realize so much like this divergence of otherness that exists and just thinking about that position and what it does.

One thing you said that stuck out to me in your concentrated theme of otherness is that you like to be meditative rather than find an answer. It’s interesting to not want to get to the end of the journey, but rather just sit and see where it takes you. Would you say that this kind of meditative state is prevalent throughout all of your work?

Oh, I think it’s very critical to understand a lot of my work. But artists are not the answers to everything. We look at art as a way to enrich ourselves. Artists get put in this weird position of looking for an answer. One thing I like to welcome in my work is that it’s not at all anything… I am very much learning in my work. I don’t like to be thought of or be looked at or this is a definitive way to look at this. I welcome that dialogue, which is something I wish I saw a little bit more sometimes. There are so many viewpoints in life and I would never feel comfortable saying something is a full answer, but I’m happy to be a voice and through my inspiration when I make things being a way to visually express that and guide and inspire dialogue. I love to awaken dialogue in conversation because I think we’re kind of numb to a lot.

Absolutely, I agree. What drew you specifically towards Bali?

So that summer I had just set out traveling. I left in May to Italy, and then I was in France. I was doing some research and some writing on black art collection in post-colonial states. I had this experience there where I was viewing blackness as one monolithic thing. And the certain assumptions that I didn’t realize I was carrying and being there in a completely different environment and context really put me in my place as an American and what Western influences privilege is. I think that a lot of people forget the ways that privilege can exist, and one thing I realized was that predatory claw of Western mentality. And that really humbled me and brought me to a state of meditation. So the idea of Bali came from an ex-partner of mine. I was so excited, I had never been. I’m always curious about the footprint I’m going to leave on somewhere, how am I going to affect my surroundings. Like I said to you earlier, I’ve been on the other side of otherness. So, when I was approaching the idea of going to Bali, I did it differently than what I would presume a lot of people do. Most people have an idealized view of the island, which I think is very prevalent when you go there. It’s a lot of Instagram photo ops to the point where there are Airbnb experiences that are literally based on an Instagram picture. That to me is what started making me ask a lot of questions. Why is everything involving these specific photos? Like people waiting to take a photo on a swing—it’s dehumanizing. This island that is so beautiful and spiritual, and I’m not even from there, is being reduced down to this very palatable capitalistic social media-friendly way to digest something. And that disturbed me. And so I knew I wanted to work there because I knew I wanted to meditate there. The work kind of came second, a lot of the thoughts came first.

I feel like releasing your book during this point of time just amplifies the message even further. Was there a specific reason that you chose to release it now? If not, how do you think that this message gets amplified because of the exact time we’re living in?

You know, the truth is right now what happened was I was just linked. Me and Catastrophe Media, which is headed by Josie and Angela, have been linked for a long time, but they came to me and were like, “Do you want to publish your book?” I was like, “heck, yeah, I do.” I was waiting for the right people and time. And it kind of came about because we all have time right now. That’s the reality of it. I think it’s been a conversation for a while now, but it particularly became interestingly relevant when America got banned from all of those countries to visit. And why I say that was because I think it was one of the first times I think people checked themselves a little bit—myself included. I hold an American passport no matter what my two nationalities are or where I’ve been or my family’s from.

The feedback I’ve gotten on Tanpa Izin is just something quiet that makes you look at something in a completely different way. And the more and more you sit with it, you start to be brought to a meditative space, which is what I like, or what I’m interested to see. At this current quiet time it’s interesting to sit still with a book and to see how it presents itself to you. Not just with the images, but with the forward and with the annotation. There’s no title on the outside of the book. It’s not meant to be some intimidating giant monolith on your coffee table of dominance. This is kind of a quiet book, it sits on a bookshelf and you can go back and forth from time to time.

And there’s a need for stillness and reflection right now. We often push this lifestyle where it’s almost too fast to think, and that’s why people are going to these destinations and doing the photo ops and being almost like I checked something off my list. Like I did the vacation. Next. Why do you think that, especially as Americans, we fetishize destinations so much?

I would say it’s a weird form of a colonial mindset. I’m not sitting here thinking everyone is on that path, but it reminds me of things like that in a very distant way. And the fact that we look at these places to go conquer and post very immediately that you’ve gone there and that post is a representation of that. So looking at places as only ways to fulfill something. I look at that in terms of capitalism as well. Just where we always wanted output. We’re producing just to get an output, output, output. What is something that could benefit you and how does it benefit you immediately? And that immediate gratification is social media. And now social media when it’s monetized, what does that mean? Do you have your influencer picture? Do you have this, that, or the other? It sounds sort of bizarre to say this, but when you’re walking around a beautiful spiritual place full of amazing people, that has Instagram tours literally to go to spiritual sites, but to find the right place to take a picture, I think you have to start to ask how numb are we as human beings?

Yes. It is such a game, a competitive one, and it really is like an addiction of sorts. What kind of intimacy did you gain by traveling on the back of a motorbike?

There are certain aesthetics in the canon of travel photography, certain aesthetics and things that are accepted or viewed. I think one thing that was always interesting was when you think of a travel photographer, you think about a big commission from National Geographic walking around with their nice camera, big telephoto lens walking around, cargo…. that kind of aesthetic. I was not that at all, and I did that very intentionally. I didn’t want to go up photographing kids blank in the face. I didn’t want to go and be a very disruptive force. And that intimacy was created because I was able to remove myself in a lot of ways and just be a passerby. I wanted to do that to exercise with myself. One thing I’m very clear about is that this book is not an answer, and there wouldn’t be an answer to what something may truly look like until someone from that place is making it. That’s an understanding that I have very clearly because I’ve been documented by another before, too. I’d like to start to go again, and this time remove myself and also just help with work there and get it to different audiences.I’m curious how this book would interact with let’s say a version that wasn’t photographed by me. That’s how I like to think of projects.

I kind of went off the question of intimacy, but I think that intimacy came from allowing me to kind of be a very quiet passerby. I think also as a black woman when I travel, one of the things I always feel is visible, incredibly visible. And very few places I feel non-visible. So I was curious in the forward… you’ll read it, there’s that question about invisibility. A lot of it was brought from that experience. Who wrote that forward is this amazing creative based in France, Britt Belo. She travels a lot as well. We went to the same program in Paris. We both know that feeling of just being gawked at, especially when you're a black woman and you’re traveling. It’s a feeling you’re all too familiar with. So I think I was attracted to that notion of invisibility in a lot of ways and what that invisibility brought in terms of what I was able to see.

So after experiencing both sides of otherness, what have you found is on the opposite side of the other?

The other comes from the existence of the mainstream. The other side of that, is just knowing that feeling of the other side. There’s a gentleness to the images and to the work and to things that are treated, and I think that comes from wishing things were more quiet when documenting people that look like me as well.

How do you define beauty?

Beauty is chaos. I went to Yosemite the other week with my friend and it was just so beautiful. We’re not supposed to be there at all, and there was this chaos that made this amazing ecstatic experience. Chaos does not necessarily mean frantic frenzy, but just the natural order of things that chaos exists in. I think sometimes people want to be this cookie cutter very clean, you know, avoid critique, avoid this, and I think that there’s so much more beauty in that chaos and that rawness that I personally am always attracted to. Of course, if you want to ask me what’s beautiful in other ways, there’s tons of things I could tell you that are beautiful. I think the ways that people’s eyelashes look when they’re up is beautiful. But in a larger conceptual sense, I would say it’s more so chaos because there’s so much to think and process about… that there’s never a perfect answer, and that to me is beautiful. The thought that we could have dialogue and disagree and learn is chaotic, which I believe is beautiful.

What are you up to next?

Right now the book is going to be on order until October 29th. There are some fun and exciting things in the work about that. And then from there, there’s a lot happening this fall. My last project 3436 has some exciting things happening that I don’t know if I’ll mention yet, but I would definitely just say to stay tuned as much as we can during right now. Also, I’m shooting a lot of really exciting work right now and getting back in my groove. I’m always sitting on stuff that is coming or that I’m finding new context for that I hope will be ready to share early next year.

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.