Your Senses Will Rise

Bodysuit VEX LATEX, Rings GEORGINA TREVINO

As a child, Seneca had lucid dreams that were so dark at times, she questioned her own mental health. But to make peace with the traumatic bedtime experience, she would “draw it out” the following day — taking her visions and drawing them onto paper, advice from her mother that became a daily coping mechanism. And these drawings looked like otherworldly comic book characters — sometimes appearing as illustrations of dolls with distinctively exaggerated eyes — because she preferred to live in her imagination, rather than her physical reality.

They represented how critical her third sense (vision) was in navigating her own world. Seneca was so shy during that time, that, according to her, she was effectively “partially mute.” “I was very withdrawn, so I would just sit there and mostly observe everything going on around me, and also observe what's going on in my head.” Two decades later, Seneca’s visual interpretations of eyes still figure prominently in her name — the usage of “All Seeing” in her persona in combination with “Seneca,” alluding to the Roman stoic philosopher Lucius Annaeus Seneca — and her work. In one of her five paintings from her Genesis Series, which debuted during Art Basel Miami in 2021, Seneca filled the eyes with intertwining interpretations of birds, green vines, and human limbs. And in another, filled the eyes with what looks like sweating flesh with blurry and flickering paint splatters.

The final one-of-one piece of the collection sold for over 39 ETH, about $116,000 USD, in February 2022. Yet, the most famous eyes she designed are the droopy ones belonging to the bored apes of the Bored Ape Yacht Club, capturing a disaffected IDGAF disposition that hit a cultural nerve. Today, Seneca is one of the NFT generation’s art stars. Coindesk placed her on their “Most Influential 2021” list, Rolling Stone profiled her in a lengthy story, Vanity Fair name-checked her, and she went to the exclusive Met Gala afterparty. She is represented by one of Hollywood’s most powerful talent agencies, and has a bright path before her. On a steamy July afternoon, Seneca sat down with me at The Beekman, a hotel in the Financial District of New York City. While sipping on an iced latte, she explains why being anonymous is essential to her identity, why she doesn’t mind people printing out her artwork, and reveals what aspiring Web3 artists need to be wary of.

I didn't speak much as a kid. I was pretty much partially mute. It was all about the eyes, because that's how I felt as a kid.

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I find a lot of creative people’s work was shaped by their childhood experiences. Does the surreal quality of your paintings have roots from that time?

All Seeing Seneca – I loved horror, and I loved dark things when I was very young. And honestly, this is something that took me a long time to come to terms with, but I suffered through a lot of lucid dreaming. And I say suffered, because people generally think that lucid dreaming is fun and cool. But for me, I had nightmares every night. And I was so conscious of it, and it was so draining. And this might get a little bit morbid, but I think it was a matter of a bit of mental illness. And I killed myself every night as a kid.

Why would you consider that a dream as opposed to a nightmare? If that happened to me, I would classify that as a nightmare.

I think I just call it dreams in general because the type of dreaming — lucid dreaming — is very specific, because you're aware and then you have control over it, as opposed to letting the dream take you places. And because I was traumatized every night, I was trying to figure out how to leave my dreams every day, and that consumed my life and consumed my thoughts. I was fascinated by why this was happening to me. I just was more concerned with my imagination than being present.

What did you do to cope with your dreams?

I come from a very creative family, and they also taught me about visual arts. And maybe that also added to why I express myself the way I do through drawing and painting. There were times when I told my mom, “I suffer. I have nightmares every night and they’re special kinds. I see things and I hear things.” She said, “you should draw it out.”

What did these initial illustrations look like?

I drew a lot of comics as a kid, and not all of my art is dark, I will say. But I do recall, just, it's all made up, and there's nothing from reality. And my mom actually told me recently, she's like, “you know, you used to draw these big-eyed girls with stuff in the eyes.” And I'm like, “really? I had no idea.” So it feels like a full-circle thing. I wasn't even conscious of it. I didn't remember. I have no recollection.

Why are these eyes pervasive in so much of your work? They seem to be a canvas for you to distort them, or fill them with objects and other kinds of images.

I was exploring this portrayal of how I felt as a kid, no mouth. I didn't speak much as a kid. I was pretty much partially mute. It was all about the eyes, because that's how I felt as a kid. I was very withdrawn, so I would just sit there and mostly observe everything going on around me, and also observe what was going on in my head. I think in some of my drawings, I am drawn to the mouth, but this is something that I explored in some of my physical work, like non-digital work, where I'm like, okay, that's how I view myself as a kid. And sometimes it makes me very emotional, like, staring at that portrait of myself.

How do you want your spectator to feel?

That's really hard to answer. Good question, though. I think that for me in particular, I don't want to dictate what my audience feels for the most part, especially with my personal work. I think it's different if I create a concept, I'm like, okay, I'm trying to create an experience. These are much more intimate with my own personal life. And so, if people find a connection between my story, my work and them, then that's wonderful. But that's not everything for me, for this body of work in particular.

You went to Rhode Island School of Design, and you learned traditional ways of creating art, but you've decided to become a digital artist. What do you like about the media?

I started digitally painting way before that. This was before I had found out you can draw on screen. It was kind of like Microsoft Paint, and just really clicking with that medium.

I’ve used Microsoft Paint, but it was hard to learn [laughs].

I know. I used the trackpad and the mouse, and you make do. I don't know why it just clicked with me. And I guess when you grow up in the age of technology and the burgeoning new inventions, like social media and whatnot, then you start to kind of live in that world. I was somewhat trained traditionally, I went to RISD, and I love that experience. But I think it was important to know and respect tradition. I love painting, I love drawing, I love designing. But then also not ignore digital art. I remember the last year, for our senior project, one of the teachers forbade us to use the digital medium. And I really disagreed with that. However, I do love painting, and I still do that. But am I really passionate about digital art? I am. Web3 champions the technology behind NFTs, and works so much in the favor of digital art. However, I still make traditional work, so I want them to be seen as equal to each other.

When I first started writing, a lot of my work was published online, and there were a lot of people who were naysayers about written work published online, that it wasn't as good as print. And so, I still remember people saying, “oh, this online thing is going to blow over.” But obviously, it didn't. Do you feel like we're kind of at an inflection point to the rise of digital art ?

Yeah, pretty much in the past year. You're talking about the technology of NFTs when it was put on the grand stage and connected with culture. We're right at the beginning of it, and I am not the spokesperson of it. I can only say why it makes sense for me, and my journey into NFTs, and why I decided to go full force into that. It's a technology that is so new, but the genie is out of the bottle. You cannot put it back in. Same thing with the Internet and being online. It's not a trend. There's so much you can do with it, and people are going to find ways. And I do believe that it will integrate more into mainstream culture.

Sculpture cast KIM MESCHES, Earrings BONHEUR

How did you find your way into the Bored Ape world eventually responsible for designing the characters?

It's a cool story. It's both a lot of hard work and a bit of luck. I worked as a freelance illustrator right out of school, which was tough. But I really worked my ass off, and I loved doing it. I love Applied Arts. That was definitely a path that I was pushing for. One of my early clients gave me my first big job in New York, and I worked with them for over five years. And I remember luck played a part that month, because I really needed work. With freelance, it's unstable. Sometimes you have four different jobs in one month, and sometimes you have none. And that month, I was like, I'm hard up for work. But that early client referred me to the eventual collaboration with the founders of Yuga Labs, the creator of the Bored Ape Yacht Club. So, these guys (founders) come along, and they had this idea. I didn't know too much about NFTs at the time, but I just viewed it as, this is great. It's like a character design collaboration — that's what I do. There's an interesting story behind this. And the moment that they had told me, okay, we want punk apes, I had this vision in my head.

But again, it goes back to the eyes, there's this level of disaffection to the apes’ eyes, which had a certain appeal to the Web3 community. Was that intentional?

Oh, totally. This practice is considered an applied art, so I look at the audience, I look at the culture. And another reason why I got into Web3 is because I clicked with its culture. I got it. I understood it. There's a bit of self-deprecation and just not taking yourself so seriously. And that's how the Bored Apes came to be. I’m a rocker, so when I hear the description “Punk Apes,” I imagine this character. He's jaded and bored with life, but he has all the time and money in the world, which, when you're successful like that, you have all the time, but really bedraggled. And you're right. The Apes’ eyes show a certain lifelessness.

What's with the name Seneca? Is that your birth name, or an allusion to the Italian philosopher?

I took on the alias "All Seeing Seneca" on my journey. And yeah, I can talk all about it because I have so many facets to that name. I'm like a bedroom guitarist, and one day, I wanted to create a secret Instagram guitar account. I was like, this might be fun. Why not come up with a rock star name for myself? And at the time, I began studying Stoicism, and I had Letters from Seneca right next to me. And I was like, Seneca. It's a great one-word name, and it's unisex. And I click with the philosophy, and it feels like me. So then I took on that name, and then down the road, I was like, well, I can't just have people look up Seneca. They're not going to find me. So the "All Seeing" part comes from, again, the motif with the eyes about seeing into another world. I like to say having a vivid imagination is kind of like having a third eye. That's where that came from. And this connects with the sort of attitude of how I created the Bored Apes, too, with self-deprecation. It's also kind of a troll. It stands for, I'm not going to say it out loud, maybe you don't write in an article, but the initials are something funny. So it's kind of like half taking myself seriously, and also not, because at the end of the day, who am I, really? Right?

NFTs are a technology that is so new, but the genie is out of the bottle. You cannot put it back in.

We're living in the age of selfies and self-promotion, but many NFT personalities or digital artists try to conceal their identity. What's your reasoning for wearing a mask? And why do you think a lot of creative people are doing this, too?

For myself, it comes from many different places as a conscious decision. On one hand, I'm a very private person. Yes, I grew up in the age of social media, but I really do not like to put myself out there that much. I normally put my work out when I think it's ready, and I don't really show the process, and that's just how I am. In a way, I'm creating a little bit of a barrier so that I save a bit of myself in order to reserve that energy from my work. Otherwise, I'm drained. Another reason why I hide my face is that I really respect iconography and timeless design. And, having the mask just leaves space for the viewer to project themselves onto you, whatever that means.

I think you're removing the kind of judgment that people place on your physical appearance by concealing yourself, too.

Yes. I want people to see my work before they see my face. Please judge my work before you judge how I look.

In this digital age though, they're both intertwined.

I think that answers the question of why you see more and more artists concealing their identity, because there’s an oversaturation of people just putting themselves out there. They were forced to do social media, and forced to share every aspect of our lives. So now people are craving that sort of distance and reserving a bit of that for themselves.

We still talk about art movements of the past, such as minimalism and pop art, with reverence. So, in 10, 15, I don't know, 100 years from now, what do you think people will say about this digital art movement and about your own work?

I have no fucking idea. I'm such an anxious personality. If I think too far ahead, it's going to get in the way of my work now. Do you know what I mean? I'm not trying to dictate what happens later on. I certainly hope people will look back, and look back fondly, around this time. I hope that people enjoy my work. However, I don't think that's the purpose of me making art. I'm not seeking, well at the end of the day, we want to have validation, but that comes from within. I need to make sure I'm doing it for myself first. I'm going to champion digital art for as long as I can because I'm very passionate about it. However, I really want to believe that good work and the good people pushing this medium ahead are going to define what it means, instead of all this hoopla around it. There's still so much to grow and develop in terms of digital art and this movement.

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A lot of creatives read this magazine, and they are wide eyed about Web3 for a couple of reasons. One, it’s another tool for creative expression. It's another canvas. Two, there's a promise of them getting compensated for their work in perpetuity. What should they be excited about, and what should they watch out for?

I think the idea of promise is very dangerous because success is not guaranteed. I think first and foremost, satisfy your idea and just try it out, experiment, have fun with it. You're going to have barriers to break. You're going to come across challenges, but that's very much like in the vein of anything else in the world. Whether you are business savvy, or you're focusing on the art, however you want to do it, just go with the flow. I mean, I had to do that for myself. You don't know until you do it. So just jump in with both feet in and make mistakes. But be settled with yourself and your work, and then just have fun with it.

What's next for you? How do you plan to evolve what you've built thus far?

I think first and foremost, my paintings are the foundation for my work. I think of myself as a painter, both digitally and physically. I do 3D work as well. But painting is my first love, and that's where all my ideas come out first – illustration and painting. So I will continue to develop that body of work, but then also, it will extend to many other forms. I think it's just about building experiences. And I have so many ideas I would love to do, like an animated film one day. I would love to create an installation experience, whatever that means, to the story or concept that I'm trying to figure out and manifest.

I want people to see my work before they see my face. Please judge my work before you judge how I look.

Digital art can be experienced on any mobile or computer screen anywhere in the world at any given time, its inherent ability to engage many people is beautiful. But it can also be easily screengrabbed and printed by anyone. How do you feel if someone printed your work out and hung it on their wall?

I'm not against it. I think digital art should live in the digital realm. That's where it's at its peak performance, color-wise, and the way it's portrayed. If there's movement in the piece, a printout is not going to do it justice. But I have no issues with prints. I will say, printing is the bane of my career, because the colors are never correct and you lose some of that life. I think a person should enjoy it. I think that's part of the ethos of digital art, how much you can share it. I think ownership means a lot to people, and it's a great thing. But art should be enjoyed by all. It should not be stored in a basement, in the dark. I think that's a real tragedy.

Or in someone’s home, where it’s only experienced by a few people.

At least museums share them with the public. But if it was sold directly to a collector, then put away for decades, that's the tragedy. The beauty of that work could never be interpreted, can never be shared and celebrated. So, do I mind people printing it out and putting it in their homes? Not at all. When it comes to monetizing and making money, there are other ways to do it. And I think people value things that I'm putting my stamp of approval on, maybe by signing it. Or taking quality control (of printing) under my own hands. I think that has more value, and people appreciate that. We can be in harmony with each other with printing on your own and also me doing my own prints.

Art

The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.

Art

Rare Prints, Raw Pulse

November 12, 2024

Based in Milan, Veins Books is a carefully curated online archive dedicated to rare and cult publications on photography, art, music, and underground culture, founded by Nicola Bortoletto. With a sharp eye for unique, avant-garde titles, Bortoletto has created a haven for collectors and enthusiasts who share his passion for visual culture’s more esoteric side. As a member of Ann Demeulemeester’s creative team, Nicola brings his discerning aesthetic and devotion to print to both the fashion and publishing worlds, bridging the two through his dedication to rare publications.

In October, Veins Books emerged from its online format, presenting its carefully assembled archive to the public in Milan for the first time. The pop-up event not only showcased iconic works by artists like Robert Mapplethorpe and Joseph Beuys but also introduced Milan’s art scene to a fresh, curated space. This initiative reflects a growing desire for a vibrant artistic community in Milan, a city that is increasingly embracing its underground culture. As Nicola notes, the local scene is thriving with artists, photographers, and musicians eager to connect and share their visions.

By Francesca Fontanesi
Photography by Francesca Fontanesi

It’s like flipping through Tulsa by Larry Clark with the perfect song playing in the background

Why did you choose the name Veins Books?

The name Veins Books felt like a natural choice. I wanted something simple, almost intuitive. I spend hours in bookstores, often with my arms resting, and the veins in my arms become visible. It resonates with that image of veins and books linked physically. There’s also a nod to The Velvet Underground. In their song Heroin, Lou Reed sings, When I put a spike into my vein, and that line stuck with me. It aligns with themes I’m exploring in my research. There wasn’t a long, romantic process to it—it just felt like the right fit.

How did you start collecting and selling books?

I developed this fascination with books back in high school, around age 17. I went to an art high school in Padua, Italy and they had an amazing library with some pretty unconventional titles, you could say. They had first editions, like Arte Povera by Germano Celant, "Multiples" by Joseph Beuys, The Fourth Sex, by Raf Simons. Gorgeous editions. That library was my entry point to theseartists and to informal art, Arte Povera, American Minimalism and so on. Later, I came across American land artists like Richard Long and Walter De Maria. My interest started mainly with visual art and then widened into other fields, eventually leading me to create Veins Books. But it all started with a deep connection to the art of the 1950s-70s.

So your passion for publishing really took off during that time.

It was all about research back then. I always had this drive to look at, photograph, and photocopy these books—and, of course, to own them. Later, when I had more financial means, I began collecting them, partly to prepare for what I hoped would become my career. But mostly, it was for research, since I was also creating my own visual art, primarily two-dimensional work, like compositions with tar, fire, and pencil drawings on paper. I sought inspiration in both words and images. So yes, research and image regeneration were pivotal for me: the collection grew, and eventually, I felt the need to show the path of this research. It’s like this idea in the book "Arte Espansa" by Mario Perniola,where you look at what it means to be an artist today: where all arts blend and yet nothing is singular. It’s a bit like the distinction between inside and outside artists— artists who want to display their work, live off it, pay bills, and sell. It’s this concrete, driven vision that led me to open two open libraries in my small apartment in Milan, opening my doors and curating the space. Initially, because of budget constraints, it was all very DIY, much like Hans- Ulrich Obrist, who curated exhibitions in his New York kitchen.

How and where do you collect books from?

I find them from all over—online shops, eBay, Instagram. Sometimes I’ll see a post about a particular artist or book and go from there. I also try to pick up new books while traveling. I’ve found great ones in Paris, at Boo-Hooray in New York, Motto Books in Berlin, and at the Milan book market every month. It’s really a mix of online and in-person discoveries. There’s no strict formula; it’s an ongoing, instinctual search.

How many books are in your collection right now?

Between 350 and 400.

Do you have any criteria for collecting?

There’s not really a strict criterion. I just go with what feels right and what fits with the collection at Veins Books. I have a particular aesthetic, and there are certain artists I gravitate towards, but I don’t limit myself with hard rules. If I come across a book and it feels like it belongs in the collection, I go for it. It’s an organic process that lets me stay open to new finds and ideas. I’d love to know if there is a book in your collection that holds special significance. It changes often, but Arte Povera by Germano Celant will always be special to Veins, for how it influenced the whole project. I’m also obsessed with certain artists, like Robert Mapplethorpe, Richard Kern, and Larry Clark. Their ability to provoke, to ask questions that challenge the ethics of art—it fascinates me. Celant, with his visionary ability to capture an entire movement with a single term—Arte Povera—probably created the last true art movement, recognizing that those artists could connect in a unified way. That book will always be fundamental. Then there’s Mapplethorpe Early Works, an edition with the “Altars” and other framed compositions, which is one of my favorites. There are others too, like Berlin by Hedi Slimane, with iconic photos from my teenage years, like the one of the boy on the ground with the Mercedes-logo leather jacket, which brings back strong memories. It’s always hard to pick—every book holds a unique meaning.

Any books you can recall having trouble giving up?

There were a few books I took off the price list at the last pop-up in Milan. For instance, in the

office, we call Ann Demeulemeester’s book “the Bible”—it has all the photos from the shows before

Sébastien Meunier took over. That was the first one I took off the shelf because I just couldn’t part

with it. I imagine it’s one of those books that, years from now, I’ll look back on and think, this is the

book I showed during my interview about three and a half years ago. That one was tough to let go

of, for sure. Mapplethorpe: Early Works is another I sold but immediately regretted and had to buy

back. Some books feel like a part of you, and it’s hard to imagine not having them around.

How did you decide to open a pop-up in Milan?

The decision was partly practical—Milan simply made sense. But on another level, it filled a gap. Milan has a few niche bookstores, but nothing quite like what I’m building with Veins. I see Veins as closer to the curated spaces you’d find in New York or Paris. The positive response to the pop-up confirmed that there’s a community here that values this kind of experience. It feels like we’re helping to build a local scene and a space where people can connect over unique works. A few years back, there wasn’t much of a following for this kind of scene in Milan, so I’d often go to Paris to find that vibe, those artists, that outlook. There’s always been a pull toward Paris, Berlin, and London within Europe. But now we’ve realized that this scene does exist in Milan; it’s just that no one had represented it in a cool, grounded way. When we did the first Nausea Twins live event, it was clear that the same people you’d see at La Perle, Le Connétable or PCC in Paris, or at 80mmBar in Berlin, are right here in Milan, too. Milan isn’t just what it’s been in recent years—there’s room for an artist scene that hasn’t been fully recognized yet. I wouldn’t call it a “movement” exactly; it’s more like a space that’s now open, and it’s very real. There are artists, photographers, musicians, brands—all with a desire to establish a vision. And as more people discover it, that vision only gets stronger. Honestly, community is almost everything to us. It’s exciting, even though, at the end of the day, we’re not doing anything revolutionary.

What are your thoughts on the accessibility of artistic knowledge?

Art and fashion often feel elitist. Exclusivity has a certain allure. It works in a lot of cases, and it’s part of the proximity experience. Think of Chrome Hearts, where you can only enter by appointment, two people at a time, with a gate and a bodyguard. That mystique around an artist as this one-of-a-kind figure is compelling because it builds that dream of being that person. But at the same time, if it weren’t accessible, I wouldn’t have been able to form myself. So a bit of exclusivity is good when balanced thoughtfully.

What about Instagram? And what’s next?

Instagram is essential. I love seeing the variety of profiles and how each one personalizes its own space. In my case, it started as an archive of the volumes I owned, and from there, everything started: the pop-up, the e-commerce we’re about to launch. The big goal is to find a permanent space in Milan. I’m also considering doing more pop-ups

abroad. There was almost a chance to go to Los Angeles, but it didn’t quite work out. I’m not rushing; I want to build Veins Books slowly and sustainably. The first pop-up was great, so I’m planning the next one in January during Fashion Week. We’ll see where it goes from there.

I can’t end this interview without complimenting you on the playlist from the Milan pop-up.

Thanks for noticing! Music is an integral part of Veins Books. As I mentioned earlier, there’s a definite influence from the New York scene—the Velvet Underground, CBGB, The Cramps, Richard Hell, Patti Smith, Dead Boys, Television—and, of course, European influences like Public Image Ltd., Siouxie and the Banshees, The Fall and The Clash. These artists all seem to speak the same language as the books in the collection; it’s like flipping through Tulsa by Larry Clark with the perfect song playing in the background. Everything in Veins is about creating that immersive experience, with music adding depth and atmosphere that connect people to the art on a visceral level.

Art

Samsara: Death, Rebirth, and Birth

November 11, 2024

All of your favorite LES regulars were in attendance last weekend for Samsara, a group exhibition exploring the boundaries between dreams and perception. Curated by Zal Dormishian and hosted by PRIV.Y, the show presented works using a distortion lens co-designed by Zal and artist Luciano Picone.

The beating heart of Samsara was its emphasis on multidisciplinary approaches. Utilizing the lens inspired the artists to express themselves in new ways, resulting in seven remarkably different yet intertwined outcomes. The collaboration showcased works by Matt Weinberger, Armyan Nispel, Luciano Picone, Ant Aguirre, Oliver Leone, Poyenchen, and the curator himself. The weekend culminated in a closing reception with an illuminating panel discussion, free ice cream, and musical performances by Breaker Novogratz, Torri Weidinger, and OSIYA. Seeping through the events was a sense of community and deep consideration for the artistry at hand.

Interviews by Abby Dillingham
Photos by Lucy Ly

office sat down for a smoke break amidst the crowded sidewalk with Noah Berghammer, the founder of PRIV.Y. Noah discussed his take on combining forces with technology in the art world. He remarked that technology is "so viscerally a part of our everyday society now so I think avoiding using technology to enhance work is stupid or naive. But, real-live work and real-live showing of work is still the most important thing in the world." Samsara is just one of many shows PRIV.Y is expected to host. One of Noah's hopes is that these events will help deepen our appreciation for the work, getting people off of the sidewalk and into the gallery.

Using technology as a tool to chronicle Samsara, Noah hopes to include the online community and bring these experiences to them as well. He added, "I think we are at this interesting point where we know about the internet community and we know about the real life community and there’s this beautiful gap to bridge. So, how do you take IRL experiences and give it to the masses on social or by using tech? A lot of what we’ve tried to do with our events is use them to create culture where we are and then document it properly to give culture to people like…me when I was living in Wisconsin six years ago before knowing what New York was, you know."

Alongside all of the pieces was an element of the artistic process. This addition is heavily due to the curator's interest and love for understanding the methods used to arrive at the final product the viewer sees. At the show's end, Zal was able to give office some deeper context into the process of Samsara.

When did the idea for this show begin to unfold and why?

ZD: The creation of the lens began a year ago as I experimented with various textures to layer onto my digital photography. While analog grain will always be the most romantic, the environmental impact—from material shipping to plastic containers and the chemicals used in film development—makes film too wasteful for regular use. In my search for new textures, these lenses were created. Though I’m hesitant to call these lenses eco-friendly, they are far less wasteful than film which in turn creates textures that feel more relevant to today’s world." After the long process of creating the lenses, the idea for the show emerged from my desire to share a physical product in a tangible setting and inspire other artists to explore and incorporate the lenses into their own practices. Too often, artists unveil work on social media, only for it to fade after seconds. Like a musician’s album release party, I wanted a live event where people could feel the work’s energy and understand the process. These lenses are like adult toys— from Cameron Gonzolez Williamson’s CRT livestream distorted lens window display to co-designer and engineer Luciano Picone’s desk with lenses for hands-on exploration, we aimed to make this exhibition as interactive as possible.

How did you choose this group of artists for the show? In what ways do you all complement each other?

ZD: I have always been confident in my taste. From the visual artists whose works make up the show to the musicians who closed the event, I knew that if I curated artists I genuinely admired, it would resonate with everyone. So, in selecting artists, I reached out to those who, over my three years in NYC’s art scene, have deeply inspired my personal practice, in both aesthetic and philosophy. My taste being highly eclectic, brings a mix which enhances the show's aim to showcase the fluid versatility of the distortion lenses across artistic mediums. What unites the work is the use of the distortion lenses as well as the already surreal nature of many of the artists’ work. I included artists with both fast and slow creative flows to reveal the distortion lenses' range — from quick inspirations that can be recreated digitally to meticulous frame-by-frame analog work. Ultimately, I curated a show which I am a fan of, celebrating both the artists and the dynamic possibilities of these lenses.

What brought on the interest in the Hindu concept of the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth? How do you see this concept shaping the way we interact with the world?

ZD: David Carson’s quote, “Don’t mistake legibility for communication,” sparked my research into German Expressionism and Hindu philosophy—two central themes woven throughout this show. The parallels to German Expressionism, where artists, diverging from realism, used color and form not merely as aesthetic choices, but as profound responses to the societal turmoil of their time. Similarly, Carson’s design philosophy, which deconstructs traditional norms to give rise to new forms of communication, mirrors the Hindu cycle, Samsara, of birth, death, and rebirth. In both realms, distortion is not chaos—it is the key to unveiling deeper truths and discovering new perspectives. I find it is often forgotten that, while humans have created tools for the practicality of mundane categorization and communication of life, we each move through our own unique planes of reality. In the pursuit of efficiency, nuances and personality are sacrificed. Distortion, I have found, is an extremely effective way to break the illusion of sameness and allows one to express not just what they see, but the deeper emotions of how they feel. By distorting the work to the point of chaos, new channels of communication emerge, allowing for a deeper, more authentic way to express ideas and feelings beyond the limitations of our own minds or something as simple as words. This approach mirrors the Expressionist movement which around 100 years ago, when color was first used creatively to evoke emotion rather than simply depict life as it literally appeared.

How does the distortion lens further your exploration of these themes?

ZD: After sending my Ray Gun magazine scans to painter and typographist Ant Aguirre, we discussed how we could expand on David Carson's idea that, “legibility does not always equal communication”. Ant explored how many times a word must be distorted before it loses recognition and transforms into something new. For his piece, he took the word "turmoil," a complex concept reduced to seven letters for the sake of efficient communication, and distorted it repeatedly until it became an abstract painting, revealing a deeper, purer meaning of turmoil through his lens of Ant’s mind. In my own work, I was deeply inspired by my time living in a monastery deep in the forests of Thailand as I sought to convey abstract moments and visions of the surreal realms of peaceful emptiness often reached through deep meditation. In addition I was influenced by Egon Schiele’s portraiture, where he emphasizes a single detail or two while allowing the rest to slowly fade into the canvas. The liquid distortion lenses have, for the first time, allowed me to express the fluid, dream-like nature in which I perceive reality.

How do you feel about the use of technology in art? Is the lens an example of this?

ZD: From analog to digital, technology in art serves as a powerful tool to expand one's creative vocabulary and explore new forms of self-expression, breaking through the confines of one's own mind. Artificial intelligence, a major focus in contemporary discourse, often faces skepticism from traditional artists, yet I’ve come to see that AI is only as strong as the intention and input behind it. In a similar way, I view these liquid distortion lenses like AI—your input shapes the process, and the outcome remains beautifully unpredictable. As you refine your technique with the lenses, holding them at unique angles to capture intriguing perspectives, your control over the medium grows.