Gottmik on King of Drag and Life Offline

An interview with Kade Gottlieb

Gottmik is looking after Kade

interview + written AMANDA MORTENSON

Gottmik buys friends’ magazines at the airport and sends them a picture. At thirty, Kade Gottlieb is watching people he has supported for years take jobs at fashion houses and exhibit their art. Fashion Week means going to see their collections, with a pride that has begun to replace the nerves of his first invitations after RuPaul’s Drag Race. He remembers being grateful simply to be allowed in.

Gottmik wears a cap by BENNY ANDALLO, vintage CHRISTIAN DIOR by John Galliano suit courtesy of LOVERS LANE VINTAGE, boots by ILIAS LITTLE SHOE BOX, gloves by ATSUKO KUDO and choker by MARKO MATYSIK. Keke Osei wears jacket and boots by GMBH, leather trousers by ENAMI and gloves by ATSUKO KUDO.

He comes to this interview after a break from social media, having spent more time creating without immediately sharing the results. The makeup artist and drag performer has been painting. His Pinterest boards include images of rebirth across cultures and eras, with peace making an appearance for the first time. He missed his fans and wanted to reconnect. He also liked being able to live without making everything available to an audience. “I’ve always put Gottmik first and forgotten to take care of Kade,” he tells LE MILE, “but Kade is the foundation of everything.” That means being more selective about work. Saying yes to too many projects had left him unable to give any one of them his full attention. He is learning to protect the time each deserves.

As a judge on King of Drag, he watched the kings approach masculinity with humour and reconsidered the unwritten rules queer performers sometimes impose on one another. Their freedom felt particularly personal to Gottlieb, a trans man who admits he has spent much of his own life taking masculinity far too seriously.

ottmik wears a vintage ALEXANDER MCQUEEN jacket and skirt courtesy of LOVERS LANE VINTAGE and heels designed by SAM MACER and 3D-printed by YUMA BURGESS.

Gottmik wears a vintage ALEXANDER MCQUEEN jacket and skirt courtesy of LOVERS LANE VINTAGE and heels designed by SAM MACER and 3D-printed by YUMA BURGESS.
Keke Osei wears a latex suit designed by MONIQUE FEI and printed by KATIE SHANNON, shirt and tie by ATSUKO KUDO, vintage GUCCI loafers and a leather lead by FLEET ILYA.

Amanda Mortenson
After taking a break from social media, what felt worth coming back for?

Kade Gottlieb
I came back for the art and for my fans! I’m so lucky to have such an amazing support system that has supported me through some of my toughest times, and I couldn’t wait to reconnect with them. I’ve been spending a lot more time creating without feeling the need to immediately share everything, and it’s reminded me why I fell in love with doing this in the first place. Connecting with people around the world through my work is the most rewarding and inspiring thing for me and its something id never want to lose!

What did you not miss?

I think we’ve gotten so used to sharing every second of our lives that we forget how important it is to actually live them. Not everything needs to be content, and I’ve really learned to appreciate that ( my nervous system thanks me every day). Taking a step back online has brought so much light and love into my life that I didn’t realize I was missing.

You’ve always mood-boarded your life. So what’s on the board now?

I do! My nervous tic is literally making Pinterest boards. I could make one every second. Right now, the mood board of my life is full of painting, iconography from different cultures and historical time periods that represent rebirth and growth. My life mood board for the first time also has peace, which is very new I’ve always put Gottmik first and forgotten to take care of Kade, but Kade is the foundation of everything. I’ve been exploring themes of transformation, identity, and time through my paintings I’ve been working on. I’m really interested in the idea that you can constantly reinvent yourself without losing the things that make you who you are.

Where do you still feel like a beginner?

I still feel like a beginner in so many areas and in so many ways. Whether it’s drag, makeup, painting, or anything I’ve worked my whole life to develop, I’ve learned that there’s always something new to learn. The second I feel too comfortable with where I am, I know it’s time to push myself, learn more, and grow as an artist.

Gottmik wears a vintage tank top and corset by KIANJALIEV ROMAN, jewellery by VICKI SARGE and vintage GIVENCHY earrings courtesy of 4ELEMENT.

Keke Osei wears blazer and skirt by KIANJALIEV ROMAN.

And what are you bored of being good at?

People pleasing! In my career and in my social life, I’ve always struggled to say no, to the point where it ends up hurting me in the long run. I love helping the people around me and doing everything I can to be the best I can be for whatever job I’m working on, but there has to be a point where you put yourself first. Otherwise, you end up with a bunch of different projects you tried to do at once, and none of them end up getting your full attention and being 100%.

Judging King of Drag, what did the kings make you reconsider about your own drag?

I’m always talking about crashing the cis-tem that puts us in these small boxes as queer artists, and the kings on King of Drag reminded me that sometimes we create those same boxes within our own community. Drag is so much bigger than the rules we have created around it. Watching the kings approach masculinity with so much creativity, humor, and freedom was really inspiring to me as a trans man who has spent most of his life taking masculinity way too seriously. I’ve always loved challenging gender norms through my drag and seeing the kings do that from completely different perspectives reminded me that there’s still so much unexplored territory in this art form. I’m so lucky to be a part of it. They’re literally making history!

What still makes a look unmistakably Gottmik when the white face disappears?

The attitude. The white face is obviously iconic to my drag, but Gottmik has always been about more than makeup. It’s the silhouettes, the references, the tension between masculinity and femininity, and that little nod to darkness. I think you should be able to recognize my point of view before you even recognize my face. Even though that mug is stamped and locked in beyond. 

When a fashion house comes to you now, what has to be more interesting than simply giving you access?

I’ve always dreamed of the fashion opportunities I’ve been given over the past few years. It still feels like a dream when I look back sometimes, and I’m so grateful for every moment. I just turned 30, and it’s such a cool age because you start to see all of the creative friends you’ve supported since day one get major jobs at huge design fashion houses, editing positions at top magazines, opportunities to travel the world and exhibit their art, and just grow into the artist they’ve been working their lives to become!

When I first got off drag race I was young, excited and naive just being happy to be in that world at all, but now seeing how hard my friends have all worked and getting to go to fashion week to see their collections, go to their art shows, send them a picture when I buy their magazine at the airport is just such a crazy feeling. and having access to these spaces makes me feel more proud than that nervous, excited, imposter-syndrome queen going to her first Fashion Week. I’m so proud and lucky to have such inspiring people around me.

Gottmik wears a vintage MUGLER dress courtesy of LOVERS LANE VINTAGE, gloves by DENTS, stockings by WOLFORD and boots by ILIAS LITTLE SHOE BOX.

Gottmik wears a leather corseted dress by MATHIS LAURENCEAU, pumps by ILIAS LITTLE SHOE BOX, vintage GIVENCHY earrings courtesy of 4ELEMENT and a leather collar by FLEET ILYA.

Gottmik wears a helmet by STASHA PIGKOU, heels by RÉMI VERGNANINI and cuffs by MORITZ IDEN. Shoe-suit FASHION ARCHIVE.

Which designer would you trust to dress Gottmik without seeing the look first?

Alive: Tom Ford, Matières Fécales or Galliano
Dead: McQueen or Mugler.

If “RIOT” is taking you towards drag metal, what’s still missing before you get all the way there?

I think I’m still figuring out how far I can push it. I made “RIOT” about  five years ago now, when I first got off Drag Race and I had no idea what I wanted my sound to be. I’m obsessed with the intersection of beauty and aggression, which you can see visually in my drag, so it’s been such a fun journey trying to find that same feeling sonically.

Music is the most amazing release for my theatrics, aggression, glamour, and artistry, and being able to perform my own music live has been a huge game changer for me. Hearing my fans sing parts of my songs with me is one of the best feelings I’ve ever experienced.

After producing the Knockout Tour yourself, what would you never hand over again?

My creative vision. Producing a tour really taught me how much goes into bringing an idea to life, from the tiniest details to the biggest decisions that makes you feel like your whole life depends on it. It’s literally not possible to do everything yourself, so you need good, hardworking people around you who care about the project just as much as you do. I learned so much about trusting my instincts, how to properly communicate what I want, and surrounding myself with people who understand the bigger picture. Collaboration can be everything, but knowing when to stand behind your own vision is just as important.

What have you become much better at saying no to?

Things that don’t align with the person I want to be or the work I want to create. I think for a long time I felt like I needed to say yes to every opportunity, every project, and every expectation, but lately, I’ve realized that being intentional with my time and energy is just as important as being hungry and ambitious. Saying no to something you’re not passionate about is what makes room for you to put all of your energy into the things that you care about the most.

A year from now, what would actually have to be different for this to feel like a new chapter?

I think real growth is something you show through your actions, not something you can just announce. I’ve been taking a lot of time to reflect on my life, my priorities, and the kind of person and artist I want to be, while staying connected to the person I’ve always been at my core. A year from now, I hope I can look back and see that I’ve genuinely put in the work and put that work into practice.

Creatively, I want to be making art that challenges me and pushes me into spaces and opportunities beyond what I could have dreamed of, alongside the supporters who have been with me from the beginning. I want to feel more grounded, more present, and more aware of how my actions affect others. I want to be proud of the way I’ve continued to grow, and I’m very excited for this next chapter wherever that may take me! 

Gottmik wears jacket, bodysuit and skirt by VALENTINO, vintage SAINT LAURENT earrings courtesy of 4ELEMENT and latex boots by NATACHA MARRO.

Gottmik wears a corselet by SAM MACER, thong by INTIMISSIMI, stockings by WOLFORD, necklace by VICKISARGE and heels by POSTER GIRL. Veil, leggings and gloves FASHION ARCHIVE.

Gottmik wears leather body armour and face mask by WHITAKER MALEM and heels by GUESS USA.

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talent   GOTTMIK
photo & creative direction   BRYAN TORRES
styling   JADZIA SCOTT
styling assistant   ALYSHA DAYNAPATEL
art direction   MICK O’CONNELL
producer   AMAL OMARI
make up   GOTTMIK
hair   JACQUELINE EZEUKO
wigs   JEAN BAPTISTE SANTENS
grooming   MEG MCCONVILLE
nails   GIULIA OLDANI
digital   DARCY CAMPBELL
photo assistant   SOPHIE CHERRY
photo & lighting assistant   ADAM ELDER
gaffer   ANDREEA MIGHIU
production manager   GINA BELL
production assistant   ANDREA PERIS
post-production   NAZA MEIJIDE

copyright LE MILE Magazine / Bryan Torres

Annabel Scholey on Winter and Rivals

An interview with Annabel Scholey

Why Lauren Bell puzzled Annabel Scholey

interview + written MONICA DE LUNA

Annabel Scholey asked to repeat a couple of takes on Winter after watching herself back and questioning what she was doing with her body. Playing DI Lauren Bell meant looking as though she knew how to raid a house, right down to what she did with her arms. She has already smashed a car window for the role and would happily take on more stunts.

Annabel wears a total look by BELLA FREUD

In the ITV drama, Lauren works alongside Richard Armitage’s forensic pathologist Ethan Winter while grieving a father she idolised. Scholey imagined the child who followed him everywhere, then the police officer still trying to make him proud. Much of their relationship remains unwritten, so she supplied a history herself. The difficulty was letting the audience recognise Lauren’s hurt in a woman who would rarely volunteer it. Nina Defoe, the divorce lawyer she played in The Split, had been much easier to read. As Scholey puts it, Nina “vomited up emotion everywhere”. Beattie Johnson, her journalist in Disney+’s Rivals, gives her another kind of licence. Even Tony Baddingham can be shocked by Beattie, and Scholey suspects she is capable of going further still.

At twenty-one, Scholey had absorbed the warning that an actress needed to make it by thirty. Her more interesting work began arriving when she reached that age. She wishes she had questioned some other advice, particularly letting her Yorkshire accent go while learning RP. People sometimes fail to place where she is from, and she is still waiting for Yorkshire to claim her.

Annabel wears a silk top by VIOLANTE NESSI

Monica de Luna
How quickly did you understand Lauren Bell in Winter?

Annabel Scholey
This was a character that perplexed me the first time I read the scripts because she isn’t outwardly emotional. She’s very closed and can be perceived as quite cold. It took me a while to work out how to play her with some warmth and find her hidden depths. She communicates differently to the characters I’ve played before. Usually I play characters who wear their heart on their sleeve and explode emotion everywhere, but actually she was the first character I’ve played who’s very reserved and holds everything close to her chest. Now and again there’s a crack and you see that she’s not okay and she is off-centre, but she is very mysterious. But I did enjoy finding those tiny cracks and it was one of the main reasons I wanted to play the role.

Do you think Lauren is still trying to make her father proud?

Absolutely, I think it’s at the heart of everything. It’s the reason she became a police officer. She’s been in his shadow but we haven’t heard much about that relationship but I’m hoping that will be explored some more if we get another series. I think they were extremely close. She was his shadow growing up, she would have gone to work experience with him. I think she absolutely worshipped and idolised him, but he also came with this formidable reputation and she is a woman in a still largely male workforce, which is still very sensitive to nepotism. So she has had to work very hard to get to where she is. And having a powerful, impressive dad like that has possibly been a hindrance to her because there are people who don’t like her - we hint at it in episode one - she didn’t get on with her supervisor. I filled in the blanks in my head that maybe that was to do with the fact that she had a famous dad and it annoyed somebody. But she’s still trying to make him proud. She’s lost him recently so there is an enormous amount of pressure she feels.

In a police procedural like Winter, what was hardest to make feel real?

For me, I wanted to physically look right. So, when we were raiding the houses, I wanted to know how to move because there’s nothing worse than somebody pretending to be a police officer but they’re tiptoeing around or their arms are flapping about. I actually did re-do a couple of takes because I watched myself back and thought ‘my god, what am I doing?’. The physicality was definitely something I wanted and needed to work on.

Was smashing the car window enough, or do you want more stunts next time?

I would like so many more stunts please! I want to match winter, he got some cracking stunts. It would be realistic! She’s all hands on deck, she’s a vital person and she doesn’t hold back.

After playing Nina in The Split for so long, did Lauren’s restraint feel strange?

Yes it did, but it was a very welcome new challenge. Nina just vomited up emotion everywhere, most of the time inappropriately, which is fantastic to play. When she was drinking in series one and trying to give up in series two, that was brilliant to delve into. With Lauren, I felt there was less obvious emotions on the surface to go on. This is a woman who doesn’t share, who actually draws strength from stillness and being quiet. You don’t really know what’s going on inside her head. Even though there is a lot going on and she’s hurt and vulnerable and afraid but she doesn’t show it. So I had to find another way of bringing that to the screen so that the audience could see it and not just see her as two-dimensional and cold. I wanted audiences to warm to her, so it was a completely different challenge and it did feel strange.

Annabel wears a blazer dress by NADINE MURABI

At 29, you described yourself as “not the woman and not the girl.” Did turning 40 make the roles more interesting?

The roles I get to play now usually have a couple of teenagers, which is actually something I haven’t experienced yet. I’m often handed roles that are professionally impressive, often quite powerful women which is great! I get given quite a lot of baddies actually, which has always been a lot of fun. I think there’s room for improvement. Yes, there are still good roles. I see a lot of articles about women over 45 saying that the roles aren’t coming and I do sometimes feel frustrated because you have to fill in a lot of blanks with scripts and find nuance. But that’s probably the same for both sexes. I think there’s always room for improvement. There are definitely still roles coming for me at the moment, thank goodness. Actually, when I graduated at 21, people were still selling the notion that if you haven’t made it by 30 you’re washed up, and there was a real fear of that for me, so I’m delighted to have had it the opposite way around. When I turned 30 I started getting the more interesting roles and I have been very lucky. I’ve played very complicated, very brilliant women in different periods, different classes, different parts of the country, so I feel very blessed. But there is always room for improvement.

You were trained to lose your Yorkshire accent. Do you ever wish you hadn’t been?

I do wish I hadn’t just dropped it. I think it started before drama school. I had verse speaking lessons. I’m not entirely sure why, I think I had a drama tutor who was very good at RP and she taught me how to speak with an RP accent which was actually really useful because I’ve done a lot of that in my career. So, it wasn’t just lost at drama school but I do remember them saying at that point, 2002 - 2005, that RP was what people were looking for and I definitely didn’t fight that. I went with their advice. But really I should have nailed the RP as well as keeping my authentic accent. I was all over the shop! I was only just 18 when I started drama school. I was the youngest in my year and did what I was told. And that isn’t a reflection on the school, I just didn’t really know who I was. I’ve worked with Jodie Whittaker who grew up just up the road from me and she never lost her accent. She’s always worked in her accent and it’s glorious. Sometimes people don’t realise I’m from Yorkshire and I’m waiting to be claimed!

Jilly Cooper came to set to meet the cast. Did that make you nervous?

She did say to me over the lunch table ‘oh I wanted to see who was playing Beattie’. She really wanted to know who I was, but it didn’t make me nervous, it absolutely thrilled me! She was an iconic powerhouse of a woman and I was just delighted to get to know her a little bit. I wish I could have got to know her better before we sadly lost her.

Who makes the other worse in Rivals, Beattie or Tony?

I would say they rival each other in evil. I definitely think they encourage each other in the wrong direction. But even Tony is shocked by Beattie. He calls her a cockroach. His moral compass is dubious at the best of times. I don’t think we’ve seen Beattie’s darkest hour just yet, and so I would bet on Beattie being the one who would push things the furthest, but let’s see!

Annabel wears a denim shirt by With Nothing Underneath

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photo   DAVID REISS
styling   ROSIE ARKELL-PALMER
make up   BROOKE SIMONS
hair   SVEN BAYERBACH

copyright LE MILE Magazine / David Reiss

Christopher Hall on Pizazz, Comedy and Nostalgia

An interview with Christopher Hall

Why Christopher Hall Still Loves the Noughties

interview + written TAGEN DONOVAN

Christopher Hall has a fondness for the peculiarities of human behaviour. With a background in dance and musical theatre, he has developed an almost forensic eye for the mannerisms that distinguish one person from another. Behind his impressions is a genuine curiosity about people; he seems to take as much pleasure in getting to know them as he does in bringing their idiosyncrasies to life, often finding an entire character in the smallest of gestures.

Christopher Hall
/ by Olivia Spencer

Steeped in the cultural glow of the noughties, Hall's sketches have found an audience who recognise something of themselves in his characters. Nostalgia, however, is not the main character. Much of Hall’s material begins with an observation or passing thought, left to marinate through improvisation until he discovers what he calls the destination of the joke. Getting there, one suspects, is half the fun. With Pizazz, his latest live show, the observational lens turns a little closer to home. Drawing on his own experiences, Hall brings the spontaneity of his sketches into the less predictable territory of live performance, where each room brings its own particular energy. The audience becomes his scene partner; an unexpected turn one night may well become part of the performance the next.

Christopher Hall is on tour with his brand new show Pizazz until 18th November 2026. Tickets available HERE.

Christopher Hall
/ by Olivia Spencer

Christopher Hall
/ by Olivia Spencer

Tagen Donovan
Before comedy became the path, where did you grow up and what were you drawn to? When did performing start to feel like something you might actually pursue?

Christopher Hall
I grew up in Essex and Cambridgeshire with a 2 year period in Philadelphia where my little sister was born. I was always drawn to dancing and performing, I knew every ‘Steps’ dance routine and would entertain anyone who would sit still for long enough to be coerced into being an audience member. After a couple of phases of wanting to be a teacher or a vet, I made the decision to try and give dancing a shot at around 15.

Watching your skits, there seems to be an encyclopaedic understanding of people and their mannerisms behind them. Which details in people tend to stay with you?

I’ve always enjoyed and loved perfecting impressions. I love finding the affectations and intonations that make someone somebody. I’m sociable and enjoy being with and getting to know people so reading them and finding out what makes them tick and connect is something I think I have always been good at. There’s so much humour in big out-of-this-world characters but possibly even more in the everyday, as that is the common human experience that we can all share.

You trained as a dancer and musical-theatre performer long before moving into comedy. How much of that training still sits in your body when you perform now?

I carry a lot of my training with me. I am very physical on stage and often have choreographed movements to accompany certain bits and punchlines. It also helped with my endurance during festivals like Edinburgh and Melbourne, doing numerous shows in close proximity.

When something you’ve observed starts to become a character, how much are you consciously shaping and how much comes instinctively?

A lot of my material starts as improvisation. I can take something from real life and mull it over in my head for a little while, but the best thing to do is give myself a starting off point and then just keep filming until I find the destination of the joke.

You can move from yourself into a character and back again almost instantaneously. What’s actually happening in your head during that switch - are you thinking ahead, or does it happen before you’ve consciously decided to do it?

There’s a certain amount of preparation that happens before but then in the doing is when the character comes mostly. I’m very practical in my learning and creating so performing the character, even if it isn’t perfect at first, is the best way to realise it. When it’s there, it’s there and it can happen pretty instantaneously.

Lockdown gave you an unusual kind of creative freedom: you were making things before anyone really knew what to expect from you. Do you ever miss creating without an audience in mind?

Sometimes I do. Sometimes I think it would be nice to put a new idea out without so many eyes watching, but I’m very lucky my audience have been very loyal and supportive. Even if the whole follower count doesn’t love a particular video, someone out there always seems to, and I think, ‘well Claire, this one was just for us’, and I move on to tomorrow’s idea.

Christopher Hall
/ by Olivia Spencer

There’s an immediacy to your video sketches. How important is preserving that spontaneity when you’re editing and putting them together?

I think it’s good to evolve what you put out but always keep a hint of what made you unique in the first place. I am always trying to find new elevated ways of creating and entertaining, but sometimes coming back to my original style is a great way of grounding and giving a nod to your long-standing original audience. The beauty of spontaneity and immediacy I believe is it spurs great creativity. The idea is quick and you can exercise it and release it into the wild, and that makes room for the next one. It’s a muscle that you need to use. Sitting on ideas and not nourishing them is a way to a writer’s block.

Your comedy often returns to the cultural touchstones you grew up with. What is it about that period that keeps pulling you back - and what from today do you think we’ll be nostalgic for in twenty years?

I think nostalgia is a wonderful way to connect with your inner child. The comedy and culture that shaped me as a child will always be special. I think as well the nineties and naughties were peak monoculture, something we have less of these days, so it’s a brilliant way to unite people, of my age and above. I’m not sure what will be nostalgic about the 2020s in 20 years. I feel we still talk about the C-word and 2020, ‘did that really happen?’, so maybe we’ll be telling the young’uns about that, although I hope there’s something more interesting. I find it quite hard to pinpoint as it feels life and culture and trends are changing and evolving quicker than they ever have before. I’ll personally always think about The Girls Aloud Show Reunion Tour of 2024 with fond memories.

Online, you can construct exactly what the audience sees; on stage, you surrender some of that control to the room. Does that unpredictability become part of the comedy?

Absolutely, the audience is my scene partner at a live show. I take a lot of inspiration and energy from the different crowds. It’s what makes live performance so special!

You’re about to take Pizazz around the UK, performing the same show to very different rooms. How might those different audiences shape the show as the tour unfolds?

Different material can work better in different rooms and cities. Something that really resonates with a London audience might not work in other cities. The more playful a show is, the more asides and tangents I can go on, and the more adlibs could make it into the show permanently as we go, so it's really exciting. The show is never perfect or completely finished, it can evolve as the tour unfolds.

For someone whose comedy is so often built around observing other people, Pizazz turns some of that attention back onto yourself. Was that a comfortable place to look?

It’s definitely comfortable, I don’t mind revealing details about myself to the audience. All the stories in this show are often me in a situation with my friends or family, so they are still observational. The trick is taking a personal story or private joke and making it funny for everyone in the room.

We’ve talked about nostalgia and looking back, but on a more personal level, what have you found yourself unexpectedly sentimental about?

I definitely can get sentimental for a time without as much technology, and without as much streaming. Physically owning your CDs and books and DVDs I think is more special and I knew every lyric, scene and word of my favourites. These days I’m finding I can have less of a connection to artists and their work as everything streams in and streams out of a device.

If Pizazz is, in part, a snapshot of life in your mid-30s, what about the world around you now do you think will give the 60-year-old Christopher the most material?

Who knows. Hopefully he’ll be around then and still able to get on stage. Surely he’ll still be getting into ridiculous situations with his friends and able to rinse them for material. I’ve done material about being a guncle, o maybe there’ll be some great-guncle jokes in the pipeline!

Christopher Hall
/ by Olivia Spencer

Christopher Hall
/ by Olivia Spencer

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talent   CHRISTOPHER HALL
photo   OLIVIA SPENCER
editor   TAGEN DONOVAN

copyright LE MILE Magazine / Olivia Spencer

The Suitcase Bruno Aveillan Kept Packing

The Louis Vuitton Suitcase Bruno Aveillan Kept Packing

LE MILE

When Bruno Aveillan writes about his Louis Vuitton Alzer 75, he mentions “the silence of a bedroom before sleep”. He has been packing the same suitcase for more than thirteen years, and on his travels he made a habit of taking its picture. The case turns up in the ruins of an abandoned village in Argentina and in Iceland’s volcanic terrain. Somewhere along the way, a raccoon made it into the book. There are 350 photographs in The Suitcase, made across more than a hundred destinations.

©Bruno Aveillan
Behind The Scenes

Before the Alzer became his subject, Aveillan had already put Vuitton’s idea of travel on screen, directing the house’s first television and cinema campaign in 2008. “Where will life take you?” asked the film. The book grew out of a job he gave himself while travelling to make other people’s films. Since the Alzer was already packed for each trip, he had a subject he could come back to on assignments that otherwise had little to do with one another. Aveillan calls the series an indirect self-portrait and has grouped the photographs by theme, with chapters including Refuges and Silences. The Alzer sometimes takes up a good part of the frame. In other pictures, looking for it makes you stay with a place you might have glanced at before turning the page. You can follow Aveillan by the suitcase, even when the order of his journeys is left open. The clothes inside are anybody’s guess.

Louis Vuitton is showing the photographs for the 130th anniversary of its Monogram canvas. The Alzer dates to the 1960s and has its origins in the garment cases the house developed in the 1890s. The one in these photographs still belongs to a working traveller, who could set it down long enough to take a picture and pick it up again for the next leg of his trip.

Flammarion and Éditions Noir publish The Suitcase on 11 November 2026. The exhibition La Valise Bruno Aveillan opens two days later at LV Dream, 26 Quai de la Mégisserie in central Paris, alongside Paris Photo.

©Bruno Aveillan

Louis Vuitton The Suitcase
photographs by Bruno Aveillan

Portrait of Bruno Aveillan

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header image credit:
©Bruno Aveillan, from Louis Vuitton The Suitcase

Claire Duc films Jelly Memories between Paris and Saigon

The Childhood Dessert behind Claire Duc’s Jelly Memories

LE MILE

Claire Duc remembers eating her grandmother’s Vietnamese fruit jellies on a patio, sitting on a small red stool beneath electric lights. Given between meals as a reward for good behaviour, they seemed like a secret shared between the two of them. After growing up in France and moving to Saigon, Duc encountered the same dessert at a Vietnamese family celebration. The favourite flavours disappeared first; the others stayed behind. What she had understood as a family tradition was part of everyday Vietnamese culture. She had grown up barely speaking or understanding the language. The discovery made her recognise how much of her father’s Vietnamese culture she had absorbed without knowing.

Duc remembers the feeling of the jelly hitting her tongue, firm yet soft, and the small red stools she only later understood to be Vietnamese. As a child, she had known where to sit and what a treat between meals meant. The customs had reached her through being looked after, long before she could explain where they came from. When Duc asked her aunt to take part, she received the warmth she had always known from her. Her grandmother had died when Duc was young, and her aunt had long held that place in her life. Now she would be playing her own mother, returning to a memory her niece had carried since childhood. Duc remains reserved about her feelings, describing these exchanges as “a dance of words and silence”. “I’m not even sure I told her upfront,” she says.

You grew up in France before moving to Saigon. How familiar did Vietnam feel when you got there?

Claire Duc
I’ve spent almost my entire life in France. I grew up in a French household with some Vietnamese touches. At home and with my extended family, we celebrated Vietnamese traditions, especially at gatherings and Lunar New Year, and always around food. Besides being home to my dad’s culture and a language I barely understood or spoke, Vietnam has always had a strong hold on me through food and tastes, which were the only tangible access I had to this heritage. Or at least that’s what I thought when I was in France.

When I arrived almost two years ago, I discovered that what I thought were family traditions were actually a cultural heritage, something embedded in day-to-day behaviors: how you sit, how you share, or what you don’t talk about. And the jellies were part of this. What I thought was a sweet treat from my grandmother’s household was actually a popular one. When I spent time with a Vietnamese family at a celebration, I realized that it was a colorful treat every family has, always the same flavors, with the less popular ones left behind in favor of the favorites. At that precise moment, it gave me a new reading of this particular memory and of how deeply I’ve been imbued with my Vietnamese background. I can’t claim to be fully Vietnamese, but I can say that I’m more mixed-race than I thought.

And do you remember the last time your grandmother made you jelly? Have you ever managed to recreate that taste?

More than the last time, I remember the context: the room, the light, and the feeling of the jelly touching and hitting my tongue. Most of the time, it was a treat between meals, something special given to acknowledge our good behavior.

We were sitting on the patio, on traditional Vietnamese stools — back at that time, I didn’t know that those red mini stools were Vietnamese — under the electric lights, and I was enjoying these juicy, fruity jellies, firm yet soft, convinced it was a secret between Bà Ngoại (grandma in Vietnamese) and me. In the project, I translated this feeling through the idea of caring and transmission.

Your aunt plays your grandmother in the film. How did that conversation go when you asked her?

My aunt is the eldest of my dad’s siblings, and there is probably a 40-year gap between her and the youngest. My grandmother passed away when I was quite young, so for me, my aunt has always held the role of a grandmother figure. She reacted with a lot of warmth and respect, as usual. She is an actress and a dancer herself, and has been for a long time, so it was an obvious choice for me to have her. I’m still quite reserved about expressing my feelings, so it’s always a dance of words and silence. I’m not even sure I told her upfront that she was playing her own mother, but she obviously knows this was a piece inspired by my personal memories.

What was it like filming those memories in both Paris and Saigon?

We filmed in Paris in a house I know deeply because I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. My aunt and my cousin were there, two of my loved ones. The set in Paris really felt like home. In Saigon, a city I’m still getting to know, it felt more unfamiliar, but it holds possibilities and future perspectives.

By filming this piece, I felt as if I was able to bring both parts of me together by gathering the two cities in one film and confronting the past with the future. In a broader sense, it also brings together parts of me: instead of choosing between this and that, it’s about coexisting with these two faces and opening up a dialogue.

You’ve spent years working in fashion. What made you want to draw so directly on your own life here?

Actually, for every piece of work I do, most of the time I recall my memories and try to convey the feelings I want to express. In my work, creating in the present doesn’t mean we can’t feel anything. I tend to give access to my work through common or familiar feelings rather than pure aesthetics. However, it’s the first time I’ve made a film so heavily inspired by my life.

In recent years, because I’ve shifted my approach to work and life, I’ve had the chance to shine a light on the peculiar things that make me who I am, in a non-egocentric way that offers me the freedom of simply being.

Now that the film is finished, do you see your childhood or your family any differently?

Definitely! Making this project, which is so far the most personal and private one in many ways, gave me the opportunity to reflect on my life in France and here in Vietnam, and on what I thought was common but is not, or vice versa. Taking a step back and shaking up perspectives make life take different paths, which are often the most interesting ones!

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director + creative director   CLAIRE DUC
photo   PABLO DE PASTORS
director of photography   ELLIOTT BANKS + CESAR CADENE
1st assistant camera + focus puller   TRẦN BẢO NGỌC + BÉRÉNICE FARGES
2nd assistant camera   AUSTIN LE
editor   ELLIOTT BANKS
colour grading   MARTHE PITOUS
FX editor   HOANG FILMS
hair + make up   THI LY + MORGANE GAUTIER
models   MARIE-THÉRÈSE PRIOU + NGỌC ÁNH + WENDY
set design assistant   ALOZIA VIRET
music composition + sound design   GIUSEPPE GRAZIANO
sound design   NGUYEN PHAM THÀNH CÔNG
graphic design   VINCENT DUC
digital art direction   PASCAL GAUTIER
production   VINCENT AMSELLE + VY DONG NHAT
production assistant   VU LÊ
wardrobe   PALOMINO + SUBTLE LE NGUYEN

copyright LE MILE Magazine / Claire Duc + Pablo De Pastors

Carlo Morrone and the Architecture of Recognition

perspectives

An Image Rarely Appears All at Once

text CARLO MORRONE + TIM JAHN

Carlo Morrone first shared a selection of works with two short texts on his process and DÉJÀ-VU. What followed was an exchange between his initial reflections, an editorial reading of the images and a further reflection written in response to that reading.

Across the works, architectural fragments, thresholds, objects and traces of human use create spaces that feel familiar without belonging to a specific memory. The exchange gradually shifted from the origins of those fragments towards the body, possible actions and the question of why a place can seem recognisable before it is fully understood.

The feature retains that progression, moving from Morrone’s own starting point to LE MILE’s reading and back to Morrone in his response.

Born in Rome in 1988 and raised in Calabria, southern Italy, Morrone studied architecture and engineering in Italy, with periods in Madrid and Berlin, before moving to Paris, where he collaborated with the studios of Renzo Piano, Ricardo Bofill and Jean Nouvel on international projects. Drawing had been part of his life from an early age; his mother is a painter. After several years working as an architect, his artistic practice emerged as a natural continuation of that experience, allowing the same questions to take a different form. He lives and works in Paris.

Carlo Morrone - Untitled, 2025

Carlo Morrone - Untitled, 2025

Carlo Morrone
An image rarely appears all at once.

More often, it arrives carrying the weight of something that seems to precede it. Not a memory in the personal sense, but a quieter form of recognition. We feel that we have already encountered it, although no precise place or moment comes to mind.

The images I make are built from fragments that belong to different worlds and different centuries. Architectural forms, religious iconography, anonymous objects, gestures, proportions, familiar silhouettes. Once removed from their original context, these elements cease to function as references. They begin to exist as something else.

What interests me is the moment when an image no longer feels constructed but discovered.

An image is usually the result of a long accumulation of fragments collected over time: paintings, anonymous photographs, everyday objects, places visited years before, or spaces that continue to exist only in memory.

Most of these fragments remain dormant for a long time. I don’t collect them with a specific work in mind. They simply stay with me until, often unexpectedly, they begin to establish relationships with one another.

That moment marks the real beginning of the work.

From there, the process becomes one of continuous adjustment. I move elements, remove them, change their scale or position, sometimes by only a few millimetres. These almost invisible decisions are often the most important. They determine whether an image remains a composition of separate parts or gradually acquires the feeling of something whole.

Once detached from their original context, fragments lose their historical identity. What interests me is not where they come from, but what happens when they coexist within the same image.

Perhaps every image already exists in a latent state, scattered across our collective visual memory. The work is not to invent it, but to bring distant fragments into a relationship until they suddenly recognise one another. When that happens, the image acquires an unexpected sense of inevitability.

This is why I am less interested in originality than in resonance.

Certain forms survive because they continue to inhabit us long after we have forgotten where they came from. They move silently through paintings, architecture, cinema, domestic interiors and sacred spaces, shedding their historical identity while retaining an emotional one.

My work tries to remain within that threshold, where the familiar becomes uncertain and the unfamiliar feels strangely remembered.

Perhaps DÉJÀ-VU is not about the repetition of an image.

Perhaps it is the moment when an image remembers us before we remember it.

Carlo Morrone - Untitled, 2024

Tim Jahn
One of our first observations was that people seemed absent from many of the works. The longer we looked, the less adequate that description became. Figures, hands and fragments of faces do appear. What is more often interrupted is not human presence itself, but the connection between body, space and a clearly legible action.

Spaces without visible figures are not disembodied, because beds, curtains, doors and architectural openings remain defined in relation to human use. Previous, possible or anticipated bodily actions seem to remain inscribed in them.

We do not merely see these spaces; we test them, probably largely unconsciously, against our own bodily experience. Could we stand, lie down or pass through? Is an opening actually accessible? Is the space inhabitable, or only spatially convincing within the image?

The forms address our bodily knowledge, but do not fully meet its expectations.

This led us to a provisional reading that has stayed with us. You do not primarily show people in spaces; you show how spaces and objects presuppose them. When selecting and arranging fragments, do you think about the body as a measure or potential user of a space?

You describe how elements cease to function as references once removed from their original context, and how they lose their historical identity. We found ourselves asking what survives that detachment. Perhaps what disappears more decisively is their specific context of use, location and particular history.

At first, we also focused on the recurrence of certain objects. Over time, it seemed less important which objects reappeared than which spatial situations they produced. Arches, doors, windows, curtains and framed views open a space and withhold it at the same time.

Many of the spaces also feel less abandoned than suspended. Abandonment would already imply a history. The conditions for an action are present, while the action itself remains absent.

Perhaps recognition does not arise only from the visual or historical familiarity of the fragments. It may also come from our bodily and cultural knowledge of them. A room can feel familiar although we have never entered it, because its proportions, openings and possible uses already belong to our spatial experience.

The familiar remains active in the individual parts, but the whole cannot be traced back to an original memory. In a finished composition, do you experience this familiarity with something that has never existed as a whole?

Carlo Morrone - Untitled, 2026

Carlo Morrone - Untitled, 2026

Carlo Morrone
Until reading your text, I don't think I had consciously distinguished between the absence of figures and the interruption of action. Yet the moment I read it, it felt strangely obvious.

When I begin an image, I rarely think about a figure first. I usually find myself thinking about a space. Not necessarily a real place, but a spatial relationship that somehow feels believable.

Even when no one is present, I instinctively ask myself whether someone could inhabit that room. Could they cross that doorway? Sit on that chair? Move around that table? Stand beneath that opening?

I don't consciously analyse these questions while I'm working. They happen almost instinctively. Looking back, I think they come from years of drawing and imagining architecture, where space is always measured through the possibility of a body moving within it.

Perhaps this is why the body often remains present even when it is absent. Not as a figure, but as a measure.

You describe these spaces as physically plausible yet somehow impossible to inhabit completely. I hadn't thought about them in those terms before, but I recognise what you mean.

If the space became entirely impossible, it would lose its sense of familiarity. If it became completely functional, it would simply become architecture. I'm probably searching for a point where both realities can exist at the same time. A room that feels convincing enough to enter, yet never entirely allows you to understand how it works.

The way you describe fragments also stayed with me. I don't think the fragments ever become neutral. A bed still suggests rest. A doorway still suggests passage. A curtain still implies the possibility of revealing or concealing something. They never completely lose the memory of what they once did.

Perhaps what disappears is something else.

Not identity, but biography.

The fragment no longer belongs to a particular place, person or historical moment, yet it continues to carry traces of the gestures that once surrounded it.

If a fragment remains too closely attached to its original meaning, it risks becoming a quotation. If it loses every trace of its past, it risks becoming generic. What interests me is the unstable space between those two conditions.

Until you pointed them out so clearly, I don't think I had realised how often thresholds appear. Doors, curtains, arches, windows, passages... they seem to return almost instinctively. Perhaps because a threshold is never simply an object. It always implies something beyond itself. Even when nothing actually happens, these elements quietly activate our imagination.

Perhaps that is also why I don't experience these places as abandoned. They simply remain available.

I think I'm less interested in absence than in possibility. The image remains open. Not incomplete, but unresolved.

Perhaps this is also where the feeling of familiarity begins to shift. We recognise what a doorway or a window is supposed to do. Yet the image quietly interrupts those expectations. Everything remains believable. Nothing behaves exactly as expected. I hadn't thought about this relationship between thresholds and recognition before, but it now seems difficult to separate the two.

This brings me to your final reflection on DÉJÀ-VU, which perhaps stayed with me more than anything else. For a long time, I thought the feeling of familiarity in these images came mainly from the fragments themselves. But your text made me wonder whether recognition begins somewhere else.

Perhaps it begins with space.

Or perhaps with the body.

Sometimes I have the feeling that I recognise an image before I understand it. Not because I have seen that exact place before, but because something about its proportions, its silences or the relationships between its elements already feels strangely familiar.

While I'm working, I still know where every fragment originates. At first, those references remain quite present.

Then, almost without noticing, something changes.

There is usually a moment when I stop looking at the fragments individually. The image begins to function as a whole.

The original sources don't disappear. I could still point to each of them if someone asked me. But they no longer determine how I experience the image. They become part of its history rather than its meaning.

It feels less like constructing something than recognising something that somehow already existed, although I know perfectly well that it didn't. Not because the image reproduces a forgotten memory, but because it creates the impression that it belongs to a memory we never actually had.

As I was writing these notes, I realised that this feeling isn't reserved for the viewer. It sometimes happens to me as well.

The image eventually becomes unfamiliar in a very particular way. I still remember every decision that produced it, yet I can no longer reduce it to those decisions. It acquires a kind of independence.

Perhaps that is also why, once a work is finished, I rarely feel that I have fully understood it. In a sense, I begin looking at it in much the same way as everyone else.

And perhaps that is the closest I can come to describing what DÉJÀ-VU means in my work.

Not the feeling of remembering a place.

But the feeling of recognising something that has only just come into existence.

Carlo Morrone - Untitled, 2024

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all art works (incl. header) courtesy Carlo Morrone

— more on CARLO MORRONE: www.carlomorrone.com

Why Anna Lambe is Keeping One Film to Herself

North of North’s Anna Lambe on Who Gets to Tell Inuit Stories

interview + written ALBAN E. SMAJLI

Anna Lambe’s first short film remains in her laptop’s downloads folder, where she plans to keep it because it still feels “too vulnerable to share”. Her recent acting work includes In Heart of the Beast, alongside Brad Pitt, and a film with Aaron Sorkin. The Inuk actor from Iqaluit leads North of North as Siaja, a young mother finding work and somewhere to live after leaving her husband. The comedy is filmed in her hometown, with its second season premiering on Netflix on November 5. Two seasons of performing Siaja’s more embarrassing scenes have made Lambe less guarded in her own life. She singles out howling like a dog in her underwear as one experience that helped her become more willing to be silly. She also contributes to Siaja’s wardrobe, suggesting Inuit designers and naming Laura Pia Churchill’s amauti-style pink parka among her favourite pieces.

Anna wears a total look by 3.1 PHILLIP LIM and heels by COUTGO

Lambe previously hesitated to describe herself as an actor, a reluctance she now attributes to imposter syndrome. Over the past eighteen months, projects that allowed her to make her own performance choices have helped her feel confident in her work. She favours television’s pacing for the time it gives her to understand a character and develop their story. “Even if my work sucked, it no longer dictates my sense of self-worth as Anna,” she says.

Her character Yura in In the Heart of the South takes somebody else’s story to further her career. Producers regard Yura’s background as permission to access the community’s experiences through her. Lambe challenges the idea that belonging to a community automatically gives someone the authority to depict its trauma. “Basic representation should no longer be the baseline,” she says. She describes the experience of playing Yura as “sitting in the skin of someone that I could become, but never want to”.

Anna wears a coat by HYKE and heels by COUTGO

Anna wears a coat by HYKE, heels by COUTGO and a necklace by Chanel

Alban E. Smajli
Let’s start with a fun fact. You once said you made a short film yourself sitting in the downloads folder of your laptop but never released it. Is it still there?

Anna Lambe
My short film is still sitting in the downloads folder of my laptop! And she will remain there a while more. I am grateful for what making my first short taught me about filmmaking, about patience, and about the logistical feat that is every production ever made, but it still feels too vulnerable to share.

You used to call yourself “someone who acted”. Where are you with the word “actor” these days?

I think my confidence as an actor has definitely grown in the past 18 months. I have done a few projects that have pushed me as an artist and have given me a lot of creative freedom to make fun choices. After watching these projects and digesting them as an audience member, I feel much bolder in calling myself an actor. All that being said, the expectations I have for myself and the point at which I finally feel like I can “call myself an actor” are purely based on my insecurities and imposter syndrome. I don’t think there’s a moment in which any actor earns the title “actor”; simply acting makes you an actor.

The fact that this grace hasn’t extended to me until now is purely internal. It’s not something I project onto anyone else, and I encourage others not to limit themselves in the same way I have.

You also called yourself “deeply unfunny”. Two seasons of North of North must have tested that theory.

I think through North of North, I have become a lot more expressive, including in my sense of humour. Before North of North, I was incredibly shy and introverted and struggled with expressing myself openly and vulnerably in social settings, which I think contributed to finding myself deeply unfunny. I was always poised, thoughtful, and observant, which are good qualities to have, but I think it was a protective mechanism out of fear of people finding me annoying, unfunny, or disruptive.
After two seasons of North of North and having every vulnerability broken open and broadcast for millions to see, including howling like a dog in my underwear and kissing my TV dad, I definitely feel much more willing to be silly in my personal life.

How much say do you get in what Siaja wears?

I get some say in Siaja’s wardrobe on North of North, but our costume department is amazing. In season two, we had Alex Reda as our head costume designer, surrounded by a great team, and Laura Pia Churchill, who was our Inuk costume designer and worked on and designed many items seen throughout the show, including my wolf mitts and my fur trapper hat. They lead the vision, and I add input on what I think makes sense for Siaja, and then costumes build on that vision and we collaborate to find the perfect wardrobe. I also always try to name-drop Inuit designers I love and want to wear, and sometimes we end up getting their pieces, which is thrilling.

Some of my favourites have been jewelry by Heather Dickson Designs worn in the winter ball finale, a raspberry Dias Designs parka I wore in episode 5, an amauti-style pink parka made by our Inuk costume designer Pia Churchill in episode 4, and so, so many more!

Anna wears a total look by EMPORIO ARMANI

And off set, it feels as though a film’s press run now comes with its own fashion campaign.

I think fashion and film are having a really interesting and fun crossover right now that feels reflective of the 50s and 60s era of designers creating costumes for actors in film. Jonathan Anderson doing costuming for Challengers, the way attending fashion week for any of the major houses goes hand in hand with film or TV press runs, and actors’ press photoshoots being opportunities to endorse fashion brands and build relationships with them. They have always been deeply connected, but I think the scale at which it is happening now is interesting and reflective of everyone’s desire for prestige and exclusivity.

How much of yourself did you recognise in Yura when you read In the Heart of the South?

From the moment I read the script, I felt both seen and called out by Yura. As an actor, I am frequently reading scripts about identity, culture, and community and trying to navigate when I have the right to take up space or opportunity in telling a story and what that even means. I think there is a huge grey area that needs to be explored in storytelling regarding privilege, access, and exploitation of identity and culture for social or financial gain.

I think that, across many minority communities, we have spent the years since the creation of film and television fighting for representation and the right to tell our own stories. We have made leaps and bounds in representation, and now we are at an interesting point where basic representation should no longer be the baseline, and navigating how privilege and access play into how we tell stories is necessary. Just because someone belongs to a community does not mean they have the right to create poverty porn, or stories centred around trauma they do not understand but think audiences will respond to. We, too, as people who are part of the communities we are trying to represent, can flatten our own people into two-dimensional characters, or caricatures, or misrepresent them entirely.

Yura is guilty of this – taking someone else’s story and making it her own in an attempt to gain opportunities and further her career. Can she tell this story? Technically, yes. And production companies want her to because they feel that, because of her background, she has the right to a well of specific cultural and identity-based stories that they can only access with somebody of that background. Yura, to them, is an opportunity for something fresh, and they, to Yura, are an in to the industry.
This results in a moral compromise from Yura, with the end goal being a step further into the industry.

I feel like I am constantly navigating this dance, trying to be the best community member I can and avoiding compromising my beliefs about trying to build on every win we have in representation to be able to tell stories that are multidimensional, thoughtful, and meaningfully representative of the community at the centre. Walking away from In the Heart of the South felt like walking away from a cautionary tale of what could happen if I am not careful, and playing Yura felt like sitting in the skin of someone that I could become, but never want to.

Anna wears a coat by AKKI

Anna wears a coat dress by MERUERT TOLEGEN

Anna wears a dress and heels by VALENTINO and a coat by MERUERT TOLEGEN

What caught you off guard on Heart of the Beast?

I have been fortunate enough to work on some large television productions that have helped me understand what working on a set of that size is like, the logistical feats that they are, and how quickly the machine moves to get things done. The most unfamiliar thing, for sure, was working with a dog as my scene partner for all of my scenes. It ended up being a wonderful lesson in being present as an actor, though. When you’re performing, the goal is to always be as present as possible to capture the real feeling of the character and the scene, and when you’re working with an animal, the only thing you can be is present. They will give you as much as you give them, and they will do things that are unexpected, and you have to be ready to react to anything, including crawling across your lap and licking your face while you’re driving into the sunset, which Uber, who played Odin, was fond of doing.

And how did you feel walking onto Aaron Sorkin’s set?

Working with Aaron Sorkin was a dream. I was incredibly nervous for this project – uncharacteristically so – because it was a Sorkin film with an incredibly star-studded cast and a great script. From the moment I came to set, Aaron was so warm, the cast was lovely, and Vancouver crews are always great. Aaron was very patient with me while I worked through my nerves, and then I found my groove. I am so grateful for the opportunity and the patience that I experienced on this set and will always look back on it fondly.

Where do you feel most at home as an actor?

As an actor, I definitely feel like I have found my footing in comedy, and tend to thrive in that setting. I love working in television and the pacing of filming – there’s a lot more time to find your rhythm and a lot more material to sink your teeth into, which helps me understand building out characters and arcs better. As an audience member, I love thrillers and horror; they have always been my favourite genres to watch because of how primal the feelings they bring out are.

They are also genres that have huge footprints in the indie space, which is a great space for creativity and exploring concepts, so horror and thrillers can be great places to find fresh and exciting things to watch. I want to keep exploring genres to see where else I might thrive – I haven’t gotten to do anything sci-fi or action-y yet, and definitely want to give it a go.

So you trust yourself now.

Absolutely. I’ve gone through so many life events and changes in the past 18 months, both career-wise and personally, that have made me a lot more confident and sure of myself as a person, and I think that has translated into my perception of myself as an actor. More than ever, I feel capable of good work; I feel like I have done good work, and even if my work sucked, it no longer dictates my sense of self-worth as Anna. All of that together makes me feel like I 100% trust myself as a newly self-identifying “actor”.

Anna wears a total look by MOSCHINO and heels by COUTGO

Anna wears a total look by MOSCHINO

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talent   ANNA LAMBE
photo   BRENT CHUA
styling   JUNGLE LIN
editor   ALBAN E. SMAJLI
hair   WESLEY O’MEARA (HONEY ARTISTS)
make up    AYA TARIQ (THE WALL GROUP)

copyright LE MILE Magazine / Brent Chua

Every day is a Parade — Alex Da Corte in conversation

Alex Da Corte in conversation

Déjà Vu as Pop Memory

interview + written NICOLAS VAMVOUKLIS

Venezuelan-American artist Alex Da Corte approaches popular images as if they could change temperature. A cartoon figure or a shop-bought object enters his work already familiar, then begins to feel charged, vulnerable, almost alive.

Speaking from Philadelphia, in front of a studio wall covered with printed references, he described a way of working based on waiting rather than forcing an image into use. That patience gives his worlds their strange intimacy. They are bright, but not light; playful, but never innocent. In Parade, his recent exhibition at Matthew Marks Gallery, this attention became a passage through thresholds, where public icons carried the pressure of private feeling. Appearing three times as life-size sculptures, he used disguise not to disappear, but to become more exposed. The conversation begins there, with the moment an image stops behaving like itself and starts looking back.

Alex Da Corte, Housepainter II, 2025
Foam, plywood, resin, silicone, fur, hair, steel, paint, hardware, muslin, glass
73 1/4 x 28 1/8 x 20 1/4 inches, 186 x 71 x 51 cm
© Alex Da Corte, Courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery

Nicolas Vamvouklis
Your work presents images we seem to recognise before we understand why, like déjà vu. Have you thought about your practice in those terms?

Alex Da Corte
Much of my practice hinges on what might be considered the opposite of déjà vu: jamais vu. It is the moment when the familiar becomes strange again, and suddenly beautiful, or seems to sit outside time. I think the pieces are scratching at that feeling, even if it remains an abstract desire. You can never really notice when that happens as it happens. It is quite elusive. I’m interested in memory’s slippery nature, and in applying that to forms we might collectively call familiar, at once ordinary, charged, and unstable. But familiarity is regional, generational, relative. When we talk about global icons, or figures fixed in history, we often forget that those histories can shift. An icon known and discussed now can quickly fade. What happens then? Does its ability to transform remain? Still, everything should always be able to change.

You have described your work as “an exploration of the nuances of contemporary life.” What feels truly contemporary now?

If I pay attention, as I do, to the feeling of being alive now, I sense a turn toward matters of the hand: a tactile, material concern, a care for the world in local ways, connected to one’s own body and physical space. I don’t think it is an opposition to the digital, or a complete turn away from it. It is more an embrace of the physical, an ability to commune with it, whether in nature, with others, or wherever it meets the ground.

Many of your projects unfold within dreamlike environments. What do they allow you to express that reality does not?

I’ve been having weird dreams lately, and thinking a lot about Magritte. He obviously paints motifs one could liken to dreams. I have often thought my practice is not so surreal, because the objects are born out of actual objects. Magritte paints an apple, a rose, a person floating in space. They exist, but in a dislocated way. So perhaps that must be dreams. What excites me about dream logic is its relationship to time, its fluidity, or its illogical order. Events move happily or scarily between past, present, and future, forward and backward in unexpected ways. You wake up thinking more acutely about those occurrences. I don’t know that we get much space to move like that in waking hours, but if we did, we might intercept daily banalities differently.

Alex Da Corte, ROY G BIV (still), 2022
Video (color, sound), 60 minutes
© Alex Da Corte, Courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery

Is there a cultural figure you have always admired?

I remember finding Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks in the library. I thought: wow, there is so much around us, and the world is so bright with lessons to be learned. Anything is ripe for consideration: airflow, the way light hits glass, pigments, dirt, feelings, memory, our bodies, how they move and sweat, how we negotiate other people and ideas, including those that fail. All of that is baked into his writing. He has always been a model for thinking through my own life, and for remembering that there is an opportunity to find awe, novelty and strangeness, in everything. I don’t really get bored. If I think I might, I look to him.

Popular and consumer culture provide much of your visual language. What continues to excite you there?

I’ve always been interested in mathematics and systems-based logic. For all the emotional reasons that drive a decision, there is also a less emotional force behind so many choices we encounter, and those choices can provoke hard feelings. I like that collision. We see it constantly in cultural production. I’m curious about what informs culture as product: what is in favour or out of favour, what motivates society and its politics. It is born out of many people’s decisions, sometimes not so many. I like noticing where ideas germinate, and how the domino effect plays out. The handle of a comb, the colour of a suitcase, the way someone pins their hair back, can all be evidence of the times and their needs. The world is largely out of our control, and people keep trying to find control within it.

You often transform recognisable images into strange forms. How do you decide when one is ready to be reimagined?

I’m smiling because I’m looking at a wall of images in my studio. There are pictures printed from many periods, photos I’ve taken on my phone, material I found elsewhere. They stay there for a long time. I look at them every day, but never think about them in terms of readiness. I let them permeate my mind. I don’t know exactly how they function as I see them constantly. They change, I cycle through them, I print new ones. This collage, this analog way that I make, eventually meets me at night in a dream space, or while I’m walking in the park. Then I understand why I like an image, or why I’m drawn to it. Looking quickly now, some of what I see is about seasons, architecture, tension…

Performance view, Kermit The Frog, Even, Fridericianum, Kassel, September 7, 2024
© Alex Da Corte. Courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery, Kültur Büro Barcelona/Buenos Aires, and documenta und Museum Fridericianum gGmbH
Photograph by Nicolas Wefers

Can you pick one image for me now?

There is a fantastic Robert Morris work I have printed out. It is made of wood, metal, debris, building materials, just laid out. I love it because this unremarkable scatter, which could be in any workspace, ends up having such personality. The longer you look, the more specificity appears in the piles. They are evidence of a body that was there. These objects were made by somebody, by some machine, by a combination of the two. I think about those invisible histories, and they stay with me. It is so unlike my own pieces, so I let it be. I don’t need to remake it, or have it become anything more than a prompt. It is a joyous reminder of what it looks like to engage freely, maybe even unabashedly, with chaos or dishevelment. That isn’t so apparent in the practice, but it interests me in life.

Let’s turn to your recent exhibition at Matthew Marks Gallery in New York City. Why did you call it Parade?

I saw a performance of Arthur Rimbaud’s Illuminations by the Philadelphia Orchestra last year. Part of it speaks about a character witnessing the savage parade that is their life. Throughout the poem there is a perspectival shift: the author is watching a parade, then inside it, then observing that it has passed. I thought about this through those three positions. To witness an event, to stand at its edge, is to be at the beginning, at a precipice, like standing before the ocean. To enter it, to swim or sail in that body, space, or procession, is to participate, to live in the present, to engage, to find joy and loss. It activates the idea, rather than only imagining it. To watch the parade go by means you have arrived at the thing you dreamed of, executed what you wanted, lived through it, and perhaps grieved its passing. These parades do not have to be adventurous or grand. They can be minor. Every day is a parade, every conversation could be one.

Although you move across many media, sculpture had a strong presence in the show. You said that a sculpture “has a side you cannot see.” What interests you about this hidden dimension?

I have always loved sculpture for its insistence that you be in space with it, walk around it, and become aware of your own body here. That is a condition we negotiate all the time. It’s a call to resist screens and a flattened experience, and instead to participate. I believe in participation, and in all the ways it can yield a win, a loss, or any value in between. I love material so much. The show included artificial leaves, paint, wood, fur, plastic, rhinestones, flocking, prosthetics, rubber, glass, scents. All of it was there, as a proxy for who we are as human beings. We make gestures with our hands. We shift matter around. It is quite animal to make sculpture. It is quite primitive.

Alex Da Corte, Pink Store Front, 2025
Poplar, paint, brass, foam, plasticized fabric, twine, pegboard, muslin, coffee, velvet, fluorescent tube, acrylic, craft paper, acrylic medium, plastic tape
154 1/2 x 212 x 24 inches, 392 x 539 x 61 cm
© Alex Da Corte, Courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery

You appeared as the Pink Panther and Popeye. What made you want to inhabit these characters yourself?

You are born into a body. You don’t have much choice in it, so you spend your days negotiating what that feels like, and it is always changing. For brief moments, when I embody another figure, whether a real one like Paul Thek or a fictional one like Popeye, it disperses my own self and how I live inside it. It turns me into sculpture. My flesh and blood become no more remarkable than the Robert Morris piece I mentioned, made of wood, felt, scattered metal. I am not so dissimilar to Dr. Frankenstein’s monster, just a sculpture in the round moving through space. It takes away the sentimentality and first-person point of view of my own being for a time. It allows me to be free, to take on other psychologies and shapes.

Have you ever thought about disappearing?

I have. I always wanted to be a magician. Houdini was my hero when I was younger. It would have been cool to vanish. This brings me to Paul Thek, who was so tragically lost to AIDS, while his 1967-installation Tomb, I recreated for the exhibition, was lost for more complicated reasons. There is a moment when you could free yourself even from the death of yourself. To kill your ego is also to allow yourself to be born again. Disappearing need not be finite. Learning how to disappear regularly is probably good for the soul. It checks the ego and creates mini deaths, spaces for change. That change is urgent and necessary. I look for those sites in my work and life, so that when I am there, I am as present as I can possibly be.

What are you currently working on?

I’m developing a big project about Roy Lichtenstein: the largest retrospective he has had to date in New York City, and the first there in 33 years, in the city where he was born. I have co-curated it with Meg Onli, and it will open at the Whitney Museum in October. It has been a challenge and a joy to think through someone so ubiquitous, whose images are present in everything, in every mode of making, in every object one might find. I’m certain that if you went outside today, you could find some reference to Lichtenstein. That is curious, both a gift and a curse for the artist. I’m inside that question now, remaking some of his murals from the 1960s and 1970s, and working on a new film related to him.

Alex Da Corte, The Conversation Pit, 2023
Flock, foam, velvet, steel, SLA-printed plastic, concrete, plywood, laser-cut mirrored plexiglass, wire-core urethane rubber plant, carpet
Dimensions variable
Installation view, THE DÆMON, Matthew Marks Gallery, Los Angeles, September 23 – November 4, 2023
© Alex Da Corte, Courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery

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header image credit:
Alex Da Corte, ROY G BIV (still), 2022, Video (color, sound), 60 minutes, © Alex Da Corte, Courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery

about the author:
Nicolas Vamvouklis is an Athens-based curator and writer whose work spans contemporary art and performance. His texts have appeared in publications including Sternberg Press, Flash Art, Afterall Journal, Observer and tanz.
— follow via @vamvouklisn

Packed for Pleasure and the Secret Routes of Desire

Packed for Pleasure: A history of desire in hiding

written LE MILE

In 1928, Jean Cocteau’s Le Livre blanc was published anonymously in Paris, its account of homosexual desire circulating without the author’s name. Nearly three decades later, the Finnish artist Touko Laaksonen made his American debut in Bob Mizer’s Physique Pictorial, under the name Tom of Finland. Both publications appeared in Packed for Pleasure, the exhibition presented by the Tom of Finland Foundation at Galerie Regard in Paris from 1 to 13 October. Their presence established a history in which publishing a sexual image could mean disguising its author, its audience or its purpose.

Tom of Finland Foundation presents Packed for Pleasure, supported by Pornhub, Galerie Regard, Paris, France. Artworks: (left) Man Ray, (right) Drake Carr.
Photography © Maria Rubtsova/BFA

Curated by Brooke Wise and co-produced by Cocteau historian Chloë Cassens, with support from Pornhub, the exhibition brought together work by figures including Man Ray, Bruce Nauman, Mike Kelley and Paul McCarthy, alongside contemporary artists such as Drake Carr, Emma Stern, Violet Chachki and Nicolo Gentile. Its most revealing material, however, lay in the methods people had devised to make erotic culture accessible under threat of prosecution or social punishment.

Physique Pictorial was a particularly ingenious example. Bob Mizer’s magazine presented men’s bodies through the respectable vocabulary of athletics and bodybuilding, making room for a readership that recognised an additional meaning in the images. In its spring 1957 issue, Mizer published Laaksonen’s drawings and supplied the name by which the artist would become known. Le Livre blanc tells a different story of concealment. Cocteau continued to leave his name off the book even after contributing illustrations to later editions.

At Regard, CRT monitors, physique magazines, books and printed ephemera filled a darkened room modelled on an adult video store. Elsewhere, moving-image works were viewed through a glory-hole structure. Recreating these settings inside a publicly advertised exhibition raised a curatorial difficulty. The furniture and viewing arrangements could be reproduced; the consequences of being seen using them were harder to convey. A back room entered through a gallery invitation carries a different charge from one whose visitors have reasons to conceal their presence.

Leigh Ledare, Mom As Baby Jane, 2004, impression lambda, cadre bois, 154,9 cm x 121,9 cm

Pornhub had previously supported The Pleasure Principle at Maccarone in Los Angeles in 2019. Its backing of Packed for Pleasure came with an explicit contemporary argument. In the exhibition’s press material, Alex Kekesi, its VP of Brand and Community, linked the importance of erotic archives to age-verification laws and social-media deplatforming. The sponsorship placed those disputes beside the histories of Cocteau and Tom of Finland. That association offered Pornhub a useful cultural context for its position, while making its own interest in the exhibition clear. The company was helping present an archive through which it could also argue its case.

Nicolo Gentile’s Hold On Me began with Philadelphia’s 12th Street Gym and the older gay men who had frequented it. He took impressions of their hands and cast them in aluminium salvaged from the gym’s demolition. In the Cable Flyes works, the casts appear with knurled and chromed steel, cable mounts, expanded metal and magazine print. The choice of material ties each hand impression to the building those men remembered. As Gentile explained in V Magazine, “I wanted to take all that muscle, machinery, sweat, sex, and history and turn it toward something more intimate.”

Nicolo Gentile, Hold On Me II (Cable Flyes), 2023–2026. Cast and electroformed aluminum sourced from demolition site on knurled and chromed steel, cable mount, expanded metal sheet, offset magazine print on coated paper. 91.4 × 22.9 × 7.6 cm.

Nicolo Gentile, Hold On Me III (Cable Flyes), 2023–2026. Cast and electroformed aluminum sourced from demolition site on knurled and chromed steel, cable mount, expanded metal sheet, offset magazine print on coated paper. 91.4 × 22.9 × 7.6 cm.

Tom of Finland Foundation presents Packed for Pleasure, supported by Pornhub, Galerie Regard, Paris, France. Photography © Maria Rubtsova/BFA.

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credits
header image: Tom of Finland Foundation presents Packed for Pleasure at Galerie Regard, Paris, France.
Photography © Maria Rubtsova/BFA.

Frieze London 2026 — Nine Artists Beyond the Booth

Frieze London 2026 — From First Encounters to Second Impressions: Nine Discoveries

Post-Frieze: Beyond the Booth

written TAGEN DONOVAN

This year’s Frieze saw painting and sculpture take precedence over screen-based art, whose relative absence seemed curious at a time when so much of our cultural experience is mediated through technology. Rather than signalling a rejection of the digital, this renewed attention to materiality offered an unexpected counterpoint to its growing influence. Alongside the emphasis on the material, questions of identity and belonging emerged through the construction of personal worlds, while other practices turned their attention to the systems and conventions through which modern life is shaped. What rang true throughout was a revisiting of inherited histories, complemented by a reconsideration of the familiar objects that punctuate the everyday. In some sense, there was a unison in the ways artists looked beyond appearances to examine the assumptions that govern how we understand ourselves and the strange new world around us.

Some of the most compelling presentations came from independent galleries such as Rose Easton, Ginny on Frederick, Diez and Eastcontemporary; equally noteworthy was the younger generation of artists championed by more established galleries. The significance of these presentations extended beyond the commercial transactions of the fair; several works entered public collections, including Jessica Wilson's Sweet Nothing (2025-2026), acquired by Centraal Museum in Utrecht, and three works by Okiki Akinfe for Abbot Hall in Kendal through the inaugural Dasha Shenkman Focus Fund. Through acquisitions of this nature, the art fair reveals a purpose beyond its commercial machinery – one that opens avenues for wider public engagement and contributes to a shared cultural inheritance.

Rather than attempt a comprehensive account of Frieze London 2026, this slightly unorthodox index brings together nine artists and their representing galleries, whose practices suggest a cultural zeitgeist extending beyond the confines of the algorithm and into more tangible realms. Moving between what was presented at Frieze and the wider artistic worlds from which these works emerged, it becomes a collision of sorts between what was shown and what remained unseen – an invitation, perhaps, to look beyond the booth and pursue the discoveries that outlast the ephemerality of the fair.

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Rose Easton x  Amanda Moström

Amanda Moström, Rocky, 2026, Billy goat skin and chair 94 x 51 x 55 cm. Courtesy the artist and Rose Easton, London. Photographed by Jack Elliot Edwards.

header image credit
Bikini Bottom (2026) Amanda Moström, Bikini Bottom, 2026. Courtesy the artist and Rose Easton, London. Photography by Jack Elliot Edwards.

the artist

Amanda Moström (b. 1991) deals primarily with the erotic, albeit in an unconventional sense. Subtly humorous and rich in psychosexual undertones, her photographic work frequently appropriates familiar imagery and transforms it into something more provocative and intimate, complicating it with restaging or re-contextualisation. Her interest in expansive forms of sensuality extends to her bronzes, which upend the medium’s associations with solemnity and multiplicity by existing as one-off pieces that are deliberately imperfect, showing signs of human touch. Moström is inspired by the writing of the theorist Audre Lorde, who was quick to separate eroticism from the strictly pornographic or explicit, reclassifying it as “the personification of love in all its aspects.” Throughout her practice, Moström explores the conceptual and physical potential of softness, upending a cultural hierarchy that often prizes hardness and solidity instead, both materially and emotionally. The resulting works coax the viewer, made complicit by the act of looking, into confronting their own boundaries and preconceptions.

the artwork

Amanda Moström's Bikini Bottom (2026) presents an installation of familiar, second-hand objects clad in sections of billy goat hide — sourced from male goats considered redundant within dairy farming. Arranged on a low platform and reconfigured daily, the objects occupy a shifting stage that reflects the marketplace from which they were acquired. The installation explores the politics of care and the economics of exchange, questioning how value is produced through use and attention.

the gallery

Since its inception in 2021, Rose Easton has established a presence within London's contemporary art landscape, championing emerging artists and practices that might otherwise struggle to find institutional or commercial support. With an emphasis on artistic development beyond traditional educational pathways and funding structures, the gallery has cultivated a programme that fosters experimentation and unconventional approaches. Rose Easton's curatorial vision reflects an interest in artists who explore new forms of artistic expression, offering a space for practices that resist the conventions of the commercial gallery system.

Further reading: Elaine M.L. Tam's accompanying text on Bikini Bottom HERE.

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Diez Gallery x Jessica Wilson

Jessica Wilson, The Commute, 2025, Repurposed LED taxi top, custom software, CG animation, 8:37 65 x 136 x 70 cm (25 5/8×53 1/2×27 1/2 in), Diez Gallery.

the artist

Jessica Wilson (b. 1991, New York City) lives and works between Amsterdam and New York. Her work occupies a space where computer-generated animation and sculptural installation are treated as a sophisticated interrogation of the somatic and material effects of virtual systems, moving away from hyperreal spectacle toward an awkward, haptic sensitivity to human inexactitude. Wilson is a multidisciplinary artist whose practice is deeply rooted in the belief that everyday infrastructure—from anthropomorphised electrical outlets to repurposed NYC taxi tops—can act as a surrogate for psychological states of neurosis and anxiety.

Wilson was a resident at the Rijksakademie (2023–2025) and has exhibited at Petrine, Paris (2026), and diez, Amsterdam (2024), among others. Her moving-image works have screened at the ICA, London (2025); IFFR, Rotterdam (2020); and the New Museum, New York (2020). An upcoming solo exhibition at SculptureCenter in New York opens in November 2027.

the artwork

Sweet Nothing (2025-2026) comprises 12 repurposed LED taxi tops, custom mapping software and CG animation presented on an infinite loop. In October 2026, the work was acquired by the Centraal Museum in Utrecht — marking Wilson's first work to enter a museum collection.

the gallery

Diez is an Amsterdam-based gallery with an international outlook, founded in 2022 by Diego Diez. With a background in fine arts, Diego first established several nonprofit initiatives, which became the starting point for a practice that now moves fluidly between experimental projects and the commercial art world. The gallery has become a place where many young artists present their first exhibitions, while also showing the work of figures from previous generations whose practices have deeply influenced them and their surroundings. This intergenerational dialogue defines the gallery’s identity, fostering a program that embraces both risk and sustainability. With its base in Amsterdam and projects that extend through pop-up spaces and international fairs, diez maintains a sensibility that is open and playful, yet grounded in everyday life, committed to creating meaningful encounters with contemporary art.

Jessica Wilson, Pretend I’m Dead, 2024, CGI animation, sound, 5:08, Ed 4 + 2AP, Diez Gallery.

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Ames Yavuz x Stanislava Pinchuk

the artist

Stanislava Pinchuk (b. 1988, Kharkiv, Ukraine) lives and works in Melbourne, Sarajevo and Barcelona. Pinchuk is an artist working between data-mapping and information-mining, conflict topographies, legacies of literature and the politics of translation. Pinchuk’s practice spans film, architecture, installation, performance, drawing, tattooing, painting and sculpture. Currently serving as an Official War Artist of Australia, Pinchuk has previously held career surveys of her work at Heide MoMA and FAC.

Recent exhibitions include the 17th Gjon Mili Bienniale at the National Gallery of Kosovo (curated by Valentine Umansky, Tate Modern) and a solo institutional exhibition at The Dallas Contemporary Museum of Art. Pinchuk is the director of the roaming, radical architectural design school The Anti/Monumental Laboratory, which is currently the opening faculty unit of the experimental Masters Degree in Critical Design at the Elisava University of Architecture & Engineering in Barcelona.

the gallery

Founded in Singapore in 2010, Ames Yavuz emerged from a vision to champion the transformative voices emerging from Asia’s contemporary art scene. The region’s artistic innovations and critical dialogues remained underrepresented on the global stage. Over fifteen years, the gallery has evolved into an internationally recognised platform representing over forty artists and estates. Their practices span continents and disciplines, from painting and sculpture to moving image, installation, and photography.

Central to the gallery’s programme is a commitment to long-term artist development and cross-cultural exchange. Rigorous curatorial practices form the foundation of all programming. Long-term collaborative relationships with artists are cultivated and sustained over many years, often spanning a decade or more. This generates intellectual rigor and meaningful dialogue around art’s role in society’s most pressing conversations. Through solo and group exhibitions, participation in leading international art fairs, and cross-cultural collaborations, the gallery remains committed to presenting work that challenges conventions.

Stanislava Pinchuk, The Wine Dark Sea (Set 4b), 2023. Marble, enamel. 70 × 140 × 140 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Ames Yavuz. Photographed by Jessica Maurer.

the artwork

The Wine Dark Sea

The Wine Dark Sea (2021) speaks to the Odyssey’s primary question of hospitality – as how we treat our visitors, and what it says about us, rather than our guests. While Homer’s Odyssey is embraced as the first ‘migrant novel’ and key foundation of global literature and democracy – we are perhaps unwilling to do so for the near-identical narratives of exile on our own doorstep. Odysseus’ story, like those illegally detained for 9+ years in Australia’s off-shore migrant detention centres, is one of seemingly permanent exile – moving from island to island, with an unknown prospect of reaching home.

The texts of both the leaked condition reports of illegal off-shore detention and the great epic of oral poetry were written and recited by many authors and contributors, and covering many subjects – eventually falling to credit under one umbrella, be it Homer or Transfield. The Wine Dark Sea interrogates such fragmentation of narrative into its installation specifications, referencing Homer’s tomb on the island of Ios, Greece. Composed of modular and stackable rocks, it is forever swapped and re-arranged into vernacular forms by visitors through millennia, without a final form – akin to the process of story-telling itself.

Similarly, The Wine Dark Sea is not touched by the artist, and invites a guest kindred to the world of the artwork to arrange and interpret the sculptures and narratives for each showing.

Stanislava Pinchuk, The Wine Dark Sea, installation view, AGSA Biennial: Free/State, 2022. Curator and arrangement: Sebastian Goldspink. Collection of the Art Gallery of South Australia. Photographed by Saul Steed.

Installation image of Each Apparition Searches for an eye, 2025 at Frieze London, 2026. Courtesy of the artist and Ames Yavuz. Photographed by Deniz Guzel.

the artwork

Each Apparition Searches for an Eye

Each Apparition Searches for an Eye (2025) presents a series of 100 photo-portraits of soldiers from the artist’s deployment into combat training for the Armed Forces of Ukraine. Instructed to obscure all identifying features to elude enemy facial-recognition software, the resultant erasures into her film negatives recall 19th-century ‘spirit photography’: whereby daguerreotypists experimented with emergent long-exposure technology to capture ghosts onto silver plates.
Critically, the daguerreotype's unprecedented visual fidelity also produced the first photo-portraits of soldiers: a road littered with cannon-balls in Sevastopol, Ukraine taken during The Crimean War in 1855. This erasure onto film negatives to allow a public record, means committing facial expressions and identity markers solely to the private memory of the artist: which must be further made in anticipation of how region-based convolutional neural networks may evolve in sophistication in the near-future. In this gesture, it is to both simultaneously attempt to bypass and freely catapult the frames into the murky, perma-speculative realm of 21st Century ‘operational images’.

The following photo-sculptural installation interrogates how the fundamental phenomenologies of a photograph remain, its components simply re-arranged in a different order; the unseen eye behind a lens, the passport-size portrait untouchable under glass, the information veiled behind a curtain, the hardware plate, the migration of the captured image – be it through a portable frame or a fibre-optic cable, and the process of sensitisation, by which the more exposure time to a subject’s face still means a greater clarity. Curiously, the same facial recognition technology is now being used to identify previously unnamed sitters of these earliest 19th Century soldier portraits, matching facial structures against wider data-sets of historical photographs and archives.

Each Apparition Searches for an Eye proposes that the central question of our biotechnological relationship may not be simply the idea of a sentient ‘ghost in the machine’, but rather of the necessity to become a ‘ghost to the machine’: a phenomenon already embodied by recent frontline legends such as the Ghost of Kyiv. An elusive apparition for another ghost; one which first searches for an eye to be seen, an eye to be localised, classified, mapped to a wider face, and verified.

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G Gallery and Sargent’s Daughters x Rachel Youn

Rachel Youn, Endure, 2023. Spring horse frame, shiatsu neck massager, artificial orchids, polyurethane swivel casters, stainless steel bird spikes. 88,9 × 63,5 × 101,6 cm.

the artist

Rachel Youn (b. 1994, Abington, Pennsylvania) is a sculptor and installation artist whose practice centres on kinetic sculpture. Salvaging motors from exercise equipment, massagers and baby swings, Youn animates artificial plants and other everyday materials, coaxing a strange tenderness and wit from the mechanical. Their interest lies in the artificial sense of human touch machines can evoke, questioning how movement might lend otherwise inanimate objects a sense of agency.

Youn received their BFA from Washington University in St. Louis and MFA from the Yale School of Art. Their work has been exhibited internationally, including solo presentations at Sargent's Daughters in New York and the Contemporary Art Museum in St. Louis. At Frieze London 2026, Sargent's Daughters × G Gallery presented Youn's work in cross-pollination, alongside Choi Yoonhee and Yaron Michael Hakim.

the artwork

At Frieze London 2026, Youn presented a series of artificial plants that find themselves at the mercy of repurposed massage devices, whose mechanisms, originally intended to imitate human touch, lend their botanical counterparts an awkward semblance of life. There is something both comical and faintly pitiful about these involuntary movements; in their mechanical attempts at intimacy, the sculptures seem to acquire a vulnerability ordinarily reserved for living things.

the gallery

Sargent’s Daughters was founded in 2014 in New York's Lower East Side. The gallery takes its name from the painter John Singer Sargent, who was an innovator working in a traditional medium. Accordingly, the gallery’s interest is in artists whose work combines the same qualities of tradition and the cutting edge. In addition to exhibitions by represented gallery artists, Sargent’s Daughters creates collaborations as a platform for exploring new conversations within a wider context and presents a strong female program, often highlighting overlooked artists working outside the established gallery world. The gallery has a history of granting young artists their first exhibition opportunities. Sargent’s Daughters was the first to exhibit Jordan Casteel, Cy Gavin and Wendy Red Star in their debut NY solo shows, as well as placing works in major museums such as the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.

WATCH: Rachel Youn's kinetic sculptures in motion, via Design Boom.

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Carlos/Ishikawa x Issy Wood

Issy Wood, Furni, installation view, Carlos/Ishikawa, London, 2023. © Issy Wood, 2023. Courtesy of the artist, Carlos/Ishikawa, London. Photography by Damian Griffiths.

the artist

Issy Wood (b. 1993, Durham, North Carolina) is a British-American painter and musician who describes herself as a ‘medieval millennial’. Working between the conventions of traditional painting and the visual excesses of the twenty-twenties, Wood draws upon an eclectic archive of imagery from obscure corners of the internet. Her tightly cropped compositions frequently depict everyday objects and fragments of the human body, rendered with a peculiar intimacy that belies their mundane origins. Working in oil on surfaces ranging from linen to her characteristic velvet, Wood's use of short, dabbed brushstrokes creates a hazy realism in which familiar objects take on an unsettling psychological charge. Beneath their seductive surfaces lies a preoccupation with desire, and its uneasy entanglement with personal identity and consumer culture.

Wood studied at Goldsmiths and the Royal Academy Schools in London. Her work has been exhibited internationally, including solo presentations at Goldsmiths CCA, Lafayette Anticipations and Kistefos. In October 2026, the National Portrait Gallery inaugurated its new Artist Focus programme with Issy Wood: Self-Portraits, bringing together eleven paintings from a series begun in 2020.

the artwork

Wood's ongoing series of self-portraits, begun in 2020, occupies a more intimate corner of her practice. Initially conceived, in part, as an alternative to conventional press photography, the paintings offer the artist a means of negotiating her own visibility. Through tightly cropped compositions, face masks and gestures of concealment, Wood complicates the relationship between self-representation and exposure; the painted image offers a likeness while retaining something of the artist's privacy.

the gallery

Founded in London’s East End in 2011, Carlos/Ishikawa’s program focuses strongly on artists with wide-ranging, multi-disciplinary and experimental practices. The artists represented by the gallery work with performance, sound, internet, dance, film, installation and text, as well as painting and sculpture. The program exhibits international artists, offering many artists their first solo shows in London.

Carlos Ishikawa, Frieze London 2026. Image by Linda Nylind. Courtesy of Frieze.

Installation view, Fish, Fish, Duck, Issy Wood, 2026, Kistefos Museum. Photo: Tor S. Ulstein/Kunstdok. © Issy Wood.

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EastContemporary x Anastasia Sosunova

Anastasia Sosunova ‘Public Feelings’, 2025, scrap metal (fragments of cars), etched zinc, polystyrene, water from Villa Unity and the lake from the night of 18 January, found objects. Photographed by Jonas Balsevičius.

the artist

Anastasia Sosunova (b. 1993) is a visual artist working across video, installation, sculpture, and printmaking. Her practice sits at the fault line between DIY, underground culture and hegemonic systems, tracing how magical thinking persists within the mechanics of community mobilisation. Sosunova’s moving-image works operate as case studies, exploring how authority and belief shape individual and collective behaviour today: from vernacular wood sculpture to pseudo-medicine to corporate religion. Rooted in a printmaking background, she often reads fan bases, cults and movements using print media theory as a framework, exposing the machinery of political myth-making and the contours of contemporary folklore.

Sosunova’s works have been exhibited at major biennials, including Gwangju, Kaunas and Lyon, as well as at leading art institutions across Europe and beyond.

the artwork

Preppers (2026), an installation combining film and sculpture, draws on the artist’s long-term research into Kesko Senukai, the largest DIY retail chain in the Baltics. Combining devotional aesthetics and apocalyptic symbolism, the work proposes DIY as both a means of survival and a mythology of contemporary capitalism.

the gallery

Eastcontemporary is dedicated to the research, development and support of international artists through exhibitions, public programmes and partnerships. Founded in Milan in 2020 as a non-profit project space, it evolved into a contemporary art gallery in 2021, with a particular focus on providing a global perspective on the Central and Eastern European art scene, alongside regions historically and culturally influenced by the former Soviet Union, including Southeastern Europe and Central Asia.

The gallery aims to increase the international visibility of artists from these regions while creating connections between often distant artistic communities. Its public programme extends beyond exhibitions, encompassing talks, performances, music and publishing-related events. Recent examples include a discussion around Poor but Sexy: Culture Clashes in Europe East and West, a stand-up performance by Mila Panic, a DJ set by Stach Szumski and a performative talk by Slavs and Tatars at Spazio Maiocchi in collaboration with SPRINT.

Anastasia Sosunova, DIY, 2023. Installation view at Editorial gallery, Vilnius, Lithuania. Photography: Editorial. Courtesy of the artist and Editorial, Vilnius.

Anastasia Sosunova, Preppers (2026). Installation view at Frieze London 2026, presented by eastcontemporary.
Photographed by Tagen Donovan, 2026.

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Ginny on Frederick x Okiki Akinfe

Installation view, Okiki Akinfe, Where the Wild Things Are at Ginny on Frederick. Courtesy of the Artist and Ginny on Frederick. Photographed by Stephen James.

Okiki Akinfe, When Chickenheads Come Home to Roost, 2026. Courtesy of the artist and Ginny on Frederick. Photographed by Corey Bartle-Sanderson.

the artist

Okikioluwa Akinfe (b. 1999) is a Nigerian-British artist based in London whose multidisciplinary practice spans painting and drawing. Central to her practice is the construction of an alternative archive that challenges conventional representations of Black identity. Encompassing ‘The Black lens’, a subversive tool of her own creation, Akinfe interrogates stereotypes by exposing their absurdity, shifting the perspective from the white gaze towards a Black gaze.

Akinfe graduated from the Slade School of Fine Art in 2022 before completing her MA in Painting at the Royal College of Art in 2023. She has received the Basil H. Alkazzi Scholarship Award and the Freelands Painting Prize. Her work has been exhibited internationally, including at Ginny on Frederick in London, and has entered public collections, including Abbot Hall in Kendal.

the artwork

Okiki Akinfe’s distinctive painterly style draws on the traditions of underpainting. By leaving sections of the canvas exposed and retaining the faint grids and measurements used to build an image, Akinfe foregrounds painting as a process of looking, thinking and making, rather than concealing its labour behind a finished surface. Fame is a Gun (2026) is a self-portrait depicting the artist sitting backwards on a chair. One arm stretches out in front of her, casting a shadow across her face, while her hand forms the shape of a gun. The gesture occupies an ambiguous space between playfulness and self-fashioning, complicating the relationship between how one chooses to be seen and how one is perceived. The title introduces a further tension, suggesting that fame can be both a form of agency and something less easily controlled.

At Frieze London 2026, the inaugural Dasha Shenkman Focus Fund, facilitated by the Contemporary Art Society, supported the acquisition of three works by Akinfe for the collection of Abbot Hall in Kendal: a painting, a lightbox work and a preparatory drawing. Established to acquire works from the fair’s Focus section for UK public collections, the fund recognises emerging artists at a critical moment in their practice.

the gallery

Founded by Freddie Powell in 2020, Ginny on Frederick is a London gallery whose beginnings were decidedly unconventional, taking its name from Powell's mother and its original premises on Frederick Terrace in Hackney. Following the closure of its first space during the pandemic, Ginny on Frederick reopened in 2021 in a former sandwich shop near Smithfield Market, before relocating to larger premises on Charterhouse Street in 2023.

With a programme shaped by friendships and close artistic relationships, Powell approaches the gallery as much through facilitation as conventional art dealing. Its modest physical dimensions have become integral to its identity, encouraging artists to develop exhibitions in direct response to the space. Despite its relatively short history, the gallery's programme has attracted recognition at Frieze London, including the Camden Art Centre Emerging Artist Prize in 2023 and the Nicoletta Fiorucci Foundation Prize in 2025.

Read LE MILE’s Tiny Galleries Feature with Ginny on Frederick, London HERE.

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Victoria Miro x Kudzanai-Violet Hwami 

Installation view, Booth D12, Frieze London 2026.
Courtesy of the artist and Victoria Miro.

the artist

Born in Gutu, Zimbabwe, in 1993, Kudzanai-Violet Hwami currently lives and works in London. Hwami’s work reveals a deeply personal vision of Southern African life. Drawing on experiences of geographical dislocation and displacement, her paintings combine visual fragments sourced from collections of photographs, collapsing past and present. Many of Hwami’s paintings feature self-portraits and images of her immediate and extended family. Powerful nudes are another point of departure, raising questions about the black body and its representation, as well as sexuality, gender and spirituality. Her influences include music, such as Zim Heavy and Afrobeats, and literature, including the works of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Carl Jung. Hwami’s process involves experimenting with photography and digitally collaged images to create large works on paper or canvas, combining intensely pigmented oil paint with techniques such as silkscreen, pastel and charcoal.

In 2016, the same year she graduated from Wimbledon College of Arts with a Bachelor of Fine Arts, Hwami was awarded the Clyde & Co. Award and the Young Achiever of the Year Award at the Zimbabwean International Women’s Awards, as well as being shortlisted for Bloomberg New Contemporaries. In 2019, Hwami presented work at the 58th Venice Biennale as part of the Zimbabwe Pavilion, the youngest artist to participate in the Biennale.

At Frieze London 2026, Victoria Miro presented recent paintings and a sculpture by Hwami in a special installation conceived by the artist for booth D12. The presentation coincided with her inclusion in British Art Show 10: A Chorus of Strangers, which began its national tour in October.

the artwork

Victoria Miro's presentation at Frieze London 2026 brought together four paintings by Kudzanai-Violet Hwami — Sorbus Hymn II (2025), Animus (2025), Scapegoat (2025) and Witness (2025) — alongside the sculpture Containing Multitudes (2025). The sculpture's title draws on the words of American poet Walt Whitman, whose declaration, ‘I contain multitudes’, has long resonated with Hwami's practice.

the gallery

Victoria Miro is celebrated for its commitment to artists whose visionary and singular practices shape the landscape of contemporary art. The gallery presents a programme that reimagines how art is made, accessed and experienced through exhibitions in its London and Venice spaces and on LIVE / ARCHIVE, as well as through international art fairs, museum collaborations, commissions and residencies in the Venice studio.

By advancing the use of new technologies, Victoria Miro is at the forefront of presenting art beyond gallery walls, enabling collectors, curators and the public to connect with art anytime and anywhere in the world, while significantly reducing carbon emissions. The gallery shapes artistic inquiry by bringing together acclaimed writers, critics and thinkers to collaborate with artists on exhibitions, commissions, new writing and conversations that open perspectives on culture.

Kudzanai-Violet Hwami, A Making of Ghosts, installation view, Victoria Miro, London, 2023.
Courtesy of the artist and Victoria Miro.

Kudzanai-Violet Hwami, A Making of Ghosts, installation view, Victoria Miro, London, 2023.
Courtesy of the artist and Victoria Miro.

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Public x Steph Huang

Steph Huang, Lili Deli, installation view, presented by Public, Focus section, Frieze London 2026.

the artist

Steph Huang (b. 1990, Taiwan) is a London-based multidisciplinary artist whose practice explores themes of labour, value and commerce through the cultural biographies of everyday objects and spaces. Working across sculpture, installation, film and sound, she transforms mundane materials into minimalist yet poetically resonant installations. Her work uncovers the historical and transcultural narratives embedded within consumer culture while critically examining its environmental and human costs.

the artwork

For Frieze London 2026, Public presented Lili Deli, a solo presentation of new works by Steph Huang investigating the systems of mass production and commerce that underpin the global food industry, alongside its transcultural and historical dimensions and profound impact on the natural environment. Comprising two hand-built bar carts, a freestanding privacy screen and a series of found and sculpted objects arranged on custom shelving, the installation takes the form of a critical audit of our consumption habits; an intervention that asks viewers to reconsider the true cost of our global pantry.

the gallery

Public is a London-based contemporary art gallery dedicated to supporting international emerging artists and promoting cross-cultural exchange. Established in 2020, the gallery presents a diverse curatorial programme that encourages ambitious projects, intergenerational dialogues, and non-traditional modes of seeing and thinking. In 2025, Public expanded its brutalist East London space within the Middlesex Street Estate, incorporating the neighbouring unit to create a second multi-story exhibition space and a combined total of five levels across both sites. The gallery is run by co-directors Alex Harrison, Harry Dougall, and Nicole Estilo Kaiser.

Steph Huang Golden Egg's Matinee, 2026, Hand-blown glass, powder-coated mild steel, copper, bronze, brass, string, 126 x 82 x 82 cm. Frieze London. Public, London, 2026.

Steph Huang High Seas, 2026, Hand-blown glass, mild steel, bronze, paint, 147 x 90 x 68 cm. Frieze London. Public, London, 2026.

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header image credit
Bikini Bottom (2026) Amanda Moström, Bikini Bottom, 2026. Courtesy the artist and Rose Easton, London. Photography by Jack Elliot Edwards.

Leila Khan — On Adultery and Growing Up Too Fast

Leila Khan Wants to Taste a Little Bit of Everything

interview + written AMANDA MORTENSON

Leila Khan first read Jess through a few audition pages for Adultery and immediately recognised someone trying to outrun the fact that she had been forced to grow up too quickly. The rebelliousness was there, but so was the need to make Jess and Ollie feel young, playful and uncomplicated before the story begins putting pressure on them. School follows Jess home, her mother tightens the rules around her social life, and Khan describes the result as an “avalanche effect” that felt recognisable to the teenage experience. Preparing Jess meant building a playlist and thinking about the books she might read, a very different process from Crookhaven, where Khan returned to Amira through diary entries and scripts she read until she could recite them word for word.

Leila wears a total look by MY BEST FRIEND and shoes by MALONE SOULIERS

That attention to detail has sharpened since Heartstopper, Khan’s first professional acting job and the set where she says she made friends for life. She now asks “why” far more often when reading a script, sometimes down to something as small as why a character sighs in a scene. The habit makes sense for an actor already thinking beyond her own performance.

Khan wants to direct one day and spends time on set watching other departments work, asking questions and noticing how directors handle a room. For now, she is still interested in range rather than narrowing herself too quickly. She wants to “taste a little bit of everything,” although theatre is beginning to pull more strongly. Between Adultery, Crookhaven and the final Heartstopper film, Khan is still early enough in her career for each project to change the process, and experienced enough to know that no two characters should be prepared in exactly the same way.

Leila wears a total look by MY BEST FRIEND

Leila wears a total look by MY BEST FRIEND and shoes by MALONE SOULIERS

Amanda Mortenson
When you first read Adultery, what did you know about Jess from the first few pages?

Leila Khan
From the initial audition sides I got a real sense of Jess’ youthful spirit and desire to be free from whatever she’s gone through before we meet her. There’s a rebellious nature to her but it was clear to me that this stemmed from the fact that she had to mature pretty quickly at a young age.

What did you need to get right about Jess and Ollie’s relationship for the rest of the story to work?

It was really important for their relationship to feel playful and new. The authenticity of young uncomplicated love is something Johnny and I spoke about quite often. They’re just two kids that are in love, which makes what happens to them even more devastating.

Of the pressures around Jess — class, school, social media — which one affects her most directly?

The pressure of Jess’ school life bleeds into her home life throughout the show and I think those two things become a combined issue for her. Hannah, her mum, is overprotective and restricts her social life because of her behaviour at school. So it all just comes crashing down causing an avalanche effect which is something that is quite authentic about the teenage experience.

Heartstopper was your first professional acting job. What habit from that first set do you still carry into every job?

I really did make friends for life on that show and I learned quite quickly how collaborative and creative your work can be when you form that level of trust. It’s a really vulnerable experience for everyone on set and while there’s so many departments, we are inevitably all working towards one goal. So going on to any production, it is definitely a priority of mine to form strong connections with cast and crew so that we can all work hard, communicate well but have fun while we’re doing it.

Leila wears a jacket by GANNI, a dress by SANDRO, shoes by MALONE SOULIERS and jewellery by MISSOMA

The final Heartstopper film closes something that began with an open casting call, what was hardest to leave behind?

I suppose all of it! It hasn’t quite sunk in yet because we always come back each year. Next year when we don’t step back onto that set is when it’ll hit me. When I really think about it though, the thing I’ll miss the most is working with my family.

What do you notice in a script now that you might have missed when you first started acting?

From a young age I’ve always had a keen eye for literature and tearing texts apart so nothing really gets past me but I definitely ask WHY a lot more when I’m reading a script. Especially when a character behaves in a way that doesn’t align with me (Leila), asking why constantly - even asking why a character is sighing in a scene is something I’ve definitely done a lot more over the years.

And what is the first thing you do when you return to Amira for a new season of Crookhaven?

Returning to Crookhaven felt exactly the same as being cast in season one. We all put so much love and passion into that project so it was a genuine pleasure to hear we get to do it again. The first thing I do is read the scripts until I can recite them word for word and then for Amira I made diary entries to track where we left her in season one and where you find her in season two. Every role I take on is a different process. With Jess I made a playlist and thought about the kind of books she would read, with Amira it was a lot of diaries and introspection.

Has playing Amira made you more conscious of what an actor can communicate without dialogue?

100%. Amira absorbs and evaluates everything around her before she acts and so when playing her it’s a lot of listening and internalising. In hindsight, this really helped prepare me for stepping into Jess for Adultery.

You’ve spoken before about wanting to direct. What do you pay attention to on set now beyond your own performance?

I would love to direct whether that be TV, Film or Theatre I’m not sure yet. I’ve got a lot of time and experiences to be had before I work it out. At the moment I’ve got the privilege of working with really talented people across all departments and picking their brains. I do take note of what I like about the way the directors work. Most days I’m hanging around on set when I’m not needed and just absorbing what’s going on around me.

What are you looking for in the next role that you haven’t had the chance to explore yet?

To be completely honest I just want to do everything. I want to stretch myself as an actor and taste a little bit of everything. At the moment though I’ve definitely got my eye on theatre.

Leila wears a dress by STELLA MCCARTNEY and earrings by ALEXIS BITTAR

Leila wears a dress by STELLA MCCARTNEY and earrings by ALEXIS BITTAR

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talent   LEILA KHAN
photo   DAVID REISS
styling   PRUE FISHER
hair + make up   CHARLOTTE YEOMANS
copyright LE MILE Magazine / David Reiss

Corentin Fila on The White Lotus, Memory and Acting

perspectives

Finally, Corentin Fila Is Just Acting

written + interview ALBAN E. SMAJLI

“Finally I’m just acting.” Corentin Fila remembers thinking it five minutes into his first day on The White Lotus, after months of hearing everyone else talk about the project before he had even started filming it. Fila came to the profession without much of a plan. At 24, after seeing a Peter Brook production with South African actors at the Bouffes du Nord, he enrolled at Cours Florent. Two years later, he was making his first film with André Téchiné. Before that came boxing, an injury, three years of economics he readily admits left him with very little knowledge of economics, and a long list of jobs including construction and bartending.

Corentin wears a full look by GUCCI, a jacket by LA MASKARADE and a ring by TANT D’AVENIR

Corentin wears a jacket by LA MASKARADE

Fila prepares differently for every role, sometimes doing extensive research and sometimes deliberately leaving room for surprise. For The White Lotus, he met people who reminded him of his character, occasionally inviting friends of friends for coffee and observing their behaviour, their values and mood. He calls it “stealing” from them. Music is another tool: he can spend hours building playlists and using them to think through a character before filming begins.

Directors have repeatedly seen melancholy in Fila, even though his friends would not necessarily describe him that way. He recognises it too, tracing some of it back to childhood, and notes with some amusement that he has also been cast as “the object of desire” more than once. That overlap between performance and lived experience also shapes the way Fila thinks about DÉJÀ VU, with a breakup scene sometimes drawing on something he has actually lived and the feeling still being there hours later, when he goes to bed and thinks, “Wow, it feels like I’ve already lived this moment in my life.”

Corentin wears a coat and blazer by OTTOLINGER

Alban E. Smajli
You're currently filming The White Lotus. Without revealing too much, has there been a moment during production when you suddenly understood the scale of what you had stepped into?

Corentin Fila
I would say it started before production, months before I began to shoot it. It was everywhere because it’s such a big project. Every day, someone was talking to me about The White Lotus. And it was insane. It was the first time in my life that I had to talk about a project every day, months before filming. It was really, I would say, difficult to prepare for this role with this amount of pressure beforehand. And finally, after maybe five minutes on set on my first day, I thought, “Wow, finally I’m just acting, and it’s something I can do.” And now I’m part of this adventure. Before, it was just something really far from me that everyone was talking to me about. And now I’m really part of it.

When acting suddenly became a serious possibility for you, did it take longer to find the craft or to recognise yourself in it?

No, honestly, it didn’t. I think I’ve been really lucky because it was really quick and really natural for me. I was 24 when I saw a theatre play with Black actors from South Africa. It was a play by Peter Brook at the Bouffes du Nord. Before watching this play, becoming an actor was not in my mind. I saw this play, and then I decided to go to Cours Florent. And two years later, I was filming my first movie with André Téchiné. So it was very, very quick, I would say.

Before acting, you studied economics and worked a string of different jobs. What stayed with you from that period?

I studied economics, but it was kind of by mistake. I was in sports studies. I was really good at boxing and I wanted to become a coach or something of that kind. Then I got injured during my first year. And so that’s when I thought of doing something else at the same university. There was a possibility to switch to economics, and that’s how I got into it. But I’m really bad at economics and I have a degree. I did three years of it, but I was working while I was studying, doing small jobs, every kind of job. So I would say I know almost nothing about economics.

But the fact that I worked all those jobs — in construction, as a barman, and many, many different ones — was definitely a huge school of life, I would say.

Looking back at your first roles, do you notice recurring themes or character types that continue to find their way back to you?

Yes, I would say I’ve played many melancholic characters. And it’s funny because my friends and people don’t really know me for that. But I would say I have a big melancholic side to me since childhood. And it’s funny that I play so many melancholic characters because in my life it’s like a little secret, that I carry maybe some sadness from my childhood. And it looks like directors sometimes see it. So yeah, I would say melancholic characters. And I’ve also played “the object of desire” many times. I’ve had many sex scenes in my career.

Corentin wears a shirt by CELINE

Corentin wears a total look by CELINE

Has all the waiting that comes with acting changed your relationship to patience?

I think it’s a job where you wait a lot, and I love it. I think you learn to live in the moment. I think there are two ways to be in this job. When you wait, many actors become nervous. They become really frustrated. And others take that time to cultivate some wisdom and enjoy the present moment.

hat do you usually do while you wait?

I’m just in my head. I’m watching the set, speaking to the team. I’m just in the moment.

Did your father’s work in film ever feel connected to your own path once you became an actor?

It’s very weird because I’m not close to my father as an adult. I grew up with him as a kid, but as an adult, I’m not. We’re not close. We don’t see each other. And I never had the feeling that I was living like my dad. But definitely, in a way, I am. And I have lots of admiration for him, and the artistic side of me, in my blood, comes from him. The first time I did a TV interview, my sister sent me a video of him doing one too, and we were moving the same way. Our faces looked the same. And I was like, “What the fuck? It’s so weird.” I’m definitely proud to be his son.

When you first read a script, what usually makes you want to spend months living with a character?

Usually, it’s not only the character. I think I need to be moved by the story and to think, “I want this story to exist and to be a part of it because I’m moved by it.” Even in a spiritual way, I want it to exist and to be part of it. And if you do it, it’s going to exist for the world to experience it.

Corentin wears trousers and a jacket by 3.PARADIS, a tank top by GMBH, shoes by ROMBAUT, a necklace and ring by D’HEYGERE and glasses by IC! BERLIN

Corentin wears a total look by DIOR

Corentin wears a total look by DAVID KOMA, shoes by PRADA and a ring by D’HEYGERE

And how do you prepare for one?

It depends on the project. I have so many different ways. Sometimes I don’t do a lot of preparation because I feel like I just want to be surprised on set. Sometimes it’s a really long preparation. I do research. I love to meet people and be inspired by them. I work a lot with music too. For hours and hours, I build playlists and I just like to dream while listening to them. Sometimes I read books, watch movies — many different ways.

How did you prepare for your character in The White Lotus without giving anything away?

It’s hard not to spoil anything, but I can say I met with many people. People who made me think about the character through the way they live their lives. And I was also really trying to rely on what I carry within me and where the character and I meet. Sometimes I would ask friends of friends to have coffee with me, without really explaining why. Other times I would tell them. I was trying to steal things from them — their mood, the way they are, their values — that I could see were similar to the character’s. And I thought to myself, “Wow, I want to be like that. I want to act like them.”

What's the worst advice young actors constantly receive?

It’s a good question. I think the worst advice is to pretend like there is one particular way to do this job. Like in life, there are so many different paths you can take, so many different ways to get there. There isn’t one way to do this job. It really depends on your personality, on who you are. So I think the wrong advice would be to say that it has to be done in one way.

Has a scene ever felt like DÉJÀ VU because it brought you back to something you had already lived?

I would say all the time because, as actors, we play with our emotions, and all those emotions are based on things we’ve lived through, experiences we’ve had in life. For example, if you’re acting in a scene where you’re breaking up with your wife or girlfriend, we all know that feeling, you know? And sometimes you go back to bed after set and you’re really sad. I would say on every project you have this kind of moment where you think, “Wow, it feels like I’ve already lived this moment in my life.”

watch the film
/ with Corentin Fila for LE MILE Digital by Artem Sadovnikov

Corentin wears a total look by JUUN.J

Corentin wears a total look by BURBERRY and shoes by GUCCI

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talent   CORENTIN FILA
photography   BOYAN LI
creative direction   BOYAN LI
styling   CHIARA BOTTIN
hair   PIERRE GINSBURG
make up artist   JINDIAN YANG using ARMANI BEAUTY
first photography assistant   THOMAS LAPORTE
second photography assistant   HAN ZIXU
styling assistant   JULIETTE TANGUY
video   ARTEM SADOVNIKOV
production   MARIA VICTORIA RUSSO
location   HOTEL LES BAINS PARIS
special thanks to   STUDIO LA BRIQUE ROUGE

copyright LE MILE Magazine / Boyan Li

Franki Domino — The Art of Imagined Memories

perspectives

An Evening That Never Was With Franki Domino

interview + written AMANDA MORTENSON

Franki Domino emerged when Julien Pacaud’s long-established collage practice began opening into a much wider field of image-making. After more than two decades of working with found photographs and digital composition, generative AI introduced a new rhythm, a new volume of possibilities and a freedom that no longer fit comfortably within the visual language people already associated with his name. Franki Domino became the space in which those experiments could develop without having to explain themselves too early, allowing styles, atmospheres and references to shift until something coherent began to appear.

Evening Avant grew from that process of looking, selecting and recognising. The series was never planned around a fixed narrative, yet its images gradually began to share the same light, the same restraint and the same uncertain sense of time. Roads, cars, buildings and clothes carry traces of the twentieth century, though no single decade fully contains them. Evening settles over each scene without ever becoming night, leaving the characters suspended in moments that feel incomplete. Some are waiting, some are watching, some seem to have arrived too early or remained too long, and the spaces around them hold the quiet tension of a story that has not yet declared itself.

That atmosphere is closely tied to the way Domino understands visual memory, he describes his influences as a kind of magma made from films, books, music, photographs, conversations and everything else absorbed over time. These references return without preserving their original form, passing through instinct until they become part of a world that feels familiar without offering a clear point of recognition. The same is true of the solitude that runs through the series. It was never introduced as a subject, yet it appears repeatedly in the distance between figures, in the architecture around them and in the silence that seems to continue beyond the edge of the frame.

Generative AI gives Domino access to an enormous field of images, though the work begins through his decisions about what deserves to remain. Images may appear quickly, but the world of Evening Avant is built through the slower act of choosing which possibilities belong together. What finally emerges feels neither retrieved from a specific past nor projected toward a defined future. It exists in a parallel time of its own, close enough to memory to feel known and distant enough to resist explanation.


Franki Domino, Evening Avant
/ courtesy Franki Domino

Franki Domino, Evening Avant
/ courtesy Franki Domino

Amanda Mortenson
Who is Franki Domino to Julien Pacaud?

Franki Domino
Franki Domino was born for practical rather than conceptual reasons. I’ve worked as an illustrator and collage artist for more than twenty years, and people know me through a very specific visual language. When AI entered my practice, I suddenly found myself exploring many different aesthetics. My agent suggested creating a separate identity so there would be no confusion between my long-established collage work and these new experiments. Franki Domino isn’t another person. It’s simply the name under which I can freely explore everything AI makes possible.

Once Franki Domino found that freedom, how did Evening Avant begin to take shape?

There wasn’t a plan. That’s true of almost everything I make. I rarely begin with a fully formed concept. I let the work reveal itself as I go. With AI, generating images is easy. Choosing between them is where the work really begins. Evening wasn’t an idea I started with. It gradually emerged through that process of selection. More than the evening itself, I was drawn to an in-between state, a moment that’s difficult to define, where daylight hasn’t completely disappeared. I’m always trying to create places that remain slightly elusive.

Does the uncertainty of Evening Avant extend to time itself, and do you see the series as belonging to the past, the present or the future?

I’ve never been interested in placing my images within one clearly defined period. I’m naturally attracted to twentieth-century imagery, especially from the 1920s through to the 1980s. Those references have always been part of my visual vocabulary. But I’m not interested in recreating a particular decade. I prefer images that seem to exist outside historical certainty. I sometimes describe them as “perpendicular dreams” — parallel realities that briefly intersect with our own. I like worlds where you can’t quite say where they are or when they exist. That ambiguity is essential to me.

If Evening Avant doesn't belong to one particular time, why can an image of something that never happened still feel like a memory?

I’m not sure “memory” is the right word. Every viewer brings something different to an image, which is why I’m always reluctant to explain my work too much. I don’t want to tell people what they should see or feel. What interests me is whether an image can awaken something that already exists inside us. Sometimes that’s a memory. Sometimes it’s simply an emotion or an intuition we’ve never been able to put into words. For me, what matters isn’t whether an image is true or fictional. What matters is what it sets in motion.

What are your characters waiting for?

That’s exactly the kind of question I prefer to leave unanswered. I don’t believe there’s a single explanation, and I wouldn’t want to impose one if there were. If I answered today, it would only reflect how I feel today. Tomorrow, my answer might be different. I think mystery is part of the artwork itself. Once the image exists, it also belongs to the viewer, and I’m happy if someone sees something completely different from what I see.

Many of those characters seem to exist in their own worlds. What role does solitude play in Evening Avant?

Looking back, I realise solitude has always been present in my work, long before AI. It wasn’t a conscious decision while making this series. I never said to myself, “I’m going to make images about loneliness.” Those things emerge on their own. That’s true of many recurring themes in my work. They return because they’re part of me, not because I’ve planned them.

Franki Domino, Evening Avant
/ courtesy Franki Domino

Does that sense of solitude also shape the ambiguity in your images?

I’m not even sure I would call it unease. Some viewers may experience it that way, but that’s their reading, not my intention. What attracts me is uncertainty. Images become more interesting when they resist clear definition and leave room for doubt. I don’t consciously try to create discomfort. Through the process of choosing images, I’m simply drawn to those that contain a certain strangeness or ambiguity.

You have described your inspiration as a “magma” made from everything you have seen, read, heard and experienced. Which parts of that mental archive surfaced most clearly while creating Evening Avant?

I think that’s true of artistic creation in general. Every artist carries a mental archive made up of films, books, music, photographs, conversations and everything else they’ve absorbed throughout their life. Those references don’t remain separate. They melt together and eventually come back out in a form that’s unique to each person. In some ways, I think AI works similarly. It isn’t so different from the way artists have always worked, absorbing influences, transforming them and combining them into something personal. For Evening Avant, there wasn’t one dominant reference. What gradually emerged was a shared atmosphere, a certain light, a palette and a rhythm that simply felt right.

How does AI become part of that creative process?

For me, AI isn’t interesting because it can produce images quickly. It’s interesting because it opens an extraordinary number of possible directions. It allows me to explore visual territories that I couldn’t easily reach before. But that freedom also makes artistic judgement more important than ever. Working with AI is largely a process of selection. In a way, it turns the artist into an art director. Marcel Duchamp famously suggested that art is also a matter of choice, and I think that’s especially true here. AI constantly offers possibilities. The artwork is defined by the paths you choose to follow, and even more by the countless ones you decide to abandon.

Does the machine help you recover images that already existed somewhere in your imagination, or does it give you memories you never had?

I don’t think AI gives me memories I never had. What it can do is help me reach certain unconscious or intuitive places more quickly. Because it allows such a wide exploration of possibilities, it sometimes reveals something that was already there but hadn’t yet taken shape. It doesn’t invent those inner images. It simply makes them easier to discover.

Franki Domino, Evening Avant
/ courtesy Franki Domino

Franki Domino, Evening Avant
/ courtesy Franki Domino

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all art works (incl. header) courtesy Franki Domino

Langston Uibel - Acting, Identity and Louis Vuitton FW26

.cover story

Langston Uibel and the Reason Behind the Role

written + interview ALBAN E. SMAJLI

There is a moment in our conversation when Langston Uibel says that a project needs a clear reason to exist. He is speaking about the people behind the work, the perspective they bring and the commitment required to carry an idea through. The sentence lands almost casually, yet it explains much of the path he has taken across cinema, streaming and theatre, and his growing involvement in producing projects of his own.

At 28, Uibel is already testing how much responsibility an actor can take for the work around him. He speaks openly about early performances he would approach differently today, the assumptions that follow certain roles and the need to keep moving before a career begins to repeat itself. What emerges is an actor becoming increasingly precise about where he places his energy, and increasingly determined to help shape what comes next.

coat, jacket + ring LOUIS VUITTON

jacket, shirt, tie, shorts, socks, boots + ring LOUIS VUITTON

Alban E. Smajli
What holds your work together when every new project takes you into a completely different creative environment?

Langston Uibel
I had to learn on the job. I never had a classical education. So I was lucky enough to have these three Netflix shows: Dogs of Berlin, Unorthodox, and How to Sell Drugs Online Fast. I basically always had the opportunity to work with showrunners and creators who have a very distinguished approach to their respective projects.

And I think throughout my career, what holds everything together is that I’m always looking for somebody behind the project who has an absolute perspective and a concrete idea of what they want to do and a reason why they’re saying it. That’s always necessary for me. I don’t have to be on exactly the same page as everybody, but there has to be a subject to discuss. If somebody doesn’t know why we’re doing something, I’m not interested.

I always need to have people who feel like they need to do this, that there is a necessity behind this story and a necessity behind their vision. And that’s where collaboration starts, because that’s the way I approach it. I always come in with 150 percent. Nothing is ever blatant. There is nothing that doesn’t matter. Everything matters so much. And that’s what I need to have with the creators that I work with. At the moment, I feel like I’ve found that most in theatre and cinema. With Christian Petzold, but also with young directors like Jasmin Baumgartner and Romina Küper, as well as my mentor in theatre, Barbara Frey.

Has there ever been a role that felt like it completely disrupted the direction your career was taking?

Well, funny enough, I tend to see myself as quite a serious guy. I mean, I laugh with my friends, but in general I think people laugh way too easily. Everything is not always that fucking funny. Especially when people think they’re funny. Let the others be the judge of that. That also goes for comedies. If we’re talking about something disruptive, actually my next move is that I’m going to be in a children’s movie, Bibi Blocksberg. And I think these classic German children’s film productions have a certain vibe and a certain taste, which I really wanted to be part of.

One of my first film experiences was being an extra in the children’s movie Hanni & Nanni. And now to come back as a proper actor in Bibi Blocksberg, an absolutely legendary German children’s story, is a dream come true.

Have you ever thought twice about a role because of what it might lead to afterwards?

I feel like I grew up in a world where people would still say absolutely outrageous stuff, like you wouldn’t want to play a queer character too often because you would then only get cast as a queer person. I mean, even if that is true, I couldn’t care less. I try to have versatility in my characters, but people sometimes lack the concentration to really look at what makes a character different, the nuances of characters.

People will actually have the cheek to use things like skin colour, sexuality, or style as the differences between characters. Maybe my characters all happen to have a certain swagger, but underneath there are differences. I sometimes feel like that’s a problem in general. People have to understand that you are made of so many little particles and that you can be so many things at once.

After Roter Himmel, did you notice people expecting something different from you as an actor?

Well, working on Roter Himmel, English title Afire, was my absolute home run, because I knew I needed to exist within this kind of space. I needed to meet a director like Christian Petzold to be reassured that my take on art is valid and that it makes sense to dive even deeper and really find out. He gave me that last bit of self-esteem that I needed to know that I can create art and that I can be impactful. I want to develop my own taste.

That work was absolutely pivotal, and I took it into my work on Hijack now and also into everything I do in the future. For me, he will be a mentor. I hope we get to work together again, but even if not, this will be one of my most important experiences. The way he works and the way he sees art is just very similar to mine, and I’m absolutely thankful for that time in my life. But that was three years ago, and we have to move on.

earring, ring + bracelet LOUIS VUITTON

jacket, t-shirt, trousers, belt, socks, shoes + earring LOUIS VUITTON

What makes you trust a director enough to show them a side of your acting you haven’t explored yet?

One of my teachers in primary school said everybody’s best is different, but I think you should always try for the best. As long as everybody wants to try and people aren’t sloppy or lazy about things, things can happen. Things can go wrong. I’m 28, what do I know? But I’ve had experiences with directors who just don’t care, and I think it’s okay. In a capitalist society, you can have people who are not as ambitious, and it’s also fine to just do the bare minimum. I don’t judge that. But I just feel that if you’re only willing to do the bare minimum, then maybe being an artist doesn’t make that much sense.

What did your first season at the Burgtheater ask of you that film hadn’t prepared you for?

I just had to realise that film and theatre have more differences than similarities. In film, if you’re lucky enough, the director will be able to catch something while you’re living in the world that is set in front of the camera. The camera just passes by. The world should already exist. Theatre, for me, can only happen with the audience there. So you have to acknowledge the audience somehow. That doesn’t mean being loud and screaming and big, but you have to acknowledge the audience, even if it’s just through a thought.

I come from film. Film is the thing that I know more about. But I’m now about to do my second play with the same director, The Seagull by Chekhov at the Düsseldorfer Schauspielhaus. I just can’t wait to get back on stage. If I can do a play a year, that would be the perfect balance. And in general, the Burgtheater, where I’m still playing and where we’ve been renewed for a fourth season, has just reassured me that I can do it.

Did producing the KaDeWe film change the way you walk onto a set as an actor?

I just try to limit my commercial activities, but when I do something, I try to take it into my own hands and make sure that whatever I do, even if it’s commercial, shows my take on art, shows my perspective, and gives me the opportunity to express myself.

With KaDeWe, as well as now with the new film I’m about to release for Dr. Martens, which I executive produced, it has been a really nice school for me. It’s been preparation for my first feature film that I’m going to produce together with Jünglinge Film, where I will be playing one of the leads as well as being one of the executive producers. I think we’re looking to shoot in 2028 or 2029, so it will take a while. I am also working with C/O Berlin, where I’ll be producing an intervention performance for the exhibition of Carrie Mae Weems.

I have this notion that I want to take responsibility in the future as an actor, to bring these films into the world and to make my projects successful. Successful doesn’t only mean numbers. I want to make sure they’re relevant, connected to the zeitgeist, connected to debates, and that they make sense. I want to take that responsibility.

coat, jacket, trousers, shoes + eyewear LOUIS VUITTON

trousers, belt, earring, necklace, bracelet + rings LOUIS VUITTON

You work in both German and English. Does switching between the two change the rhythm of a character for you at all?

Oh, not really.

My main base is Berlin. My father has a bar called Dalston Jazz Bar in London, where I am a lot. I was incredibly lucky to shoot Hijack Season 2, the Apple TV series produced by Idris Elba, in London for around eight months last year, which was wonderful because I could work in my other home. For me, English and German are not something where I need to choose. I don’t need to choose one of these. Both are part of me.

Sometimes one language makes more sense. There are specific words that work better in one language, and I have people that I speak English with and use these specific words with, and then I have a German context where I speak German. I’m proud to be both, and I don’t have to choose.

When you look back at one of your earliest films, do you recognise anything in your acting that’s still there today?

No, sometimes I feel a little bit of shame because I started so young. I think I needed the time to understand the importance of my job. I never went to acting school, and my family doesn’t have any connection to the industry. You have to learn certain codes. You have to learn how to talk about it. And I wish I had given myself more time to learn before jumping into projects.

There are some projects where I feel I could have done better, and that hurts sometimes.

If we jump ten years ahead, what would you like audiences to say about the range of roles you chose?

Oh, I don’t know about the range.

In ten years, I just really want to make sure that the dreams I have and keep in my heart sometimes come true. It needs to work. I need this. And I hope that I can just play my part in this world somehow. Even if it’s a small one, I really hope that I can leave an impact.

shirt, trousers, shoes, earring, bracelet + ring LOUIS VUITTON

jacket + earring LOUIS VUITTON

bag LOUIS VUITTON

sweater, shirt, tie, trousers, shoes + bag LOUIS VUITTON

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talent LANGSTON UIBEL
photography FREDERIK RÜGGER
styling KLAAS HAMMER
hair + make up ILYA FESENKO
editor ALBAN E. SMAJLI
special thanks to THEATERKUNST

credits
all Images (c) LE MILE
and Federik Rügger

Audrey Nuna on KPop Demon Hunters

perspectives

A Little Birdie With Audrey Nuna

written + interview HANNAH ROSE PRENDERGAST

In hindsight, Courage the Cowardly Dog is such a funny cartoon for my dad to be watching. I think it’s just a fascination with humanness. There was a period when I felt disconnected from that, and it showed. My second album is an exploration of trying to remember who I am.

Audrey wears a coat by COMME DES GARÇONS and shoes by COMME DES GARÇONS x JOHN FLUEVOG

Growing up in suburban New Jersey, I felt ostracized for the way that I looked. Seeing everybody hop on Korean culture was redemptive for my inner child, like, ha. Kimbap is smelly, but it’s fire.

There are a lot of people who don’t believe in you, and being able to give them a wink feels good. I was proud of myself and everyone in KPop Demon Hunters who’s had to navigate an industry that didn’t really know where to place them. The film taught me how music can be a form of service. I want to be a better storyteller so that when someone hears my songs, it’s not about me, but it’s about them.

I always thought success was a huge crowd singing back your lyrics. But it should also be measured by how truthfully those words connect with people. I don’t want to have a massive career if I don’t mean it.

The most amazing things in life are the most ordinary things, like the joy of playing hwatu or Go-Stop. With the Thom Browne look for the Grammys, some of the fabric was muslin, which I saw so much of as a kid in my family’s garment factory. They also left the stitching exposed to speak to this idea of loving your craft even if it’s not perfect. In fashion, it’s the details I find compelling.

Even for the Met Gala, I wore a piece by Robert Wun about stains of the past and making something beautiful out of your pain. It’s such a democratizing and neutralizing human experience. What really makes a person is what they decide to do with that pain. You can juice it, you can prune it, you can bake it, you can flash fry it, you can do anything with it.

“superHuman” is about wanting to feel everything and being able to express it. A lot of my best work comes from feeling free to be curious and ask questions rather than answer correctly.

Serendipity actually comes from seasons of winter. It takes patience and belief that those moments belong to all of us. I also trust in the process and, to a certain extent, the vibes. I used to hate that word when I moved to LA.

I’m carrying every version of me on my head. I think there’s power in the way hair continues to grow. In the Joseon era, it was seen as a source of strength, so you didn’t cut it. For me, it’s about my ancestors. Our hair is probably very similar.I think you have to hold onto parts of yourself, not to let them weigh you down, but to remember where you came from. My mom is hoarding my baby teeth in a box somewhere, I’m pretty sure.

Audrey wears a dress by QUINE LI and shoes by MAISON MARGIELA

Audrey wears a dress by QUINE LI and shoes by MAISON MARGIELA

Audrey wears a top by KIDSUPER, a skirt by CURIEL and shoes by TAOTTAO

Audrey wears a shirt and skirt by CURIEL and shoes by MAISON MARGIELA

Audrey wears a dress by QUINE LI

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talent   AUDREY NUNA
photography   STEFEN POMPÉE
styling   PACO LAMPECINADO
creative direction   PACO LAMPECINADO + AUDREY NUNA
hair   AKIHISA YAMAGUCHI
make up artist   MITCH YOSHIDA
assistant   VICTORIA GODELIVA
production   PACO LAMPECINADO + MUSICISMUSE
production assistant   HAL GOETZINGER
studio courtesy of   ANGELA KWON

copyright LE MILE Magazine / Stefen Pompée

Russell Young — Inside Marilyn 100

perspectives

Russell Young Knows Why Marilyn Still Won’t Die

interview + written JONATHAN BERGSTRÖM

British-American artist Russell Young, through his large-scale silk screen paintings, is best known for his explorations of the nature of fame and cultural mythology. After beginning his career photographing musicians including George Michael, The Smiths, and Bruce Springsteen, and later directing over 100 music videos during the height of MTV, Young has since developed a visual practice centered around the icons and images that define popular culture.

His latest series, MARILYN 100, celebrates the centennial of Marilyn Monroe through a yearlong program of exhibitions and new works created in collaboration with the Marilyn Monroe Estate and Authentic Brands Group. Given access to the Estate’s archives, Young revisits one of the most photographed figures in history through his signature hand-pulled (and often diamond-dusted) silk screens, exploring the person behind the myth and the lasting power of image that continues to remain relevant across generations.

In this new interview with LE MILE, Young discusses his lifelong fascination with Marilyn Monroe, the influence of Andy Warhol, his years photographing cultural icons, and how ideas of fame, memory, and personal history continue to shape his work.

Russell Young, MARILYN 100
/ courtesy Taglialatella Galleries

Russell Young
/ courtesy Taglialatella Galleries

Jonathan Bergström
MARILYN 100 marks the centennial of one of the most photographed and mythologized figures in modern history. How did you approach such an iconic figure through your own perspective?

Russell Young
What’s fascinating about Marilyn is that everyone already has their own relationship with her. I think Picasso and Warhol really understood the power of repetition. For a while, I moved away from that idea, but eventually I started to understand how repeating an image creates a different relationship between the artwork and the viewer. That was something I explored with Marilyn. I wasn’t trying to reinvent her. I was interested in finding the essence of what makes her image continue to resonate.

Marilyn has often existed somewhere between a real person and a collective dream. Who is she to you, and what does she symbolize in your work?

Marilyn has always been in my life. I discovered her when I was growing up in the north of England. The world around me then was very grey and tough. My father understood that I was artistic and introduced me to films, museums, and culture. Through that, I found Marilyn. She symbolized escapism to me. She represented something completely different from the environment I was growing up in. For me, because I never met her and never lived in the same period as her, she exists almost as a myth. But there was also a real person behind that mythology.

I think people forget how forward-thinking she was. She understood the industry she was in and she pushed back against it by starting her own production company. Marilyn represents both things to me: the dream and the reality. Beauty and glamour but also strength and independence. I think time creates icons, and Marilyn has become bigger than herself.

For MARILYN 100, you are given access to the Marilyn Monroe Estate archives. What was the experience of going through those materials like?

It was incredible. I thought that I'd seen almost every photograph of Marilyn, but suddenly I was discovering images I had never come across before. What fascinated me was the intimacy behind some of those photographs. I met photographer Sam Shaw’s granddaughter and we talked about his images of Marilyn in Central Park. I asked her how he captured such a personal connection. She told me Sam didn’t drive, and when he was working in Hollywood, someone at the studio asked Marilyn if she could drive him to the set each day. That’s how their friendship started. As a photographer, I’ve looked at thousands of images, and you can see when there is a real connection between the photographer and the subject. You recognize those magic moments.

At first, I focused more on Marilyn as the icon, the mythology, but going through these archives made me want to explore the more personal side of her as well.

You’ve spent much of your career exploring cultural icons and the complexities behind fame. What is it about Marilyn’s image and legacy that continues to fascinate you?

I’m fascinated by why certain people rise to the surface and become something larger. Sometimes it’s talent, sometimes charisma, sometimes timing or luck. Marilyn had that rare quality. The more artists interpret her, the stronger the mythology becomes. Marilyn keeps changing because every generation finds something new in her. That’s what fascinates me, how someone who is no longer alive can still feel so present.

Andy Warhol transformed Marilyn into one of the defining images of the 20th century, and you now work with a printing press once used by Warhol himself. What does that connection mean to you?

Seeing Warhol’s Marilyn images probably made me fall even more in love with her. His colors and repetition added another layer of mystery. Working with materials connected to that history is very special. The printmaking press we use was used by Warhol, and I have some of his old screens as well. I never say which ones I use, but I like knowing that the history and energy of those objects continue into new work.

Before becoming known as a visual artist, you photographed musicians and cultural figures like George Michael, The Smiths, and Bruce Springsteen. How did those years behind the camera influence your understanding of fame as a concept?

Being around those people taught me that some individuals have something different. There is an aura around certain people. A presence. It’s hard to explain because sometimes it appears and disappears, but there is something that makes them resonate.

I photographed many talented people who history forgot because they didn’t have that extra quality or the right moment. That has always interested me, why some people become part of culture forever and others don’t.

Russell Young
arilyn Crying small Diamond, Earth Blue, 2024
acrylic, oil-based ink and diamond dust hand-pulled screen print on linen
28 × 21 inches
/ courtesy Russell Young

Throughout your career, you’ve revisited some of the most recognizable images in popular culture. What responsibility comes with reimagining images that hold so much cultural significance?

Sometimes I feel like I’m a keeper of these images. I work incredibly hard to find the right photographs and get them right. The lengths I go through can be crazy.
But at the same time, it’s still my interpretation. Even words can be misunderstood and images are even more open to interpretation. Sometimes I create something and someone sees it completely differently, but I think that’s up to the viewer. They decide what it means to them.

Your own story has been shaped by questions of identity, memory, and personal history. Has creating work around cultural icons ever become a way of understanding yourself?

I think everything you create contains parts of yourself. I was adopted and I moved around a lot as a child, so I think I was always searching and looking at the world differently. The people and images I’m drawn to—Marilyn, musicians, rebels, outsiders—there’s usually something about them that connects with me personally. I’ve always been interested in people who stand apart or challenge expectations.

Much of your process is intensely physical, from hand-pulled silk screens to experimenting with unconventional materials. What does that physical connection to the artwork bring to your creative process?

That physicality is everything. When I’m in my studio, there are no phones, no computers, no distractions. I just have an old record player, and I completely disappear into the work. Hours go by without me realizing. That’s where the magic happens, when you lose yourself. The process is physical, but it’s also emotional.

After I became seriously ill with the H1N1 virus in 2010, that physical connection became even more important. I was in a coma and I had to rebuild myself. Coming back into the studio, pulling screens and making work with my hands helped me regain that strength. There was a moment where I thought, “Okay, I’m back.” I think that experience changed the way I approach everything. I stopped worrying as much about what other people think and focused on creating what feels true to me.

You’ve often worked with images connected to nostalgia, old Hollywood, counterculture, and the American West. Are you interested in preserving these myths or challenging them?

I think it’s both. I’m interested in preserving the power of these images, but also bringing my own perspective to them. I’ve always been drawn to cultural moments and people who represent something larger like Muhammad Ali, Marilyn Monroe, the Sex Pistols, the American West. They become symbols, but everyone sees those symbols differently.

Looking back from your early series Pig Portraits to your current Marilyn series, has your relationship with celebrity culture changed? If so, how?

I think it has changed, but the world has probably changed more than I have. The obsession with celebrity today is on another level. We have access to everything and everyone all the time, but I still believe real icons will exist. There are still ridiculously talented people in the world. The difference is that icons are created over time, history decides who lasts. People like Marilyn, John Lennon, and Warhol continue to live on because every generation discovers them again.

Russell Young, MARILYN 100
/ courtesy Taglialatella Galleries

Russell Young, MARILYN 100
/ courtesy Taglialatella Galleries

Inside Grebnellaw’s Red-and-White Universe

perspectives

Grebnellaw Is Moving Into Prime Real Estate

LE MILE

Grebnellaw has kept the work almost entirely red and white for years. The restriction began because too many choices were getting in the way, so a colour code became an obstacle that could force decisions and keep what Grebnellaw calls the “red thread” intact. It is starting to crack. Black, silver and gold were always part of the full system, and the two-colour period may now be nearing its end. The music has been equally difficult to pin down. Songs stayed off streaming because the instrumentals kept changing between performances, until SUPERSAVE THE WORLD broke the rule. Its first performance involved 25 people onstage; later it became a recording, and the version being played now has already changed again, slowed down enough for the lyrics to come further forward.

Grebnellaw
/ photographed by Daniil Kudriavtcev

Grebnellaw
/ photographed by Daniil Kudriavtcev

The early New Population began as digital portraits assembled from consumer debris and material found online, but their stillness eventually became frustrating. Grebnellaw wanted them to move and began building a population that other people could physically enter. Transsy can walk through Milan fascinated by gravity and the strange reliability of a coffee cup remaining where it was left, then feel completely misplaced on a drag-show stage. Pussy the Cat, meanwhile, has just returned from a large performance at Berns Salonger and is currently at home “recharging,” waiting for another reason to appear. In January, Grebnellaw plans to sleep inside Konstakademien, an old palace beside Rosenbad, surrounded by unfinished inflatable creatures and copies of classical sculpture. The home studio already contains deflated red vinyl skins, discarded textiles and electronic tracks sitting unfinished on hard drives. Grebnellaw does not always know whether a character is being made or discovered. Usually, the answer comes when it starts behaving like one.

Grebnellaw
/ photographed by Daniil Kudriavtcev

LE MILE
For years you deliberately kept most of the songs off streaming because they changed from performance to performance. Then you released SUPERSAVE THE WORLD. What made that particular song worth fixing into one version?

Grebnellaw
I think SUPERSAVE THE WORLD was a bit of an anomaly. There was an urgency to it. It felt like an anthem or protest song filtered through hyperpop, and it demanded to exist as a recording. Maybe it wanted to be something people could scream together in a mosh pit. The first time we played it was as part of a huge Grebnellaw performance with 25 people on stage. It was completely insane. At that point I was much more interested in letting the instrumentals mutate with every performance, but this song somehow overrode me. It basically overwrote my instructions.
And ironically, the instrumental version I’m performing now is completely different from the recording. It’s slower and more downtempo, which I love because it brings the lyrics forward: “Evil forces can’t catch us / we’re too savvy and smart for that.” It feels empowering.
Since then I’ve written a lot of new music. It takes me time to get the words right, but I’ve also started thinking about some kind of release. It doesn’t have to be the definitive version of something. It can just be another mutation.

Red and white began partly as a way of reducing too many choices, and you once described it as an experiment to see how long the system could last before it broke down. Has it ever come close to breaking?

The system has definitely cracked, but it hasn’t fallen apart. Nuances have started appearing, and I actually think they produce a better kind of chaos. Every time I explain the colour code, I discover another aspect of how it works. Of course, that’s the point.
I realised I needed an obstacle, so I turned the colour code into a limitation. A visual code to hold the chaos together.It has dictated almost every choice, forcing me to literally keep the red thread intact. Perhaps I need more obstacles. I think I do.
But the full colour code was always bigger: red, white, black, silver and gold. So far, red and white have been enough. The two-colour phase might be coming to an end. I have a feeling the rest of the spectrum is getting restless.

The early New Population was made from the debris of consumer culture, while the Grebnellaws were described as something more organic, almost like climate refugees. Do you still recognise that distinction when you look at the population now?

I have this strange population around me and I’m trying to figure out what it wants. It existed long before I had the language or tools to render it.
The early New Population were digital portraits made from the debris of human consumer culture and the internet. Literal trash transformed into identity. At first I thought my mission was simply to make portraits of them, but then their stillness started bothering me. I wanted them to move.
That desire was one of the things that opened the door to Grebnellaw. What had been images became bodies, costumes, music and performance. Other people could enter the population too, bringing their own bodies and interpretations into it. The work became something that could move between galleries, underground clubs, public spaces, fountains, shopping malls, empty streets, tunnels and botanical gardens.

Transsy went to Milan and became fascinated by gravity, stationary coffee cups, and the fact that ordinary clothes were not made for their body. When you write from inside a character like that, what do you notice about everyday life that you probably ignore as yourself?

Through Transsy’s eyes, everyday life becomes completely absurd. Guards and police tell me to leave, while on the next street someone wants to photograph me or assumes I’m a mascot or an eccentric ice-cream vendor. But Transsy is also fascinated by the physical world. The fact that a stationary coffee cup stays exactly where you leave it feels almost miraculous. Particles behave in ways that are completely alien to everyday experience, while a coffee cup just sits there, absolutely committed to one location.
There’s something of Prince Myshkin from Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot” in Transsy: a very bubbly saint dropped in the wrong dimension, perhaps. Performing from inside Transsy can actually be quite awkward because I experience them as very shy and innocent. They don’t have an extroverted energy. Walking the streets of Milan works beautifully, but putting Transsy on a stage can feel strangely unnatural. I once performed Transsy in a drag show and felt completely lost.

Grebnellaw
/ photographed by Daniil Kudriavtcev

Grebnellaw
/ photographed by Daniil Kudriavtcev

Pussy the Cat apparently became so beautiful that beauty itself was supposed to cause panic attacks and social-media storms. Where is Pussy now?

Pussy is thriving, obviously. She’s probably somewhere with very good lighting, taking another selfie with the Kitty Cunts. Mostly she’s recharging after last weekend’s monster-scale Grebnellaw performance at Berns Salonger in Stockholm. She had some serious competition in the diva department from the rising icon and real-life performer Beata Mona Lisa (BEA) who performed “La Vie en Rouge”, not “La Vie en Rose”. It gave us all goosebumps.
For a moment it looked like high drama was about to erupt: a brutal catfight between Pussy and Bea. Somehow it completely flipped into the sweetest friendship. So Pussy is currently in peaceful deactivation in my home studio, surrounded by the secret red-and-white holy grail, recharging her batteries and waiting for the perfect moment to completely deep-fry the timeline again.

You performed at Konstakademien’s official celebration in 2025. Now you’re returning with Butcherqueen and Leffe Crumlove to enter its collection as what the project calls an “infection.” What changed between those two invitations?

The first invitation was to perform at their annual celebration. This time we weren’t invited by the institution itself, but by 6film / Cinemaqueer. We took over the auditorium for a small performance with Butcherqueen and Leffe Crumlove, but I wrote a proper script for it. The building is so pristine and historically loaded that it almost tells you how you’re supposed to behave. I wanted to work against that. I wanted to trace the ghosts in those rooms: to read the collection, the marble, and the things deliberately left out.

Your January exhibition says you will “camp out” among unfinished inflatable creatures inside Konstakademien. Are you literally planning to live in the gallery?

Yes. I am literally planning to live in the gallery. We’re talking about prime real estate. Konstakademien is an old palace next to Rosenbad, where the Swedish Prime Minister works. So I thought: why not move in?
I love the idea of living there and having visitors hang out with me in my boudoir, where the boundary between studio, dream state and exhibition disappears. And, of course, being surrounded by copies of famous sculptures. But I don’t really think of myself as the person who created this whole population and then put it into the gallery. I feel more like one of its members who happens to have access to the space. By sleeping, breathing, and working inside the installation, the exhibition can remain alive. It stays an active event rather than something completed and frozen.

What is lying around your studio right now that has not become a character yet?

Right now my home is basically a crime scene of future characters. There are deflated skins of red vinyl, scraps of second-hand textiles, foam fragments, prototypes of inflatable bodies, and electronic tracks trapped inside hard drives. A tiny piece of shiny silver. Most of it isn’t a character or an object yet. It’s just raw matter waiting for something to happen.
Sometimes I don’t know whether I’m making a Grebnellaw or discovering one. I usually know something has become a Grebnellaw when it starts behaving like one.

Grebnellaw
/ photographed by Daniil Kudriavtcev

The Personal Edit of Joseph Bass *Paris Fashion Week

#ThePersonalEdit

Joseph Bass Opens His Camera Roll From Paris Fashion Week

written LE MILE

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Joseph Bass opens his camera roll from Paris Fashion Week, sharing the week as he experienced it between shows, collections and the city itself. His pictures take us from Concept Korea and Kenzo to Sandro and a private visit with Dior, before Paris takes over with vintage stores, late-night rides and after-parties.

The Barcelona- and Paris-based model and content creator moves naturally through the fashion world, with his camera roll showing a more personal side of Paris Fashion Week. Between appointments, there is still time for vintage stores, tourist moments and simply enjoying the city. From Casablanca after dark to a French breakfast the morning after, Bass shares the Paris that happened around the official schedule.

A tourist selfie with a view at the Sandro after-party

Waiting for the Bonbom show for Concept Korea to begin

Paris <3

Uber rides hits different in Paris

Red lights at CASABLANCA after party

Wearing new KENZO collection

weekly outfits

quick check to the SANDRO new collection

A tour of the city’s best vintage stores

A little bit of aesthetics was a must

French breakfast

Discovering the story behind the name, a private tour with Dior

Casablanca after party

The best tour around the city with Uber

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all images
(c) Joseph Bass

Just AMA

Ama Writes Her Way Back

interview + written ALBAN E. SMAJLI

When AMA is asked how her London upbringing enters her songwriting, she points to “packed bags at sainsburys” and “blacked out bally and a new north face”. These are details a listener can picture immediately, drawn from the city in which she grew up with Guyanese and English roots. “There is so much of myself in my work that my London upbringing can’t help being a part of it,” she says. A question about identity gets an answer grounded in an errand and the clothes people wear.

AMA wears a dress by FERRARI, earrings by ALEXIS BITTAR and cuffs by DSQUARED2

For her new album, AMA, being understood became a priority. “I wanted the music to be simpler and easy to digest,” she says. AMA describes having hidden behind cryptic writing, leaving listeners to decipher what she meant. Now she wants them to hear how she actually thinks. “My real voice, I think. In all senses.”

The decision followed a writing block unlike anything she had experienced before. After her last album, the songs stopped coming. “I was only able to return to it when I wrote the truth,” she says. “The song would only solidify when I was singing about my real perspective.” As the new record took shape, Ama Lou became AMA. She chose the name she uses in everyday life to reflect how she wanted to appear in the work. “I really just wanted to show up as myself.”
She began writing songs at eleven, and her attachment to melody has survived each change since. “The melodies of a song and how it flows are the most important part to me,” she says. She describes an innate understanding of satisfying structures and melodic hooks, adding that she has “not always acted on them”. For a meaningful collaboration, her requirement is “that they care”.

AMA wears a dress by BLUMARINE

Writing from her own perspective still allows her to invent somebody else. On “So...”, she adopts a male point of view, enjoying the opportunity to play a character as she does in her videos. “It’s honestly just really fun,” she says, and she wants to do more of it. She sees a place for both songs that tell the truth and songs that tell a story, each capable of connecting with people differently. For “Need It Bad”, the subject that interested her was “the desire itself”. She describes the space around her vocal in terms of what a listener might bring to a song. “I think it allows space for the listener to relate to it,” she says. “I love that everyone relates to my music and lyrics in different ways so personal to them.” She wants people to understand her perspective; their experience of the song need not match the experience that produced it.

AMA wears a dress by FERRARI, earrings by ALEXIS BITTAR and cuffs by DSQUARED2

AMA wears a dress by EMILIO PUCCI, earrings by SUSANA VEGA and a necklace by ALEXIS BITTAR

AMA wears a dress by COLLINA STRADA

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talent   AMA
photo   STEFEN POMPÉE
fashion + hair   MARTY HARPER
make up   SHANNON RODRIGUEZ
creative direction    PACO LAMPECINADO
assistants   MARCELLA ANTIKO + IAN ALVAREZ WARD
production   PACO LAMPECINADO + MUSICISMUSE
copyright LE MILE Magazine / Stefen Pompée

The Atanga Twins Come as a Set

Carlsen and Curtis Atanga, Double Vision

One of Us Is a Meal, Together We’re the Banquet

LE MILE

Carlsen and Curtis Atanga exist in stereo, two voices layered over each other, finishing sentences, finishing outfits, finishing the thought before it has even landed. Estate sales and anime, Gucci trenches and rooftop escapes, hopeless romance and twin telepathy, the catalogue of their world reads like a mood board spilled across the floor of a studio that never sleeps. They speak about fashion as if it were oxygen, something you exhale without noticing, something that signals identity before a word is spoken, and they step into every room aware that their presence carries charge, two Black twins moving through high fashion with looks that spark questions, disrupt stereotypes, amplify visibility.

Carlsen and Curtis Atanga wear coats by TAREET and boots by DSQUARED2

Carlsen and Curtis Atanga wear coats by TAREET and boots by DSQUARED2

Carlsen builds rooms around vintage finds, entire atmospheres imagined from a single object, while Curtis folds lyrics into melodies he insists sound great even without an audience, claiming food or song as his fallback languages when the phone screen goes dark. Dreams drift into their daily reality with little ceremony, stories rehearsed in sleep and retold as memory, proof that their ideas are always half a step from manifestation. Atanga as a set, never as a single, a vibe that comes in doubles, meals that only make sense served as banquet, patience for nothing less.

They trade closets, steal archives, guard secrets, confess to coding in silence, the analog residue of their cybersecurity degrees lingering under the gloss of editorials. They joke about switching places on bookings, they joke about candy jars, they joke about walking out after five seconds, but the undercurrent is serious, a refusal to dilute the package. The Atanga Twins arrive together, leave together, live together in the mirrored rhythm of reflection and echo, a double vision that insists on being seen in full.

Carlsen Atanga wears a wool coat by CHEN SIFAN, shorts by MOUTY and shoes by CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN. Curtis Atanga wears a coat by MOUTY and shoes by CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN.

LE MILE
Phones buried under socks and lost dreams, you breathe real air and maybe remember boredom. What do your hands do, suddenly jobless?

Carlsen
I’ve got a big passion for vintage interior décor. I’d probably be driving to an estate sale, because that’s where the real treasures hide. I spot a vintage piece and instantly start imagining a whole space built around it.

Curtis
Music has always been my second language. If I can’t scroll on my phone, I’d probably start creating and reinventing my own lyrics to a famous song. And not to brag, but I sound really good. If I’m not singing, I’m probably eating.

Somewhere in the real world, a stranger makes eye contact. Does your soul freeze, or do you wave back like nothing ever happened?

Wave back, for sure. We have this motto of putting out positive vibes everywhere we go. You never know how much that small moment can mean to someone.

Everyone’s busy career-ing, collecting jobs like stickers, but let’s talk about the one gig you’d take even if it meant showing up as just a single Atanga.

There’s no “single” Atanga gig. We’re a package deal. If one’s there, the other’s there. ALWAYS.

Dreams filed under D for “Double Vision.” Ever get them mixed up with reality, or is reality just what you make while nobody’s looking?

Curtis
I mix them up all the time. I’ll dream about something so vividly, like walking in a show or meeting someone, and a week later I’ll start telling the story like it actually happened. Carlsen’s always like, “Curtis… that was a dream.” But honestly, I think that’s why my reality feels so alive. I treat the wild ideas in my head like they’re just waiting their turn to happen.

Carlsen
Yes, always. You’ve got to dream first before you can make it real. That’s literally how most of our ideas start.

Is fashion your first language, or is it just the easiest one to shout in across a crowded room where everybody’s already pretending they can’t hear?

Our first language is definitely our twin telepathy, haha. Fashion is our most fluent one. We’ve been finishing each other’s sentences since we were kids, but now we finish each other’s outfits too. It’s the language that lets us represent exactly who we are before we even open our mouths. Being two Black twins in high fashion, we know that every look we put together can challenge a stereotype, spark curiosity, or make someone feel seen. Fashion is our way of saying, “We exist, and we exist loudly.”

Every day, new room, new mirror, same faces. Do you wink at your own reflection, or do you wait for your brother to go first?

Carlsen
Curtis always strikes first. I usually just follow his lead.

Curtis
That would probably be me because I know Carlsen will wait for me to go first, lol.

Carlsen Atanga wears a bomber jacket by Y-3, a shirt by NADAV PERLMAN, shorts by MOUTY and shoes by CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN. Curtis Atanga wears a bomber jacket and shirt by ZELIG DAVOULT, pants by EUGENIA ALONSO and moccasins by JACQUEMUS

Carlsen Atanga wears a jacket and skirt by Y-3 and Tabi boots by MAISON MARGIELA. Curtis Atanga wears a shirt and skirt by Y-3 and Tabi boots by MAISON MARGIELA

Some say you can only wear one look at a time, some say twins double the fun. You say what, exactly, when someone asks for “the Atanga vibe” and only brings enough snacks for one?

The Atanga vibe only exists when we’re both in the room. If there’s only enough snacks for one, we’ll politely remind them they didn’t place the full order. The Atanga vibe comes as a set. One of us alone is a meal, but together we’re the full banquet. Why settle for a bite when you can have the whole feast?

What’s the movie you watch when you’re both pretending to sleep, lights off, volume down, the plot unravels like a really good outfit that almost gets away?

Carlsen
Call Me by Your Name. What can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic. The music, the scenery, the way it’s shot… it’s that perfect mix of slow, romantic, and unforgettable, like a summer you never want to end.

Curtis
To be honest, I would probably be watching anime instead of a movie. Either Black Clover or Hunter x Hunter. I love anime because it’s about worlds where you can reinvent the norms of a typical movie plot. Where are my anime lovers at?

Brand loyalty or brand mischief — who’s got the better archive in your closet, and are you ever going to let them in on the secret?

Carlsen
Me, no questions asked. Curtis can’t even argue, he’s always in my closet. He’s probably still jealous of my vintage Kendra Scott x Gucci trench, lol. The secret? Definitely estate sales. Everyone sleeps on those.

Curtis

Carlsen, for sure. I’m so jealous of some of his pieces. I don’t know how he always finds the best stuff.

A hobby that can’t be posted, a pleasure that leaves no digital trace — is there anything left for the analog gods, or have they all gone home?

Coding. I know, crazy! But we did graduate with a degree in cybersecurity. We’re secretly a bit of nerds.

Twins in the industry. Do you ever swap lives for a booking just to see if anyone’s awake?

Not yet. But one day we will, and no one will know until they see the behind-the-scenes years later.

Someone says, “We’ll take just one twin today, the other can wait outside.” How long do you let them think that’s an option before you both walk out?

Carlsen
Five seconds, max.

Curtis

If there’s a candy jar, I would grab some first, but five seconds MAX.

Carlsen and Curtis Atanga wear pants by TAREET and mules by ACNE STUDIOS

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creative direction + photography   OLESYA PARFENYUK
styling   TENWI ARCHIVE
talent   CARLSEN ATANGA + CURTIS ATANGA
agency   FORD MODELS
movement director   EXO BORGIAL
make up artist   SOPHIA GUNEV
hair   SUNDIA WEN
styling assistant   LUCAS LAURENT-CARUGE
copyright LE MILE Magazine / Olesya Parfenyuk