DRAGON PONY *South Korea’s Rising K-Pop Band

DRAGON PONY
When Four Players Collapse Into One Sound

interview + written AMANDA MORTENSON

Dragon Pony belong to a generation of South Korean bands quietly reopening the space for guitars, drums and collective noise inside a musical ecosystem famous for precision pop engineering. Formed by Ahn Tae-gyu, Kwon Se-hyuk, Pyun Sung-hyun and Ko Gang-hun, the four-piece operates within a musical landscape long dominated by tightly produced pop systems. Their work moves in a different direction, built around live instrumentation, collective songwriting and the physical intensity of performance, Dragon Pony position the band itself as the central creative unit.

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Each member brings a distinct role into that structure. Tae-gyu’s voice anchors the group’s melodic direction, Se-hyuk’s guitar frames its tonal identity, Sung-hyun’s bass provides the gravitational core, while Gang-hun’s drumming defines the band’s rhythmic architecture. Together, these elements produce a sound shaped as much by chemistry as by composition.

The band’s thinking about music often extends beyond technical language and performance becomes a shared environment where stage and audience collapse into a single moment of exchange. In this conversation with LE MILE, Dragon Pony reflect on sound, time, collaboration and the subtle mechanics that allow four musicians to merge into one evolving presence.

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Amanda Mortenson
When the four of you walk into a room together, what kind of silence follows you — quiet curiosity, anticipation, or something else entirely?

Ahn Tae-gyu
Before a show, I think it’s a “silence of preparation and excitement,” where anticipation and nervousness coexist - hoping that everything we’ve prepared will be delivered well to everyone who came to see us. And after the show, it feels like a “silence of reflection,” as we slowly let the heat and energy from the stage settle and look back on whether Dragon Pony’s message and energy truly came through.

Tae-gyu, if your voice could melt and take a new shape, what would it become when it cools again?

Ahn Tae-gyu
If I borrow the idea of melting and taking on a new form, I think when it solidifies again it would become something like an even harder metal. The stories and emotions that melt and flow through me would eventually become stronger, more solid.

Ko Gang-hun, drummers often speak through impact. What’s the most delicate sound you’ve ever tried to create — and did anyone notice?

Ko Gang-hun
I don’t think the sounds I make are very close to “delicacy,” so I haven’t had many experiences like that! But one thing comes to mind. When I fall for a drummer, I tend to try to imitate everything about him very meticulously - their motions, gestures, even the tone of their kit.
There was a time when I was completely captivated by Thomas Hedlund, the session drummer for the band Phoenix, and I was trying to copy everything about his playing. During that period, a fan once told me that my snare tone reminded them of Thomas’s snare, and I still remember that.

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What’s the most unexpected sound you’ve ever decided to keep in a song?

Pyun Sung-hyun
Before recording bass, I once accidentally captured some noise. I liked the feel of it, so I sampled it and used it as an FX sound.

Sung-hyun, you once said the bass feels like gravity. What happens when you want to escape it?

Pyun Sung-hyun
Whenever I want to escape that gravity, I do my own personal work - taking photos or videos, or trying to make new music. I step away from what’s familiar for a moment and do the things I personally want to do.

Imagine Dragon Pony performing for someone who’s never experienced music before. How would you describe what’s about to happen — without using words like song, beat, or emotion?

Kwon Se-hyuk
(Dragon Pony = 4 / The people joining the show = X)
(4 + X) = 1
Thump thump thump, boom boom boom, waaaah ÷ (4 + X) = ♡

(Interpretation: When Dragon Pony and the audience come together, they become one - and when that show ends, what remains is love.)

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Se-hyuk, if your guitar suddenly refused to play anything “beautiful,” where would you take it to make peace?

Kwon Se-hyuk
I’d take the guitar to the cinema, into nature, to see people - and to meet the people who’ve been waiting for our music - and then come back.

Who in the band has the best relationship with time and who’s always challenging it?

Ko Gang-hun The person who gets along best with time - and the one who has to - is probably me, the drummer. Because drums are tempo itself.
And the person who goes against time - and has to do it well - is Tae-gyu, our vocalist. Sometimes it’s amazing when sounds are played precisely and meticulously inside the tempo, but there are also times when what feels best is playing freely and comfortably without being obsessed with tempo - and I think that’s something unique to the human voice.

There’s always one instant on stage when you stop being four people and turn into one sound. What triggers that moment for you?

Kwon Se-hyuk
I think the time we’ve spent playing together and living together is what allows us to come together as one. That collective synergy is the band’s identity, and depending on what kinds of times we continue to share, we’ll keep growing and changing.

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When your fans sing louder than you, does it feel like letting go or expanding together?

Ahn Tae-gyu
It’s a feeling that’s hard to put into words. In that moment, it’s not just our performance anymore - it expands to include the audience, and it becomes a moment where everyone is playing together. It’s one of the moments that makes me truly happy.

Looking ahead — five, ten, maybe twenty years — what kind of story do you hope people will tell about Dragon Pony: a quiet legend, or a vivid one?

Ahn Tae-gyu
In the end, I want to be remembered as a vivid story. But at the same time, I hope that everything we leave behind through the stage and our music stays with people - and that when time has passed, it might also become a kind of legend someone can quietly take out and revisit.

Pyun Sung-hyun
I want Dragon Pony to be remembered with the image of “a band that burned hot.”

Kwon Se-hyuk
I hope we can simply be Dragon Pony as we are - and that, in our own way, that can shine fiercely.

Ko Gang-hun
It still feels far away for me to imagine, since we haven’t been a band for long. But if I think about it, the bands I respect - like Foo Fighters and Oasis - have all expressed their stories vividly to the world, and they still are. So I think it would be amazing if we could become like that too.

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photography KANG MINJE
photo assistants LEE AHREUM + LEE JAEHO + YOO JIHOON
videography CHOI SEUNGWON
1st ac PARK HWANPIL
b cam KIM DONGHEE
fashion KIM HYUNJEONG
fashion assistant PARK CHEOLBEEN
fashion pr KIM HEEWON
hair LEE SEUNGJOON
make up LEE JEONGWON
band DRAGON PONY
talents AN TAEGYU + PYUN SUNGHYUN + KWON SEHYUK + KO GANGHUN

ADRIAN KISS *Keeping the Comfort Complicated

Objects Don’t Rest, They Plot

Adrian Kiss Keeps the Comfort Complicated


interview + written ALBAN E. SMAJLI

There’s a duvet folded in half in Adrian Kiss’s memory, heavy with wool and childhood, a private weather system pressed close in the dark. Long before anyone started calling it sculpture, there were mattresses, blankets, the stubborn geometry of safety and sleep, objects that promised comfort and ended up complicating it. Adrian grew up negotiating softness and weight, inventing worlds under covers that protected and sometimes trapped, learning early that the line between body and object is a moving target.

Dunyha Firka 1, 2021, quilted leather and canvas with acrylic spheres, 200 × 140 cm, presented as part of Dunyha Tomorrow at acb Gallery, Budapest, Hungary, 2021 / Image by Dávid Tóth

Leather Hole 1, 2021, leather on metal structure, 185 × 150 cm, presented as part of Dunyha Tomorrow at acb Gallery, Budapest, Hungary, 2021 / Image by Dávid Tóth

His work never hides its seams. Materials arrive marked, stained, scarred by use or time, sometimes freshly buried, sometimes coaxed into new shapes by the hands of collaborators or by gravity itself. Duvets and tyres, stitched suns and industrial leftovers, everything carrying traces of its past life, everything drafted into the ongoing drama of care and disruption. Nostalgia and hypermodernity don’t compete here. They mingle in the form of a quilt dragged across a concrete floor or a basket woven to hold more than bread.

The studio is both laboratory and cul-de-sac, a place where tools outnumber screens and the slow work of listening shapes every decision. When things risk getting too polished, Adrian ruins the surface, lets chaos in, or simply walks away until time itself gets bored and leaves its mark. He’s learned to trust whatever’s at hand, scrap, memory, silence, and to keep the choreography open, the outcome unresolved. 
Every object in the room wants to speak, but the story keeps shifting, between sleep and vigilance, labor and leisure, skin and structure. That’s the paradox Adrian returns to inhabit, over and over, until the work feels as alive and restless as the hand that made it.

Alban E. Smajli
Your work thrives on physical materials. How do you decide which medium becomes the “skin” of your next piece?

Adrian Kiss
For me, the “skin” of the work is often where the human body is, as that has been at the centre of my practice. My relationship with materials is intuitive, a safe space that forms the foundation of my artistic language.
In my earlier work, I struggled to translate my positionality and material intuition into larger narratives, often compelling me to symbolically bury my pieces for transformation and “curing”. This analogy became a guiding methodology for understanding the performativity of materials and the transformative potential of forces. I began investigating how the non-living can act as a performer, embodying time-based processes, under and beyond the influence of the human. When deciding what becomes the 'skin' of a work, I think about its capacity to resist or welcome the passing of time.

Tell us about your childhood obsession with duvets, why does that heavy comfort keep showing up in your installations?

I’m drawn to everyday gestures and the object culture associated with them. I’m especially interested in the things we all must do, like sleeping, but which, sadly, we’re not all allowed to do equally. We all need sleep, but are we given the right to rest? Mattresses, blankets, pillows, and duvets represent the care of home and the comfort of safety. In my installations and sculptures, they often appear without the human figure, and in that absence, they start to become the body. I use them to create a sense of insecurity by juxtaposing their softness and familiarity with more brutal or unstable surroundings.
I only started working with bedding a few years ago, after a long period of engaging with jackets and garments. Duvets, in particular, carry intimate traces, stains, scents, marks, subtle forms of memory and presence. They’re comforting, but they also speak of vulnerability. At my grandparents’, their duvet was filled with thick wool, making it very heavy. As a child, under its heavy-comfort, I often felt trapped and safe.

Say your studio suddenly went analog. No screens or signal, just tools and silence. How might that reshape the way you create, or even the way you think inside your space?

Answering this question tells much about how I work. I haven’t always been in the privileged position to do art full time, I’ve worked alongside my studio practice most of my life. This really shaped what I had access to, time and money-wise. So I often worked by collaborating with other creators to produce parts of my work. This meant I didn’t need much of a studio; much of the experimentation at the start was done on paper. With time, I reconnected with making, and that was a revelation, I found a new purpose in it. But havint this experience, I’m also comfortable working with whatever space and tools I have access to.
No screens and signals, just tools and silence, would mean I am a child again, probably getting bored soon, and through that, entertaining myself through creative explorations of what I have and what I know. Sounds exciting.

Is It Big? Is It Small? How Does It Smell?, 2024, textile objects with clay, sand, straw and wooden pallets, dimensions vary / Image by Adrian Kiss

Is It Big? Is It Small? How Does It Smell?, 2024, textile objects with clay, sand, straw and wooden pallets, dimensions vary / Image by Adrian Kiss

Your inspirations range from brutalist architecture in Romania to internet visuals. How do you balance nostalgia with hyper-modernity?

These seemingly opposite sources of influence are not so far from each other. My work exists both in the countryside and the city, because that’s where I’m from. I live and work in the memory and nostalgia of my time spent in Romania and Hungary, but I’m constantly inspired by my surroundings. Having studied in the UK and the Netherlands, always being on the move, I’m constantly challenged to question my learnings.

It’s true that in my early work, right after graduating, I was very much a post-internet artist, deeply engaged with digital aesthetics. But over time, that shifted and I became more present in my physical surroundings and also began mingling more with memory, especially memories of my childhood in Coșnea.
I spent many summers in that cul-de-sac village, isolated in the Romanian mountains, at my grandparents’ home. It was largely untouched by urbanisation. The small rural working-class community, where folk traditions were still lived and performed through material culture, gave me a deep sensitivity to how objects carry meaning, and agency. Now, after living in two post-socialist countries, and then in London and the Netherlands, I see how the city is present in the village, and the village in the city. What seems like a contrast, between nostalgia and hyper-modernity, often overlap. I move between them intuitively.

When things get too polished, do you ever feel the urge to ruin them a little, just to keep the chaos alive?

Yeah, that is exactly what happened when I lost contact with the making. I felt like my works were coming out of a factory, and I’d been removed from them emotionally. It wasn’t an urge to create chaos that I felt, but an urge to “age” my work. This is how I came up with the idea of burying my early pieces and allowing them to cure. I’ve tackled this question frequently in the past years through different experimentations where I extended the making to forces outside my control. I dropped sculptures from my studio window in an improvised but directed sequence, a performance that lasted 16 minutes. The “final compositions” were shaped by gravity and inertia. The audience’s experience was guided by the expectation, what will fall next, and when?
On another occasion, in the performance titled Mom, Why Didn’t You Tell Me?, I wished to juxtapose the care embodied by six quilted wool blankets with the brutality of soil and the everyday. I demonstrated these tensions by disassembling a 500 kg adobe sculpture in front of an audience, and carrying the adobe’s weight down to the garden using the blankets..

How does physical context—like the sunken pool at VUNU or decaying industrial spaces—shape the way your work behaves in the real world?

I usually organise my studio time around larger projects that often respond to the spaces where the works will be shown. That was the case with my solo show at VUNU, Satin, Soil, Stomach, curated by Lilla Lipusz. When we first visited the space and submerged ourselves in the concrete basin of the former swimming pool, we were transported elsewhere, the space had a particular vibration that had to be respected.

It became a question of listening, of learning how to be in dialogue with both the space and the materials. Listening, arguably, has been suppressed today, whether through the silencing of others, the deliberate creation of noise and disinformation, or through our own disconnection from listening itself. The work created for VUNU would have a different dialogue in another space. Equally meaningful, but a different story.

Untitled (bonnet), 2014, acrylic paint on car bonnet, 97 × 128 × 6 cm, presented as part of MMM at art quarter budapest, Budapest, Hungary, 2020 / Image by Dávid Biró

Roll Me, Squeeze Me, Say My Name (detail), 2025, quilted wool blankets, tires, ratchet straps and wire on metal structure, 544 × 400 × 150 cm, presented as part of Restless Dislocations at Ján Koniarek Gallery, Trnava, Slovakia, with Radovan Čerevka, 2025 / Image by Dávid Biró

Your moodboards often feel like industrial scraps meet sci-fi: what’s your trick for transforming found objects into uncanny-human extensions?

I’m compelled to juxtapose materials, shapes, and concepts with polar values. There’s a kind of specificity that emerges when you intersect them. Through their contradictions, something precise is revealed, often oddly familiar, rooted in the everyday. Like the harshness of quilted black leather paired with soft padding. Or the weight of an old used tyre placed beside a woven basket. Or the intimacy of a stitched sun on a wool blanket, a material usually meant to protect the body, now used to carry remains from a “burial site.” Care and brutality in the quotidian are not opposites, but entangled, complicating any clear notion of what care even means.

When do you feel the work is alive? Is it the moment you stitch it together, exhibit it, or let it sit and transform with time?

Most of my stitchwork is done by my fantastic colleague Eszter Előd, she gets to experience the slow catharsis of a quilt coming together, step by step. I often work as a producer, collaborating with others to create something together. Like Sándor Végh, a third-generation basket weaver, or Zoltán Ónodi, an incredible welder and metalworker. And more recently, I’ve been collaborating with the agency of time and chance itself. In other instances, I do the labour myself, because it’s conceptually important that I endure the weight of the soil, or because I technically can, and want to.
That said, while the process of making is always fascinating, what I enjoy most isn’t the making, it’s the human connections that come with it. I get to meet and work with talented people, to share stories and trust.

What’s the next paradox you want to explore? Organic vs. synthetic is “vintage Kiss.” Where do you go after that?

I’ve recently leapt into time-based media, and I’m enjoying the new challenges and the broader visual vocabulary it allows. Rather than seeking new paradoxes, I want to deepen the ones I’ve already been working with, exploring them in depth and more situated.
Lately, I’ve realised how much material has been right in front of me that I’ve overlooked, like the social interactions with my collaborators, the physical labour of preparing adobe for my sculptures. These aren’t just background processes, or invisible work, they’re part of the work.

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Adrian Kiss
Dunyha Tomorrow, installation view, acb Gallery, Budapest, Hungary, 2021 / Image by Dávid Tóth

CHRISTO at GAGOSIAN *What If Air Could Be Held in Form

What If Air Could Be Held in Form
Christo at Gagosian London

written LE MILE

Air becomes visible in Christo’s work at the exact moment it is forced into a limit. In the early polyethylene pieces from the 1960s, the gesture remains stripped to its essentials: a transparent skin pulled tight with rope, the surface responding to internal pressure through small distortions that give the volume a fragile, almost provisional presence. The air inside does not transform, yet it begins to register as something held, something that occupies space with a quiet insistence once a boundary is drawn around it.

That same operation now unfolds at architectural scale in Air Package on a Ceiling, conceived in 1968 with Jeanne-Claude and realized for the first time at Gagosian in London. The installation stretches across the full width of the gallery, a suspended volume that descends into the room until it hovers just above head height. Its presence is immediate, not through spectacle or surface complexity, but through the way it interrupts the given proportions of the space. The ceiling no longer reads as a distant, stable plane; it is pulled downward, redefined by a form that holds itself in tension.

Christo
Wrapped Ceiling, 1965
Installation view: Office building located in Mid-town Manhattan, New York

Artwork © Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation
Photo: Thomas Cugini
Courtesy Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation and Gagosian

Christo
5,600 Cubicmeter Package (first skin)
Installation view: Kassel, 1968

Artwork © Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation
Photo: Klaus Baum
Courtesy Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation and Gagosian

Moving through the room brings the work into focus and the surface gathers and tightens where it meets the rope, light revealing the internal pressure that keeps the structure intact. Edges remain unstable, never fully separating from the surrounding architecture, so that the volume appears contained and in continuous relation to the space around it. Air shifts from background to substance, encountered as density and resistance. The installation carries the logic of the early works forward without altering its terms. Containment remains the central act, yet its implications expand once the boundary engages directly with the architecture. Drawings and models shown alongside the piece trace this shift, revealing how a freestanding form evolved into a suspended condition that absorbs the room into its structure. The work reorganizes it from within, placing the visitor in a field defined by pressure, proximity, and scale.

Christo and Jeanne-Claude
Big Air Package
Installation view: Gasometer Oberhausen, Germany, 2010-13

Artwork © Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation
Photo: Wolfgang Volz
Courtesy Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation and Gagosian

A similar precision underlies Wrapped Automobile—Volvo, Model PV-544 (1981), presented in the second gallery after decades out of view. The car is enclosed within a continuous wrapping that follows its contours closely enough to register its volume while withholding any access to its surface. What remains is a held form, its mass translated through the tension of the material that surrounds it. The gesture fixes the object within a state that neither resolves into use nor dissolves into absence, maintaining a suspended presence shaped entirely by the conditions imposed on it.

Across these works, Christo’s practice unfolds through a consistent attention to how boundaries produce form. Materials remain direct, their role confined to enclosing, binding, and sustaining pressure. What they make visible is not an internal essence, but the act of holding itself, a condition that gives shape to what would otherwise remain ungraspable.
And the exhibition gathers these propositions into a single spatial experience that clarifies how far this logic extends. A surface is drawn, tension is applied, and a volume emerges that can be walked under, circled, and measured against one’s own body. The effect relies on the precision with which the intangible is momentarily given form, held just long enough to be encountered.

Christo: Air is on view at Gagosian London, Grosvenor Hill, from 21 May to 18 July 2026, presenting the first realization of Air Package on a Ceiling (1968) alongside early works and archival material that trace Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s exploration of air as a contained and perceptible condition.

Contact Sheet: Christo wrapping "Wrapped Automobile-Volvo, Model PV-544" (1981)

Artwork © Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation
Photo: Wolfgang Volz
Courtesy Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation and Gagosian

Christo
Wrapped Automobile-Volvo, Model PV-544, 1981
Volvo, Model PV-544, fabric and rope
60 x 61 x 171 inches (152.4 x 154.9 x 434.3 cm)

© Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation
Photo: Wolfgang Volz
Courtesy Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation and Gagosian

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Christo and Jeanne-Claude, 42,390 Cubic Feet Package, Installation view: Minneapolis, Minnesota, 1966

Artwork © Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation / Photo: Carroll T. Hartwell / Courtesy Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation and Gagosian

COSIMA KAIBEL *Three Stripes and the Codes of a Generation

Three Stripes and the Codes of a Generation
From Neukölln to Canvas with Cosima Kaibel

interview + written ALBAN E. SMAJLI

Adidas appears in contemporary painting with a frequency that would have seemed unlikely a generation ago. The three stripes have moved beyond sportswear and entered the visual vocabulary of a younger generation of artists. Tracksuits and sneakers circulate through studios and canvases in cities like Berlin, London or New York as a shared cultural code, carrying references to belonging, migration histories, street culture and urban identity. For many painters today, these garments carry a particular duality. They are instantly recognizable yet deeply ordinary.

leather bomber jacket by ESRA VON KORNATZKI

A tracksuit can signal attitude, nostalgia, irony or intimacy depending on how it is framed. Adidas has quietly become part of the visual language through which contemporary identity is read and expressed.

Berlin-based artist Cosima Kaibel approaches this language from within the environment that shaped her. After years abroad, she returned to Berlin, where her work continues to circle around Neukölln and the subtle social codes embedded in everyday scenes.

For this collaboration with Adidas, Kaibel condenses the scene into a fragment where two figures meet, visible only from the legs down, Adidas trousers falling into Adistar Control 5 sneakers as the three stripes trace quiet lines along the bodies. Everything above the frame remains open. Without faces, identity unfolds through posture, fabric and proximity, allowing the viewer to complete the moment while reflecting Kaibel’s wider interest in how bodies are framed and interpreted in contemporary visual culture.

Alban E. Smajli
You lived in the UK, China, Uruguay, India, France and Italy before coming back to Berlin. Did leaving make you see the city more clearly, and why did you decide to return and paint it again? How does place shape identity for you?

Cosima Kaibel
Leaving and coming back definitely changed my perspective on the city. It made it feel much more like home. Exploring different places made me realize what’s special about Berlin to me and see the magic in things I thought were normal before, like the mix of cultures on Sonnenallee or the Queer culture here, the rough down-to-earth attitude of Berliners and the way all of these shape the whole energy of the city. Seeing things that are different helped me realize that there is no universal ‘normal’, but that ‘normal’ is always relative. That was freeing.

I believe that places are a big part of identity. They determine our experiences, what we learn, what we see, values people hold up around us. All of that eventually shapes who we become. Even if you try to live in your own bubble, you still move through streets, hear languages, deal with people. That does something to you, even if it means rejecting your direct environment. Traveling made me realize how much I do identify as a Berliner, if not a Neuköllner. (44 Represents! - That’s the number of the part of the district where my school was.)

Painting scenes from the city and my district is a way for me to show my appreciation for this place and the things it stands for in my view. I paint it because it formed me. 

What does identity mean to you right now?

To me identity means knowing who I am, which is rather an ongoing process than a fixed definition. It’s about understanding what matters to you and why. When I look at the people and places I grew up with, I understand myself better. Shared experiences stick. School friends, old memories, stupid stories you still laugh about - that creates belonging. Even if everyone came from different backgrounds and went in different directions later on.
Identity isn’t just how you see yourself. It’s also who you experienced things together with. I’m also interested in how identity is performed.
Through clothes, posture, the way someone stands or moves. You don’t just have an identity - you show it. Sometimes consciously, sometimes not. That’s something I explore in my Neukölln series and in my newer series „Anything Butt Dates“ - Bodies carry projection, control, vulnerability, stories, and power. 

For our first ever painted cover, you decided to show only the lower body, from the thighs down. Why did you leave out the faces? What changes when identity is told through posture, fabric and sneakers?

Omitting faces is something I often do in my work, because they often don’t matter for what I want to show. Posture, fabric and sneakers are carriers of cultural meaning and stories. A tracksuit, for example, is never just sportswear; in Neukölln it becomes part of a shared visual language. When faces disappear, the image becomes less about “this person” and more about structures: belonging, subculture, class, gender expression - which is what I’m more interested in, when I choose to paint this way.
At the same time, leaving out faces creates space for projection. The viewer completes the image, fills in what is missing, invents a story beyond the frame. I’m interested in that openness. I don’t want to over-explain or resolve everything. I want to provoke a certain unresolved tension, a friction that keeps the image alive. 

watch the making of
/ directed and filmed by FURKAN CETIN

And what do you imagine is happening beyond what we see (We only see part of the scene and everything above the frame is open)? Is that anonymity protective, political or simply poetic for you?

For me, it’s just a love scene. Two people kissing. Whether they’re men, women, or something else doesn’t matter. If that becomes political, that says more about society than about the image.


Also, in general I like to omit details in the stories I write and the images I create, when they’re not necessary. In this image it’s about two people in a moment of affection. It doesn’t matter which gender they identify with or what skin color they have. I also find it boring to be too explicit.
In “Anything Butt Dates,” anonymity has a protective dimension. The project deals with male bodies as carriers of social role models, beauty ideals, and power structures, but also as vulnerable and relational beings. In a digital culture shaped by dating apps and photographic self-exposure, the act of showing and withholding becomes charged. Omitting details protects the privacy of the models and shifts attention to the politics of the gaze itself. 

When you paint Adidas, do you think of it as a brand, or more as a shared cultural code for your generation?

Both - but primarily as a cultural code. In Neukölln, certain brands function almost like dialects. A three-stripe tracksuit carries references to migration histories, masculinity, street culture, aspiration. It can signal belonging or stereotype at the same time. I’m interested in that ambiguity. When I paint something like that, I’m not advertising a brand - I’m painting a social symbol. It’s similar to how Renaissance painters depicted fabric folds to signify status. Today, a tracksuit can communicate just as much.

That’s also why, in the painting with the tracksuit, I gave so much attention and care to the material itself. I treated it with a kind of tenderness - to show the texture, the shine, the weight of the fabric. By rendering it with that level of detail and affection, I elevate something often dismissed as ordinary or stereotypical and show how it carries dignity, complexity, and beauty. Even if the cover isn’t officially part of the Neukölln series, it speaks the same language.
Cropped bodies, sneakers close to each other, stripes running down the legs. You don’t see faces but you immediately read identity, generation, intimacy. Clothes tell the story.

In this image, the brand almost disappears.
The stripes become lines connecting the bodies.
It’s less about a logo, more about proximity and shared code.

You’ve often explored who is looking and who is being seen (especially in your series "Anything Butt Dates"). In this cover, without faces, who really holds the power of the image?

Me and the viewer. The models I work with agree to be directed by me. That way I create the image but every viewer has their own experience with it. They can notice different aspects of it and are free to let their own imagination interpret and judge it. It’s something that’s out of my control. Once I let an image go, it’s with everyone who sees it.

What does a typical day in your studio look like right now, and what kinds of images or moments in everyday life tend to catch your attention?

Sometimes I lock myself in, put on music, and paint for hours without talking to anyone. Other times I invite friends over. I like noise in the background and life happening while I work. I also host events here. Art shouldn’t sit in a white cube pretending it’s above everything. It’s part of society. So people come, we talk, we argue, we drink, we think.
Some days I feel like I have to go outside. Walk around. Call people. See what’s changing. Other days I don’t leave until something on the canvas finally makes sense. The beginning of a painting is usually messy, vague, like trying to remember a dream. I often don’t know what I think until I paint it. Sometimes I photograph models, sometimes I sculpt, sometimes I write. I like having a plan - and then ignoring it. Structure is good. Something to push against.

I’m drawn to things that feel slightly off. An old car overloaded with watermelons. Trash on the street, a bridal shop next to a men’s café, a male butt. Things people don’t consider “important” are usually the most interesting. They carry more story than they admit.

There is often a quiet tension in your work, between glamour and absurdity, closeness and distance. Where does that tension sit in this cover motif?

I think, in a sense, it has something voyeuristic about it, although there is nothing explicit and it’s entirely anonymous. However, it’s not me who is to judge. If I wanted to explain everything in words, I wouldn’t paint. I think the tension exists because something remains unresolved, and that’s where an image begins to breathe.

Has growing up in Berlin shaped your sense of humor and irony in your work?

Berlin has a very specific dryness.
If you don’t develop a sense of humor here, you won’t last long. So you learn to laugh at things, including yourself. People will insult you and help you in the same breath. You either learn to find that funny or you suffer.
In Berlin, a grandmother might yell at someone in Arabic while two queer guys in crop tops walk past at 8 a.m. after a club night. No one blinks. That coexistence shapes your humor. You stop taking a lot of things seriously.

I use humor as a way in. Otherwise people shut down. I’m not interested in moralizing or lecturing people. I’d rather make them look twice.

What are you curious about exploring next in your practice?

When I was painting places, I was already dealing with power. Space shows you everything: Who takes it, who avoids it, who feels safe, who doesn’t.
A city isn’t neutral, it reflects how we live together.
Now I’m focusing more on bodies. But it’s the same question. Bodies are also shaped by power, by media, by art history, by what was idealized and what was excluded. The way we’ve learned to look at bodies affects how we look at ourselves and others, how we interact, how we judge, how much space we believe we’re supposed to take up and where.

In that sense I’m not really changing the topic, I’m just zooming in.

---

seen NICOLAI SAUER
styled + fashion editor KLAAS HAMMER
make up + hair LEO STERN
talent COSIMA KAIBEL
male model MERLIN FINN BARBER
head of production ALBAN E. SMAJLI
production LEMILESTUDIOS
film + direction FURKAN CETIN
in collaboration with adidas

ESRA VON KORNATZKI *Developing Garments from Existing Materials and Process

Esra von Kornatzki Works with Worn Materials and Fixed Surfaces in Contemporary Fashion

interview + written SARAH ARENDTS
seen JULIAN MELZER

Esra von Kornatzki is a Berlin-based designer whose work develops from a background in sculpture and fine art studies at Universität der Künste. Her focus lies in constructing garments directly on and for the body, using methods that stem from mold-making, draping and surface treatment. Pattern cutting functions as a way of shaping the body, with each piece defined through proportion, weight and material resistance.

leather bomber jacket by ESRA VON KORNATZKI

She uses existing materials such as discarded leather, inherited fabrics and used saddle blankets sourced from racetracks. These materials are chosen for their surface condition and durability. Signs of wear such as creases, dirt, sweat or discolouration are not removed. Instead, they are fixed into the garment through technical processes. Saddle blankets, for example, are treated with a water-based transfer glue, silk-screen printed and then fused with a transparent foil using heat, sealing the surface and preserving the traces underneath.

Esra von Kornatzki works directly with the material rather than outsourcing production, allowing the properties of each fabric to influence the final shape. Many of the materials resist standard sewing techniques, which results in firm, structured silhouettes.

Her parallel involvement in horse racing informs the way she works with time and preparation. Materials often come from that environment, and the process of developing a garment follows a similar logic of pacing and control. The garments retain visible information about their origin and a sofa becomes a bomber jacket, saddle blankets become coats and trousers. The previous use remains present through the surface, while the function changes through construction.

Sekou is wearing a trenchcoat from ESRA VON KORNATZKI, GDR military boots from FASHION ARCHIVE, and knitted gloves from FASHION ARCHIVE

Sekou is wearing a grey suit, and Esra is wearing a white suit from ESRA VON KORNATZKI and red leather gloves from MAISON MARGIELA

Sarah Arendts
What led you from sculpture into fashion design?

Esra von Kornatzki
Sculpture has a tendency to be very removed from the body, an object in space, but I wanted to get closer to the human body and have that as my point of reference. Fashion design feels more urgent and relatable, as it implies everyday usage and thus becomes part of a new physical reality rather than something to look at. There is an intense, passionate relationship between people and their clothes that I find compelling. 

How does your fine art training influence the way you construct garments?

My background in fine art shapes the way I look at and construct garments. My studies were conceptual and that translates into the way I approach fashion design. There is the symbolic meaning a material carries but also its physical abilities. My first professor was a sculptor and the second a painter. You will find both influences in the garments I make in the way I stress the three dimensional aspect of clothing, treating the body like a canvas that the clothing wraps around. During my fine art studies I became an expert in mold making. Pattern making and drapage is an extension of that skill, molding the body and changing its properties, using the garment as a medium. I like to transform the fabrics and materials I find, treating the surface using dye and methods of coating like laminating. I tend to work with stubborn materials that resist being sown, but it gives them their strong sculptural quality and firmness in the silhouettes. 

What role does manual work play in your process? 

I think through making. That’s another reason why I place so much value on craftsmanship, which has always caused some residual tension between me and my conceptual art training. But I think of this tension as a strength and driving force, it's part of my identity as an artist and designer. As a designer I don’t like handing over the production part of the design process. Technology has detached many from manual work and I think certain ideas and refinement gets lost in this disconnect. For example, the stubbornness of the material I work with pushes me to find creative solutions and incidentally teaches me to be patient, which definitely hasn’t been my strong suit. I like to joke that I don’t have any impulse control, which can be a source of creative output, but also needs to be channeled carefully. Time is an important factor, manual work takes time, a rare commodity in our society, but something you see and feel, when you wear the garment. For me, manual work is more than a means to an end, it's a dialogue based on the material and the vision of the form it should take. 

What criteria do you use when selecting materials for a piece?

At art university it's a common notion that sculptors have a material fetish and I think it’s true for fashion designers as well. I have this obsession with the physical and symbolic qualities of certain materials that I’m intuitively drawn to and I think that materials age like fine wine. My selection process is a mixture of purpose and chance. I’m a nostalgic 90’s girl. I usually use worn materials, because I love a good story and worn materials are more likely to tell one. It started when my grandmother passed away and I inherited all her fabrics. Oftentimes I know an opportunity, when I see one. For example, I had to rework an old leather sofa for a client, the old leather was too gorgeous (showing off everybody who’s ever sat on it and every sunray that shown on it) to throw away and I came up with a piece, which is the bomber jacket, that suited the thick discarded leather of the sofa. It's the unused potential I see. For the other garments in this editorial, I sourced the material from a racetrack near me, each saddle blanket had been used once on a rainy day, meaning they were full of dirt and sweat, bearing witness to a specific moment in time, which made them interesting to me. However, I knew the material had to be modified in order to become desirable, which led me to coating it. In most cases I look for durability as well, functional, high quality materials that could last a lifetime, even if signs of usage add to their given patina, essentially continuing the story. 

What changes when a worn object like a sofa or saddle blanket is turned into clothing?

The context changes. The original object disappears physically, but remains conceptually present. The new garment gives clues to its origin through traces and marks on its surface, which aren’t immediately decodable for the audience, but felt anyhow by them. 

Esra is wearing a top from INTIMISSIMI, nylon shorts and boots from PRADA (via @velvetknife.archive), and Romeo Ultra is wearing a leather collar by ESRA VON KORNATZKI

Esra is wearing a top from ORNELLA PROSPERI, a jacket from ESRA VON KORNATZKI, and pants and bag from FASHION ARCHIVE

Sekou is wearing jeans from ESRA VON KORNATZKI, gloves and a waist bag from FASHION ARCHIVE

How do you technically preserve traces such as dirt, sweat or hair when coating materials?

For the saddle blankets I used a water based transfer glue (TRANSLAC BOND 55) that I silk screen printed onto the material and then fused with a glossy transparent foil using a heat press at 16o °C, essentially laminating the material and trapping the dirt, sweat and hair underneath.

What information do you want the material to retain once it becomes a garment?

I want the material to retain its history—where it came from, even if in an abstract sense—and its symbolic meaning. I’m interested in what a material carries physically and conceptually, and how that can continue to inform the garment once it is transformed.

How do you position your work within current discussions around material-driven design?

Generally speaking, material does come first in my design process and informs the outcome. I relate to practices like Martin Margiela or even Joseph Beuys, where material isn’t neutral but holds memory and meaning before it becomes form. The material has been exposed to time and happenings, which shape its physical and aesthetic reality, making it a witness and narrating agent. I hold a deep sensitivity for texture, fabric behavior, and tactility. Intuitively exploring and engineering materials while also respecting what they are rather than forcing them to fit a preconceived idea. It's a hybrid practice of a material-led, but conceptually-charged design approach.

What kind of relationship should exist between the garment and the body?

An emotionally charged one - somewhere between love, desire, mystery and comfort. A garment should be an extension of the body and soul. Fashion needs to be felt. My muses that I tailor the garments to, are often people close to me and how I feel about them shapes the garments they inspire me to make. It's another conversation: that between garment and body and I’m in a feedback loop with my muses during the design process in order to modify the garment based on their experience. 

How do you ensure your work is not reduced to sustainability or upcycling?

Sustainability is not my primary motivation. I work with materials sourced outside fashion’s conventional system, rethinking their use and making them desirable for clothes, giving them a stage to tell their own story. The focus is on aesthetic and conceptual value, quality and functionality, as well as sustainability. Although I would describe myself as somewhat of a hoarder, making it a coping mechanism to repurpose materials into polished and clean garments in order to declutter—literally and metaphorically.

What are the next steps for your work within fashion?

To expand the dialogue and deepen the narrative dimension—through collaboration, new contexts, and material experimentation —while exploring accessories as an extension of the practice.

Esra is wearing a top from ORNELLA PROSPERI and a jacket from ESRA VON KORNATZKI

---

photography JULIAN MELZER
designer ESRA VON KORNATZKI
styling XUAN
talent SEKOU + ESRA VON KORNATZKI + ROMEO ULTRA
hair + make up JANETTE PETERS
assistant YEONGHYEON KANG

ELMIENE *That’s How Elmiene Lets Songs Become Someone Else’s

That’s How Elmiene Lets Songs Become Someone Else’s

interview + written KLAAS HAMMER

Elmiene proves that the future of neo-soul and contemporary R&B is in good hands. With his gentle voice, smooth production, and emotionally raw, poetic songwriting, the British-Sudanese artist blends modern sounds with a sense of nostalgia. His track “Someday” perfectly captures this signature style.

His rise began unexpectedly when a viral 2021 cover of D’Angelo’s “Untitled (How Does It Feel?)” caught the attention of producer Lil Silva, marking a turning point in his career. Since then, he has released several EPs and standout singles, earning recognition such as a top-five placement in the BBC Sound of 2024 poll and a BRIT Award nomination for Rising Star.

Following a steady stream of releases, including his 2026 single “Reclusive,” Elmiene now offers a first glimpse into the next chapter of his artistry with his debut album „sounds for someone“.


Elmiene / photographed by Andres Castillo

Klaas Hammer
The title of your album, “sounds for someone,” feels almost like an open-ended idea as if your music is speaking for or to someone specific. Who is that “someone” to you?

Elmiene
I don’t think it’s ever been one fixed person, you know. The songs feel like they belong to me at first, and then once they’re out, they don’t anymore—they become whoever needs them. So ‘someone’ could be anyone. It could be me at a certain time, it could be someone I’ve loved, or someone I’ve lost. I liked leaving it open, because I want the music to find people where they are, rather than telling them who it’s for.

You were born in Frankfurt, raised in Oxford and have Sudanese roots - three very different cultural spaces. How do these influences show up in your music and shape the way you create?

I think those different places show up more in how I feel than in anything obvious. Growing up in Oxford, I was quite internal, quite observant—I spent a lot of time in my own head, and that definitely shaped how I write. And then Sudan is more like memory and inheritance. It’s family, it’s stories, it’s emotion that’s been passed down. So the music becomes this mix of introspection and legacy—trying to understand what’s mine and what’s been given to me.

Listening to your recent work, there’s a strong sense of intimacy and introspection. What themes or inner tensions were you trying to explore or make sense of in this project? And can you tell us a bit about the recording process behind the album?

This project was me trying to sit with a lot of different emotions at once. I felt lonely sometimes, I felt loved sometimes, I felt guilty, I felt forgiven—it was quite overwhelming at points. A lot of it comes back to love and loss, especially around my dad, and just trying to make sense of memory. I wanted it to be really honest, even in the smallest moments, like zooming in on things that might seem insignificant but actually carry a lot. The recording process was quite instinctive—we weren’t chasing perfection, just trying to capture something real before it disappeared.

Elmiene / photographed by Andres Castillo

When watching you perform, what stands out is not only the warmth and emotion in your voice, but also a very natural stage presence. Did you always feel like the stage was where you belong, or is that something you grew into over time?

I think I grew into it over time. I never really saw myself as someone who was meant to be on stage—it felt quite distant at first. But then I realised performing is just an extension of the song. I’m not trying to be anything different up there, I’m just singing something that means a lot to me. And I think that’s what makes it feel natural now—there’s no performance on top of it, it’s just the feeling.

Your music often feels like a very direct emotional outlet, almost like a diary set to sound. Are there things you find you can only express through music, but not in conversation?

Yeah, definitely. There are things I wouldn’t know how to say in conversation, or maybe I just wouldn’t feel comfortable saying them. With music, you can sit in a feeling without having to explain it or resolve it. You can contradict yourself, you can be vulnerable in a way that doesn’t need to be justified. It’s the only place where I feel like I can be completely honest.

With your family roots in Sudan, a country currently facing significant challenges, how does that reality shape your perspective as an artist? Do you feel a responsibility to reflect or respond to it through your music?

It’s always present in some way. Even when I’m not speaking about it directly, it shapes how I see things—family, identity, everything really. I don’t feel like I have to make explicit statements all the time, but I do feel a responsibility to be honest and to carry that part of me properly. If I’m telling my story truthfully, then Sudan is already in it. And if that resonates with someone or makes them feel seen, then that’s important.

seen by Andres Castillo
talent Elmiene
thanks to Cherry

The Personal Edit of Samuel Bottomley: From Dundee to the Barras

#ThePersonalEdit

Samuel Bottomley Opens His Camera Roll From California Schemin’

written LE MILE

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Samuel Bottomley shares a glimpse into his personal camera roll from the making of California Schemin'. Shot between Dundee, Glasgow and later festival stops, the images follow the intensity of a production built around performance, music and a tight-knit cast and crew.

Based on the true story of Scottish rap duo Silibil N’ Brains, the film moves between high-energy stage moments and the quieter reality of long shooting days, preparation and collaboration. Bottomley, who takes on one of the lead roles, documents that rhythm from within: first days on set, rehearsals, live crowd scenes, and the atmosphere shared with co-star Séamus McLean Ross and director James McAvoy. Shot on his phone and paired with his own captions, The Personal Edit stays close to the process — on set, on stage and in between.

This was the first day on set I think, definitely the first week up in Dundee and the first time I’d seen a proper directors chair with the directors name on it, so I had to get a pic. All the crew working hard in the background. It was such an exciting set to be on and all the crew really believed in the job too. I was working on a job in Scotland before this and, talking to some of the crew on that, it sounded like everyone up there was buzzing about the project.

Séamus McLean Ross outside the Barrowland. This was, for both of us, the most surreal and daunting time of our lives.

On stage at the Barras. As you can see, I’m so burnt out. Rapping in time while jumping around on stage and trying to give the biggest energy we could to hype up the audience was tough. However, being directed while being in front of 2000 people and having to perform “Superhero” is one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. Felt like a rockstar.

This was once we had finished and got all the shots we needed. James promised the crowd a big photo at the end and everyone had refrained from using their phones during the takes to keep it authentic to the period. We got this great picture to show for it.

This is me on the Easyrig. The DOP and I really got along, I had worked with his wife around a year or so before. I was being cheeky and asked if I could try it out in between a set up. I wasn’t expecting him to say yes and as you can see, I’m buzzing.

We walked into a room full of cardboard cut outs of ourselves. It’s mental just looking around seeing your face everywhere. Some of the stuff in there made great souvenirs to take home though, loads of CDs with our faces on, stickers, pens, hats, packets of Silibil n Brainz sweets. The set designers actually brought the cardboard cut outs to the wrap party and we took them around the next few pubs with us. On my way home I left one cut out of me lifting my skateboard up over my head like a weapon right outside my apartment and it stayed there for a few weeks after.

Séamus and I trying to get a cool pic of us from the monitor while the camera pointed at us.

Big pic. Kudos to all the incredibly talented and hard working crew, they brought it 100% everyday and I have so much respect for all of them. I’ve learned so much about film through just watching what they do and asking questions.

Lucy Halliday and James McAvoy leaving a breakfast spot in Toronto the day after our film premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival. So glad that I got this photo - these two just look so cool.

“Hey Lucy” what are the chances? Lucy put that jumper on after breakfast and it made my day.

Séamus and I after picking up a special mention award at Rome Film Festival for our performances in the film. It’s a massive honour to receive something like that and we were both so shocked, we didn’t expect it at all.

all images
(c) Samuel Bottomley

CHARLOTTE DAY WILSON *That Version that Stays Untouched

That Version of Charlotte Day Wilson that Stays Untouched

interview + written ALBAN E. SMAJLI

Charlotte Day Wilson continues to work from a place that remains closely connected to how she began, building songs in isolation and protecting that condition as a necessary part of her process. What started as a private space to explore her voice and identity without interruption still defines how she approaches music, requiring a level of focus where outside noise, expectations, and constant communication are pushed aside in order to reach a state where decisions come from within.

Charlotte wears a Vector jacket by CAMPILLO, a shirt and pants by WANGDA, a ring by AGMES, earrings by GRISÉ, and shoes by TWOGAA

For Patchwork, this way of working becomes more deliberate through repetition and revision, moving away from immediacy and toward a process that involves returning to songs multiple times, adjusting details, and testing whether they reach a point that feels fully resolved. Her earlier releases, including CDW, Stone Woman, Alpha, and Cyan Blue, already established a clear direction, but the most significant shift comes through her role as a producer, where growing confidence replaces previous doubt and allows her to define structure, pacing, and final decisions without relying on external validation. This position enables her to recognise that she is best suited to produce her own work, reinforcing a process that remains internally guided.

Collaboration stays part of her process, grounded in ease, mutual awareness, and working with people who know when to contribute and when to step back, creating a space where trust supports the work. Visual elements follow the music, with imagery and clothing developing from its tone, turning style into an extension of her language shaped by identity, perception, and the way she chooses to present herself in public. Her current direction moves toward a more reduced approach, with an interest in creating space within recordings and limiting the number of elements involved, allowing each sound to carry more weight without relying on density. This shift continues the logic that has defined her work so far, refining it through a more concentrated and controlled use of sound.

Charlotte wears a HELGA womens polo by CALVIN KLEIN COLLECTION and a necklace by GRISÉ

Charlotte wears a HELGA womens polo by CALVIN KLEIN COLLECTION, jogging pants by WANGDA, a necklace by GRISÉ, and Moto Boots 1.0 by SUNNI SUNNI

Alban E. Smajli
Looking back to the moment you started making songs alone in your room, what part of that early creative energy do you still try to protect today?

Charlotte Day Wilson
I think I still try to protect the aloneness of it. The feeling of uninterrupted exploration with oneself. It’s not always easy to truly be alone, even when you are alone. There are always creeping thoughts of other people, other music, texts and emails that need to be responded to, a friend you haven’t checked in on in a while. Tuning out all the noise and finding a flow state where none of that can penetrate your focus and it’s just you and the music.. I always hid who I was from the outside world so music became my sanctuary where I could express and discover myself. I protect that sanctuary with my life because I probably wouldn’t really have one if it weren’t for it.

Did you approach Patchwork differently than your earlier releases?

I approached Patchwork differently than the music I’d recently put out. I went back to the version that I was just talking about in the last question. Really indulging in myself, however long it takes. Deep focus, deep alone-ness, searching for magic and glorious lifts. On Cyan Blue, the approach was “first thought best thought” which was very fun. But this time I reconsidered a lot and repeated and repeated, adding slight variations, until I found the glory. If the glory never came, the song didn’t make the cut.

When you look back at CDW, Stone Woman, Alpha, Cyan Blue, and now Patchwork, what feels like the most important shift in your relationship with music?

I would say the most important shift in my relationship with music is my confidence as a producer. I needed this project to remind myself that I’m good at what I do. I lost the plot many times over the past few years, doubting that what I was making could possibly be good enough. I know now, that not only am I good enough, I am the best producer for my music.

What kind of creative chemistry do you look for when collaborating with artists like Kaytranada, BADBADNOTGOOD, or Saya Gray?

I look for ease. But most of all now, I look for people who empower me and I look for people who I want to empower. So much of the time our greatest critic is ourselves. Sometimes all you need is for someone like Saya to remind you you’re on the right track. A great producer knows when to intervene and when not to. This requires a tame ego, which is not always so present in this industry.

How do you feel when fragments of your music appear in songs by artists like Drake or John Mayer?

I think it’s incredible. Once my music is out in the world it takes on a life of its own and it always amazes me to see the unexpected places it goes.

Charlotte wears a jacket by WANGDA, a cropped shirt by CALVIN KLEIN, Arco pants by CAMPILLO, and boots by STONE ISLAND

Charlotte wears a uv-reactive hoodie by STONE ISLAND and a necklace by AGMES

“If Only” circles around the idea of moments just out of reach. Are there experiences in your life that continue to shape your writing years later?

Yes of course. A lot of the time when I’m writing I don’t even know who or what I’m writing about. I let my subconscious do the talking. Sometimes I won’t even realize until years later what my subconscious was trying to tell me, or what memory I was revisiting. I learn a lot about myself in the unraveling after a song is pulled out of me.

How important is the visual world around your music when you begin shaping a new project?

It’s important but it’s not everything for me. The music can often provide an answer to a visual question but not the other way around.

What role does clothing or style play for you when performing or creating visuals?

Clothing is very important to me. Like music, it’s a language that not everyone speaks. How we present ourselves in public says so much about how we want to connect or not connect with others. I always think about the very human desire to be accepted and I think clothing plays such a huge role in how we can achieve acceptance. I think that’s something a lot of people have a hard time being honest about when it comes to clothing but I know deep down it’s true for so many of us. It’s an expression of gender, of “class”, cultural identity, and the relationship we have between our body and our mind. On the days where I feel tired and lacking in personality, I might try dress better so that even though I’m a dud of a person that day, my odds of acceptance are higher with a nice outfit on. I think when I’m 60 I’ll start dressing without any concern for how my outfits impact others but for now I’m engaged in the social conversation of it all and I find it fun.

When you imagine the next phase after Patchwork, what kind of sonic territory feels exciting or still unexplored for you?

I get excited about the idea of extreme minimalism. Lots of air in a recording, less stacks of sound. I don’t think I’ve quite approached music like that yet and I want to try.

Charlotte wears an ASHLEY womens trench by CALVIN KLEIN COLLECTION, a shirt by WANGDA, and earrings by GRISÉ

talent CHARLOTTE DAY WILSON

seen TAKAHIRO OGAWA via FACTORY DOWNTOWN
stylist PACO LAMPECINADO
hair KELLY NOVOBIELSKI
make up MARIA ORTEGA via SOUTH JAMES
production MUSIC IS MUSE
creative direction TAKAHIRO OGAWA + PACO LAMPECINADO

The Personal Edit of Krista Papista: During the Making of Euro Divas

#ThePersonalEdit

Krista Papista Opens Her Camera Roll During the Making of Euro Divas

written LE MILE

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Krista Papista shares fragments from her camera roll captured during the making of her recent album Euro Divas. Moving between a residency in the Czech Republic, travels across Asia, and the final stages in her Neukölln studio, her images trace a process moving across geographies, states of mind, and shifting identities.

Based between Berlin and Athens, Papista works across music, film, and performance, building a practice rooted in queer ritual, erotic mythology, and hybrid sound. Drawing from Cypriot, Greek, Middle Eastern, and Balkan influences, Euro Divas emerges as a layered world shaped by memory and transformation. Built from spontaneous snapshots and paired with her own reflections, The Personal Edit becomes a visual diary of creation — capturing the environments, bodies, and moments that fed into the album’s formation.

Journal of shows. Fusion festival, Art Explora, Schinkel Pavilion, Chauffer dans la Noirceur.

Stalagmites in the neighborhood, and a photo of my mums’s village Kythrea.

EURO DIVAS VINYLS ARE DONE AND SENT OVER TO ATHENS.

I started working on Euro Divas album in the Czech Republic. I did an art residency in the country side in the Czech Republic. The accommodation provided was in a monastery, I had the peace & privacy to devote myself to the album 100%. It was a sad little town, bordering Poland, some beautiful Baroque churches, I developed 40% of the album there. My track Heartmode was inspired by this fountain that I found on a wall in the monastery, they say you can only manifest what you want, when you are operating from Heartmode.

While traveling in Vietnam, I went in a Hare Krishna temple and found a photo of myself as baby goddess, I tried to get into it but I couldn’t. Vietnam was incredible.

BRIDGE IN FISH VILLAGE , EL NIDO PHILIPPINES.

The mandolin I played on Eurotrash.

I came back from traveling and finalized the production and mixing of my album in my studio in Neukölln. I was drinking about 3 bottles of Nature Energy a day, they don’t produce them anymore :/ why? Final stages of mixing took place in November, the whole of Berlin turns yellow and red.

WHERE I'M I.

all images
(c) Krista Papista

MYRIAM BOULOS *The Photographic Worlds

The Photographic Worlds of Myriam Boulos
Pas de mode d’emploi pour le chaos

interview + written ALBAN E. SMAJLI

A city simmers beneath its own legends, the flavor of diesel and cardamom mixing with the hum of aftershocks and the slow unfurling of light across battered facades, and it is here that Myriam Boulos lifts her camera, not in search of the dramatic or the picturesque but to gather the residue of touch, the quiet accumulation of moments that cling to walls, slip through open doors, and root themselves in skin.

Myriam Boulos
Sexual Fantasies 2023

Myriam Boulos
Ongoing War, 2024

Beirut, compass and constant, shapes her visual language—a grammar built on light leaking around corners, voices echoing in courtyards, the thick air bending time, bodies weaving through memory and anticipation. Each photograph absorbs the density of this world, carrying the textures and temperatures of lived experience without the urge to isolate or resolve, every frame a continuous exchange, a movement toward feeling without the pressure of conclusion.

The Foam Paul Huf Award, long established as an amplifier for new photographic perspectives, acknowledges Boulos not through ceremony or simple recognition but by making space, a shift in the ongoing geography of the medium, allowing a current to pass from the streets of Beirut into the global bloodstream of image-making. The work circulates as a living archive, a collective diary shaped by encounters, complicity, and the urge to bear witness without reducing complexity to explanation.

Myriam Boulos moves with a certainty shaped by intuition, the city’s sound and temperature anchoring her practice even as the images begin to travel—entering new rooms, new languages, new ways of seeing. As she prepares her solo exhibition at Foam, the work assembles itself as an ecosystem, layering tenderness, unrest, desire, and refusal into a sequence that resists summary and insists on being felt. In these images, the right to feel is inhabited, lived, and sustained, and the city—her city—never steps outside the frame. The conversation that follows steps into this territory, unfolding through a landscape shaped by accumulation, intuition, and the enduring presence of feeling that moves steadily through each image and word.

Alban E. Smajli
You shoot in chaos, but your images feel calm. Is that contradiction intentional?

Myriam Boulos
Ouf, I never thought of my images as calm! It is funny because people also perceive me as a calm person, but in my head, things are anything but calm. Maybe my images are a way of exteriorizing and organizing my internal chaos?

Offline—does that word feel like a refuge, or a threat?

Both. It makes me dream of the idea of refuge, because I think most of us are addicted to the online world, but it also makes me think of the minutes right after the Beirut port explosion, when we were forcibly offline without understanding what was happening and without being able to reach our loved ones. It also makes me think of Gaza, which is forcibly offline on the worst nights of Israeli bombings during the ongoing genocide.

Offline can also suggest being disconnected from dominant systems or structures. Do you see your practice as a conscious step outside of what photography is "supposed" to be?

Honestly, I am not trying to fit or not fit into anything when I create images; I am just trying to be honest with myself. The images are encounters between my internal world and the universes of the people I photograph. But I do consciously and constantly deconstruct the medium of photography, which is historically colonial and patriarchal.

How do you decide what to show, and what to protect?

Being aware of the power of images and our responsibility as photographers, when I take risks, it is hand in hand with the people in the images: they are the ones who choose what they want to show or hide. From there, I usually follow my gut; I know when a picture is a big crush for me or not. I know if I want to share it with the world or not.

You mention that your images are also about the right to feel, to desire, and not be defined by normalized pain. What emotional truths are you most committed to revealing?

It is important for me to take space with our emotions in general. As a highly sensitive person, I always feel a lot, and this comes with the bad habit of trying to hide my emotions in order not to be “too much.” Photography is a way of channeling my emotions without feeling any shame. It is also important for me to document different types of emotions and realities as a way of defying Western media’s often stereotyped, reductive, and harmful representations of our region.

Myriam Boulos
Whats Ours 2019

Who are you photographing for?

For myself, for the people in the images, for people who will find themselves in these pictures, and for people who do not think like me.

Sexual fantasies, war, neuro divergence—your work isn’t afraid of complexity. What’s the one thing people always get wrong about it?

Complexity makes it difficult for people to put me in boxes. I think the person behind the images is one thing people tend to get wrong!

What’s the most fragile thing you’ve ever captured and what’s a picture you couldn’t take?

Wolfgang Tillmans said, “If one thing matters, everything matters.” I think everything is fragile and should be handled and photographed with care, tenderness, and consideration. The pictures I couldn’t take are the ones I take in my dreams. It is a particularly frustrating feeling to wake up and not have a trace or a proof. Max Kozloff said, “With photographs, we have concrete proof that we have not been hallucinating.” But dreams are real to me, and I wish I could keep pictures from this world, too.

Being the first artist from the Middle East to win the Foam Paul Huf Award is groundbreaking and makes you part of a global art conversation. Do you care about that? And what does it mean to take up space as a Lebanese artist—right now, in this global frame?

I am so grateful to be part of this global conversation. I think it’s the photography industry’s role to engage with as many photographers as possible from our region. There are so many talented photographers in the Middle East, and it is necessary to see our part of the world from different perspectives and not only through a few photographers.

Myriam Boulos
Whats Ours 2019

Myriam Boulos
Ongoing War 2023

Beirut is always present. Is it your subject, your background, or your collaborator?

I think Beirut is more like my anchor. I always feel like a little alien, but in Beirut I feel more grounded. The thick air, the contrasted light, the landmarks—my body feels at home here. I feel like this is where my roots are, this is where life is, and this is where I want to understand myself and share love with others.

You once said your photos are about tenderness. Has that changed?

I think tenderness is what I will always look for—in myself, in other people, in images.

You’ve been called a storyteller. Do you feel like one or more like a collector of moments?

I feel like I am more of a collective diary-teller, if that is a word! Or a collector of diaries in the context of collective histories and experiences. But I usually call myself a documentarist.

As you prepare for your solo exhibition at Foam in 2026, what kind of visual or emotional narrative are you hoping to construct?

I hope to put together already existing work in a new way, one that will make me learn things about myself, if that makes sense.

What do you hope someone 20 years from now will feel when they look at your work?

I just hope they will feel. Anything. I can’t choose what I provoke in people, but I would be sad if my images did not provoke anything. I also hope that it brings new perspectives to people who are not informed about some realities but still have preconceived ideas about them.

First published
LE MILE Offline Edition No. 39 FW25/26

courtesy for all images (c) Myriam Boulos
header image Ongoing War, 2024 photographed by Myriam Boulos

IZZY MEIKLE-SMALL * Between Television and Independent Film

Izzy Meikle-Small
Between Television and Independent Film


interview + written SARAH ARENDTS

Joining Outlander in its penultimate season places Izzy Meikle-Small inside a production that has been running for years, with an established cast, a fixed workflow on set, and an audience that follows the series closely. She appears as Rachel Murray, a character whose decisions are guided by her Quaker faith, which led Meikle-Small to spend time researching the community in detail and understanding how belief informs everyday behaviour. That work translates directly into the performance, shaping how the character speaks, how she reacts in conflict, and how she holds her position within scenes that carry multiple timelines and intersecting storylines.

Alongside this role, Meikle-Small continues to develop her own projects through producing. EMIKO JONES, a short film she produced, combines a bilingual narrative with elements of musical storytelling and was developed together with writer and director Hanako Footman. The production process required close involvement in creative and practical decisions, from structuring dialogue across two languages to managing the limitations of a low-budget shoot, resulting in a project that reflects her growing interest in shaping stories from the ground up.

This direction extends into her plans to direct her own short film while continuing to act, with a clear focus on independent productions where she can remain closely involved in performance and development. Feature-length work is part of that trajectory, with the intention to build projects that allow for sustained creative control across all stages of production.

Outlander episodes are being released weekly on Starz and MGM+.

Sarah Arendts
Looking back at your early years as a child actor, which experiences from that time still shape the way you approach your work today?

Izzy Meikle-Small
I think that stepping on your first set at such a young age inherently changes how you experience it. As a kid you still see acting as ‘going to work’ but it’s ultimately much more playful and less self conscious. Something in that remains in how I work. I wouldn’t say I was an unselfconscious person, but when I’m on set I do feel like that falls away in a specific way. I think that must be because of how I first experienced the environment.

With the eighth season of Outlander marking the end of a very long cultural phenomenon, how did it feel to step into such an established world and find your own space within it?

It’s definitely a little daunting to join later on in a series. They already had six seasons in the can so you know everyone will have very established relationships in the cast and crew, and that fans are very engaged and will have specific expectations. But to be honest, it couldn’t have been a better experience for me, on both sides. On set I was welcomed in with open arms, and made to feel at home very quickly, and the fans have been incredibly supportive, even from my casting announcement. It’s been a real privilege to get to join such an iconic show and be part of that story. 

What aspects of Rachel Murray’s worldview were most interesting for you to explore as an actor?

Rachel’s faith is hugely important to her character. It’s the core of who she is, how she makes her decisions, how she chooses to move through life. I didn’t know much about Quakers before starting the show, so getting to dig into researching the community was really interesting. Quakers are very cool! They were very progressive. Ultimately I think that her faith and her moral compass define her, almost moment-to-moment, and I’d never played a character who had such an external force influencing their decision making, so that was very interesting to balance.

With your upcoming guest lead appearance in Call the Midwife, what continues to draw you toward historical storytelling and period drama?

I think period dramas seem to choose me! I do love them, but I would love to wear a pair of jeans for a job one day… No but seriously, for Call the Midwife, I actually was drawn in by my character, Thelma. Her story arc is pretty gnarly, but ultimately ends in hope. I think that’s generally what draws me to a job, the character and their specific emotional arc. Call The Midwife is amazing at having guest roles that are very well rounded with very satisfying pay off.

Beyond acting, you are actively producing your own projects. At what point did you start feeling the need to shape stories from behind the camera as well?

I think it links back to me being a child actor. I grew up on sets, surrounded by all these people who were experts at their various crafts. I was in awe of them all, but didn’t really understand what any of them did. I wanted to understand filmmaking at every level, and I decided the best way to do that was to start making projects myself. While I was at University I helped out some friends on a couple of short films and then really got addicted. In the end, acting or producing, its all storytelling - it’s just different input & output.

With your short film Emiko Jones exploring a musical format across two languages, what interests you about projects that experiment with form or cultural perspective?

Emiko Jones got sent to me while I was filming the final season of Outlander. I remember thinking that I’d never read a short like it, and I had to do it. I knew it would be an ambitious short, especially on a low budget, but I just had to make it. Growing up I loved watching old school musicals, and I loved that this story was reclaiming that traditional genre for a more inclusive take. Bilingual films are becoming more and more popular, which I think is amazing. Being able to showcase different cultures in the mainstream is very important - and this film is all about feeling seen and understood, even if imperfectly. But for me the main draw to make this film, was the writer/director, Hanako Footman. She’s become a very close friend, and I think she’s a special talent. 

With Bedcrumbs approaching a failing relationship through queer comedy, what do you think humour can reveal about emotional situations that drama sometimes cannot?

Ross O’Donnellan the writer, is very good at black comedy and acerbic wit. His scripts fling dialogue back and forth like a tennis match. However, left in the wake of that humour is a very particularly sense of vulnerability. I think it’s well known that people use humour to deflect - whether that be sadness, insecurity, whatever! I think that the use of humour in this particular story, reveals more honesty of emotion than if it had been a straight drama. I always think it’s more interesting to let an audience figure out how they feel about something, rather than being told how to feel - and I think comedy is the perfect tool for that. Make them laugh, and then deliver a real gut punch.

As someone who moves between acting and producing, do you feel that one role changes the way you approach the other on set?

Definitely. I think now that I understand how a set runs, I can feel much more settled in my role as an actor. Sometimes it’s hard in the business of set to understand what’s happening - why we are delayed, why a camera change is taking a long time, why we’ve done 20 takes of the wide - and often in the not knowing you end up thinking it’s your fault - especially as a kid! It’s very freeing to understand when it is and isn’t you to blame. And then with producing, I’m made to think of the whole production from a perspective of serving the creative. It’s about the story, and telling it right. Rather than putting budget first, it’s always the creative for me (and also obviously coming in on budget!).

What kinds of stories or creative collaborations are currently exciting you the most as you think about the next phase of your work?

I’m looking to direct a short this year. It’s been on my mind for a while, and I feel like I’m ready to make that jump. I have another short I’m set to produce that we are currently seeking funding for too. But ideally I’d love to level up to something bigger scale. I’m not sure what that looks like yet. Maybe a feature? We will have to see. On the acting front, I’d love to do an independent feature. I think that’s where my heart lies as an actor and  as a producer. I started in films as a kid - long form TV has been an amazing learning curve, and I’d love to continue to do more - but I would really love to do a feature sometime soon.

talent   IZZY MEIKLE-SMALL
photography   BRENNAN BUCANNAN
styling   GRACE RADHAKRISHNAN
make up   NOHELIA REYES
pr   PROSPER PR

copyright LE MILE Magazine / Brennan Bucannan

The Personal Edit of Henry Ashton: Between Westeros and London

#ThePersonalEdit

Henry Ashton Opens His Camera Roll From A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

written LE MILE

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Henry Ashton opens his personal camera roll during the release of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Stepping into the role of Daeron Targaryen, a greenseer navigating visions of past and future, Ashton enters the expanding world of Game of Thrones at a decisive narrative moment.

Between filming days, costume fittings, late-night script sessions and the anticipation surrounding the weekly episodes, his images document the atmosphere from within. Shortly after, he returns to screens in A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, marking another key chapter in his trajectory.

Built from spontaneous snapshots on his phone and paired with his own captions, The Personal Edit offers an intimate, behind-the-scenes glimpse into a rising actor’s world at the height of release momentum.

Unfortunately I never got to do any sword training on the project, due to Daeron being a pretty ineffectual knight. But, during a horse ridding lesson, I got to see Pete and C.C do their thing.

This is me getting a mould of one side of my face. Turns out getting your ear chopped off is quite an involved process.

We went through quite a few different looks for Daeron, mostly with shorter hair. But eventually Pippa Woods decided on this one. I thought the greasy, long, Kurt Cobain-esque hair was perfect for him.

Ser Steffon Fossoway, played by the incredible Edward Ashely, getting up close and personal with the dragon puppet.

Pete and his weights.

This photo of the amazing Finn Bennett makes me laugh. From the waist down he’s ready to ride into battle. But up top, he’s ready for party party in Berlin.

Shaun and Pete practising lines. I love this photo as it sums up their relationship on and off camera. Just two friends helping each other out.

Quite simply, the best wrap gift I have ever been given.

Ed and Finn deep in a very tense game of chess. I forget who won. Probably Ed. The man’s a menace.

all images
(c) Henry Ashton

The Personal Edit of Justus Riesner: Berlinale 2026

#ThePersonalEdit

Justus Riesner Opens His Camera Roll From Berlinale 2026

written + styled KLAAS HAMMER

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Justus Riesner shares a glimpse into his personal camera roll from the Berlinale 2026. In Germany’s capital, he moved between film premieres, Prime Video’s “A Night to Remember” event, agency meetings, and an afterparty with Charli XCX, collecting impressions along the way and crossing paths with colleagues as well as international stars.

Having trained at the USC School of Dramatic Arts in Los Angeles, he first gained wide recognition through the hit series Maxton Hall – The World Between Us. A devoted film lover, he enjoys not only watching movies but also debating them and he clearly thrives in his profession. Maxton Hall was just the beginning for Justus - let’s see what this year will bring for him.  Built from spontaneous snapshots on his phone and combined with his reflections, The Personal Edit becomes an intimate chronicle of the Berlinale — capturing fleeting encounters, quiet in-between moments, and the unmistakable atmosphere of the festival through his own lens.

fitted in mm6 margiela for my first event with prime video

posed on red carpets and flirted with the press

everything is accompanied by my talented friends

and lots of bling bling
/@benfelipe

klaas got me margielaaaasssss

bad for the body, good for the soul. berlin in february demands controversial ways to remain sane

cos meets jimmy choo

this week’s form of transport consists of uber XLs and mini vans
/with @benfelipe + @runa_goes_luna

where arthouse auteurs meet haute couture

attended „the moment“ after party with charli xcx and a special appearance by the one and only gaspar noé omggg

header image
seen by @hustlebush

all other images
(c) Justus Riesner

The Personal Edit of Ewens Abid: Paris Fashion Week FW26

#ThePersonalEdit

Ewens Abid Opens His Camera Roll From Paris Fashion Week FW26

written LE MILE

For this edition of The Personal Edit, Ewens Abid opens his personal camera roll from Paris Fashion Week FW26. Moving between fashion shows, late-night gatherings and long walks through the city, Abid documents Paris as he experiences it: attentive, curious and instinctive.

Known for his roles in Andor and as Jonathan Harker in Dracula directed by Luc Besson, he shifts seamlessly between cinema and fashion culture, carrying the same sensitivity into both worlds.
Presented through images taken directly from his phone and paired with his own captions, The Personal Edit becomes a visual diary of fleeting moments, encounters and atmospheres that define Paris during Fashion Week — intimate, unfiltered and entirely his own.

When wandering through the streets of Paris and getting lost, the walk unexpectedly led to art and a small coincidence: Rue Léon. Léon: The Professional, starring one of my favourite actors, Jean Reno, directed by Luc Besson, whom I happened to work with not long ago on Dracula.

First event done, it was time to relax and enjoy a good old catch-up with friends, while admiring passers-by in their Paris Fashion Week best.

Madly in love with Paris’ café culture. Just know that when you order a coffee here, a single espresso lands on your table. Espresso. What else?

Let’s just say that one hit the spot just right.

The red carpet at a fashion event, like the TATRAS AW26 Paris Fashion Week presentation, carries its own kind of charge. You simply step into it.

I always like to go to the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre. The architecture, the view, the sense of calm — a perfect place after a busy day.

It wouldn’t feel like Fashion Week without a party or two. Cutting shapes with friends, soaking up the vibrant atmosphere of Paris by night.

The Magliano FW26 show was jaw-dropping. The excitement and suspense before it began gave way to a strong, elegant, dynamic performance — and within ten minutes, months of preparation, hard work, and chaotic commitment came to a close.

Coming home to a Shiba Inu, one-on-one. First, the side-eye of “Where have you been?”, then an hour of attitude, and finally a little “I’ll cuddle, but I’m still mad at you.”

I had the chance to meet photographer Cedric Terrell for a street shoot, and we had a blast. For me, the best part of any shoot is the casual conversation along the way. I find meeting new people fascinating — everyone has a different story to tell.

photo: Cedric Terrell

all images
(c) Ewens Abid

header image Cedric Terrell

INDIRA VARMA *on Characters, Control, and Creative Trust

That’s Where INDIRA VARMA Finds the Energy of a Character

interview + written ALBAN E. SMAJLI

Indira Varma has built a career defined by curiosity, risk, and an instinctive pull toward complexity. Across film, television, and theatre, her performances gravitate toward characters shaped by tension rather than certainty—figures who carry contradictions, secrets, and unresolved pressure. Whether navigating the quiet authority of a contemporary spy thriller or grounding emotion within worlds of heightened scale, Varma consistently seeks out work that resists ease and demands engagement.

That instinct is especially visible in her recent and forthcoming projects. In the return of The Night Manager, she steps into a new axis of power as Mayra Cavendish, a senior intelligence figure whose composure conceals shifting allegiances. Alongside this, Coldwater places her at the centre of a tightly wound domestic drama, where isolation and intimacy steadily collapse into something far more dangerous. Later this year, she enters the Austen universe in The Other Bennet Sister, before expanding into epic terrain as a major series lead in Dune: Prophecy.

Indira Varma wears a coat and dress by EDELINE LEE

In conversation, Varma speaks about process, collaboration, trust, and the pleasure of unpicking a character’s knots. Moving fluidly between genres and forms, she reflects on ambition, play, and an enduring attraction to roles shaped by complexity and open-ended tension.

Alban E. Smajli
When you think about the roles that have stayed with you longest, do they share anything in common?

Indira Varma
I think they’ve generally been the ones where I’ve had a knot to unpick. A struggle. Whether it’s with the writing, a challenging character that holds conflicting experiences, or whether there’s been something like prosthetics or weather to contend with.
The knottier the better of course. But I do prefer the knots to be character related. Challenging work is exciting.

You’ve so many exciting projects releasing and on the horizon, from spy thrillers like The Night Manager to sci-fi dramas like Dune: Prophecy. Do you have any particular standout moments or favourite takeaways from each project?

With The Night Manager - I loved working with Georgie, the director, who found ways to make even what seemed like a couple of lines of exposition into a rooted game. Hayley Squires and I had a great spar together where we got to improv around our scene to keep each other on our toes. But everyone is so brilliant and brings a unique flavour to the project.

It was also such a treat to work with Olivia Coleman. It was a night shoot in Tenerife and we spent the night playing heads up, dancing and ended with our producer bringing us a cocktail at about three in the morning on wrap.
Dune has been full of sets you walk into for the first time and your jaw just drops, and then you have to find a way to make your story feel real and grounded in these vast spaces. I get to work with the amazing Emily Watson - so that’s been pretty damn good!

And then with The Other Bennet Sister, while it’s smaller in scale of production but has the most gorgeous, talented cast. Ella Bucc

In The Night Manager, you play 'Mayra Cavendish’ who is shown to hold an almost quiet authority. How did you find stepping into this role in such a beloved genre of spy thriller, particularly given it's in such a huge project of an immensely beloved series?

It’s always a bit intimidating joining an established show as popular as The Night Manager. I sort of just watch how the regulars play and then slip in under the radar and see what happens. Georgie made sure no matter how big or small your role within the story, your character had to be deeply and personally invested in what was going on. The higher the stakes, the more there is to lose. Mayra is also layered with lies. Who is she? Who does she really work for? It’s fun to have to hide things.

The Other Bennet Sister sees you immersed in British society of the 1800s. What is it about this kind of setting that fascinates you most? Have you always wanted to tackle a project within the wider universe of Jane Austen, and what other British classic novels would you love to be a part of, if you could pick?

Growing up in Bath, I’ve been surrounded by the obsession with Austen. For the first 15-20 years of my early career, all the young actors had their big breaks in some sort of period adaptation and casting was very conventional back then so there was zero diversity. Now things have changed and at last I get to be in an Austen spin off!

I always wanted to be Tess of the Durbevilles. And I’d love to be in some Dickens. Don’t care which one. Actually… maybe the Russian novels appeal even more.

Indira Varma wears a dress by PALMER HARDING

Indira Varma wears the Winchester coat dress by SUZANNAH LONDON

In Coldwater, you star opposite Andrew Lincoln, having known each other since you were teenagers while individually carving out your own careers. What was it like suddenly playing husband and wife in a remote part of the Scottish countryside? How did you develop that particular on-screen relationship given that you know each other so well?

Having history and a friendship with another actor is so useful. The trust and communication is already there and so you can try things more boldly. It’s a total joy, and an advantage of having been in the industry a while now. Richard Coyle and I played characters about to have a baby almost 20 years ago, and now we’re married with 3 kids in The Other Bennet Sister!

Can we expect a return to the stage for you soon, or what kind of play or role would instantly draw you back to the theatre?

I hope so. I miss it so much. I’d love to do some new writing - something challenging, not conventional. There are loads of great new writers and directors I’d love to work with.

I’d also love to do more physical work. Having worked with Hofesh Schechter for Oedipus and done some voice work for Simon MacBurney and seeing Crystal Pite’s amazing new work, I’d love to do more of that kind of experimental stuff.
But there are still tons of classics I’d love to tackle. Including Chekhov and Shakespeare and the great American writers. And Pinter. I want to revisit Pinter.

Is there anything you’re actively searching for in your next roles? What would your next dream role or project look like for you?

I’d like to do some more independent film work. Something experimental. Small and heartfelt. I want to be outside my comfort zone.

Out of all the roles that you’ve played in your career, both on screen and stage, which four would you invite to a dinner party together and why?

I think Lady Macbeth could do with getting out of that castle and meeting a few women. They might persuade her to get a grip about this whole ´I want to be king’ thing. Just to complicate things, I’d invite the alien from Dr Who, Lady Pemberton, I think she’d have fun shape shifting into each of the characters.

Why not Ellaria Sands too? I’m seeing a pattern of slightly obsessed, mad women willing to kill. Maybe they just need to have a few drinks and a laugh. I think the woman I played in Present Laughter is so down to earth and used to massive egos that she’d be a great host.

Indira Varma wears a coat, rollneck, and trousers by JOSEPH, and shoes by JIMMY CHOO

Indira Varma wears a brown trenchcoat by LURLINE, a top and skirt by EDELINE LEE, and brown suede boots by KALDA

talent   INDIRA VARMA
photography   WILL ALDERSLEY via EIGHTEEN MANAGEMENT
styling   NATALIE BREWSTER
make up   NOHELIA REYES using LISA ELDRIDGE
hair   PAUL DONOVAN
jewellery   TILLY SVEAS
special thanks to location   THE PRINCE ARTHUR BELGRAVIA

copyright LE MILE Magazine / Will Aldersley

JOSH S. ROSE *on Performance, Movement, and Photographic Observation

Technical Romanticism
How Josh S. Rose photographs Performance as a Technical and Human Act

written + interview JONATHAN BERGSTRÖM

Josh S. Rose is a visual artist and storyteller working across photography, film, and writing. His practice brings together visual and performing arts, centering on movement, emotion, and image. Recognized for his collaborations with leading visual artists, choreographers and dance institutions, Rose has built a unique artistic language that captures other art forms, especially performance, as both a technical feat and a deeply human experience, an approach he describes as “technical romanticism.”

Lenio Kaklea / The Birds
Performance documentation at MOCA November 2025
Performer Nefeli Asteriou
seen by Josh S. Rose

courtesy of MOCA

From photographing Lenio Kaklea’s The Birds to developing contemplative series such as Tired and The Standouts, Rose turns his lens toward how bodies move through space, time and social expectation. Whether documenting choreography, tracking the passage of daylight, or observing everyday gestures, his work focuses on the patterns and interactions that shape each moment. In this interview with LE MILE, Rose discusses the trust required to document dance, his approach to experimentation within live performance, and the ways repetition and observation inform his evolving work.

Jonathan Bergström
How did you come to photograph The Birds by Lenio Kaklea?

Josh S. Rose
This is one of those things that happens in a minute, but really over years. Kaklea’s piece was coming to the States for the first time and being performed at the Geffen Contemporary at MOCA. Dimitri Chamblas, a longtime collaborator and prominent choreographer and artist, recommended me to shoot it, as they were looking for someone who could jump in and capture the essence of the piece. Almost every performance I capture happens either with someone I have worked with a lot, or recommended by them. Dance is very personal and needs to be captured with care, but also very technical. The light is always changing, the movement can go from fast to slow and a shape comes and goes very quickly. I’m often seeing it for the first time with the audience. So, I’ve built up the kind of trust over the years that makes me a viable person to explore still photography during a performance like this.

When photographing choreography, what visual moments are you paying attention to?

Most choreographers who design for the stage are thinking about a mix of things: there is the meaning of the piece that is expressed through blocking, movement, shape and the interplay of dancers, but there is also wardrobe, art and lighting that help define that concept. Incredible works, like what Kaklea has created, have other things going on, too. At one point, she had a performer fly a drone and projected the drone’s view to the backdrop of the stage. In another, a trapeze hangs from the ceiling. Chamblas, who I mentioned earlier, does a piece with a giant floating balloon structure above the stage. Los Angeles Dance Project has a piece running that uses artwork from Barbara Kruger.

I often shoot dancers performing in and around art installations. So, I try to understand what it is that is trying to be impressed upon the audience and then heighten or accentuate that. I’m very interested in where the interplay of these elements happen. I like to find compositions within those juxtapositions. It’s like shooting a meteor shower or something. Every shot you take is different and you have to be okay with that and accept that a lot of this is stochastic. You’re in the design, so there is no bad shot. You don’t think in terms of good or bad, but rather in deeper explorations of the meaning of the work. It’s interesting that Kaklea’s piece is called The Birds, since birds are a great example of natural patterns of design. For whatever reason, I am very comfortable in a space like that, if not entirely amazed and inspired by it. I think that excitement and curiosity fuels how I see and shoot.

Lenio Kaklea / The Birds
Performance documentation at MOCA November 2025
Performer Jaeger Wilkinson in the back Louis Nam Le Van Ho and Amanda Barrio Charmelo
seen by Josh S. Rose

courtesy of MOCA

How do you balance documenting the work with expressing your own visual style?

My own style is a bit more experimental, or maybe looser, than it is straight documentation. Though when shooting a performance, I make sure I honor the work put into the production. Often what will happen is that I get inspired to try something within any performance and take the time to explore it. Sometimes that is literally two different cameras, but more often it’s a quick idea in between something more formal.

When I am being more expressive in my shooting, I like to experiment with double exposure, filters and often I will mess with the horizon line or find a surprising or unconventional composition. I think of these as tools for emotional expression. I think my visual style is a result of that personal approach, where my own chaotic-curious way of shooting meets the frenetic-emotional nature of dance. When it hits right, I think it sits at the edge of abstraction and that is what makes it beautiful. A certain level of unknown in art is meaningful because it leaves some things to the imagination, plays in the dark and feels wild and free. Often you have to fight against the exactitude of photography to achieve that kind of work.

Let’s talk about Tired. Why did the sun’s passage across the sky feel like the right structure for the project and what did committing to the full arc of daylight reveal that a single moment could not?

Tired is also about movement. But in this case, it is expressed through time. To feel the sun move, not by looking at it but by seeing how it changes something static, seemed like an observation worth pursuing. I became aware while shooting it that I was spinning, or the Earth was spinning with me on it. The interplay of movement here only happens if you sense the sun’s movement, or, in reality, ours. Once that idea entered into the equation, I could no longer see the piece without the narrative element of time.

I think with Tired, the visual is so arresting. This pile of tires is immediately metaphorical. If you look at two shots of it, the movement of the sun is actually hard to notice at first. But that’s what is interesting to me. You have to ask why it’s being duplicated. When you see the difference and focus on the subtleties, that’s when the idea reveals itself. I like an image or series that invites you to explore it. Less immediate, but the potential to reveal more.

You mention the contrast between movement and stationary objects whose purpose is movement. How did that idea guide the project?

I mean, who doesn’t feel a little run over by the wheels of time? Especially these days. This is the flip side of moving, of the revolutions we go through in our lives, of aging. I think we look at tires and think, yeah, that’s me, too - round and round and round. I just wanted to make sure that idea hits you when you look at it. You might have felt a bit of that with just one image, but spread out the images over time and I think it becomes an unavoidable takeaway.

The Standouts
seen by Josh S. Rose

“Dance is very personal and needs to be captured with care, but also very technical. The light is always changing, the movement can go from fast to slow and a shape comes and goes very quickly.”

Josh S. Rose speaks with Jonathan Bergström
for LE MILE .Digital

Compared to Tired, The Standouts feels more outward-facing. How did that change your role as an observer?

The Standouts is still me wondering out loud. In that work, I’m the outsider who quietly sits in the shadows and observes the louder, bolder, more assertive animals of the species. In all my photos, I feel like observation is key, but I think what might be felt in The Standouts is perhaps just a little bit more of an opinion. It’s not about all people, which a lot of art strives to be, it’s about a certain kind of person. But we all know this person, we even have a little of them in us, too. It’s not me, but it is something I recognize in me, in all of us. So, I’m observing others, but I’m questioning it inside myself, too.

In The Standouts, you describe behaviors such as running, shopping, and adding flair as efforts to “be more than who we are.” What made you want to examine these actions through this work?

I remember when I came of age and started finding myself at bars in my twenties, one of the things that stood out to me the most was the way people got louder as the night went on. To a point where, late into the night, a guy would just yell at the top of his lungs or a girl would take her top off, or cry performatively in public. It happened every time. And being, let’s just say less outgoing, it always seemed odd, behaviorally. I mean, I’ll be honest, I never liked it. But there’s a phrase, “We often dislike in others what we most dislike in ourselves.”

So, this is how I see people, or at least a subset of people, or subset of ourselves, as striving to be seen, heard and appreciated: look at me. But if I examine it, this is about me not really putting myself out there in that way and wondering about it, observing it, dealing with it.

I should talk about the stretching part. It’s purposefully rudimentary. It is supposed to feel almost clumsily done because it’s meant to show the thinking, the observation, and how when we do endeavor, it’s often less refined than we believe it to be, verging on rude, or abrasive. These are simplistic desires, being big. I’m just sort of anthropomorphizing it, having it over-manifest in them. There’s some Kafka in it.

When working on this series, did you find yourself observing people, culture, or behaviors, or all three at once?

All three are access points when I’m capturing for this series because some displays are more individualistic and others happen culturally. Going to the beach and being on display in a bathing suit is cultural, so is shopping or going to a museum. But running or standing on a wall with your arms outstretched is more of a personal choice that can be behavioral or even just one person’s colorful feather display.

The Standouts
seen by Josh S. Rose

The Standouts
seen by Josh S. Rose

Each of these projects presents endurance in different forms, physical, temporal, and social. Was that connection intentional?

Humans do have to contend with endurance. Doing things over and over again creates patterns and I put myself in positions to observe and shoot these patterns. I think what the question is keying in on is that there is also a human effect from this. I think that what I am often most intent on is how we respond to our need to endure in order to live. I imagine that is coming across in all of this.

Looking across these three bodies of work, what stands out to you now that may have been invisible at the start?

Movement has been a big part of my trajectory as a photographer. A lot of people know me through my dance work. I think what is coming out as my work evolves into series like this is that there is a deeper meaning to movement; there is more to it than the beauty of doing it gracefully. You can do that, but the full spectrum of how we move through life is on display through these works.

Are there any current works or cultural movements in music, film, literature, or art that feel especially inspiring to you at the moment?

I call my work “Technical Romanticism.” It’s an homage to the Romantic painters with whom I most identify as an artist. This was a time in art when artists were making works that captured the human response to the environment around them, with all the emotions and drama that that entailed. This reaction against order, reason and restraint is important in art. It empowers the emotional being and discusses the intersection of world events with its effect on us as human beings. People responding to their environments, it takes many different forms. But all of them feel inspiring to me. That is the direction my curiosity goes when I have a camera in my hands.

Tires
seen by Josh S. Rose

“What is coming out as my work evolves is that there is a deeper meaning to movement; there is more to it than the beauty of doing it gracefully.”

Josh S. Rose speaks with Jonathan Bergström
for LE MILE .Digital

all photography (c) Josh S. Rose

SHAHRAM SADAAT *on Photography, Identity, and Visual Culture

SHAHRAM SADAAT
Catches What Slips Between The Hours

written + interview HANNAH ROSE PRENDERGAST

Some sports aren’t sports at all. And yet, the groceries won’t take themselves in. Every day runs its course, but Shahram Saadat is there for the moment it falters — shut out in the hiss of closing doors. What most overlook, he catches instinctively, letting the absurdity frame itself. Life is so good at this; we rarely bother to notice everyone trying to make it in one trip. For now, you are here.

Photography by Shahram Saadat. Styling by Katie Shaw. Hair by Moe Mukai. Make-up by Stevie Squire. Casting direction by Emma Matell with casting assistance from Oliwia Jancerowicz. Set design by Sophia Willcox. Production by Sophie Hambling. Photo assistance by Dylan Massara with styling assistance from Sorcha Kennedy. Design by Stela Kost. Set assistance by Oliver Bell. Models: Cam, Don, Freddie, Isabella, James, Lian, Patrick, and Sarah.

Hannah Rose Prendergast
How has growing up between British, Iranian, and French cultures shaped your perspective and the relationships you form through the camera?

Shahram Sadaat
I’ve always lived between cultures, surrounded and shaped by them — but never fully belonging to just one. Growing up in different countries with parents from different backgrounds, I picked up pieces of each place: the language, the food, the traditions, the humor. I’ve learned to adapt, to blend in, to understand people from all walks of life. At the same time, I’ve often felt like an outsider, carrying parts of many homes without ever fully settling into one. It’s a strange in-between space, but it’s also where I feel most myself. My identity isn’t tied to one culture or place; it’s made up of all the little things I’ve absorbed along the way.

You staged Target Practice in Norwich in 2022 — a setting far from American gun culture, at least on the surface. What unexpected parallels stood out to you?

Target Practice was part of an ongoing series exploring the social dynamics and demographics of British cities. Each project involved traveling to a new location with a concept in mind, allowing the work to unfold through spontaneous interactions with locals. I found striking similarities: a shared fascination with control, threat, and spectacle, shaped by media, pop culture, and imported imagery.

Working with “real” people rather than actors brought a rawness to the project. Many participants were initially taken aback by the setup, but they quickly leaned into it — adopting poses, expressions, and gestures that revealed both playfulness and deeper social conditioning. It was in these unscripted moments that the tension between reality and performance became most visible.

How do you navigate the responsibility of representing a community you’re both part of and apart from?

It means holding a unique and sometimes challenging position: speaking from lived experience while also acknowledging that my perspective may not align perfectly with those who feel deeply rooted in that community. I carry parts of the culture with me — its values, stories, and struggles — but I also observe it from a distance, shaped by my own mixed background and experiences.

This dual position gives me the ability to translate, to bridge, and to connect. At times, it feels like I’m walking a tightrope, trying to honor the culture without claiming to speak for everyone in it. It also gives me a deep sense of responsibility: to listen carefully, reflect honestly, and represent with humility and care.

In both Jogging with Shopping and Out of Office, you explore how wellness and burnout are performed rather than felt. What draws you to these displays of efficiency and exhaustion?

We’re constantly under pressure to live efficiently — eat well, exercise regularly, and never waste a minute. Jogging with Shopping came from observing people in East London, where these expectations collide in everyday life. Society tells us to stay fit, eat healthy, and be productive, but also not to let any of it slow us down. So we merge it all — jogging with shopping bags. It’s a reflection of how wellness and efficiency get tangled, turning even self-care into something performative and rushed.

We’ve learned to wear exhaustion like a medal. In a world that measures worth by output, showing how drained we are becomes a way to prove we’ve tried hard enough, cared enough and pushed far enough. It’s not just something we feel — it’s something we display, hoping our struggle will be seen and, maybe, finally, validated.

How do you think our relationship to images has shifted, especially in the age of AI and visual manipulation?

We’re more skeptical than ever — even real images or videos can feel suspect. At the same time, we’re also more vulnerable to falsehoods, because manipulated content can look so convincing. The line between what’s real and what’s fabricated has blurred, forcing us to question not just what we see but how we decide what to trust. Believability now relies less on what looks true and more on context, source, and critical thinking.

For me, it’s less about exaggeration and more about reflection. Performance and documentationbegin to overlap — you’re not creating the surreal, you’re revealing it. In those moments, thework becomes a mirror, holding up the chaos, contradictions, or humor that already exist. It’sless about inventing absurdity and more about finding clarity within it.

“Machines give us structure in a world that rarely slows down.”

Shahram Sadaat speaks with Hannah Rose Prendergast
for Offline Edition - FW 2025 Nr. 39

How does going cashless change not only how we spend, but how we value ourselves?

When money becomes invisible, transactions feel less personal and more abstract. We’re less aware of what we’re giving up, and that can blur the emotional weight behind our choices. At the same time, with digital payments and financial tracking, our worth can start to feel tied to numbers on a screen — credit scores, spending habits, digital footprints — rather than our real-world character or contributions. In a cashless world, there’s a risk that self-worth becomes more transactional, more measurable, and less human.”

In The Whale (2024), the car wash becomes “a forced moment of respite.” Why do you think we rely on machines to grant us permission to pause?

Machines give us structure in a world that rarely slows down. Notifications stop, timers end, apps tell us to breathe — it’s as if we need external validation to justify rest. In a culture that values constant productivity, a machine’s signal can feel more acceptable than our own intuition. It becomes easier to listen to an app than to our bodies or minds, because we’ve been conditioned to associate rest with guilt — unless it’s scheduled, measured, or approved by something outside ourselves.

What place does Duende hold for you and the wider community?

Duende began as a gallery space and continues today as a publishing platform. Co-run by Sophie Hambling and me for several years, our mission was to showcase emerging artists with a strong emphasis on community and accessibility. As our practices evolved, it became more challenging to maintain a regular exhibition schedule. Duende remains active, though — we continue to participate in international art fairs and publish editions throughout the year, keeping the spirit of the project alive in a more flexible form.

What makes a compelling lookbook image?

It comes from the everyday — those small, often overlooked moments that carry their own strange poetry. I’m drawn to the idiosyncrasies that naturally unfold: a misplaced object, an awkward gesture, a clashing pattern. These aren’t staged or manufactured — they just are. But when you frame them in a photograph, they take on new weight. You’re not just documenting something mundane; you’re elevating it. You’re exposing its quiet absurdity or beauty. In doing so, you heighten that strange, liberating feeling of who the fuck cares — a kind of irreverence that resists perfection and embraces the mess of real life. It’s not about spectacle; it’s about attention — seeing what’s already there and choosing to care just enough to capture it.

What’s the secret to successful living?

I have no idea. Let me know if you find out!

“When money becomes invisible, self-worth risks becoming transactional.”

Shahram Sadaat speaks with Hannah Rose Prendergast
for Offline Edition - FW 2025 Nr. 39

all photography (c) Shahram Saadat

CHRISTINE ADAMS *Talks Restraint, Exposure, and Endurance in Hijack 2

CHRISTINE ADAMS

—Talks Restraint, Exposure, and Endurance in Hijack Season 2

interview + written ALBAN E. SMAJLI

Christine Adams appears in the second season of Hijack in a storyline shaped by isolation, memory, and the lasting pressure of consequence. Her character Marsha occupies a space removed from the immediate emergency, allowing the series to linger on psychological endurance and emotional exposure.

Christine Adams wears a coat by PAUL COSTELLOE, a top by WOOL PROJECT, pants by THEO, shoes by TABITHA RINGWOOD, and bags by ROGER VIVIER and PAUL COSTELLOE

Season 2 premieres on January 14, 2026, on Apple TV+. Created by George Kay and Jim Field Smith, the new chapter situates its central crisis on a hijacked train in Berlin, with Idris Elba returning as Sam Nelson. Alongside this high-pressure arc, Marsha’s journey unfolds through distance and interior tension, offering a parallel line shaped by aftermath.
Set one year after the first season, Marsha appears in a different phase of her life, marked by vulnerability and raw exposure. Adams works with restraint and precision, carrying extended passages alone and allowing stillness to hold narrative force. The performance depends on focus, emotional discipline, and sustained attention over time.

Christine Adams wears earrings by MAISON LUMIERE, a jacket and skirt by AHLUWALIA, and shoes by PLEIADES

Christine Adams wears earrings by ARTE NOVA JEWELLERY and a full look by GIORGIO ARMANI

Alban E. Smajli
In Hijack season 1, the tension lived at 30,000 feet. In season 2, where does that tension live for you as an actress?

Christine Adams
Most of the action this season unfolds on a train in Berlin, creating a very specific sense of momentum and claustrophobia. My character’s storyline, however, exists almost entirely outside of that world and stands alone in a place that is very remote. There’s a deliberate contrast between these two environments. What was set in motion in season reverberates into season two in a form the audience won’t be expecting, shifting both the emotional weight and the perspective of the story in surprising ways.

What part of your character’s journey in Hijack did you want to push further this time?

We meet Marsha at a very different place and time in her life, one year on. The strength and composure that defined her in season one have fallen away, leaving her far more vulnerable and exposed. There’s a rawness to her now - emotionally, psychologically, and at times quite literally, which allows the audience to see parts of her that were previously hidden. It’s a stark contrast to who she was before, and it opens up a much more fragile, intimate portrait of the character.

When you play someone who is constantly navigating pressure, how do you protect your own emotional space off set?

It’s a tricky one. I’m not a method actor but on days when you’re playing material with really high stakes it can be extremely challenging, particularly on a show like ours where the tension is constant and unrelenting. On those days, I tend to retreat a bit and stay quiet - it’s a form of self-preservation. I’m not very good at socializing when I’m carrying that kind of emotional weight, and I need at least an hour after wrap to properly switch off. When you have to access darker places in your mind and body, the line between imagination and reality can start to blur; your nervous system believes it’s real. Shaking that off isn’t always easy, and giving myself space is the healthiest way I’ve found to do it.

Working on a series built so tightly around suspense, what has it taught you about restraint and about stillness?

So much of acting is about what isn’t said, and on Hijack in particular that’s how we build tension. The silences, the stillness, the things the audience senses rather than hears are often doing the heaviest lifting. A large part of my storyline takes place with me completely alone, which has been a fascinating challenge - exploring how to tell a story with little to no dialogue. Everything hinges on Marsha’s internal monologue: what she’s thinking, what she’s suppressing, what she’s fighting to hold together. It’s a very internal, psychological kind of storytelling, and that restraint is what makes it so powerful.

Christine Adams wears earrings by XHENXHEN JEWELLERY, a coat by JENNIFER MILLEDER, a blouse and skirt by FALVAON, and shoes by ROGER VIVIER

Christine Adams wears earrings by XHENXHENJEWELLERY, a necklace and bracelet by CAPSULE ELEVEN, fur by SANNA PATRICK, a coat by RAY CHU, a dress by THEO, and shoes by TABITHA RINGWOOD

When you first read the scripts for season 2, what was the moment or scene that made you feel, “I want to be inside this story again”?

I think where Marsha’s storyline goes will come as a big surprise to the audience. She’s transformed significantly from who we saw in season one, and stepping into this new dimension of her character was incredibly exciting. The writers were keen to continue exploring the emotional bond between Sam and Marsha, but this season they push that bond to its absolute limits, testing it in ways that are intense, unpredictable, and deeply human. It’s a rare opportunity to navigate a character who’s evolving under such pressure, and the journey has been as thrilling to play as it is to watch unfold.

Looking back across your career, which project quietly shifted the way you see yourself as an actress?

I’m not sure if it was quiet, but living and working in LA for 15 years taught me an enormous amount about being an actress. I had to walk into a lot of very intimidating rooms and prove myself again and again, which wasn’t always easy, but it forced me to really understand the kind of actress I am. It taught me that acting isn’t just about technique, it’s about drawing people in, connecting with them, and giving them a reason to root for your character. That insight has stayed with me and continues to shape the way I approach every role

The industry often tries to define identity for women on screen. How have you navigated your own path through those expectations?

When I started out, I always wanted to play lawyers and doctors - roles that simply weren’t available to actresses of colour in England at the time. Moving to America opened up opportunities to be cast in more aspirational, multidimensional roles, which was incredibly liberating. Early on, it was frustrating to read scripts where the female characters were one-dimensional or thankless; there was so little depth or agency. Now, as I’ve gotten older and moved into a different age bracket, I’m seeing material become far more interesting and layered, which is something I’m really happy about. It feels like there’s finally room to play women with real complexity, nuance, and power.

Quick fire no commas
a scene from Hijack that stays with you

In Season 2 there’s a sequence towards the very end of the series that was incredibly complicated to shoot. It demanded precise timing and coordination to make everything work perfectly which made those days simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. Those are the kinds of shoots that really test you as an actor and as a team. I can’t wait to see how it all comes together on screen.

a word that captures season 2

Nail-biting

a feeling you hope the audience carries away

The Human spirit can overcome anything.

If you could speak directly to viewers just before they press play on season 2, what would you want them to pay attention to?

Be prepared for twists and turns, nothing is ever quite as it first seems.

Christine Adams wears a dress by JENNIFER MILLEDER

photographer + creative direction   IAN KOBYLANSKI
styling   BORNA PRIKASKI
styling assistant   ANNIE GRACE
set design   LOUIS TOLEDO
make up   HOWARD K.C.X.
make up assistant   JADE MISTRY
hair   ABI IGZ
lighting assistants   NICOLA SCLANO & ADAM WEIR

copyright LE MILE Magazine / Ian Kobylanski

MIA FINEMAN *Casa Susanna

MIA FINEMAN
Casa Susanna - 160 Ways to Be Seen Without Being Seen

written + interview AMANDA MORTENSON

These days, visibility begins with a screen, curated, uploaded, compressed into metrics before it even has a chance to breathe. The Casa Susanna photographs were born in another tempo. Their images were exchanged by hand, slipped into envelopes, held close. The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Casa Susanna exhibition opens a door into this quieter visual world, one that sustained a cross-dressing community in 1960s New York long before hashtags or timelines existed.

In that era of strictly defined gender roles, Susanna Valenti and her wife Marie Tornell operated two small resorts in the Catskills. They were modest in size but expansive in purpose—safe havens where guests could arrive as themselves and leave the constraints of their day-to-day identities behind. The gatherings at these resorts and in New York City became a ritual. Cameras were constant companions, tools for recording and for becoming. Each photograph affirmed an identity, captured a gesture, and expanded a shared archive of self-expression.

Andrea Susan (American, 1939–2015)
Donna (Buff/Cynthia) in a navy dress in Susanna and Marie’s, New York City apartment, 1960s, Chromogenic print, 12.9 x 9 cm
Art Gallery of Ontario, Purchase, with funds generously donated by Martha LA McCain, 2015 / Photo ©AGO

The exhibition gathers around 160 works from three major collections—photographs from the Art Gallery of Ontario, from artist Cindy Sherman’s personal holdings, and from The Met’s own collection, gifted by Betsy Wollheim, whose father was part of the Casa Susanna circle. The selection includes chromogenic prints, silver gelatin prints, and Polaroids—the latter a breakthrough technology for this community. Polaroid cameras delivered instant results without the risk of sending film to a commercial lab, a critical safeguard in a time when gender nonconformity could lead to blackmail, arrest, or worse. In their own time, members of Casa Susanna used the term “transvestite” to describe themselves, a word now widely recognized as pejorative. The exhibition uses “cross-dressing” to describe the practice of wearing clothing associated with another gender than one’s daily presentation. The photographs show the kind of femininity these guests aspired to inhabit.

The ideal was deliberate, even nostalgic—rooted in the postwar archetypes found in McCall’s and Ladies’ Home Journal: the well-put-together neighbor, the serene housewife, the respectable matron. In the photographs, every detail—hemline, handbag, hairstyle—becomes a note in the visual composition of that identity. Poses are practiced and drawn from the vocabulary of mid-century magazine photography, with a hand on the hip and a pointed foot, knees together when seated, and legs crossed at the ankle. The images carry tenderness and defiance, each present in equal measure.They resist cultural norms simply by existing, but they also protect and nurture “the girl within,” as Susanna herself described it. In this way, the lens becomes a co-conspirator, a mirror that reflects back the self each sitter longed to see.

The exhibition extends beyond the walls to include issues of Transvestia, the underground magazine that served as a lifeline for the community. Published six times a year and mailed directly to subscribers, it offered autobiographical essays, style advice, and fiction alongside readers’ photographs. Functioning as a pre-digital social network, it stitched together a far-flung group into something resembling a public, though one that operated entirely out of sight. The curatorial approach, led at The Met by Mia Fineman, preserves this intimacy. Many of the photographs are small, close to the dimensions of a smartphone screen, but their presence in the gallery invites a different kind of looking. Here, scale becomes personal, measured in proximity. Standing before them, the viewer is drawn into the same hand-held space their original owners occupied, the same vantage from which they were once studied, treasured, and shared.
The quietest details in the exhibition are often the most affecting. A snapshot of Sheila and her wife Avis in matching dresses, tailored so they could wear them together; the patterned wallpaper behind Susanna and Felicity as they laugh in a summer kitchen. These are lived moments, captured for the circle that understood them, free from the staging of outside expectations.

Casa Susanna refrains from universalizing its story, presenting its subjects outside the frame of contemporary trans narratives. It invites visitors to encounter a community as it saw itself, through the images it made for its own eyes. In doing so, it restores a fragment of history to the broader photographic canon, reminding us that some of the most radical acts of visibility happen far from public view.

“One of the most important things you cannot experience when viewing images on a screen is a true sense of scale — the physical size of a picture in relation to your own body.”

Mia Fineman speaks with LE MILE
for Offline Edition - FW 2025 Nr. 39

Unknown
Gloria in Susanna and Marie’s New York City apartment, 1960s, Chromogenic print, 8.9 x 9 cm
Art Gallery of Ontario, Purchase, with funds generously donated by Martha LA McCain, 2015 / Photo ©AGO

Andrea Susan (American, 1939–2015)
Photo shoot with Lili, Wilma, and friends, Casa Susanna, Hunter, NY, 1964–1968, Chromogenic print 8.4 x 10.8 cm

Art Gallery of Ontario, Purchase, with funds generously donated by Martha LA McCain, 2015 / Photo ©AGO

Amanda Mortenson
These days, visibility begins with a screen. They´re curated, uploaded, compressed into metrics before it even has a chance to breathe. But the Casa Susanna images were never chasing an audience. How does their analog quietness speak to us now, in this overstimulated world?

Mia Fineman
In our current moment, when our visual lives are so completely dominated by screens, I think people — or at least some people — are beginning to crave firsthand encounters with the physicality of images, whether on the pages of books or magazines or on the walls of a museum or gallery. One of the most important things you cannot experience when viewing images on a screen is a true sense of scale — the physical size of a picture in relation to your own body. Ironically, these twentieth-century snapshots are almost exactly the size of a phone screen, created to be held in the palm of your hand.

Photography has always had a thing for secrets. When you first saw the Casa Susanna images, what did they whisper to you before you even read a word?

The first thing I noticed was that these are images of men wearing women’s clothes, makeup, and wigs — yet they are not drag queens. They are not performing an exaggerated, theatrical version of femininity. Rather, they are making a deliberate effort to appear authentic, to “pass” as ordinary women.
In their time, members of the Casa Susanna circle described themselves as “transvestites,” a term now widely considered pejorative. In the exhibition, we use the preferred term “cross-dressing” to describe the practice of wearing clothing typically associated with a gender different from one’s daily presentation.

What kind of woman did these guests want to become and what kind of woman did the camera let them be?

Their ideal of femininity was highly conventional, even somewhat old-fashioned for the time, rooted in the gender stereotypes of the 1940s and 1950s found in magazines such as McCall’s and Ladies’ Home Journal. The women they aspired to emulate were well-put-together and ladylike — the neighbor, the housewife, the respectable matron. The camera became a tool for creating and expressing these identities, drawing on the visual language of magazine photography and family snapshots. Posing was deliberate: when standing, often with a hand on one hip and one foot pointed and extended; when seated, with knees together and legs crossed at the ankles.

Unknown
Susanna standing by the mirror in her New York City apartment, 1960 – 1963 Color vintage print, 23 x 19 cm

Collection of Cindy Sherman / Photo ©AGO

“These are images of men wearing women’s clothes, makeup, and wigs — yet they are not drag queens. They are not performing an exaggerated, theatrical version of femininity.”

Mia Fineman speaks with LE MILE
for Offline Edition - FW 2025 Nr. 39

In a way, the lens was a co-conspirator, do you think these photographs were acts of resistance, or rituals of tenderness? Maybe both?

For those in the circle, seeing photographs of themselves dressed en femme was a profoundly powerful and affirming experience. The images carry a tenderness alongside a quiet resistance to prevailing cultural norms and expectations. Above all, the photographs functioned like magic mirrors, reflecting back an internalized self-image — what Susanna called “the girl within.”

How do you curate something that was never meant to be seen in a museum?

It’s not unusual. Most photographs, from the 19th century up through the present, were never meant to be seen in museums. That’s what makes the photographic medium so interesting—it’s capacious and touches on every aspect of our lives..


Let’s talk about the Polaroid. What role did that specific technology play in shaping the identities we see in these frames?

During this period, gender-nonconforming people faced intense persecution and lived with the constant threat of blackmail and denunciation. Sending film to a commercial lab carried a significant risk. A few members of the community learned to process film themselves, but the arrival of the Polaroid camera in the late 1950s proved especially popular among cross-dressers, offering both privacy and instant results.


Unknown
Lili on the diving board, Casa Susanna, Hunter, NY, September 1966, Chromogenic print, 12.8 x 9 cm

Art Gallery of Ontario, Purchase, with funds generously donated by Martha LA McCain, 2015 / Photo ©AGO

Unknown
Sheila and her GG Clarissa and friend, reading Transvestia, 1967, Gelatin silver print, 8.4 x 10.9 cm

Collection of Betsy Wollheim / Photo ©AGO

What’s the quietest detail in the entire exhibition? The one that most people miss, but you still think about on your way home?

I was surprised to learn that several members of the Casa Susanna circle had wives or girlfriends who accompanied them to cross-dressing gatherings. There is a small photograph in the exhibition of a cross-dresser named Sheila with her wife Avis, standing together in front of a fireplace in matching patterned dresses. They had these dresses tailored so they could wear them together. Avis wrote a column for their community magazine recounting her struggle to understand Sheila’s cross-dressing, with concerns ranging from anxiety about being outed to frustration over sharing the family clothing budget.

There’s something almost radical about someone printing their truth in black-and-white and mailing it across the country, long before Likes existed. These photos were passed hand to hand, folded, hidden, held close. What does "Offline" mean inside a show like Casa Susanna, where the act of sharing was slower, riskier, and maybe more intimate?

The members of this community exchanged pictures at gatherings and sent them by mail. They also published them in an underground magazine called Transvestia. It put out six issues a year, distributed to subscribers by mail. It was a community magazine in the sense that nearly all the content was created by its readers. In effect, the magazine functioned as a social network that helped them ease their loneliness and connect with others.

If you had to choose one photograph from the show to hang in your home — not as a curator, but as Mia — which one would it be and why?

There’s a photograph of Susanna and Felicity (whose public identity was John Miller, the brother of photographer Lee Miller) joking around in the kitchen at one of the resorts. I love how it shows Susanna’s sassiness and warmth, and the playful connection between the two women. I also love their tailored summer dresses and the vintage scenic wallpaper behind them. I’d be happy to look at this picture every morning.

header image
Unknown
Susanna, Marilyn, and Marianne, Hunter, NY, 1963
Gelatin silver print, 9 x 12.5 cm
Collection of Cindy Sherman
Photo ©AGO

MANUEL LICCI *On Sport, Community and Wellness Culture

MANUEL LICCI
Body In Motion

interview + written CHIDOZIE OBASI

There’s no denying the influence fitness and sport have had through centuries and, more specifically, on the creative industry at large. Since the dawn of the Olympics and across further key tournaments across a wealth of disciplines, sports have been permeating the mainstream consciousness, with veterans and newcomers alike embracing and reacting positively to this acceptance of genre.

Manuel wears a cardigan by BRIONI, pants by FIVEFOURFIVE and shoes by SEBAGO

On the fashion spectrum, lines are becoming increasingly blurred between function and tailoring, tackling this field with a packed punch of offerings that infuse elements of wear-anywhere practicality with dashes of winsome elegance and breezy structure. With this in mind, LE MILE’s Fashion Director meets Manuel Licci — Sport and Lifestyle Director at Milan’s media agency Attila&Co — who unpacks the core values of his practice, the importance of community and future hopes. You’re welcome.

Manuel wears a T-shirt, pants and hat by FIVEFOURFIVE, jewellery by LAG WORLD and underwear by CALVIN KLEIN

Chidozie Obasi
First things first: could you introduce yourself to us?

Manuel Licci
I’m Manuel Licci, PR Director for the Sport and Lifestyle division at Attila&Co: a communications agency founded in Milan in the early 1980s. In my daily practice, I develop strategies for brands that operate mainly in the world of wellness and lifestyle. One of my goals is to create authentic connections between companies, talent, medi and communities, promoting stories of inspiration and rich in storytelling.

What’s your earliest memory of sport?

I’ve always been a sportsman, but I’ve never been a professional. I started playing sports at around the age of ten, when I tested swimming (almost forced by my mother, I must admit), then I moved on to basketball and finally soccer, where I played as a goalkeeper in my local team until I was twenty. When I started university and found myself lacking new stimuli, thus I decided to give up competitive sport, but I continued to play in various tournaments for several years. During that period, I also began training at the gym. Since then, sport has become part of my daily routine and has never left it, as I see it a source of energy, discipline, and balance. 

When did you realise that you wanted to pursue this practice as a full-time job?

When I started working in communications, I immediately realized that the world of sports was the field in which I could best express myself, even at a time when terms such as “hybrid athlete” or “running club” were not yet in use as they are today. After the Covid period, in particular, sport has become essential for many, not only as physical activity but also as a moment of socialising, mental well-being and connection with others, reaching an even more diverse audience in terms of age and gender. Sport unites community, values and storytelling: three elements that represent me perfectly.

And how has your journey been so far?

It’s been an intense yet stimulating journey, full of important connections that have enriched me both personally and professionally. I’ve had the opportunity to collaborate with different brands and people, tackling projects that have always pushed me to grow, innovate, and listen to those who work with me, consolidating my belief that sport is a powerful tool for communicating authentic values. 

Sport – and its wealth of facets - has had a significant yet impactful resonance over centuries: from the Greek epoch until the modern day. In your opinion, what have been the most drastic changes (and perhaps the challenges) in how people approach the training side of it, over the years?

n recent years, training has become more conscious, personalised and accessible. Technology has introduced new tools, from wearables to gamification, but the main challenge remains finding a balance between performance, well-being and enjoyment. Today, people are looking for meaningful experiences that connect body and mind, rather than mere results.

Manuel wears a sweater and T-shirt by CANALI and pants by QUARTO ATTO

What values do you look for when picking an athlete to partner with some of the brands in your agency portfolio?

Authenticity, consistency and the ability to communicate real values. An athlete or creator is a strategic partner: they must be credible, share the brand’s vision and be able to build a genuine relationship with their community. Talent is important, but integrity and storytelling are even more so. Only then can collaborations become true engagement experiences.

How important is team building and community in your day-to-day approach?

Fundamental. A good strategy always comes from discussion. At Attila&Co, we have always placed great value on teamwork and community relations. After all, sport is always a team effort: no project can truly succeed without a strong ecosystem to support it.

And tell me: are there any downsides or setbacks you encounter, in this field and in your routine?

As in any dynamic sector, there are challenges: tight deadlines, the need to adapt quickly to change and managing expectations. But these are aspects that fuel creativity and push you to find new solutions. It’s a fast-paced but extremely engrossing environment, where every obstacle can be turned into an opportunity.

Is mental health a theme that is dealt with in the sports sector, or would you argue that it is still a marginalised topic?

Mental health is much more central today than in the past, but it remains an issue where there’s still a long way to go. Fans and professionals are increasingly aware of the importance of psychological well-being. As communicators, we have a responsibility to give space to these conversations in a responsible manner, helping to create inclusive and supportive environments in equal measure.

What's next for you? Future hopes?

My hope is that the social trend that today involves Gen Z and millennials towards a healthy and sporty lifestyle will not fade away, but become a constant source of inspiration, especially in these turbulent times. I would like to see this trend turn into a real movement, capable of motivating more and more people to take care of themselves through sport and wellness. Personally, I want to continue to grow both as an amateur athlete and as a communications professional, developing projects that create credible connections between brands, athletes and communities and help to spread an inclusive, authentic and wellness-oriented sports culture. In my own small way, I want to help build a sports culture that truly inspires people, every day.

Manuel wears a total look by LORO PIANA

credits
all Images (c) LE MILE / Antonio Crotti

seen ANTONIO CROTTI
fashion director + stylist CHIDOZIE OBASI
head of production JESSICA LOVATO
fashion coordinators ALBERTO MICHISANTI + EDWARD PUSCA
make up KIM GUTIERREZ via STUDIO REPÒSSI
hair ANGELICA DAVANZO via BLEND MANAGEMENT
model MANUEL LICCI
production assistant LORIS VOTTERO
fashion assistants ALESSANDRO GIANESIN + ANGELINA PERSIANI + CHARISSE ORDINARIA + VALENTINA INVERARDI