News

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

AW X AYR now available here!

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I'm stoked to announce my collaboration with AYR. My range of printed tees & sweats will be available May 6th - above I'm wearing the BOY sweatshirt. Printing done by LQQK Studio - thanks boys!

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FIGURE is a brand strategy company in NY who needed some website lovin'. I created a brand image for them and wrote copy for their homepage.

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Come!

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My boy and I were interviewed for The Working Pair. Full interview & pictures coming soon.

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The Drexel is a new hotel in Miami Beach. I produced a series of work for the rooms, just in case the view of palm trees doesn't do it for you.

Come stay next time you're in the sunshine state:

1440 Drexel Avenue
Miami Beach, Fl

You can see some of the pieces here.

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Dan McMahon made a studio visit and took some photos of me making stuff. Pieces shown are for a hotel commission in Miami.

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My dad is hunter. I wrote a poem about him for the latest issue of Avenue Journal. Other good stuff in there by Lisa Rovner & Roberta Ridolfi.

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"A colorful combination of love, overheard street-conversations, Nabokov, synthesizers, nostalgia, Being A Girl, the halfway place between awake and asleep, the future, fear."

An interview for the latest Black Magazine - get your paws on one.
Photo by Dan McMahon.

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Art Basel, Miami

 

Luminous resonance of teenage boy half tones reciting melodies of a madman at sundown: all for your listening pleasure at Scope Art Fair for the Cnnctd+ Show.

Love,
Amy

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Jonathan Zawada

 

R'member wakin' up thet mornin' t'Nicky hollerin' O shit, sum thievin' fuck gone stole our bike tires clean off & we had no grub lef' neither 'less y'count cans which y'all know don' count fer shit even if y'do got an opener & course we don't. S'we get draggin' our sorry asses t'some gud fer nuthin' shack thet only got black bananas & a pile'a foreign junk so beat up by th' sun like it bin sittin' there longer then th' man at th' counter wit' a face already dead. Nuthin' to shotgun neither but sum Fanta wit' a weird-ass logo & it don' matter if y'all on American concrete or island dirt, Fanta be poor people shit. A truck all loud wit' smoke & metal drove pas' & all them kids in th' trailer start yellin' Palagi Palagi at our white skins jumpin' up & down & pointin' like they seena buncha ghosts. Th' smalless fella, well he had eyes cut right from th' sea like blue glass in that li'l dark face'a his, sumthin' I ain't never seen before, like maybe he sum kinda angel & I watched him good an' long as they disappeared into th' green. Wit' a shit tun'a nuthin' we bolted back barefoot seein' who cud skid th' furthess in th' dirt road & th' loser gotta feed th' ress sumhow. Course DJ lost like he no-shit always do & after callin' him dick juice fer a while he scales up a goddam coconut tree & starts chuckin' 'em down like big hairy heads splittin' right open when they hit th' ground. Milk spilt e'rywhere we picked up th' sandy chunks & took 'em home, carved out th' flesh wit' butter knives & hurled them husks at dragonflies big as our hands. We lay down in th' yard wit' thet big sun gettin' real sof' like, drinkin' leftover beers & all the while Black Bess cumin' up nex' t'me breathin' all loud & wet & thumpin' her warm hide down on th' grass. We stayed out 'til night laid down a sky so low & thick wit' stars we cud feel 'em graze our sunburnt faces. All fell hard asleep right there on th' lawn layin' on towels stiff wit' salt not thinkin' once how bein' young was easy as a sunrise, like sumthin' y'always knew wud be there when y'woke up.

inst: zawhatthe
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Sarah Nicole Prickett

 

Looking at you
makes me
thirsty. We
watch white
sun swallow sky
'til our eyes
sting. I prefer
drinking from
the bottle
even though
you say plastic
is bad. There is
something
hard and bright
about you
like light hitting
glass while mosquitos
suck from our
skin. I feel
familiar
with this earth
and the way you
say my name
like it's
the only word
you know. Out
the window the
land is long
and low
and I am here to
claim every
territory
on your body.
Everything
is dry except
our limbs
which fry in
sweat. We
cook our hearts
rare. I know
one way to love
you and one
way to make eggs
and you say
both are how
you like. Once
on this road
we saw a cloud
about to
happen but
I think it
was just a
mirage.

inst: snpsnpsnp
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Hisham Akira Bharoocha

 

Her: Can you see me?
Me: Your body is a language I cannot speak but understand.

Her: What about below my skin?
Me: I would have to dive under to know.

Her: We can only be as deep as you are dry.
Me: What if I reflect you like the sun?

Her: I need more than that.
Me: Like you need me or you need someone to soak through?

Her: It's the same thing.
Me: There is so much of you and so little of me.

Her: I have known you for longer than fear has.
Me: What did I look like?

Her: Like light before it had a shadow.
Me: I don't remember how to swim.

Her: It's like finding your way home, you know how without trying.
Me: A flood came once and washed me out.

Her: I can teach you how to float and together we can be an island.
Me: I can feel myself sinking.

Her: Why are you scared?
Me: You are the only reason why I learnt how to hold my breath.

Her: Why are you scared?
Me: You are the only reason why it doesn't matter anyway.

inst: softcircle
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My Kind Of Romantic

 

The tribe of angels at Dossier Journal expose my weakness. Read about my Citrus Girl here, feel your shinbones sting.

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The Ferris Wheel

 

A piece for Dossier Journal featuring all things good: unrequited love, a ferris wheel, nipples. Read It

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New Museum

 

I was one of the lucky 100 to feature in a project at the New Museum: CNNCTD+100. Participants included the likes of Yoko Ono, Cindy Sherman and Pharrell Williams. Check out the wall painted for the show by NYC artist Jason Woodside - it's wild!

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