Here come the animals

We have a new album out! It’s called ‘Des Animaux Pires Que Moi’, featuring music by Louis Fontaine, and vocals by Yzoula, formerly in the French band La Femme. (An English translation could be ‘Creatures Crueler Than Me.’) 

After the positive experience we had working on our song ‘Tormento’, composer and multi-instrumentalist Louis Fontaine asked if I would like to brainstorm and write the lyrics for his next album with the singer Yzoula. We met up in his studio in Paris. Pointing to an old film poster above one of his 1970s synthesizers, he said he wanted to make an album about a vampire or a young witch. He played some of the tracks he had composed and I took some notes in my sketchbook. 

Excited about the project, I walked to my local library and checked out a stack of books about witchcraft and the history of the occult in Paris. Fontaine sent me the music, along with more specifics: one song should have the mood of chanson française, another should be a speech, another a kind of spell, another a spoken story, and the last song should be a bit melancholy.  I walked the rainy streets of Paris, crossing the Seine, singing poems to myself, and remembering the times I could have used some magic powers. 

From there, I created the character of the album's protagonist: a kind of sorceress with my personality and experiences combined with elements of the singer. Then I wrote the songs in French, layering my stories and moments with my research, along with inspiration of witchy movies and 1970s pulp books, (which I collect) plus a sprinkle of imagination… and a dash of dark humor. I also came up with the titles of the instrumental songs, except for the second song on the record. Fontaine liked the lyrics, recorded Yzoula’s dreamy vocals, brought in a harpist and a violinist, and spent many hours mastering and perfecting the songs. 

‘Des Animaux…’ tells a story about supernatural powers, taking risks, playing with seduction and revenge, and prowling around Paris. Broc Recordz is releasing ‘Des Animaux Pires Que Moi’ on April 18th, 2025 on vinyl. You can listen to the first single here or watch the video here. If you don’t have a record player, you can stream the album to get in the midnight mood.

Use Your Illusions: My First Exhibition in Madrid

This year has been hell at times and yet there came a point where I woke up and started acting with urgency. Between the global pandemic, two members of my family in life-or-death situations (unrelated to Covid), and the intense loneliness of spending so much time alone, I thought 2020 might break me. But at the end of summer, suddenly I took action. I wanted something good to happen! I created an artist book and distributed it to numerous bookstores and art museums, where it was received well. I started drawing and painting like my life depended on it. I was invited to participate in two important exhibitions (details are in the previous two posts.) And in December 2020, I had my first dual exhibition in Madrid. 

'Use Your Illusions' examined the purpose of illusions and memories, nostalgia and desire, questioning whether these trips into imagination are positive or detrimental to one's present reality. The exhibition featured both my figurative paintings and the surreal analog collages of the Spanish artist Ella Jazz. We both lived in California at the same time, before meeting in Madrid, and this experience greatly influenced our artwork and worldview.

'Use Your Illusions,' Exhibition View, 2020

'Walking Up To Your Street', Margo Fortuny

Acrylic on canvas,  26 x 18 cm

'The Fighter', Margo Fortuny, 2020

Acrylic on canvas, 80 x 60 cm

Beto looking at 'Love Me When I'm Gone' by M. Fortuny. 

Photo: Larry Balboa

'The Trip', Margo Fortuny, 2020

Acrylic on canvas, 50 x 65 cm

'The Lover', Margo Fortuny, 2020

Acrylic on canvas, 70 x140 cm

'Use Your Illusions' Madrid 2020. Photo: Larry Balboa

Here I am outside 'Use Your Illusions', at Pavilion. 

December 2020. Photo: Diego & The Blue Sea

For more images of my artwork check out my Instagram @margofortuny .

The way the night knows itself with the moon, be that (way) with me.

– Rumi, “In the Arc of Your Mallet.” (13^th Century.)

Diego talks about prose and love. M.F. 2012

A 2010 study at Stanford University showed that passionate love has the same effects as painkillers or illicit drugs. Professor of psychology Arthur Aron, PhD elaborates:

"When thinking about your beloved, there is intense activation in the rewards area of the brain - the same area that lights up when you take cocaine, the same area that lights up when you win..."

Source: http://med.stanford.edu/ism/2010/october/love.html

sparse/beautiful: meet photographer rasha kahil

I’ve been a fan of Rasha Kahil’s photography ever since she published ‘XI and La Guele du Monde’, a tender collection of portraits that accompany stories of sexual encounters.

Kahil studied at the Royal College of Art in London. She's exhibited at GSK Contemporary at the Royal Academy of Arts, the British Film Institute, The Running Horse (Beirut) and the Empire Project Gallery (Istanbul), among other places. She always shoots on film.

Last week we discussed taking off your clothes in people's houses, personal space, Roger Ballen, and Marina Abramovic:

I love your hand-numbered publication ‘XI and La Gueule de Monde’. Do you have plans to make a sequel or another publication on a different theme?

I wouldn't do a sequel to ‘XI and la Gueule du Monde.’ It was a one-off publication, though I continue to work with the same themes in other work. But I do love producing books, so it is always an option if I feel that a particular project would work well in that format. My photo series ‘In Your Home’ is also a limited-edition book I developed recently because I felt it important that the whole series be presented as one package -only a small selection from the 36 images is usually exhibited in galleries.

For your self-portraits in various houses,’ In Your Home,’ how did you pick the houses? Are they all your friends’ places? Is it something you planned or do you spontaneously wander into a room and take off your sweater and things?

For ‘In Your Home’, I could never pick the houses in advance, it was just a matter of luck, being left alone for long enough for me to be able to disrobe and take the self-portraits without the host's knowledge. That's why the project took so long to develop (2008 to 2011). Sometimes I wouldn't get the opportunity for a few months, then suddenly I’d get shots done in 3 different homes in a week.

How much does a space inform your work? Is your work more about the person in the space or does the space act as its own character?

I've always been interested in the relationship between a person and the space that they create for themselves, particularly a domestic setting, which is where a lot of my portrait work takes place. The space itself becomes an extension of the sitter themselves. Or in the case of ‘In Your Home’ it is the clash between my body and that of another's personal space that becomes the focus and the point of tension in the image.

Recently you shot Antonio Banderas for Harrods. Any other exciting or high-profile projects coming up?

Shooting Antonio Banderas was a chance commission that I thoroughly enjoyed! I was commissioned by the production company of his new movie Black Gold. It thought it would be tricky to connect with such a high-profile persona who is so used to being photographed, and having them interact and collaborate somehow in such a short period of time. But he was such a great guy to shoot, very down-to-earth, participative and willing to try out things for the lens. I really enjoyed the whole session!
Do you have a favourite photographer?

I really admire the work of South African photographer Roger Ballen. Each single image he produces is imbued with such emotion and depth. I also really love the work of Viviane Sassen and Katy Grannan.

Who would you like to collaborate with?

I'd love to participate in one of Marina Abramovic's pieces. It would probably be one of the scariest most challenging things ever, she's such a legend, but I'd completely immerse myself in whatever project she'd have up her sleeve.

Rasha Kahil’s work is currently on show at Maddox Arts in London (9^th February-31^st March.)

http://www.rashakahil.com/ http://maddoxarts.com/

The Kneeling

Photograph by Rasha Kahil

http://rashakahilblog.blogspot.com

The piano was playing. She bowed to her leg, almost touching the barre. An arch, a gesture. The muscles kept repeating a rhythmic prayer. Pointed toes orbited over the floorboards. An hour passed. The piano stopped. She passed through rooms, picking up her bag, changing into tennis shoes, brushing loose strands off her damp forehead.

Outside the sky was a canvas. Clouds dissolved into swathes of bleeding violets. Her bicycle was waiting, locked up chastely. She hopped on the red frame and pedaled home, enjoying the wind singing around her face. The road ahead dimmed during the long ride and the hair stood up on her arms. The trees hid in the dark waiting for the moon. Turning left, she was home.

The house was quiet. A mound of grey fur napped in the corner of the kitchen. She reached for an apple and a knife. The apple was peeled and sliced at the table, devoured and finished.

Tomorrow’s our last morning, she thought in the shower, adjusting the faucets. She traced a picture of his face in the steamed glass. One night, they had sat in the green tub with the shower running, pretending it was raining, kissing between mouthfuls of cava. When he complained about the drink she poured the rest over his head. He tried to fold her like paper but there wasn’t room so she leaned back and leapt out and ran laughing to the next room, leaving a trail of wet footprints…

Washed, rinsed, dried, wrapped in a big coarse towel, she retreated to bed. Alarm set, she curled up in sheets like peach skin.

It was still dark when she slipped on the white cotton dress, clean tights, a holey blue sweater (the one she never washed) and boots. Her reflection was pleasing. She approached her bicycle in habitual steps. The pedaling woke her up.

This day had happened so many times. They liked to meet early. At first it was under the pretence of having company whilst running. Then they ended up walking in the bluish light, exploring the woods, and eventually pressing each other against the bark under the trellis of branches. Her mind roamed down familiar paths.

Hopping off the bike, she led it to the clearing where they met. The air smelled of wet dirt. Faint from excitement and a hunger that hummed in her belly she advanced. He was there. He looked fitting among the trees, shadowy in dawn, a Pan with dark locks brushing against explicit cheekbones. His lips were crimson and his eyes shone as if he had been enjoying wine. Smiling, speaking, their hands melded together.

He took a kiss and they began to walk over crisp leaves. The day was emerging. This was where she wanted to be and yet she couldn’t savor it. Already she felt his absence weighing on her, carving up their embraces. Anticipating the loss, she was distant. A small nausea and a swallow in her throat distracted from his words and warm hands. Some fingers were adorned with cuts: gifts from his guitar strings. His music had inspired first her admiration and then resentment.

They paused, looked at each other, cheeks flushed, lips biting. Faces close like blades of grass; they sunk down to become entangled one more time. Cottony arms surrounded her, pulling her near. His heart was beating against her chest. Forgetting the futility of nostalgia, she tried to memorize the kisses. He smelled like clean laundry and maybe he had frosted flakes for breakfast. These details were silently collected. They rolled over and she wandered into his eyes. Touches silenced the thoughts.

Soundless they lay there, waiting for the sun to warm them. Giving up, the couple stood, adjusted themselves and returned to the clearing. Shivering a little, there was not much to say now. They wheeled their bicycles to the road. She held him for some time, drowning in the minutes, breathing him. She drew away, said goodbye. One last fever on the lips. Dazed by the parting, she climbed over the metal and rode away. A song played in her head.

-Margo Fortuny

Photograph by Ryan McGinley

http://ryanmcginley.com/moonmilk

A Master of Ambiguity

Yesterday touched me. First I went to the Ed Ruscha retrospective at the Hayward Gallery. I overheard him say, “I’ve been doing the same thing for so long I don’t even though why I do it. It’s compulsive. It’s my vocation.”

Then I introduced myself to seminal multi-media artist and asked him where his favourite place in L.A. is. (Mr Ruscha has lived in Los Angeles since the 1950s.) He replied, “Lucy’s El Adobe on Melrose in Hollywood.”

Ed Ruscha, I Was Gasping for Contact, Pastel on Paper, 1976.

Around 7 o’clock, I went to the Robert Mapplethorpe opening at the Alison Jacques Gallery. The sidewalk was crowded with art aficioados rapturously waiting for Patti Smith to play an intimate set in honour of her close friend Robert Mapplethorpe. She began to sing in the doorway of the gallery: When we were young, we had imagination, we had each other… In between songs Patti spoke about walking around New York with Robert.

Standing quite close I sketched her and wrote down her words. On the topic of AIDS awareness, she said, “It doesn’t mean we can’t have fun. It doesn’t mean we can’t be free. It just means we have to love our life and take care of it.” She also advised, “All of you in the next week or two, read Rimbaud, read Jim Carroll and look at Robert.” When Patti sang acapella Because the Night, everyone went silent before tentatively beginning to sing along. She sounded amazing and sincere.

Robert Mapplethorpe, 
Lisa Lyon, 1982, Silver gelatin print, at Alison Jacques Gallery

“I’m glad that you’re able to breathe

I’m glad that you’re able to distinguish me

from the lights along the thruway.

I mean don’t both of us illuminate

the direction which you are taking?

and don’t both weep nervously above

the moist pavement where you move”

-a verse from The Narrows by Jim Carroll

Jim Carroll died a few weeks ago. Here is his obituary.

SUBCULTURE WITH LOVE

THE BED'S TOO BIG WITHOUT YOU

By Margo Fortuny

This is about an artist that started out D.I.Y, as in punk style, drag style, taking snapshots of her friends, documenting their lives: getting dressed up, listening to Lou Reed, getting wasted, fucking, being love-seared, dying, hanging out in New York/ London/ Berlin… The subject matter is often relatable (everyone has glanced longingly across a room, eaten birthday cake, peered in the mirror) and even when you haven’t done what’s depicted, you can FEEL it. The sting of youth, the excitement of experimentation, the disillusion of failed love, the aesthetics of a new city, self-transformation…Nan Goldin archived the feeling.

Snapshot-style photography is something anyone can do, from famous artists like Larry Clark and Wolfgang Tillmans to younger sparks like Ryan McGinley... yet Goldin’s work features a unique pathos. Nan Goldin is a snapshot pioneer, a staggering witness to love stories, addictions, nightlife, death, and the quiet minutes that happen every day. She is a historian to her best beloveds. Frank without being sensational, beautiful without being obvious, and cool without effort, Goldin’s photography touches a nerve. What sets her apart is the striking intimacy portrayed, exemplified in her work “The Ballad of Sexual Dependency.”

After studying at the Museum School in Boston, and surviving the suicide of her sister, a young Nan Goldin came to New York in 1978. She was a fan of Caravaggio, Faulkner, Tulsa, Dietrich, Antonioni, and Fassbinder… Back then NYC was punk/ dangerous/ electric with creative fire. In the late 70’s/ early 80’s, Goldin hosted Bowery loft parties popular for the characters in attendance…and the inevitable board games, rolled-up dollar bills, cake, cocktails, and tail-feather shaking. She worked as a waitress at Tin Pan Alley, while pursuing her vocation as a photographer. Goldin was part of the New Wave Life. The era’s parties, pleasures, and achievements were not important. The personal interactions were what mattered. She preserved them. She took pictures at work, out and about, at home, in bed, everywhere.

Goldin was inside the NYC downtown scene, and she documented it. On the topic of Goldin’s contemporaries, Darryl Pickney wrote “This was not the first generation to fall under the spell of the ruinous message that a wild life indicated a fertile imagination, that art was intrinsically progressive, a form of dissent, and that you would have to spend some time in the wilderness because of your daring aesthetic choices…” Goldin captured this 80s New York mood of heady recklessness and creative rebellion, before it burnt out. Many of the people shown in her early slideshows were dead by the 1990s.

As the years passed, Goldin maintained her intimate photography style while getting clean. She expanded her visual repertoire to include daylight, new characters, and more landscapes. The artist continues to create striking portraits and memorialize friends with AIDS. She exhibits internationally, from London’s Tate Gallery to Paris’s Centre George Pompidou to New York’s Museum of Modern Art.

Rewind a couple decades. In the beginning Goldin was presenting slideshows, usually accompanied by live bands, or homemade mixtapes. She worked the projector at bars and nightclubs, in front of an audience of friends. Her first NYC slide show happened at Frank Zappa’s birthday party at the Mudd Club. These slides, which became the seminal “Ballad of Sexual Dependency,” depicted a portrait of the Lower East Side collective experience, and the human practice of feeling and living and looking into oneself.

“The Ballad of Sexual Dependency” created between 1981 and 1996, is a series of 690 slides, shown over a period of forty-five minutes. The slides form a narrative, dealing with identity formed by gender politics, love, and sexuality. The subjects were her close friends assuming various aspects of themselves: lover, mourner, and social self/private self. Each photograph is taken as a tender glance, presenting imperfect people with such honesty and lack of judgment, thus rendering the subjects loveable and beautiful. At the time, the slideshow was radical. Now it is recognized as fine art. Her work is still relevant, as a window to a specific time and place, as a tool for awareness, and as a candid visual language.

Nan Goldin captures the energy between people.

The Arch

AN ATTEMPT TO LIVE THROUGH A TONGUE-LINED TUNNEL FILLED WITH RED CLOUDS

& CONCRETE FORESTS

A wet collision against the wall!

O the splattering of kisses…

We trade tongues by the bricks.

In the city romance is on concrete,

And the streetlight is our moon.

In between the skinny streets

And dirty sidewalks our footsteps

Leave a trace of happiness…

I hold your hand, rough

Skin stretched over the bones and

Blood of love; in the background

I hear an orchestra of sirens,

Honking and shouts…

In front of me I watch the

Beautiful movie of your eyes, curtained

By damp, black shadows.

Our soundlessness overcomes

The neon noise, and

Inside I sense

Your pulse flickering.

photo by weegee. top photo: unknown source

Tenderness and Restraint

++++

photo credits: M.M., fortuny, fortuny, sabine lynn.

i thought of you.