Maciek kobielski biography of michael

Back in February, before the world warped into a pandemic thriller, before the killing of George Floyd ignited a movement for racial justice, before an uninsignia’d military-style police force was dispatched to quell protesters in the streets of American cities, Jenny Holzer stood in a small, windowless side room in her otherwise bright Brooklyn studio overlooking the East River. Transparent plastic sheets lined the floors; blood-red watercolors in progress leaned against the walls. I told her it looked a bit like a crime scene. “Or an abattoir,” she said.

The watercolors began, Holzer explained, with reproduced enlargements of declassified government documents, to which she added paint in carefully modulated drips, sometimes producing loose, flowing skeins, at other points short, intense dabs and oozing puddles of crimson. This particular series took serial sex offender Jeffrey Epstein’s “little black book” as its base. “What a hateful man,” she told me later. “The president wished Ghislaine Maxwell well relatively recently,” she said of Epstein’s alleged enabler, a reputed Trump associate. “Twice.” Renowned for works that are chock-full of content and often address the most pressing issues of the day, Holzer has long adopted words as her medium. The pithy phrases from her late-’70s “Truisms” series, like your oldest fears are the worst ones and lack of charisma can be fatal, which have appeared on baseball caps, stone benches, and billboards in the years since, were often ambiguous or contradictory. But some, like abuse of power comes as no surprise, do seem to align with Holzer’s greater worldview as an artist who continuously addresses new forms of social and political malfeasance.

That last expression in particular has in recent years been adopted as a clarion ca

Michael Nevin is founder and editor in chief of The Journal, a curated art and culture quarterly that began in as a photocopied snowboarding &#x;zine. He is also the director of the Journal Gallery, situated in a converted garage on North First Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, next to the magazine&#x;s office. Entry 29 of the journal is about to hit newsstands with a few surprises, including a supplement created by Nate Lowman titled Life&#x;s a Beach and Then You Die. The accompanying exhibition, Wish You Were Here, goes up at the gallery on Sept.

Name: Michael Nevin

Age: 29

Born: Park Slope, Brooklyn

Occupation: Editor in chief of The Journal and director of the Journal Gallery.

Home base: Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Most surprising part of The Journal Juergen Teller photographed David Blaine for the issue. After the images, there is a conversation between Blaine and Bobby Fischer. Shortly before Fischer passed away in Iceland, they documented some of their exchanges. Not many people knew Fischer and his life was quite private, so to have this in the magazine is very special.

Collaborators: My wife and partner in The Journal, Julia Dippelhofer, and the art director Peter Miles. I couldn&#x;t make The Journal without them.

Watering Hole: White Slab Palace &#x; it&#x;s the only place in New York where I will go to drink by myself.

Canteen: For breakfast or brunch, Five Leaves in Greenpoint. It has the best pancakes ever. I go to the Polish restaurant Kasia&#x;s in Williamsburg for lunch quite often. Takahachi in the East Village was practically my dining room for a number of years and is probably my favorite restaurant in the city.

Morning coffee stop: Marlow and Sons, which is close to my apartment, or Oslo on Bedford on my way to The Journal.

Museums: Dia Beacon. I also love museums that w

Michael Kors’s love affair with New York City runs deep. He grew up in Merrick, Long Island, and would make regular treks into Manhattan as a teen. He later moved into the city to attend both the Fashion Institute of Technology and Studio Kors became a regular at the latter after dropping out of the former to work at Lothar’s, a high-end boutique on 57th Street in Midtown. There, he waited on the shop’s glittery clientele, which included people like Rudolf Nureyev and Cher, and soon began designing the in-house line. One day, the late Dawn Mello, the legendary fashion director credited with reviving the nearby fashion mecca Bergdorf Goodman in the s, spied Kors tending to the windows at Lothar’s in an outfit she found intriguing. Mello approached Kors and asked him where he got his clothes; he replied that he’d designed them himself. And thus, in , Michael Kors Collection debuted, launching the career of a designer who now leads a global fashion empire—and who continues to be inspired by the ever-changing cultures and rhythms of New York.

This year, Kors celebrates his 40th year in business. He marked the occasion this past April by staging a blockbuster runway show in Times Square. An international, multigenerational mix of ur-supermodels—Naomi Campbell, Helena Christensen, Paloma Elsesser, Karen Elson, Bella Hadid, Shalom Harlow, Liya Kebede, Precious Lee—paraded down Broadway in looks from Kors’s fall collection. Among them was Russian-born Irina Shayk, now herself a New Yorker of more than a decade. For Shayk, the idea of working in fashion—and living in New York—wasn’t even a pipe dream when she was growing up in the village of Yemanzhelinsk, near the border with Kazakhstan. But after arriving in New York, she discovered what Kors has always found so optimistic about both the city and the industry: For all of their quirks and curveballs, there’s always room for new people and ideas, and anyo

LINDA YABLONSKY AT HOME IN NEW YORK, OCTOBER JACKET: IRO. PANTS: CHANEL. T-SHIRT AND SHOES: YABLONSKY&#;S OWN. STYLING: ANDREAS KOKKINO. COSMETICS: MARC JACOBS BEAUTY, INCLUDING SKY LINER PETITES HIGHLINER IN MIDNIGHT IN PARIS, AND TWINKLE POP EYE STICK IN VOLVER. HAIR: DAVID VON CANNON/STREETERS.

Linda Yablonsky tells us how she came to writing about art:

&#;I came to New York in , hungry for every kind of experience the city had to offer. And it had everything imaginable. As a theater student at NYU, I went to Broadway, off-Broadway, and off-off-Broadway shows every week, and Max&#;s Kansas City or other bars the rest of the time. I was also a relentless reader of alternative newspapers and magazines, chiefly The Village Voice (it had the best writers), Rolling Stone, and &#; Andy Warhol&#;s Interview. At some point, probably after I switched my major to English Lit, I started picking up art magazines. Conceptual art and process art totally mystified—and tantalized—me. So much so that in , the first and only play I wrote (for an experimental theater group) was about an artist who made sculpture out of the detritus of his life and refused to sell it, so the market couldn&#;t corrupt it or him. I had no idea what I was doing. (It was a musical.) Looking back, it seems I understood more than I thought, and was more involved in art than I realized.

&#;Thirty years would go by before I started writing about art. For ten of those years I wrote virtually nothing, an act of self-betrayal that I do not want to repeat. In that time, I went to shows in galleries, museums, and nightclubs. (In the &#;80s, downtown clubs patronized by artists were alternative exhibition spaces.) When I started writing again (short stories only), I was as hungry for action as ever. After such a long hiatus from my own voice, I needed to stretch my chops. So around , I jumped at a chance to write reviews for Artforum, even though I felt intimid