Sarah Moon

"To be more creative is to get closer to childhood." 

"Very often I say to myself: I would like to make a photo where nothing happens. But in order to eliminate, there has to be something to begin with. For nothing to happen, something has to happen first."

Born in England in 1940, Moon made her name in haute couture fashion photography with luxurious and mysterious compositions. This gorgeous volume brings together that work with her other images in an exciting first retrospective. In the fashion work, her models are studious and disengaged, often turned away or intentionally blurred themselves transformed to a compositional element. Images of animals, portraits, still lifes, and wonderful landscapes both rural and urban fill out her oeuvre. In her black-and-white images, Moon (also a filmmaker) masterfully tends the edges of darkness where the merest hints of light create detail, texture, and form. Her tasty color work is highly saturated and grainy. Innovative, witty, and seductive, Moon's photographs draw the viewer into a dream world, at once soothing and vaguely troubled like the opening of a storm. 

Here is the interview of Sarah Moon:

Frank Horvat : Your photos are often criticized as too pretty, as if that prettiness was a formula, an easy way out.
Sarah Moon : I'm glad you raise the point. It is true that there was this appearance of preciousness, of cuteness, especially at the beginning. I was so seduced by seduction! Now, a whole period of my work seems far away from me, I no longer identify with it.

Frank Horvat : I didn't mean that I dislike your older photos. Recently I leafed through your books with a group of young people who work with me. We took a sort of poll about the photos we liked most, and often our choice fell on the oldest, for instance the young woman on the path, with the little dog.
Sarah Moon : It's among the ones that I don't reject.

Frank Horvat : And the other young woman on a sort of grid, with a little girl who makes a gesture...
Sarah Moon : "Charlie Girl", I don't reject that one either. It's a black and white photo. I believe that if I didn't work in commercial photography, I would never work in color. It's in black and white that I visualize.

Frank Horvat : But among our preferences there were also some color photos. The still life with fruits, for example.
Sarah Moon The pears. But in that one color is thinned down, manipulated, kind of color without color. That one I like.

Frank Horvat : Still, you are one of the very few photographers who have found new ways to deal with color.
Sarah Moon : I don't really like color. To make it work for me, I have to mess with it. I believe that the essence of photography is black and white. Color is but a deviance. Except when one works with very untrue colors, such as Polaroid, or as in certain photos by Paolo Roversi, where color is flattened, so that painting is no longer the reference.

Frank Horvat : You did, however, find some new solutions, at a time when many people were putting color film into their cameras, while still thinking in black and white or believing they were doing color photography, when they were only letting themselves be seduced by whatever patch of violent color they found . You increased grain and used it as a kind of filter, to cut out some of the surplus of information recorded by your camera. It's a great idea: as color film carries too much information to be organized into a harmonious whole, you lessen the information by introducing grain, so that you can deal with what's left, in the same way you would deal with black and white.
Sarah Moon : It's true that grain breaks down colors, like a filter. On the other hand, I am less and less interested in grain for my black and white work, I would rather get sharpness and texture.

Frank Horvat : Because black and white, by itself, acts like a filter. So grain becomes one filter too many.
Sarah Moon : Yes, an easy way out.

Frank Horvat : Besides, some of your black and white photos are perfectly sharp. I think of the young woman, with her back to the camera, wearing a polka dot dress and seated in front of a window. It was another one of our favorites.

Sarah Moon : Suzanne? Yes, I like that one, too. There are some that I like, of course. But there are many that I now find too cute, that annoy me.

Frank Horvat : Another issue that seems to preoccupy you is commercial work. You often insist that working on assignment is not necessarily an obstacle to creativity. I wouldn't dream of contradicting you about this, but I wonder if that is the real problem. For me the problem lies not so much in the assignment, as in the staging. Can a photo be directed, like a movie? Is directing compatible with the essence of photography?
Sarah Moon : I've always felt that photography provides an opportunity for staging, for telling a story through images. What I aim at, is an image with a minimum of information and markers, that has no reference to a given time or place - but that nevertheless speaks to me, that evokes something which happened just before or may happen just after. I know that many people question this way of photographing, but why should there be only one sort of photography? I want to create images with elements of my choosing, narrative or evocative, beyond the document about that particular woman wearing that dress. I give myself a literary frame, I tell a story. It's the only springboard I have found for taking a leap. On the other hand, I am interested in commercial photography because it provides me with a purpose. The agreement between client and photographer seems perfectly fair to me. They give me the opportunity to make images, on condition that I show their product in a favorable light. I get paid for doing it and am given the means to do it well. This submits me to a discipline, which is something I need, because for me it's easier to do things when I find myself obliged to do them. To do them just for my pleasure would seem irrelevant.

Frank Horvat : I believe, just as you do, that a photo intended to sell a product can be just as interesting as any other one. But that's not the point that worries me. What I am asking myself is whether a completely staged photo can still be interesting as a photo. Whether there is a threshold, beyond which staging no longer leaves space for the very essence of photography, which is opening a door to the unexpected. For me, this is the greatest problem with assignments. It seems to me that you, in your most successful photographs, allowed for such an opening. And I am sure that when you edit your slides or your contacts, the photo you choose is the one where the unexpected appears.
Sarah Moon : It is true that when I create a frame, a setting, I always expect that within that frame some accident or some surprise will come up. To seat someone on a chair, for example, can be the beginning of a photo, even though it may not mean much by itself. But if I say, possibly only to communicate with the model: "You sit on this chair, and you are waiting, as if you were on a platform at a railway station," that may introduce the sense of an event, may help me to create the feeling of a situation. Perhaps it is only a device that I need for myself. But now I feel disturbed by what you say, by its expression of reluctance, as if for you the idea of staging is negative, a minus rather than a plus.

Frank Horvat : Yes and no. If I bring it up, it's not to criticize you, though it is true that I want to pull your strings, just to get your reaction. If only because I had to defend myself on that same issue, facing the criticism of my friends at Magnum, who believed that photography had to be a document and a testimony. For many years they made me feel guilty for not sharing their belief or following their rules.
Sarah Moon : I used to feel faulted, too, by the "purists" of photography, who saw me as someone who had sold her soul to the devil, because I cashed in my creativity for money. Which they did too, obviously, since they sold their reporting, for less money but with the feeling that they were witnessing some reality. Whereas I only witness my fantasies, my way of seeing beauty in women, which of course is entirely personal, asocial and apparently superficial. Above all, I felt faulted by the little interest that they had for my photos, while I had so much for theirs.

Frank Horvat : Cartier-Bresson once said to me: "You must choose. It's OK to witness reality, as we do, and it's OK to stage, as Avedon does. But one shouldn't combine the two." I didn't accept this, and possibly I was right, since it is precisely my photos of that period that seem interesting today, and precisely because of that ambiguity. But I would like to return to our starting point: you do still photography, but also film. In both cases, you allow a certain margin for the unexpected. Are the rules of the game identical? Does film allow as much margin? Or is there something different, something specific about the unexpected in a still photograph?
Sarah Moon : For me it's the same. It's always like a state of grace, like the appearance of something that I hadn't foreseen, that surprises me and stops me. If I only did what I had in mind, there would be no emotion. It would be like keeping one's eyes shut rather than open, like theorizing rather than seeing.

Frank Horvat : For me a good photo is one that cannot be repeated. I think of, in some of your photos, the hands of those young women and the way those hands relate to each other. "She caught it once" I say to myself while I look at them. "She couldn't ever catch the same thing again."
Sarah Moon : What is it you do not like about it?

Frank Horvat : The very fact of the sequence. I cannot look at the sequence without imagining Sarah staging it - so there is no mystery left. Whereas in front of the single photo I wonder: "Who is this little girl? How did Sarah meet her? What happened?"
Sarah MoonIt is true that from all these narrative series, intended to appear on three of four magazine spreads, I only show one image in my exhibitions or my books. As if I had only worked for that photo. What bothers you about a series? Is it the variation on a theme?

Frank Horvat : It's that it takes us backstage.
Sarah Moon : And possibly the fact that I tell a story with a beginning and an end, instead of letting each image, by itself, suggest a beginning and an end. Repetition gives a key, and with that key, one no longer feels the same curiosity. I agree with that. Very often I say to myself: "I would like to make a photo where nothing happens." My dream would be to achieve that purity. But in order to eliminate, there must be something there to begin with. For nothing to happen, something has to happen first. When I work on a set, with a lot of props, I end up by throwing most of them out, or by mixing them up, or by using mirrors so that one doesn't know what is part of the set and what isn't. I would like to get rid of all the make-up, so that the make-up would be forgotten, to take off all the clothes. I spend my time eliminating things, with the hope that there will be something left that will surprise me, that will make me forget that I am in a studio, in front of a model that I have booked, on a set on which I have spent hours fussing, with lights that it has taken a whole day to set up. Ultimately, what makes me press the shutter is a feeling of recognition. As if suddenly I felt: "yes, that's it ". In fact, these are the very words that come to my lips. I "recognize" something that I had never seen until that moment, that is beyond all my intentions. As in that photo of the polka-dot dress, with Suzanne's back. What I like about it is its weight. It was a moment when I was photographing something else. Suddenly I turned around and there it was. That's what I mean by "a gift".
Frank Horvat : I have been told - or did you say it? - that you are extremely near-sighted.
Sarah Moon : As a mole! that's why I have to work with a tripod. But it helps for sensing the light, and also for judging the relations between shapes. I'm good at both. It was only when I started photography that I became aware of it. People would say to me: "But it's not sharp!", and I didn't understand, because that was the way I saw things, I had never worn glasses in my life.

Frank Horvat : How do you edit your slides? On a projector?
Sarah Moon : Simply on a light table, with a loupe. You know, I make the same photo two thousand times, over and over, expecting it to happen, being afraid of missing it. I only stop when the people who work for me refuse to continue. And even then I have regrets, I keep telling myself that something else might yet happen.

Frank Horvat : Frank Horvat: It's the same for me. What I find astonishing, is that I tend to shoot more and more, while at the same time leaving less and less room for the unexpected. When I photograph in the street, on the contrary, where millions of things happen all the time, I don't take that many shots or insist on a given situation. While in my studio, with a light that I know well, in front of a model that I have directed into an attitude I find acceptable - and from which I only allow her to try some slight variations, like turning her head or moving her fingers - I could go on shooting ten rolls: because I expectsomething from those fingers.
Sarah Moon : Me too. I am there, in front of her, having no idea of what she should do, and even if I had one, not knowing how to tell her. I feel that it has to come from her, it's like hypnotism, I look and look and wait. Of course, from time to time, I click the shutter, if only to encourage her, to encourage myself, to encourage everyone around.

Frank Horvat : But do you know when you've got the photo? Or are you never quite sure?
Sarah Moon : Sometimes I know. But most of the time, even when I believe I've got it, I can't stop myself from searching further and soon I forget that I thought I got it.

Frank Horvat : It's exactly the same for me.
Sarah Moon : Because it happens so fast. And a second later I'm not sure any more that it has happened. At a given moment, I tell everyone: "That's it, we have finished!" but then I ask them to stay for one more roll, just in case, and then for another one. Because I am always afraid of having missed something, in spite of all the trouble I took to bring together all those elements, which tomorrow won't be there. The passing of time makes me panic. When I feel moved by the beauty of a young woman, what overwhelms me is the impermanence, the feeling that it must be captured in that particular instant. I see beauty appearing and disappearing, and I feel disheartened, because I am never sure that I live up to the privilege, that I do what has to be done to convey what I saw. Our anguish, our feeling of guilt stems from the knowledge that it depends on us, on our way of seeing what's in front of our eyes. Not only that particular sitting seems too short, not only that working day, but our whole life as photographers, we are always afraid that it may already be over. Maybe I shouldn't go too long without working, my engine should run every day, because when it doesn't, I don't give myself a chance to make things happen. I should accept the risk of failure, tell myself that failure is not the worst: even though I can't afford failing an assignment, I have at least the right to fail what I do for myself. I should simply say to myself: "Every day I'm going to make a photo."

Paris, November 1986


"It would be a bit strange for him to show up in a funny suit,"
- Hedi Slimane

When he was living in Paris without a driving licence, his driver wore Dior Homme.

A Berlin gallery owner has recalled Slimane turning up to stage an exhibition carrying a box of his own lightbulbs –  he wanted to make sure he got the right sort of white light.
(Source: guardian)



If art about children too often over-simplifies or sugar-coats matters, Julie Blackmon has achieved the remarkable: her photographs dignify wonder as the natural occupation of children. 
They have the respectful un-orchestrated air of a document combined with the beauty and insight of an informed interpretation. Neither nostalgic nor sentimental, the pictures in Blackmon’s Mind Games series explore childhood play from a range of physical perspectives and are printed in an invitingly lush tonal range. The emphasis on play (and not just the children who engage in it) is seen in Blackmon’s attention to the places and objects that inform play, the way her subjects merge seamlessly with those elements or otherwise make them their own. Their absorption in their activities emphasizes the interior world of play, also suggested by the presence of usually only one child in each picture.
Julie Blackmon was born in Springfield, Missouri. She studied art education and photography at Southwest Missouri State University. Blackmon's photographs are inspired by her experience of growing up in a large family, her current role as both mother and photographer, and the timelessness of family dynamics.As the oldest of nine children and mother to three, Blackmon uses her own family members and household to 

"move beyond the documentary to explore the fantastic elements of our everyday lives."


High Places

"The Longest Shadows" is from High Places' sophomore LP High Places vs. Mankind


an indie duo from Brooklyn, NY formed by Rob Barder and Mary Pearson

They create dreamy, unworldly music using a variety of instruments and sounds.

They are also playful with beats by using small drums, shakers, bells, different treated samples featuring hypotic peaceful echos in the background

Vocalist Mary gave us some idea of how she is like being in High Places using some of the photos taken by herself

Define Yourself 

Muse Or Influence

Pros and Cons of being a(n) artist/musician


Favourite Place(s)

Ever (Feeling ) Lost?

Best Gig

Three Essential Things

Movie Or Picnic?

All photo credits: Mary Pearson


Flying pictures by Daniel gordon

 "It is the idea that a picture can simuntaneously achieve the impossible, and fail at doing so, that keeps me coming back for more. Making pictures for me is about what is real and what I want to be real, and the lengths that I will let myself go to accomplish these desires."

Daniel Gordon (born 1980 in Boston, Mass.) is an American artist who lives and works in Brooklyn, New York.

Between 2001 and 2004, on the snowy fields in New York's Hudson Valley and the rocky coasts of the Bay Area in Northern California, photographer Daniel Gordon learned to fly--if only for 1/125 of a second. Using a camera mounted on a tripod, Gordon frames his picture. He then runs out onto the landscape and launches himself into the air, while an assistant snaps the shutter. The images in 
Flying Pictures are at once pastoral landscapes and documents of a performance. Only after considering them for a while, does the thought occur that their fleeting bliss was swiftly met with physical doom--a crash back to Earth. Such a journey requires great humility as well as hubris, and a will to achieve the impossible if only for a moment. The project began at a time when digital technology was changing the role that truth has historically played in the media of film and photography. The ease with which one could now alter an image with Photoshop created a new sense of paranoia concerning 
the veracity of photographs. Flying Pictures unbelievable, unaltered images reveal that there never was just one truth in photography.

by Daniel Gordon (Photographer), Gregory Crewdson (Introduction) 
Published by powerHouse, 2009

Breaking the mode

Celebrating the radical designers who reinvented our sense of the beautiful

The design of clothing has undergone dramatic changes over the past twenty-five years. Designers have introduced subversive elements into the fashion system, examining and deconstructing its entrenched conventions and changing the rules about what is aesthetically pleasing and fashionable.Breaking the Mode: Contemporary Fashion from the Permanent Collection is about designers who revolutionized methods of garment construction or challenged the existing canons of the body’s form, proportion, and fashionable silhouette.


The method of construction is a fundamental component of the design of a building, sculpture, or garment. Couture-dressmaking construction techniques of the early to mid-twentieth century were fundamental to Western fashion; traditional methodology determined the quality and appearance of clothes.
Christian Dior’s 1947 “New Look” mandated an hourglass figure with round shoulders, narrow waist, and voluminous skirts, achieved with meticulously designed and crafted understructures. Dior’s contemporary, Cristóbal Balenciaga, instead relied on the substance and texture of the fabric and his knowledge of construction techniques to create a garment’s volume and fit. Madeleine Vionnet exploited the fluidity of bias draping—manipulating cloth on its diagonal—to create her feminine silhouette, inspired by the human body. With another vision of the ideal, Charles James produced complex architectural monuments with opulent fabrics.

In contrast to traditional Western methods of cutting, padding, and fastidious tailoring to fit an idealized silhouette, in the 1980s Japanese designers Rei Kawakubo, Issey Miyake, and Yohji Yamamoto, in particular, introduced a new aesthetic based on the Eastern concept of asymmetry. They used draping and construction techniques not for perfect fit, but to craft shapes that were in concert with, or in opposition to, existing body parts.
More recently, inner-construction details that previously were hidden have been exposed as part of the “finished” garment. Deconstruction and construction became unified in a functional and aesthetic goal: both remain vital to the garment’s structural integrity, and both are integral to its design and decoration.


Remarkable advancements in textile technology have altered or diminished the authority of traditional construction techniques. Thermoplastic fibers used heat instead of labor-intensive hand-pleating techniques to create pleats, gathers, and tucks, and thus encouraged a radical expansion of the vocabulary of form and the design of the garment as a whole.
Some designers explored new approaches to traditional methods of construction, reinterpreting time-honored techniques such as lace making. By featuring synthetic ornamentation, by combining incongruous materials, such as velvet and plastic, or by integrating traditional materials and practices with innovative ideas, designers assaulted conventional notions of luxury and elegance. The dictates of what was “suitable” or “appropriate” were sabotaged.

New textiles for fashion and interiors include three-dimensional structures designed by computer with sculpted surfaces that replace the traditional techniques of embroidery and beading. Topographical surfaces are achieved with such processes as chemical blistering, spatters and laminates of metallic particles, heat molding and treating, and various complex novelty weaves. With rapidly evolving technology, the potential for textile development will continue to change the look and perception of fashion.


History has borne witness to the oscillating extremes of fashion relating to the parts of the human body. Focus on, and consideration of, the torso and its component parts—bust, waist, hips, derriere—changed with regularity.
At the beginning of the twentieth century, the idealized female form in the West was sculpted by artifice, with restrictive corsetry and voluminous petticoats. During the century, with the exception of the 1950s, fashion’s approach to the torso grew progressively more lenient. Developments in elasticized textiles that mold to the body’s natural curves assisted contemporary designers, including Azzedine Alaïa and Hervé Léger, in realizing their respective paradigms of the female form.

Although costume history is rife with sculptural manipulations of the body, the symmetry of the human armature was rarely questioned. Rei Kawakubo, Yohji Yamamoto, and Issey Miyake, addressing the body as only part of the integral whole of the garment, have used asymmetry as the core design concept in creating garments that virtually stand alone—alternative forms dependent on, but not defined by, the body.
Reminiscent of the architectonic turn-of-the-twentieth-century underwear, contemporary garments also rely on additive structures or structural textiles to create extensions to the natural silhouette and change the perceived shape of the body. The result may be an ingenious twist on the historical figure, a freestanding geometrical model, or a piece of kinetic sculpture.


Designers wrestling with new concepts, evoking definitive positive or negative responses, are not committing transgressions against the established canons of fashion. These designers examine and deconstruct fashion’s entrenched conventions, scrutinizing the origins of preconceptions—the “hows” and “whys” of traditional fashion rules—and consider any building block in the process fair game for subversion and conversion.
For some designers, historical sources are analyzed, taken apart, and re-created, yielding recombinant forms of old and new in unique configurations seen, for example, in the trenchcoats on display. For others, social conventions are the subjects of inquiry. For example, society’s ambivalence and fascination with underwear has been exploited by many post-1980s designers. Some designers make critical or confrontational assertions with their work or, like Franco Moschino, introduce wit and incongruity into their fashion statements. Issey Miyake chose to engage a series of artists because he sought fertile collaboration with other creative people whose concern was the body. A number of contemporary artists incorporate the complex visual language of fashion into their work because of its plethora of cultural, political, and economic associations. Fashion is conceptual and functional; its compelling nature is that it can be either or both.


"To evolve is to continue to breathe creatively." 

- Martin Margiela


Pina by Wim Wenders

"Dance, dance, otherwise we are lost"

Vim Wenders about Pina Bausch
Inventor of a new art form

No, there was no hurricane that swept across the stage,
there were just … people performing
who moved differently then I knew
and who moved me as I had never been moved before.
After only a few moments I had a lump in my throat,
and after a few minutes of unbelieving amazement
I simply let go of my feelings
and cried unrestrainedly.
This had never happened to me before…
maybe in life, sometimes in the cinema,
but not when watching a rehearsed production,
let alone choreography.
This was not theatre, nor pantomime,
nor ballet and not at all opera.
Pina is, as you know,
the creator of a new art.
Dance theatre.


Until now movement as such has never touched me.
I always regarded it as a given.
One just moves. Everything moves.
Only through Pina's Tanztheater have I learned to value
movements, gestures, attitudes, behaviour, body language,
and through her work learned to respect them.
And anew every time when, over the years I saw Pina's pieces, many times and again,
did I relearn, often like being struck by thunder,
that the simplest and most obvious is the most moving at all:
What treasure lies within our bodies, to be able to express itself without words,
and how many stories can be told without saying a single sentence.


Since established in 2005, the Chicago-based band produced 
and released albums of the finest quality, mesmerizing mix of
experimental, shoegaze and dream-pop, 
beautiful artwork/photography come as a package. 

All albums are 
launched by Graveface Records
Ryan Graveface (the sole force behind Dreamend)
is also the owner and sole employee of the label.

The label is well known for casting a variety of remarkable experimental rock bands like Black Moth Super Rainbow, The Appleseed Cast, and Monster Movie, etc.

We have the honour of interviewing Ryan Graveface about some random facts of himself in our  first ever published interview section

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