Freaky, and a little bit demented, the current exhibition on view in New Jersey at Harpy Gallery features the work of Nick Payne, Andrea Lukic and Trevor Baird. Each of these artists makes eerily personal work. Looking at it feels as if we’ve entered their bedrooms, stumbled on a crusty sock or a conspiracy theory…

XGirl Lola shot in horse-girl style by Manon Macasaet

Instability, a globe like ours, resting
on a pedestal of vacuum, a ping-pong ball…

Eugene Kotlyarenko is the most relentless auteur of millennial indie. Since the release of his tour-de-force 0s & 1s—a multicam post-internet fable of a young man’s quest to be reunited with his laptop—Eugene has consistently been making films that showcase the rising personalities of the avant-garde, propelling them onto increasingly bigger screens.

Not a perfect romance. But nothing ever is.

PUBLISHED IN ISSUE 19 PHOTOS BY DUSTIN HENRY It’s undeniable that Etienne Gange has got the look! We asked the Montreal skater what makes him tick. Photos by Dustin Henry. Special thanks to Vans for making it happen!  

She’s got a long neck and attitude to match. Whip-smart, carefree, and boiling-over with acuity. With big strange chunks of cardboard taped to the sides of her face, she blocks out the has-beens of seasons past. Her body, a loose hose, motions confidently to the future of elegance.

Fate is terrifying. What cannot be seen is infinitely more powerful, trans-dimensional… I do think we participate in fate so at least there’s an element of control.

You’re probably all a bit concerned about the climate at this point. I bet a lot of you read  articles, discuss climate change with your friends, recycle, and maybe even make an effort to vote green. But really, the concern is largely academic for a lot of us. When the climate shit hits the fan, the people reading this are probably going to be pretty safe.

Nena Madalena’s paintings are joy transmissions. When our bodies stop working, are we as free as this? Colourful, patient brushstrokes and meticulous patterns depict the things the artist holds close to her heart: family, children, flora and fauna.

Tamara Faith Berger writes the best similes. Like the rest of her prose, they’re visceral and utilitarian. “My mouth felt like wallpaper glue” or “the smell from her shorts was like milk on the verge.” The pleasure of Berger’s language, the way it grabs you—you can flip open a page at random and it’ll still sink its hooks into you.

Historically, the concept of the “Renaissance Man” has been as ill-bequeathed as it has been gendered, and the aspiration to it may or may not be responsible—consider any number of “celebrity crossovers” from George Bush’s dog paintings to James Franco’s (unfortunate) homages to Cindy Sherman. Amongst such ranks are the various works of Dr. Jack Kevorkian. Also referred to as “Dr. Death,” Kevorkian was a self-proclaimed renaissance man, and possessor of a different kind of fame.

Like an anxious Slider, we arrive to David Jien’s world in hopes that it is Prime Earth. Recon: everyone is happy, busy. There are lush leaves on the trees, normal clouds and normal sunshine. There’s a sense of purpose, adventure even. ABCs are in order; things are normal. Until we realize—they aren’t.

The “taking another look” line is iconic for several reasons, one being that it’s a stunning instance of Bradley’s inexplicable sex appeal—the glittering of his blue eyes to a near ludicrous extreme, and his face as worn and as chestnut as a gerascophobic Cary Grant, somehow successfully bolster this.

Despite superficial tendencies towards cuteness, Ram Han’s sexualization of women feels like apocalypse pornography. The male species have been obliterated—their bodies too weak to process the now-toxic quality of air.