Mike Osterhout & The Church of the Little Green Man
Absurdist art church is a safe place to transgress in the Catskills.
Absurdist art church is a safe place to transgress in the Catskills.
In this short documentary film, we talk with body painting artist Anastasia Durasova about her struggles with depression and motherhood as she developed her unique creative style.
Qinza Najm is a multi-disciplinary artist. Originally trained as a painter, she now enlists a broad range of mediums in her creative practice.
In this short documentary film, we sit down with artist Scooter LaForge in his New York City studio. Scooter is known for painting on anything and for the raw spontaneity of his work. We discuss the childlike life of an artist and his collaboration with Walter Van Beirendonck.
In this short documentary film, we sit down with Walt Cassidy, a former New York City Club Kid. Now an artist and designer working from his Brooklyn studio/apartment, we to talk about adornment, group etiquette and why all scenes must die.
In this short documentary film, we visit Ben at his home in Brooklyn, New York to discuss the origins of his creative impulses and how he became the world’s leading expert on Who Let the Dogs Out.
Gene Coffey comes clean about his struggle to establish a creative practice that satisfies both his artistic compulsions and his financial needs. In this micro-doc, we visit Gene’s Long Island City studio for a frank discussion about his unique watercolor tattoo style, the perils of addiction, and what it means to be an artist.
The text of a pre-shoot interview with Gene Coffey
I first encountered Ana Weider-Blank’s work at Honey Ramka gallery in Bushwick, NY. I stumbled in, drawn by her vibrant mythological portraits.
I’m back in my old neighborhood with stale memories stirring in my head. I trudge up a five-story walk-up on Houston and Suffolk on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
Maria crouches on her knees amid a tight grouping of brightly colored canvases. The walls around her explode with rainbows, pop culture references and glitter.
A hot breeze pushes across the road and dances through the cluster of ready-made works of art.
I’ve parked along a dirt road deep in the woods of northeastern Pennsylvania. I’m only about 150 miles from New York City, but I’m a world away.
I pull into Detroit’s Eastern Market after a long drive from New York. The hot summer sun bounces through the cobblestone streets that distinguish the neighborhood.
It’s 4:30 p.m. on a Thursday at a dive bar in Hamtramck, Michigan. Nobody is seeking anything.
It’s a dry winter morning in the far reaches of upper Manhattan. The pulse of the city slows as the temperature drops, and a patina of salt and frost dulls the hues of the streetscape.