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The violence against Indigenous women in Killers of the Flower Moon isn’t just historical. It’s an ongoing crisis.

The violence against Indigenous women in Killers of the Flower Moon isn’t just historical. It’s an ongoing crisis.

Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon, a three-and-a-half-hour historical film, centers on a wave of brutal murders against members of the Osage Nation, a Native American tribe based in northeast Oklahoma. As depicted in the movie, a great number of these murders were of Osage women, many of whom were married to white settlers, and all of whom were killed in a bid to obtain the rights to their land.

The film is founded upon a real-life investigation by journalist David Grann, who examined dozens of murders of Osage people that took place in the 1910s to 1930s during a time that became known as the Reign of Terror. The Osage were oil-rich, but were barred from using their own money, and Grann concluded that this wave of violence was the result of an expansive conspiracy of the Osage’s white financial “guardians.”

Yet while the focus of the film is historical, the issue it highlights — brutality against Native women — is an enduring one.

Disproportionate rates of violence toward Indigenous women, including murder and sexual assault, continue to persist and remain a significant problem. According to a 2017 report from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, American Indian and Alaska Native women, as well as Black women, suffer from higher homicide rates compared to other racial groups, and have been murdered at more than twice the rate of non-Hispanic white women.

Per a 2016 National Institute of Justice report, American Indian and Alaska Native women are also much more likely than non-Hispanic white women to experience intimate partner violence, which accounts for a high proportion of these homicides. And according to a 2022 Amnesty International report, almost one-third of American Indian and Alaska Native women have been raped in their lifetime, a rate that’s more than twice as high as that of non-Hispanic white women.

Much like in the film, there’s been limited accountability for many of these offenses due to conflicts of jurisdiction, inaction by law enforcement, and a lack of resources on Tribal lands. Since Tribal nations are sovereign entities, they have their own courts and law enforcement. Because of a Supreme Court decision in the 1970s, however, tribes are broadly barred from prosecuting crimes committed by non-Native people on Tribal lands. As a result, they’ve had to rely on state or federal governments to step in and pursue these cases, a gap that leaves many of them unresolved.

In recent years, reforms to the Violence Against Women Act have given tribes more power to prosecute non-Native people in instances of domestic violence, but the impact of past policies — and the message they sent — lingers.

“Non-Native men harass and kill Native women because settler colonial governments have created a system in which they can do so with impunity,” Liza Black, a historian at Indiana University and citizen of the Cherokee Nation, told Vox.

Indigenous studies experts say that it’s vital to situate the events depicted in Killers of the Flower Moon in this broader context in order to make clear that this isn’t an isolated historical incident. In reality, the tragedy and horror of the Osage murders are part of a much larger, widespread, and ongoing phenomenon. Acknowledging this is critical for understanding the sources of this violence — and confronting them, experts say.

“What [the film] could have done better is connect the historical story that it focused on to what’s happening today and also to the larger context of missing and murdered Indigenous women,” Elizabeth Rule, an assistant professor of critical race and gender studies at American University and enrolled citizen of the Chickasaw Nation, told Vox, “I think it’s important that we have the story of [film protagonist] Mollie Burkhart be told, but it’s also important to provide really critical context to audiences who may walk away thinking this was a story about greed, or a story about individual corruption, or a story about history — when in fact this is a story about systemic violence, and a story about colonization, and a story just as much about contemporary Indigenous communities today.”

An ongoing crisis of violence against Indigenous women

Violence against Indigenous women is an enduring problem for which there continues to be limited accountability.

In its 2016 report, the National Institute of Justice found that more than 84 percent of American Indian and Alaska Native women have experienced violence during their lifetime, a rate that’s 1.2 times that of non-Hispanic white women, a category the report used as a benchmark for comparison. Additionally, 56 percent have experienced an incident of sexual violence, compared to 50 percent of white women who said the same in the 2010 National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey that informed the report.

“On some reservations, Indigenous women say they don’t know even one woman who has not been raped. Consequently, they tell their daughters what to do when—not if—raped,” Columbia University health sciences professor Robin Whyatt says of the crisis.

These figures are in addition to the high number of Native women who’ve been murdered or gone missing. In a 2008 review, criminal justice experts from the University of Delaware and University of North Carolina Wilmington discovered that Native women living on some reservations were murdered at 10 times the national murder rate. And in 2021, 5,203 Indigenous girls and women were reported missing, “disappearing at a rate equal to more than two and a half times their estimated share of the U.S. population,” according to a 2022 USA Today investigation. While data isn’t available in every state, in Montana — which does track this issue — Native people comprise 6.7 percent of the population but 26 percent of missing persons reports, per Vice News.

Because there’s significant underreporting of instances of violence, and there’s no federal database to which all tribes can submit crimes and missing persons cases, much of this data is also likely an undercount. While some of these offenses are happening on reservations, roughly 70 percent of Native women live in urban areas, and victims’ ethnicities are often incorrectly reported by local law enforcement, masking the number of cases of violence that may be specifically affecting the group.

St. Paul, Minnesota. Memorial to the missing and murdered Indigenous women.

In St. Paul, Minnesota, thousands of cardboard red dresses were set out on the State Capitol lawn to help represent what’s happened historically to Native American women.
Michael Siluk/Universal Images Group/Getty Images

In the past few decades, organizations including the Coalition to Stop Violence Against Native Women and the National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center are among those that have sought to draw attention to these issues and lobby for policy changes as part of the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women movement (MMIW). Originally a hashtag coined by former Canadian journalist Sheila North Wilson in 2012, the MMIW movement builds on years of efforts to raise awareness about the scale of this crisis and give tribes more legal power and resources to respond. As more activists and artists have coalesced around it, many have used red dresses and red handprints to symbolize Indigenous women who are missing and whose voices aren’t heard.

Disproportionate rates of violence are tied to the longstanding legacy of colonization and how it promoted abuse of Indigenous women, experts say.

“This crisis is both cultural and legal in nature,” Mary Kathryn Nagle, a lawyer who focuses on Indigenous rights, told Al Jazeera.

Violence against Indigenous women was central to colonization, writes Whyatt. From the 1400s through the 1800s, groups ranging from Spanish colonists to Gold Rush settlers normalized the rape and sexual abuse of Native women. Additionally, the murder of Indigenous women was key to colonization efforts focused on reducing the population and political power of Native peoples. Native women were targeted due to “their ability to sustain the tribes through childbearing,” Whyatt notes. Their killings were part of “the colonial focus on tribal extermination, including the relentless massacre of Native women,” according to a Columbia write-up.

Later on, American political policies would continue to enshrine gender disparities into law. Under the Burke Act of 1906, many Native women were declared “incompetent,” or unable to manage their own lands without the supervision of a white guardian, a policy that diluted the power they had over their own assets. “For Native women, the one way to be deemed competent was to marry a white man,” according to Project 1492, a website dedicated to sharing US history from an Indigenous perspective. This dynamic is evident in Killers of the Flower Moon, which shows Mollie, an Osage woman, forced to have regular meetings with a white guardian who oversees her and her family’s spending until she marries her white husband.

In the 1970s, Native women were also subject to coercive sterilization campaigns, which led to at least 25 percent of women of childbearing age getting sterilized. These campaigns were driven by physicians in the Indian Health Services who were wary of high birthrates by Native women, and who believed they were “not capable” of making decisions about birth control. Many Native women were pressured into these procedures, while others weren’t even informed that they were happening.

Over time, these policies have established a culture in which violence against Native women has both been encouraged and condoned. Collectively, they’ve also fueled stereotypes that continue to exoticize and dehumanize Native women, and which take the form of everything from revealing Halloween costumes to ugly tropes that portray people as “savages” and “drunk Indians.” There is “a larger ideological framework that has constructed Native women as everything from less than human to less than civilized to overtly sexualized,” Shannon Speed, director of the American Indian Studies Center at UCLA and a Tribal member of the Chickasaw Nation, told Vox.

Demonstrators wearing red with red handprints across their faces.

Demonstrators stand outside of the Wisconsin State Capitol to commemorate missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls on May 5, 2022, in Madison, Wisconsin.
Stacy Revere/Getty Images

These cultural attitudes are compounded by the lack of legal consequences that perpetrators face. Confusion about who has jurisdiction over a case — Tribal authorities, the state government, or the federal government — has long been a major obstacle to addressing violence and seeking accountability. That’s especially been at issue when the perpetrator is a non-Native person, which is the case in 86 to 96 percent of cases of sexual abuse of Native women.

In 1978, the Supreme Court eliminated Tribal criminal jurisdiction over non-Native people in the Oliphant vs. Suquamish decision, which meant that Tribal courts weren’t able to pursue cases against non-Native people who killed or assaulted women on their lands, forcing them to rely on state and federal authorities who often ignored cases.

Perpetrators have been able to exploit these legal gaps, as well as institutional racism against Native people, to evade consequences.

One 2021 study published in the Journal of Forensic and Legal Medicine found that violence toward Native women spiked in places near fracking sites due to an influx of white men working in these areas. “When predominantly indigenous communities are infiltrated by masses of white males, indigenous women tend to face more violence, and the pervasive culture of structural violence tends towards protecting the perpetrators (who are often white) through the biased law enforcement system,” writes Binghampton human rights researcher A. Skylar Joseph.

That trend also has parallels with the film, which saw the killings of Native women increase as a direct result of white settlers attempting to steal their land, knowing that regional law enforcement would do little to stop them.

It wasn’t until 2022 that Tribal nations welcomed a reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act, which enables tribes to prosecute non-Native people for sexual violence, sex trafficking, and stalking. This policy is expected to improve Tribal nations’ ability to charge perpetrators of these crimes, though experts note that more resources and jurisdictional authority is still required to fully implement these changes.

And it’s little comfort for what happened in between, an entrenched culture that will be difficult to walk back.

A crisis of inaction

Indifference and invisibility are two major barriers that Native communities have also cited as they’ve sought justice.

“Invisibility is the modern form of racism against Native Americans,” Crystal Echo Hawk, a founder of the social justice organization Illuminative and member of the Pawnee Nation, said at a 2020 conference focused on Native representation. Per Echo Hawk and the Great Falls Tribune, a two-year effort called the Reclaiming Native Truth Project conducted from 2016 to 2018 found that 78 percent of people knew little to nothing about Native Americans, and 40 percent didn’t know Native people existed in contemporary society.

“The complete lack of representation in the media, in pop culture, in K-12 education not only erases us from the American consciousness, it inadvertently creates a bias,” Echo Hawk, who consulted on surveys for the project, told the Women’s Media Center in 2018.

Law enforcement’s treatment of cases is just one of myriad areas in which this bias manifests. When crimes against Native women are reported, state and federal authorities often take them less seriously, and excuse missing reports by suggesting that they may have run away from home or are under the influence of drugs or alcohol. In 2016, 5,712 cases of missing Native women were reported across the US, but just 116 were logged by the Justice Department in their federal database. And in 2019, the federal government declined to pursue 35 percent of violent and nonviolent crimes that a non-Native person had committed against a Native person.

Relatedly, a chief challenge in missing persons cases is the lack of media attention and social pressure. This phenomenon was previously dubbed “Missing White Woman Syndrome” by the late journalist Gwen Ifill, who called out the disproportionate amount of coverage that missing white women receive compared to women of color. “I think the overarching thing is that they just don’t care and they know there’s not going to be an outcry,” says Speed regarding the subpar response from authorities in certain cases.

The Guardian called the summer of 2022 a “watershed moment for Indigenous representation in US pop culture” with the success of shows including the comedy series Reservation Dogs and the dramatic action film Prey. Those projects have provided more diverse depictions of Indigenous people onscreen that move beyond stereotypes some viewers may have previously held. Killers of the Flower Moon’s high-profile nature — and Scorsese’s reach as a director — also offered an important opportunity to raise awareness both about the specific attacks on the Osage people and about the connection these killings have to contemporary problems of violence.

Killers of the Flower Moon falls short in its depiction of violence against Indigenous women.
AppleTV+

“I certainly think that, viscerally, the film can make people aware,” Robert Warrior, a professor of American literature and culture at the University of Kansas and member of the Osage Nation, told Vox. “The roots of the current crisis do go back to that time.”

As multiple Indigenous studies experts note, however, establishing this broader context — and the pervasive nature of the ongoing problem — is one of the areas in which the film fell short.

“I think it failed to show that this is a systemic issue,” says Black. “The film depicts the violence against Mollie as isolated, and they refuse to challenge the idea that Ernest [Mollie’s husband] loved [her.]”

“The film makes it seem like the violence against Native women is something that happened in the 1920s and that it doesn’t happen today,” adds Speed.

Adding information at the end of the film or including a comment in the personal introduction that Scorsese gives at its start, when he speaks directly to the audience, were options that experts suggested as straightforward ways to convey this connection. Putting a greater emphasis on the role that federal policy played in making Osage people, and Native women, longstanding targets of violence, was another potential opportunity, Warrior says.

Using this film to make these points would have been valuable because of how large a platform the movie has, because of the limited attention violence against Native women has received in the media more generally, and because of the power that attention has in driving public perception and action. Due to the gaps that currently exist in awareness about this issue, Killers of the Flower Moon was a chance to continue calling it out, and to make clear that it’s not confined to the history books. What’s more, it would have meant telling a more complete story about the systemic sources of the violence in the film.

“It’s an important point to make that the violence has always been there and this is one manifestation of it,” says Speed. “It happened long before, and it’s certainly continued.”

15 hilarious winners of this year’s Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards

15 hilarious winners of this year’s Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards
  • The annual Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards highlight amusing photos of animals in the wild.
  • This year’s overall winning image shows a kangaroo appearing to play an air guitar.
  • Other photos show animals like otters, owls, and monkeys displaying expressive faces and poses.

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The Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards announced the winners of its 2023 contest, highlighting hilarious snapshots of animals in the wild to support the work of wildlife-conservation charities.

A panel of judges narrowed 5,300 submissions from 85 countries down to 41 finalists and 14 winning photos. Fans also voted to select the winner of the Affinity Photo People’s Choice Award.

The winning images show animals like otters, owls, turtles, and monkeys making expressive faces and striking hilarious poses.

Take a look at this year’s winners. Photographers’ captions have been condensed and edited for clarity.

Indian Photo Festival 2023: How Arpan Mukherjee’s alternative photography looks beyond standardised norms

Indian Photo Festival 2023: How Arpan Mukherjee’s alternative photography looks beyond standardised norms

“My creative ideology refused to accept that someone from a multinational company, say, based in New York, will decide how my images would look,” says Santiniketan-based artist Arpan Mukherjee, who specialises in and teaches printmaking at Visva Bharathi University. He talks about 1888 as a definitive year that changed photography as the world witnesses it today. “That was the year Kodak stated that all we need to do is press a button and it will take care of the rest,” he says, referring to the standardised process that had been absent until then. Arpan Mukherjee will deliver an Artist Talk at the ongoing Indian Photo Festival 2023 in Hyderabad on November 26, 6pm, at the State Gallery of Art, Kavuri Hills.

Arpan Mukherjee co-founded Studio Goppo, based in Santiniketan

Arpan Mukherjee co-founded Studio Goppo, based in Santiniketan
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

He explains that prior to this standardisation, the artist or photographer had more control over the type of camera, material and surface on which the image is transferred. “A photograph is not only about an image. In art practice, we look at the material, surface, size of the desired image, pigmentation and how it all connects with the concept. If we use a high-end digital camera and print an image taken with it, we will get a sharp image. But it is not unique. That has been my issue. I was keen to explore techniques that were prevalent before multinational companies standardised photography. I learnt that photographs were handmade earlier, which greatly inspired me.”

Custom techniques

Mukherjee’s method of reviving some of the older techniques and contextualising them to the present-day scenario has made him stand out. An artist since 2001, he has been researching and experimenting with photographic and printing techniques independently and as part of Studio Goppo, which he co-founded with Shreya Mukherjee. His alternative photography methods involved exploring mediums such as wet plate collodion, gum dichromate, salt prints and silver gelatin emulsion, among others. 

From Arpan Mukherjee’s series Lal Dhulor Chobi that explores migration in Bengal; the printed images on surfaces of found objects.

From Arpan Mukherjee’s series Lal Dhulor Chobi that explores migration in Bengal; the printed images on surfaces of found objects.
| Photo Credit:
Arpan Mukherjee

His methods vary according to the series he is working on. When he documented migration from the villages to the city in West Bengal, he came across family photographs from demolished homes with broken pieces of glass and ceramic plates. He printed some of the family photographs he spotted on these ‘found object’ surfaces. 

There are series for which he uses custom-designed cameras and says technology is not rocket science. The fascination lies in designing his own camera, film and choosing the printing surface and seeing the difference it makes to the image. “A camera is nothing but a black box with a tiny hole. Films can be made easily. They are the basics, rudimentary, if you ask me. But it makes the process interesting.”

Design your own camera

For a series on old homes paving way to new constructions in Bengaluru, he used a custom-designed pin hole camera. For another series, a personal documentation of family photographs, he designed pinhole cameras using cans of baby food. “I converted the empty cans into cameras and these were dedicated to taking photographs of my family. When you contextualise the camera for a series, it becomes an object of art.”

From the series Beautiful people = fairer people = powerful people, which takes a critical look at the colonial idea of evaluating Indian portraits

From the series Beautiful people = fairer people = powerful people, which takes a critical look at the colonial idea of evaluating Indian portraits
| Photo Credit:
Arpan Mukherjee

Such alternative photography processes involve continual research and a knowledge in history, chemistry and photographic techniques. At the moment, he is working on an experimental project that integrates artificial intelligence (AI) with 19th century techniques of printmaking. “AI also has a standardised notion,” he explains, “If you give it a script — say about an Indian man and specify his dress colour, it will generate an image of an Indian man or woman that reflects a colonial idea of an Indian. AI works on existing algorithms. My work attempts to rethink this process.” 

This project will be an extension of his earlier series ‘Fairer people = beautiful people = powerful people’ that comments on the colonial idea of Indian portraits. In the new project that integrates AI, he plans to “generate portraits with scripts/prompts and see how as the prompt changes, there are changes in the images generated. The images will then be re-exposed on wet-plate collodion glass. That is a tough path to go. It is in an experimental stage.”

For the complete schedule of Indian Photo Festival, check indianphotofest.com

In photos: The ‘audacity’ of New York street life

In photos: The ‘audacity’ of New York street life

The photographer’s exhibition New York Life joyfully chronicles moments of everyday life on the city’s streets

23November 2023

Daniel Arnold is an opportunist, in the best sense of the word. As one of the most beloved chroniclers of New York street life, the photographer is “always chasing” those comic, odd, poignant, beautiful, frenetic, absurd moments that comprise each day in the life of the city that never sleeps. His portraits of New Yorkers – taken in otherwise incidental moments as they go about their business – are the union of pure chance and his unique gift of spotting the “makings of a story”. “I operate on spontaneity,” he tells Dazed. “I’m a wandering collector.”

Having begun his career as a writer, Arnold first gained recognition for his photographs after posting pictures in the early days of Instagram and, within a few years, he’d attracted a mass following. But approaching photography “sideways” has its advantages. “Starting from a sense of story, rather than a knowledge of photography, made my work about failure – failing up into surprises,” he explains. “And I have no interest in changing that. It’s uncomfortable but at least I’m always learning.”

Arnold’s latest exhibition New York Life (named after the gallery in which it’s showing), brings together a selection of sublime pictures from his archive. It’s hard to pin down the qualities that define these images without resorting to a list of adjectives (as per my opening paragraph). But, however long the list of descriptives, it still feels like a reductive exercise because his pictures contain so much surprise and joy. Continually “trying to fit these bits of world I felt in love with into a little rectangle” and so often that love seems uncontainable within the frame. An abiding source of this love is, of course, the “novelty and audacity and ingenuity” of NYC itself. But he’s not just a flâneur, observing from a distance. He’s in amongst the tumult of city life, loading film after film into his camera. “I’m crazy for it,” he says. “I love it.”

Below, we speak to Daniel Arnold about his enduring desire to be moved and surprised, his wide-eyed love of New York, and what compels him to reach for his camera.

Please could you begin by introducing this particular show?

Daniel Arnold: New York Life is a collaboration. I gave the exhibition the same name as the gallery to accentuate that. Ethan James Green, the owner, is a neighbour and a friend, and a photographer whose work I’ve always admired for its precision. I operate on spontaneity and chance. I’m a wandering collector. Whereas Ethan is a controlled craftsman who seems to hit hardest when he’s executing a vision. In my mind that makes us a very interesting odd couple. And when you add his beautiful, outsider gallery to the mix, I see a potential new source of the serendipity I’m always chasing.

“My relationship with New York is Fievel’s dream of America. I’m a wide-eyed, emotional little mouse in a floppy hat and the streets are paved with cheese” – Daniel Arnold

To me, your pictures are like perfect distilled moments of otherwise overlooked beauty – but what kinds of observations or happenings compel you to reach for your camera?

Daniel Arnold: There are so many answers. Sometimes it’s weird light or the makings of a story, curiosity, desire, fear, sympathy, boredom, a great face, geometry, comedy, not wanting to forget. I could list all day. It can be a very addictive game, engaging with the world like it’s an endless thrift store conveyor belt of perfectly worn-in coincidences and provocations and punchlines. It can be really fun. But that approach can also get to feel pretty cheap and boring. I’m still compelled to keep swinging for some ennobling new complexity, but ‘good pictures’ get to feel kind of obvious after a while. ‘Bad pictures’ still feel shitty to mass produce, but the unknown universe between the two is a big mythical land of promise. So I indulge my gut, all kinds of weird action gets me reaching, because at this point I just wanna be surprised; would love to be moved. And will still happily settle for at least remembering, and adding every day to the giant pile, which is more interesting evidence to me than any particular photo.

Can you tell me about your relationship with NYC and in what ways the city has informed your work?

Daniel Arnold: My relationship with New York is Fievel’s dream of America. I’m a wide-eyed, emotional little mouse in a floppy hat and the streets are paved with cheese. It continuously churns up the novelty and audacity and ingenuity that makes it a cultural capital of the world. It’s everything. For every cold shoulder and cruelty, it’s also empathetic and soulful and so intimate. It’s full of despicable show-offs, stinks of trash and maple syrup, somebody keeps sneezing, there’s cellos and horns all night and everybody’s beautiful, every kid’s from Central Casting; iconic halal guys and horse cops, mutants and movie stars, all of them crazed, fed up, in love and angry, delusional, hustling around on dumb blue bikes, and we help each other through our little problems – even strangers – and some people are great at singing, it’s incredible. It’s alive. Drag-you-out-the-door-every-day alive, and I love it all the time, I’m crazy for it, I love it.

In what ways has starting out as a writer informed how you compose pictures?

Daniel Arnold: Ha, well, to some degree, in the same way that learning high school Spanish informs how I speak Italian. Starting as a writer helped me compose pictures because I had no idea how I was supposed to do it. I have always felt that English was a dish best served as a second language. And coming at photography sideways, I got to have a screwy accent with my words out of order – so blunt and earnest and vulnerable that way. I mean it, but also the reality is we come up so immersed in visual communication, that we speak pictures instinctively. It made the early days of Instagram so interesting to watch. Like the collective unconscious, after centuries of silent winks, sat up and started speaking in full sentences. It was like watching a language being born and then evolving faster than anybody could get their mouths around it.

Being a writer gave me an eye and a taste for a story way before I knew how to use a camera or arrange a frame. So starting out I took pictures like a cartoon dog catcher, just wildly wagging a net around, trying to fit these bits of world I felt in love with into a little rectangle, and half the time without even looking, to keep from getting smacked or messing up the scene et cetera. So, to wrap it up, starting from a sense of story, rather than a knowledge of photography, made my work, from the very beginning, about failure. Failing up into surprises. And I have no interest in changing that. It’s uncomfortable but at least I’m always learning.

“The early days of Instagram was so interesting to watch. It was like watching a language being born and then evolving faster than anybody could get their mouths around it” – Daniel Arnold

For me, there’s something very optimistic and life-affirming about your photos. But what’s your guiding principle when it comes to making pictures?

Daniel Arnold: Life-affirming is a great compliment, but I have to throw it back at you because I think the themes and insights belong to the viewer. I haven’t lain or sought out these pictures in an effort to make a comment on life or people. They’re just the truth of what’s around me – a byproduct of trying to make the most of the world, to find out on my own terms what I think of it, how to be good and what I care about.

All the documentary evidence that accumulates can read like a kind of archetypal tarot game. Like a Rorschach Test. The pictures are what you see. What they mean to me is mine, it doesn’t matter. That being said, looking at the work does seem to get under some people’s skin and start them playing how I play. If that makes their world suddenly a little more fun and full of oddness and coincidence, well, that’s not a mission I’m on but it’s a nice thing to spread around, even if sometimes all the goddamn street photography gets a little exhausting.

New York Life is running at New York Life gallery until December 22, 2023.

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Lee Bul: Prints Curated by Xiaoyu Weng

Lee Bul: Prints Curated by Xiaoyu Weng
The final instalment in a year-long celebration of its 21st Anniversary, STPI – Creative Workshop & Gallery is pleased to present Lee Bul: Prints, an eponymous solo exhibition by the highly acclaimed Korean artist, curated by Xiaoyu Weng