The world of Maya Rochat is composed of sequins and other miscellaneous shining objects such as illustrations, and strange characters. Only Queen Maya can put an order in her kingdom of multiple treasures. In reality, all this chaos is subject to the rules established by this Swiss (and German) artist, the comment written in brackets is the proof of psychological particularities of this nation.


Glitter orgy is my dream. Vote for me. A plastic tool. In her series the artist takes the stage and establishes a dialogue with the public. The images are far from axiomatic. Very suggestive, they invite us to make our own assumptions and create our personal storylines.


Indeed, Maya reasons by ideas which each time take a different form: sometimes a photo, a video, a collage. And even within the chosen medium, she creates an infinite number of variations. Pondering consumerism in art, due to the digitalization of everything surrounding us, the artist adds a detail giving birth to a new piece. Gathered together, these scattered pieces result in smooth installation.



Photography, which from the outset was intended to demonstrate in great detail the reality is here diverted. Cut, pasted, painted, these clichés are not misleading but rather aim to reveal what was hidden behind the lisseté (see "Sabotage lovers" by Amélie Nothomb) of prints.


Written by Maria Shakhnova




This is a magazine editorial shot in Isarel Tel Aviv by photographer Naama 

I was raised in Israel, in Tel Aviv, taught to be careful, to be fearful, forever aware of my safety, anchored by personal and political insecurity, to know religion at its best, and to know religion for its worst. Even in a liberal city like Tel Aviv, told never to expose yourself, never share too much of your skin, or too much information. Never write your name in full, never your address. But still art is in my heart, a love for aesthetics, for skin. Israel is the biggest little-place in the world, so much history in such a small package. A great passion for expression lives here, and so much to stop us from expressing. In a country where we are encouraged to hide, not to offend those who are more modest, or to anger those who hate us, let’s reveal nothing and everything at once.




Six years after his first solo show, Terry Richardson is back in the spotlight at the Perrotin gallery, rue de Turenne. Known for creating arrogant advertising campaigns for YSL, Levi's and Tom Ford, the American photographer remains faithful to his style.

In 2015, however, his bare impudent flair that once shocked his audience has now become old fashioned and no longer induces a shock from his audience but a smirk instead.

Cardboard characters, verbal sequences, photographic triptychs, all mediums are led to deliver the artistic message that art is the duality or rather the opposition: sacred vs sin, hence the name of the exhibition 'The Sacred and The Profane'. Without any philosophical content, the exhibition is the result of ordinary images such as "bitch & god” directed at a wide audience that are very enthusiastic at the idea of being photographed in Miley Cyrus or in Terry Richardson’s case, naked, of course.

To complete this banal panorama of exposed pussies of all kind and clichés ' Jesus is watching you ‘ juxtaposed, Terry's posters preach the good word making very vulgar and thetic sentences such as ' You are not alone ' or ' Everything is gonna be ok ‘. Annoying. Fortunately, on the ground floor of the gallery is the second exhibition 'Music' by Xavier Veilhan to recover.



Photographer: Clara Giaminardi 

Stylist: Roberta Pinna 

Hair Stylist: Marianna Faitos 

Make up Artist: Tracy Grabs using MAC and Thomasina Spender 

Proteus is a performative editorial. Based on Robert Jay Lifton’s theory of the protean self, it explores the expressions and effects of the fluid and multifaceted identity produced by our postmodern society. The name itself comes from the Greek god of water Proteus, a shapeshifter. The editorial mixes frames from the performance shot with a Video8 camera with moments abstracted from that performance and minimalist portraits of the performers. It features pieces from amazing young London designers.

Models: Beth + Patrish @ Profile Model Management 

Tara Lily @ Leni’s Models 

Berta + Jodie @ Bookings Models

Graphic designer : Shane Patrick

NUTSA MODEBADZE 10 essentials


Photographed by Alina Vlasova




1. Black custom cafe racer motorbike 

2. Silver talisman Nutsa Modebadze 

3. Sun glasses  Kubaraum  

4. Top Nutsa Modebadze 

5. Long boots  Nutsa Modebadze 

6. Leather notebook Nutsa Modebadze 

7. Backpack  Nutsa Modebadze 

8. Gloves Nutsa Modebadze 

9. Iphone case Claustrum 

10. Hat Horisaki





Flofferz Production teamed up with Vertice London and artist Jesse Draxler in this collaboration to help bring awareness to mental health illness.

Into the Rabbit Hole is a concept of thought, an idea, in which you follow with inevitable uncertainty of the experience and circumstances to become involved.

This hole is a figure in the mind and can be depicted as a dark empty void,usually the space in which artists begin to create.

We are hoping to bridge the gap in homage to those who suffer because of the mind, and those who create because of the mind, and all of the rest that is in between. Seek to fill the void and walk into the unknown.


Gestural Abstractivism - Flofferz Magazine/Art

Written by: Izzy Cohan  Flofferz | Issue 01  

Feature on Alex Kuznetsov  

Outsider Art: An interview with Alex Kuznetsov  


Every sport has its Mecca, in football perhaps it’s the United Kingdom, in hockey maybe it's Canada or Russia. These regions manifest success, it’s breathed in the air and bred in the blood. But what about the outsiders?  The ones who haven't been groomed from birth to be a star?  Those who grew up in a uniformed society where the national law held them from their passion?  

This is the story of Alex Kuznetsov. The man who found a way to absorb color, emotion and creativity in a world that was anything but that.  


Kuznetsov, may not be an athlete but he’s broken into a field which at times, is harder to pierce than professional sports—the Art world. He did it as arguably one of the first graffiti writers to blossom under Soviet rule. 

With art there are no baskets, no home runs, and no scores. It’s an abstract world where creativity is valued and originality has become a rarity

Born in Minsk, Belarus, in 1978, Kuznetsov' s younger years were controlled by the Soviet system. They banned the expression of creativity.

This time was quite difficult to create something and yeah, actually, we had a lack of everything. I mean, visual things and well-done things…there was nothing.

What’s surreal is, every young, wannabe filmmaker now craves the uniformed bleakness known as Soviet culture. At least in New York our aesthetic has become simple, geometric with lots of blocked colors. For Kuznetsov, this is lifeless,

I really want to go from this place, from this city [Moscow]. I’m considering to be an artist. Being an artist in this city is not very real, or it’s not true, or honest. 


His disregard for the art scene in Moscow isn’t just an attitude—it’s a state of survival. After years of traveling and working outside his country he knew that staying would be detrimental to his success,

In Moscow you always do something and compare yourself to someone else around you its like to learn how to play pool, but with no professionals, so you never learn it well. 


As a teenager, Kuznetsov went to an abandoned nuclear plant outside of his town. Bored and wanting to leave a statement, he scratched the name of his hometown into the chipping paint. He always dreamed of creating art, 

I dreamt about having a personal computer, which can afford me to make some graphic, I dreamt about comics which was unavailable in this country.  I dreamt a lot about everything, so I am like a happy dreamer or what.


Seemingly late to the game, Kuznetsov could’ve been discarded as a replicate, someone hopping onto the coattails of nostalgia, but luckily, the European scene was just ramping up.




In the following years Kuznetsov became a front-runner, traveling as far as Hong Kong painting murals and throwing his tags, but it wasn’t enough for him, 

I did my piece in Paris, I did my piece in Berlin or somewhere else, but regarding creativity and art, it’s quite different thing because graffiti nowadays…people are just doing it as masturbation—just for themselves. 


It wasn’t until a terrorist attack on the Moscow Metro in 2010 that Kuznetsov truly began creating. Before, it had been tags and throws – bombing walls and train cars, but when tragedy struck so close to home he found himself reaching for a canvas. Kuznetsov recounts,

I was really upset and depressed in my home and on my balcony I had a canvas, which I really hate because of the scale, it was quite small for me, before I usually did walls like 6 meters…it was a massive attack, I was really feeling myself, I need to do something, I need to create something….so I selected several colors and took the canvas and just did something what I felt at the moment. Nothing figurative, no letters, nothing, just lines and sprays and that’s it. Then I stepped back and look on the canvas, I found myself that I really like what I see, but I cannot understand what it is because it’s totally different thing.


I’ve never stood in front of one of Kuznetsov’s paintings, but even through my computer screen I see the outsider mentality in his work, with each loud mark on the canvas, one feels his fight for survival. They resemble the complex dimensionality of De Kooning’s more abstract work, yet Kuznetsov’s rebellious side shines brighter, larger strokes sweeping diagonally across the canvas. While De Kooning used many colors, Kuznetsov, enjoys keeping a refined easel for each painting. These gestural abstractions layered upon each other hold you in a flux of intrigue and emotional collapse. To anyone educated in Soviet art, Kuznetsov is not to be considered the first artist to emerge from under a communist rule, but he shouldn’t be overlooked as one of the blossoming painters of this era.




By Remington Mark Feierbach

Photographed by: Izzy Cohan


“Cornballs make it unbearable to go into these places” he says with a wink as his iced coffee overflows with a generous serving of half & half. “Let’s go find a stoop.” “Yes, ma’am. If you want the ultimate, we can go sit in my garden; smoke some weed or something.” 

To describe Ricky Powell as subtly sensationala term coined by the linguistic lothario himselfwould be a tragic understatement. There is nothing subtle about the New York native. His charm is infectious, his tales captivating, and his generosity grandiose. Sharing the company with such a sincere soul requires more than a polite discussion over coffee and the newest “it” pastry. 

A few blocks traveled and an unexpected run-in with an old bike messenger friend later, we find ourselves traveling up the stairs of his East Village apartment and out into a shaded garden area. Thoughts on prior researched materials of how Powell rose to fame as a photographer in the Basquiat and Warhol era are all consuming, leaving my cerebrum in an air of unexpected comfort. Ease surrounds us as we escape into the accompaniment of soft trumpet melodies enhanced by his iconic transmitter radio.

“I never call myself a photographer. I want to be mystical and shit. I’m 52, I’m an individualist.” Powell’s humility is impalpable as he strings together anecdotes of the time he sold frozen lemonade (shot of rum optional) to Jean Michel Basquiat, or his encounter with Cindy Crawford in the restroom of Club MK while working as a busboyone photographtaken while collecting dirty glasses from the women’s restroom with a bus-tub in one hand and his Minolta in the other. These photographs ultimately helped launch his career as a staple photographer of the time.  

“To me, taking pictures is like collecting baseball cards. Saying ‘oh dip, I want that person in my collection’ that’s who I’m drawn to. Most celebrities today, I wouldn’t take their picture. They’re cornballs, corndogs. I like character, intelligence.” 

That iconic photograph of Jean-Michel Basquiat on the street with a lemonade in hand? Powell gleefully recounts the story as a simple incident of a young artist with more money than he knew what to do with. “He stopped by my Frozade stand—of course, I’d already met him before—and hands me a hundo to pay for his lemonade and I’m all ‘c’mon man, you ain’t got anything smaller?’. So that’s when I took that picture, when he was digging into his pocket for change.” Powell harps on the importance of always having a camera with him, as life happens unexpectedly. 

In Powell’s eye, the key to his success is perseverance. “I’m glad I put my pants on and got out of the house today,” he chirps. Talent is one part of the equation, but Powell certifies that the gusto to apply oneself goes much further. “It’s the people you know and the face-to-face connections you create. Life doesn’t get set on cruise control once you’ve established a sense of security. Life is about the hustle.” The skill that is so steadily being lost in the generation of nose-in-screen interaction, is the very thing that attributed to the rise of Powell’s career. 

Between a collaboration with Chrome Industries that spawned a custom messenger bag featuring some of Powell’s most infamous photographs (Sofia and Francis Coppola, a young Basquiat, and a self-portrait or two), and flying to Tokyo to judge a photo contest for the Manhattan Portage, Powell takes advantage of his love for Spotify and releases unique mixtapes with names just as quirky as him“Funky Uncle Park Bench,” “Chunky Uncle Bohemian Mixtape for Eccentric Lovemaking,” and “Professor Puffington and the Invisible Jazz Cigarette” are a few amongst the many captivating concoctions. 



Growing up, New York City presented itself in a wealth of opportunities from which Powell could pick and play. He was raised by his single mother on 9th & 5th. “The guy who doinked my mom dipped. They went to a diner one day, he said he’d be right back, and never showed up again” He says this without a hint of self-pity; a martyr is one thing Ricky is not. He assures that life is about the ability to get up and pursue the path you’ve chosen. However, not everything you do is going to connect and click, it’s a tough hustle. Powell doesn’t follow formulas in life, he coons. “It all comes down to ‘the right fit’. Sometimes it’s arduous, sometimes its handed to you. It’s unpredictable, you’re rolling the dice.”

Our train of thought is interrupted as screams erupt from the flip phone that has so humbly been balanced on Powell’s left knee. “Doper Jones! What’s up?” Plans to meet at Milk Studios for a Caribbean themed soiree are soon set into place. “She’s a good one,” he says ceasing the conversation, “I call her my Joe Pesci, but with titty balls.” 

The cab ride to Milk Studios is plentiful with stories of the past and tips for the future. Powell recounts how, though life may have gotten in the way at times, he has never let failure scare him. He shoots with a simple camera and cares to focus on juxtapositions that are appealing to him. To Powell, photography was a natural progression. What spawned from the discovery of a Minolta camera left behind after a bitter breakup, “she ditched me for a guy in tie dye yoga pants. It’s a well known story. She played me like a soggy cannoli,” soon became the caveat for Powell’s new identity, “‘The Rickster', downtown photographer.” 

Our adventure is concluded with an assent up an elevator that delivers us to a dreamland of Caribbean vibes. The evening drifts into a rum-fueled haze, grins are exchanged over the sounds of tin drum unity and inhibitions quickly fade with the sunset.  

Gyöngyhajú lány

Designer:Milia Lintila

Photographer&Stylist: Stefan Dotter

Model:Vanessa Schreiber




Milla, you recently graduated from Berlin’s ESMOD International Fashion School and you already made your way to Paris, where you work for Balenciaga right now. What are the biggest struggles someone has to face after graduating from fashion school?


Emptiness. After school you loose the safety net in which some things were given mean-ing merely because they were part of your school work. Now you are facing an industry that expects you to work long hours with minimum to zero salary for the next few years and since for the first time in a long while you have some time to stop and think you might question if this is the right direction you want to take. I speak from my point of view - which is working for big companies instead of starting my own label. You are coming from a  weird period in your life. Last year of fashion school leaves you mentally and physically very empty. You have poured your whole existence into finishing your first collection. You have managed to take care of everything. You’ve actually created something by yourself. Hopping into an intern position after this can feel like a huge step backwards. It can make you feel very lost and creatively unworthy. For me the feeling of being a piece in a big machinery instead of ex-pressing myself is very strong. 



Like in most creative studies - you have that perfect future picture in your head and after graduating you’ll get thrown into reality to learn about the world the hard way. Your graduate collection was entitled “Sonora Aero Club”, after one of the works of Art Brut artist Charles Dellschau who actually was a butcher in the late 19th century. I’m not familiar with that story, but there is a little bit of an aviation vibe in your designs. I really got hooked on the fur aviator jacket, which breaks with every take on this style I’ve never seen. How did you manage to reinterpret Charles’ work into a collection?


I’m into stories and this was one of those that stuck with me for a long time. Charles became popular only years after his death when the vast collections of his diaries and drawings were discovered. He had kept a diary of a club he called “Sonora Aero Club”, writing down their meetings and experiments. The club tried to build the first air planes - they created zeppelins, balloons, even space ship lookalike planes. The notes were accompanied with hundreds of detailed but naive or even child like drawings of these flying objects. He also mentions that they disguised the planes as gypsy caravans while moving them around so people wouldn’t pay attention. The club’s experiments could explain many of the UFO sightings of that time in the area where they were placed. No one knows if the notes are true, but if they would be, their successful flight trials would be the first known to man. The story of the Sonora Aero Club was the main inspiration and the collection really based on that idea. I wanted to imagine how the people of that club would dress. I concentrated on the contrast between the very practical work wear and early aviation wear in addition to the dreamy side of this club travelling around in disguise. I loved the idea of dressing the airplanes as gypsy caravans, it brought in a lot of fabric manipulation. You see pieces that are familiar to you, especially like the aviator jackets, overalls and turtle neck pullovers. The materials however don’t correspond to the original use. Light as air knits, heavily embroidered cargo pants, the fur mix aviator.