Photos of NYC youth culture during the 80s war on drugs

From Brooklyn stoops to buzzing street corners in the Bronx, a kind of unmistakable energy defined New York City in the 80s. Rollerskates were all the rage, and no style trio was as iconic as bomber jackets, bucket hats, and track pants. After clawing its way from the brink of bankruptcy in the late 70s, New York emerged stronger on the other side, ready to tackle the new era with effortless confidence. Slowly but surely, the city started to come alive again – though many might argue it never died in the first place.

My Sextortion Birthday: Digital Violence During COVID-19

I anticipated an ordinary quarantined birthday. Yet when I opened my cluttered inbox late April 19th, a spam email plunged me into a sunken depression: “I infected your computer and recorded a video showing how you satisfy yourself.’” My hacker enumerated specific demands. “I don’t make any mistakes. If I see you’ve shared this message, the video will be immediately distributed.” According to my cunning captor, all devices associated with my account were subject to malicious intrusion.

How The Leo Castelli Gallery Changed American Art Forever

The Leo Castelli Gallery is a venerated New York stalwart. Dedicated to displaying a wide breadth of post-war art, its founder Leo Castelli is now reputed as a pivotal point of influence for the American avant-garde. Today, his gallery’s location has migrated from its original Manhattan townhouse to a posh residence at 18 East 77th Street, where it still showcases the world’s most cutting-edge contemporary artists.

I’m Sweaty, Come Thru: Virginia Zamora’s Saturated Microverse

Virginia Zamora is well-versed in the art of seduction. I watched her erotic mixed-media work beckon me from The Storefront Project’s interior, where we agreed to meet for our interview one sticky afternoon in mid-July. Zamora’s first New York solo show – I’m Sweaty, Come Thru – set the summer day’s tone. By the time I finished introducing myself, we had already bonded over mutual perspiration.

Putting Down Roots: How Galleries Grow in the Art Market

I never understood the dynamics of the art market. Soaring prices, a few prominent galleries, and a rotating selection of the same artists indicate that the relationship between gallery, artist, buyer, and value, would obfuscate any everyday consumer. When it came to street art and graffiti, which focuses on accessibility, questions about how galleries manage to maintain relationships with artists, make sales, and identify trends within the market still remained. To understand the financial side

Selling Sensationalism: The Price Of Everything Review

“Are there still masterpieces being made today?” director Nathaniel Kahn asks Sotheby’s VP Amy Cappellazzo in his documentary The Price of Everything. “I mean, yeah,” she replies. “What kind of question is that? That’s like asking me if I believe in the future.” Chronicling the months leading up to a Sotheby’s Contemporary auction, The Price of Everything explores commercialization through the perspectives of key players within various areas of the art world. Its title – sourced from Oscar Wilde

Avos

I. A flier that reads: OLDIES NIGHT AT THE GOLDEN DOVE, 4th AVENUE AND 96th ST BROOKLYN—FIRST 50 IN LINE GET FREE ENTRANCE. July 1984, and after hours of convincing from her friend Linda, my then twenty-four-year-old mother, who in fact is not actually my mother just yet, reluctantly agrees to spend her Saturday night in a dark dance club; one that lacks even the tiniest bit of elbow room. While Linda makes the rounds, conversing with every possible six-foot tall Italian who may or may not have connections with the mob, my mother stands in back by the crowded bar, listening to the music blare around her. In contrast to the darkness, she is dressed in all white—down to the open-toed platform shoes, with her dark hair flowing below her waist, (a detail that she never fails to mention when she recounts this story.) She scans the room for a familiar face, or just a face that holds her interest for more than a second, before giving up on the prospect of meeting anyone worthwhile. When she finally decides to go home, she finds Linda, then rushes through the narrow door as if her life depends on it. She is standing by the entrance, searching for her car keys in her seemingly bottomless pit of a handbag, when she hears his voice.

Yankee Stadium

One month. That’s how long Madelyn could afford her apartment on 103rd and Central Park West before she headed back the same direction. Four Friday nights in a row, I dragged my listless body up five incredibly steep flights of stairs, before reaching her doorstep, panting to the point of quasi vomitation, and knocking. We would go to art galleries, get smoothies, pass bowls on her firescape. Sometimes, we would get beer, Corona or Heineken, deli sandwiches, or, order Grubhub, and then argue wit