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It is no secret that Tbilisi, the capital city of Georgia, is a breeding ground for creativity, spurring those in-the-know to flock to the former Soviet territory — recognized not only for its rich cultural heritage, but also for its jaw-dropping natural beauty, its complex culinary scene, and generous hospitality. Geographically speaking, it is located in a geopolitical hotspot, which has given Georgia quite a tumultuous political history — recent events with Ukraine have hit close to home.

Nestled in between Turkey, Armenia and Azerbaijan to the south, with the Caucasus mountain range and Russia bordering it to the north, Georgia gained independence from the Soviet Union in 1991, proceeding a reign that began in 1921. It’s hard to believe that just one month ago, the peaceful country lay undisturbed by the events that would soon shake Ukraine to the core, mirroring its own fraught past with Russia just over 20 years ago. Now, watching history repeat itself is like holding up a mirror to the past, urging Georgia’s citizens to take urgent and immediate action, in order to help the nearby country retain their political freedom. 

In the years following their break from Soviet control, Georgia has been eager to establish its place in the greater cultural conversation. It is no surprise that a country filled with a history of deeply-rooted tradition has no shortage of creativity — the artists and designers that reside in the bohemian city of Tbilisi are what give it its grit and character, and also its sense of community. A country that has four customs catalogued in UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage listing is proof enough — their tradition of polyphonic singing makes beautifully-harmonized singing as ubiquitous at dinner parties as drinking wine (which they also are credited with inventing over 8,000 years ago). Thus, poetic tendencies and an appreciation for beauty, is in the DNA. 

For the many years under Soviet control, Georgia’s connection to the outside world was quite limited — the lack of outside influence allowing for its own unique identity to prosper. In recent years, the creative scene in Tbilisi has flourished, with a few key figures determined to make up for lost time, putting Georgia rightfully on the map in terms of art and culture. Through a myriad of public art programs, residencies that invite international artists and writers to spend time in the capital, and galleries that highlight Georgian artists, the artists and creatives of Tbilisi are eager to create a legacy for Georgia that cements a permanent place in art history and culture.

Max Machaidze is the king of the block. The D-Block, that is, Tbilisi’s Stamba Hotel’s in-house artist studios and residency program. A visual artist, designer and hip-hop musician, Machaidze creates large-scale sculptural work that can be seen installed throughout the grounds of the expansive hotel grounds. With his studio also located in Stamba’s D-Block, an undeveloped wing of the hotel that has been converted into two floors of open-plan artist studios, the proximity of his workspace seems to aid his prolific practice. 

Producing works that range from massive cement spirals that sit in the hotel’s courtyard, to a fully-functioning replica of a ‘90s ATM so realistic it blurs the lines between art and utilitarian object, Machaidze draws on found ephemera and Soviet remnants from the country’s fraught past. Sourcing found objects as the basis for his materials, Machaidze frequents abandoned auto-body shops for sheet metal, which he then spray-paints with his namesake designs that echo his background in skateboarding and graffiti. 

A longtime fixture at Stamba, Machaidze urged the Adjara Hotel Group’s owner, Temur Ugulava, to reserve the section of the building for creative output, rather than transforming it into commercial property. Described as a creative mastermind in his own right, Ugulava is a significant supporter of Georgian contemporary art, and took to Machaidze’s idea to use the area as “experimental space and artist studios.” 

Not one to define himself by any one medium, if by day Machaidze is an artist and entrepreneur who started his own moped-sharing business called Qari, by night he plays sold-out shows under the moniker KayaKata, rapping a dizzying rhythm of melodic hip-hop beats sung in his native Georgian. When I ask how his myriad of projects come together, he tells me simply, “Whether it’s objects, sounds or words, it’s all poetry.”

Conveniently located down the hall from the D-Block is the Tbilisi Photography & Multimedia Museum, a contemporary art institution in which Georgian photographer David Meskhi has a solo exhibition of recent works. Titled “Color of Weightlessness,” the photographic series depicts gymnasts in motion, reducing the human figure to abstract forms that seem to float like celestial beings. An exploration of the idealized body, Meskhi’s images confront identity, gender and even the country’s conservatism toward nudity by presenting the body as ethereal objects free from societal judgement. The cosmos is something that Meskhi has always been drawn to — this body of work contrasts Meskhi’s abstractions of the body with images of stars in space to create a shared language between the two otherwise unrelated subjects. 

Raised by his father (a gymnastics coach for Georgia’s national team), Meskhi grew up around the sport — his childhood was spent on trampolines, which is the starting point for the exhibition. He developed this concept further, photographing athletes suspended in space, as a way to capture the feeling of weightlessness he remembers from childhood. In a format that makes the images look surreal, viewers lose sense of both time and place when looking at Meskhi’s work. It is within this void that Meskhi captures the duality of earthly and otherworldly.

Known for his early work shooting the skateboarding community in his native Tbilisi, his documentary, “When the Earth Seems Light,“ won various awards for its non-traditional portrayal of skaters. Interested in documenting the city around him, he noticed that the skateboarders in Tbilisi had the same acrobatic element as the gymnasts he started his career shooting. He began capturing them in a way that focused more attention on figuration and abstraction than the sport itself.

Now a photography professor himself, he tells his students, “it doesn’t matter what you shoot, you should be free to talk about any topic you want.” For Meskhi, the verticality one achieves on a trampoline is a metaphor akin to reaching for dreams of freedom. Stemming from a post-Soviet past both he and the country are eager to shake off, it seems that the higher you jump, the further you go.

David passed along an incredibly robust directory of ways to help Ukraine as a foreigner. Filled with various resources for education and donations, you can help support here.

Here is the crowdsourced section specifically for the US.

Gallerist and design consultant Tamuna Gvaberidze is on a mission to support Georgian art and give it the recognition it rightfully deserves. Her gallery, Window Project, began in an empty window at the Shalikashvili Pantomime Theatre in 2013 with fellow curator Irena Popiashvili. In 2017, she joined forces with a new partner Tamuna Arshba, and moved Window Project to a large, white-walled exhibition space in the stylish Vera district of Tbilisi. With a sincere dedication to supporting young Georgian artists while highlighting older ones from a “forgotten” generation, Gvaberidze’s goal is to use the gallery space as a platform for creative expression, providing these artists with the opportunity to show on an international scale. As a self-described “project-first” gallery, Gvaberidze is hesitant to claim ownership or exclusive representation over any artist she works with, believing that “collaboration and transparency” are crucial in artist-gallery relationships.

If there’s one quality Georgian artists share, it’s a sense of resourcefulness, Gvaberidze explains. “There’s a lack of materials here. They use whatever they have in order to make art.” Working within these constraints makes the artwork that is produced here analogous to the country itself, with many artists drawing inspiration from Georgia’s deeply rooted cultural traditions. For example, artist Uta Bekaia (whose studio is also at Stamba’s D-Block) creates wearable sculpture and performance-based pieces, borrowing from Georgia’s long history of tapestry and carpet weaving. His recent exhibition at Window Project includes an assortment of lifesize monster-like sculptures that take a page out of “Where the Wild Things Are.” Referencing a “post-apocalyptic world,” Bekaia makes a commentary on where the state of our universe is heading, by dreaming up how creatures may look in the future, giving them exteriors with unnaturally-bright colors and glitter. 

Furthering her desire to create an international exchange between Georgia’s art and design scene and the rest of the world, Gvaberidze is expanding her gallery repertoire to launch the Tbilisi Design Days, a three-day international design conference set to debut in 2023. Working alongside architect Ketuna Kruashvili, Gvaberidze hopes to shine a light on the importance of art and architecture in Georgia. The duo, in turn, also hopes to gently nudge governmental agencies to provide more resources and funding for the arts. “We want to ensure that old techniques of Georgian craftsmanship don’t die,” she says. After 70 years of Soviet rule, Gvaberidze believes Georgian culture deserves as much recognition, both locally and internationally, as possible. “We are very expressive. We go deeper into our culture — it’s very old, diversified and polyphonic, like our music.”

I first came across the work of visual artist Hank Willis Thomas reading a book called Who We Be: The Coloriza- tion of America by Jeff Chang. The year was 2013 and, at the time, I was a community organizer in my hometown of Newark, New Jersey. But I was beginning to find limitations to the impact traditional models of organizing could have in my community. It was the beginning of a personal renaissance where I revisited Black art and images as a tool for helping to mend the psychological effects of years of neglect and abandonment and the disenfranchise- ment of American urban communities and their inhabitants by the powers that be. The first piece by Hank that I can honestly say I really appreciated was Strange Fruit, 2013. In it, there’s a basketball player with a ball in hand hanging from a noose—an image that references the brutal history of lynching in America.

Growing up in an urban environment, sports and specifically basketball were very important to me in my formative years. In Hank's Branded series, I saw him posing similar questions that I was having about what it meant to be a Black man coming of age in America. Hank has continually returned to images of sports players and the peculiar role they inhabit in the American psyche throughout his practice. His work has continuously examined the complex relationship between sports, capitalism and the Black body, showcasing the glory associated with sports stardom, but also critiquing the power structures at play.

In Hank's Unbranded series, he deconstructs advertisements, showing how our identities as Americans are often shaped by the media and the roles corporations have prescribed to various racial, ethnic and gender groups. Look- ing at his artwork sparked within me a passion for looking beyond the surface, and questioning the purpose of vari- ous institutions, ideas and cultural practices that I previously never considered.

In 2015, I applied for a role in his studio, met Hank, and witnessed the brilliance of his mind and work in person. I was able to see firsthand how his artworks were created and get to know the small but passionate group of collabo- rators who worked with him at the time helping to bring his vision to reality. Working in the studio, I was given the opportunity to participate in a four-person team that toured his public art project, In Search Of the Truth, across 35 states and 43 cities during Donald Trump’s first presidential run. Traveling around the country in a tour bus, engag- ing with Americans from all over, and meeting artists and curators from some of the country's most elite muse- ums opened up a new world of possibilities for me as a creative. It changed the way I perceived myself as a Black man, as an American, and even the way I perceived the concept of ‘truth.’

My connection to Hank's work is much more than just an aesthetic conversation—it’s about the ideas that engag- ing with his work has sparked within me. For me, interviewing Hank for this article is the culmination of a full-circle moment that started when I first read about Hank in that book almost a decade ago, eventually getting to know and work for him, and now being able to write about him, his work and where he hopes to take his practice in the future.

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EMANN ODUFU—When I think of the evolution of your practice, it is constantly evolving, and you are always reinventing yourself and the type of work you create. Obviously, a framework permeates throughout your practice and your oeuvre. Still, I would like you to speak to your process of reinvention, especially when I look at your work from the late 2000s to now. Is this something that you're thinking about as you create, or does it natu - rally manifest as you change with the times?

HANK WILLIS THOMAS—For me, change is necessary for growth, and as the times are rapidly evolving, I also need to do that. The core of my work is still there, but the methods and mediums that I use to express the import - ant things have had to evolve. Also, who I'm talking to and how I'm speaking to them has changed by demand. I went from talking about brands in the early 2000s to creating brands through projects such as Question Bridge, For Freedoms and Truth Booth. They are all my own take on what a brand does, but what is for sale is different. What is for sale are the complex ideas that are at the core of my work. I am perpetually propelled and inspired by how we can attract and maintain audiences through branding and marketing and how our processes engage them.

EMANN ODUFU—Collaboration is something that is very important to your practice, even harkening back to In Search of the Truth, which was a collaboration between you and three other artists. With For Freedoms, Writ - ing on the Wall, and the Wide Awakes, the work you did took this collaborative aspect to a whole new level. One of your works that comes to mind is from your I am a man series, specifically the piece that says, ‘I am many.’ Especially when working in your studio, I noticed that your work was the product of a village of creatives and collaborators working to capture your vision. What is the importance of collaboration and community in your practice?

HANK WILLIS THOMAS—Everything we do in life is a collaboration because no one lives or works in a vacuum. A lot of the ways in which we talk about our lives are as if we're the only ones affected by whatever we're expe - riencing. So, I've always collaborated with other artists in addition to making my own work, to remind myself and others who I care about—and even people I don't know—that we all have a stake in what each other does. Creativity is an outlet and opportunity for us to think about ourselves, the things we care about and each other differently. EO—From my perspective, that process of collaboration evolved into something even larger with works like For Freedoms and the Wide Awakes, which were these mass collaborations that sparked a national movement. I'm curious to know why you, as an artist, decided to create these works?

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HWT—For Freedoms and the Wide Awakes were inspired by my desire to work with and celebrate the work of other artists. With For Freedoms, we did activations in exhibi- tion halls and a national billboard campaign that allowed us to engage audiences that none of us individually could reach. We did this by engaging billboards and public space as an artistic medium. The Wide Awakes built on this idea because it is not an organization. Instead, it is a very loose and organic collective. It was a more liberated attempt at doing the same things we were doing with For Freedoms. But there was no centrality to the collab- oration this time, so all the participants were creating it. There's an excitement to that. There's also no barrier to entry or gatekeepers. The only gatekeeper is the person themselves.

EO—How do you balance being a fine artist and being concerned with the formal applications of the creative process with your burgeoning role as an activist, a community builder, and even as a political voice?

HWT—I do that through working with the people in my studio. I'm also collaborating outside of my studio in the streets of the world and on the Internet. The people in my studio help me focus on maintaining and clarifying the messages in my work. That is an aesthetic conver- sation as well as a content conversation.

EO—Well, whatever you're doing, it's working. The seeds that you and your creative team are planting have been harvested to make an impact that stretches outside of just art. You've accomplished a lot in your career so far, and I'm sure there are other mountains to climb. However, at the present moment, top galleries around the globe represent you, and your work is in the collec- tions of esteemed museums and influential collectors. So, what keeps you motivated to go into the studio and keep creating? What’s inspiring you at this moment?

HWT—I read a book in 2019 called Finite and Infinite Games by James Carse, which really helped me to understand my purpose. Carse talks about finite games as being played for the purpose of winning and infinite games as being played for the purpose of continuing the play. A finite game is to be won by someone, and it must come to a definite end. An infinite game is a vision of life as play and possibility. So, I realized that I'm play- ing an infinite game and I am not trying to win. I'm trying to stay in a state of play. We live in a world with the illusion that there is some form of finality, and for me, play- ing an infinite game is continuing to expand and chal- lenge the limitations of the world that you know and the person you are. That's what keeps me going. When we say we're going to take an inflatable speech bubble across the country where strangers would come and share their truths, there's not really any finite rewards. The reward is the journey. The exhibition is an artifact, but the artwork is the actual journey itself.

EO—One thing I'm thinking about consistently is how the creative world has drastically transformed in the past 20 years. In my opinion, there are no boxes—or fewer boxes for creatives—and the lines between creative realms are blurring. Artists are not staying in one lane anymore, and the best example of that is probably Kanye West. He started off making music, and now he's a leader in fashion and breaking into the tech world. Even for you, I see you existing between creative fields and between realms. Can you speak to this changing atmosphere? What opportunities does it bring for a multifaceted creative like yourself?

HWT—The world is constantly changing. I think you're right that the past 20 years have appeared to be radi- cally and rapidly evolving, asking each of us to reeval- uate who we are, what we are, what we do and how we do it. But I don't think that's limited to the creative field. From my experience, it's how we're experiencing gender, how we're experiencing race, how we're experiencing class, even how we’re experiencing nationality. Over the past 20 years, the way we look at things that have been relatively fixed has become much more complicated. I don't separate the way that I live and what I do into work and not work or art and not art. It's all my life. I'm an eclectic person who has a broad range of interests, and this is something that a lot of people of African descent negotiate. We negotiate being multifaceted, complex people and being expected to conform or live within a box already prescribed for us. I don't think that's just people of African descent, but I think that the pressure of the box feels more confining for many of us in this country. So, for me and I imagine many others, excelling outside of the place where we first gained ‘validity’ is a way of finding some form of liberation or emancipation.

EO—I really dig that answer. I want to delve into your recent exhibition, The New Black Aesthetic. We've talked a little bit about this before, but throughout your practice, you often return to images of sports players, examining the complex relationship between the sports industry and Black men. In some of my favorite works of yours, especially the older pieces, you made powerful critiques on the sports industry. Your Liberty sculpture almost presents a different perspective when you look at it—it's more of an uplifting or aspirational type of feeling that I get from looking at it. On one end, you're celebrating the upward mobility created through these athletes' ascent into superstardom. On the other end, we see a critique of the power structures that permeate them. Can you speak to this duality and the nuanced way you enjoy and participate in the spectacle of sports, or I guess any system, while also understanding some of the deeper implications?

HWT—This question makes me think of Guy Debord's book, The Society of Spectacle. In it, he describes the spectacle or what we would call the modern-day media machine as an instrument to distract and pacify the masses and basically keep the wheels of consumerism turning. This process alters our view of reality and turns everything into a commodity. It encourages us to focus on appearances and symbols rather than genu- ine human interaction. Carce says ‘the spectacle is not a collection of images rather, it is a social relation among people, mediated by images.’ [Debord’s] book is a multi- faceted and shifting gaze on the spectacle and spec- tator. It embodies some of my thoughts in a lifelong process of finding myself in relation to the spectacle of sports and the NBA and any other spectacle in which I might be participating. In my work, I'm engaging in this conversation, acknowledging the allure of the spectacle and breaking down these symbols and images to help the viewer and myself make sense of what you called ‘the deeper implications.’

EO—When I applied for a role in your studio years ago, I remember stating that I saw you as the ‘Black Rich- ard Prince’ in my cover letter. I'm not sure if you read the cover letters or if someone else read them...

HWT—No, I read the cover letters.

EO—I like to think that was part of the reason why you guys were like, ‘Okay, we'll give him a shot.’ Obviously, you and Richard Prince have entirely different practices. Still, I think I was speaking to the ability you just referenced to take images and symbols that are recognizable in our society, deconstructing them in a way that questions the way our world operates. I view you as a social psycholo- gist and even a cultural healer. In a hundred years, when we look back at your practice, what impact do you want it to have on people on a social and psychological level?

HWT—Isn't it enough to just be remembered? That's my answer to that question, but I can expand on it.

EO—I would absolutely love for you to expand on it!

HWT—One hundred years from now, will there even be a world as we know it, based on the catastrophic forecasts we are learning about? I want people to be alive, safe and healthy in a society where the work that I/we make is still relevant. If those circumstances exist, I would hope they are somewhat proud of who we are and what we have done. Think about it: this generation knows that the world is overpopulated and that our lifestyles are creat ing irreparable harm to all future societies. This gener ation has had more privilege than any other generation of human beings collectively, yet has not overcome the desire to kill and maim other human beings and has even eradicated other species. I just hope that people in a hundred years will have mercy for us because, yes, differ ent generations might have caused a lot of harm, but they did not know what we know. So, when I think about my work, which is my life, I would love for future genera tions to think that I cared about them... But it would also be enough just to be remembered.

It’s December in New York, and people are moving inside. The disease is present and plans are getting canceled. You stare out your window, and it's too cold even to crack it open to let the air in. You wonder when you’re going to feel warm enough to not worry about how much to put on before you go outside. It’s slow, you’re watching a lot of TV. It’s fun in a way, but you’d go somewhere else if you could.

Imagine this: you get a call. “Hey, Playboy wants to send a photographer down to Miami on their private jet. All you need to do is take photos and do some interviews with the models on the plane. It’s unclear how much they will be wearing. And, I think the Clermont Twins will be on the jet. It’s tomorrow, can you go?”

How fast do you say yes?

This is the phone call artist and filmmaker, Raheem Hercule received from office during Art Basel this year and he took the mission. 

Raheem boarded the Playboy Jet on Wednesday of Art Basel week with the Clermont Twins and a number of other high profile stars. Raheem began his interviews with the Twins, who told Raheem that they only ever like to shoot portrait style. "Really tight," they said. "Even." They want to always be shot at an angle where you can see both of them together. They like to do everything together, even ordering the same drinks. Raheem wondered, though, what they don't do the same. One likes ranch, the other likes blue cheese. One loves oysters, the other can't stand the smell. This and more in the Q&A live from the Playboy Jet.

How would you describe Shannon?

Shannade Cleremont — Shannon’s a social butterfly. She’s more adventurous, spontaneous. She’s more of a risk taker. I’m more reserved. She’s the crazy one.

Would you call Shannon beautiful?

What is beautiful to you guys in a world full of validation?

SC— Beautiful is staying true to yourself. Self care. Whatever you’re doing you’re doing for you, no one else. That you’re happy at the end of the day, content with yourself. It’s all about yourself. If you love yourself then who cares what anyone else thinks about you. Live for yourself, no one else.

Do you guys do most things together?

SC— We do 99% of things together except relationship stuff. We don’t share guys.

What do you guys do alone? Do you guys do things alone on purpose ever? Like, do you ever need a break from Shannon?

SC— It usually just falls into place like that. For instance, she’ll go to New York with friends and I’ll stay behind, be alone. She’ll come back and we’ll work really hard. We have more breaks now, little weekends. She’ll go out, I stay in, or she’ll go out somewhere and I go somewhere else. We’re twins but we need our me time.

How would you describe Shannade?

Shannon Clermont — Shannade is fun, she’s responsible, stylish. I’m responsible when it comes to business but when it’s not business everything else is out the window. I don’t know how to act, she’s grandma. I’ll bring her out, have fun, and she’ll be like, ‘It’s time to go.’ She always knows when to leave.

SC — We need that. I need that. I need an overlooker who’s peeping everything while I’m on the couch getting drunk.

SC — Yes, we do it every year. We didn’t go last year so we’re just resuming the turn up. We see the parties, the art, the events.

What do you like to do alone?

SC — I like to write. I like to listen to music. Take walks. Smoke a little blunt. I don’t smoke as much as I used to but I enjoy it every now and then by myself. And watch some 'Housewives.'

You want to be on that show?

SC — I do. I would love to be a hot MILF. Have some kids. Get a man.

What are you trying to do at the end of the day? What’s next?

SC — My goal is to elevate my brand, my business, be successful. And while doing that I’m giving back as well in any way I can. Education. Help people around me. When I’m having a bad day it feels good to make someone else’s day. Making other people feel happy makes me happy.

This is now Jasmine’s third attempt to make me a drink, the first two she had to give away. How are you today?

Jasmine, the flight attendant — I am inspired.

We love that. What’s inspiring you right now?

J — Being in an environment that we helped create and watching people enjoy it.

Are you gonna be able to enjoy Basel at all?

J — I won’t because we’ll be flying right back. We’ll be flying back and forth between New York, LA, and Miami.

Are you stressed at all?

J — I hope all our plans fall into place and that we do create an environment that people can enjoy. Like this morning, we were wheels up at 6am, got to Miami, reset the aircraft for new passengers, fly to New York, and now we’re flying back to Miami. It’s worth it though. We see people in their element and create on the whim in the space that you’re stressed out about.

So you’re curating whether it be spaces or a vibe.

J — It’s the part of the job I enjoy the most.

So you’re a curator of music and sound and vibe and space.

Mia Moretti — At this point, it feels like it’s who I am and what I know. Part of my soul. It doesn’t feel like I’m doing work, I’m just adding to a space. It’s setting an ambiance of what I need to feel good. Switch a mood when you walk into a space.

How much are you DJing for yourself and how much is for the audience?

MM — I’m always doing it for myself but I always say if someone leaves a space feeling different in a way that it’s better then I have done my job. And sometimes I want that person to be me.

DJing is what brings you to Basel. Is this the first string of events you’re doing since COVID started?

MM — Yes, 1000% The energy hasn’t come back. It feels like it has come back when I’m in New York or Miami or I went to France for a few gigs. I’ve been traveling for gigs but they come in spurts. It used to be so a part of my life and I would only ever get a few days off. Now I’ve retreated into my home which is really nice and good. It’s nice to get called out. It’s a total 180 for me.

Do you think it will ever feel like it’s back or do we exist in a new climate? Is it all new and we’re trying to adapt to a new space?

MM — We don’t want the same thing to come back. For me when you have that much time to reflect you think, ‘How could I have made these last few years better?’ Like, off the hamster wheel, the spin, you have a moment of reflection, you’re dying for a moment of, ‘If I could have done that differently what would I have done?’ Whether it was a fleeting split second or a year and a half. And some people didn’t stop at all during the pandemic. Being in LA though, recently relocating to LA from New York shortly before the pandemic, was for me a major retreat. I had those moments of deep reflection and thought. Do we want the same thing to come back? When it does come back what will make me really happy? How will I make every job the dream job? How could I have done it better? When I’m dying, am I going to be thinking, ‘I could have loved this way.’ ‘I could have lived this way.’ Could I have done it better? And we were so close to death, seeing death and loss in such a close way. But with such deep reflection that we had, it feels like things have gone straight back to exactly the same thing. It’s not like much has changed but we certainly know now what was wrong.

Do you think Covid changed what kind of music you’re listening to? Do you think Covid has changed what people want to hear?

MM — I can’t tell you yet I don’t know what people want to listen to but for me it has changed. I had a yearning while I was not playing to play music that made me feel rooted in the earth. I was doing some self-exploration and I wanted to feel the music. I don’t just want to play songs. The music has to make me feel like I’m connected to the earth and I need it to feel like it’s from the ground up into my body.

I think because we’ve been so depleted of external validation, there’s been need for substance and substantial validation, and it can be internal.

MM — Yeah, very true, you put it in a really nice way. And what better way than from ourselves? That’s the ultimate way. The cheap way is to get it from outside.

It’s hard to think about how much you can play yourself, work you can do to get it from outside of yourself when you can just get it form within yourself the whole time.

New York may be home base for the thoughtfully curated studio, Tumbao, but at the heart of the space lies a spirited and effervescent Latin American flair. Tumbao saw the disproportionate representational gap within the wider fashion and art industries and decided to combat it by letting love and light shine through, creating a space where Latin American artistic voices are illuminated for all to see and more importantly, proudly encouraged.

Valentina Pozo, founder of Tumbao, banded together with near and dear friend and Mexico City-bred designer Sabrina Ol, to solidify the space that Latin American artists occupy within fashion, design, and the visual arts. The result — a truly unprecedented group show/gallery/shoppable event extraordinaire.

Yet, for Valentina, Sabrina, and A Chambear a Chambear, this pop-up represents just the mere inception of an entire widening universe. When two Latinx women put their minds to something — there’s really no stopping them. A Chambear a Chambear made an appearance in Mexico City only to prepare for, in due time, taking over the world.

Immerse yourself in all of A chambear a Chambear’s magic by reading office’s conversation with Valentina and Sabrina below.

How did you two meet and how was the idea of A Chambear a Chambear born?

Valentina — We met through a mutual friend about 4 years ago! We kept in touch and once I opened Tumbao I knew I wanted Sabri to be one of the brands we carried. A chambear a chambear was the product of two friends getting way ahead of themselves on a phone call. I hit Sabri up to tell her I was coming to Mexico for a month, and the next thing we knew we were planning a mini festival for fashion lovers. What's the best thing that planning and working on A Chambear a Chambear brought into both of your lives?

Sabrina — I think for both of us the best part about building this project was finding someone that you feel at ease working with. I’ve always felt that people would perceive my ideas as crazy, impossible, or weird and would question me to the point that I felt too scared to make them happen. With Valentina it felt completely the opposite, we would literally create our own reality and get excited by bringing more and more ideas to the table. Eventually, more than a business partner I feel I found a friend that listens, supports, and takes my hand every step of the way.

How did you curate the selection of designers and artists that were part of A Chambear a Chambear?

Sabrina — Choosing the artists came naturally after coming up with the concept: destruction. We wanted to express a very specific, yet relatable idea: mandar todo al carajo. Since the pandemic started, everything felt unpredictable, we didn’t know if a new type of virus would come and we won’t be able to leave our houses ever again without a protective suit. Therefore, there’s no point in doing something we don’t enjoy, and whatever we do enjoy we should go all in. I thought about people I admire and who I felt it would be an honor to work with. I wanted to understand what the idea of destruction brought up for them and how they’d navigate it. The result was completely enlightening since every single piece treated the theme from completely different places and experiences. The mediums varied from eggs, concrete, rust, wax, and a video art installation that isolated you from the noisiness of the space.

Valentina — A rule for Tumbao is that all brands are Latin American. A lot of the brands bring a contemporary look to artisanal craftsmanship. Others focus on their culture through their casting and storytelling. My overall aim when curating is to showcase what Latin American talent is today and to prove how multifaceted we are. Aside from that, I have two main priorities: one is the quality of the construction and of the materials. The other is uniqueness; I want each piece to feel like a tesorito that belongs only to you. Aside from that, it’s very instinctual; I ask myself, would I wear this? Or sometimes — would my alter ego wear this?

Valentina, you are from Ecuador and Sabrina, you are from Mexico. What does it mean to you to be a Latinx creative today?

Valentina — Los latinos somos cancheros. We’re always up for something, whether it’s meeting someone new or starting a new project — we do it from a place of so much kindness! That’s special. I truly feel like people gravitate toward us. We have so much talent and such a desire to make new friends. I think that makes us unstoppable!

Sabrina — The first thing that came into my mind was responsibility. I feel we are being heard and people are curious about our community and culture. However, I feel there is a real challenge when it comes to being coherent, real, and representing Latinx individuals in the fashion industry. We have to try to make space for diversity and give more voices to Latinx within the minorities of the industry. It is an ongoing conversation, but I believe there is a lot of room to learn and grow together, keep supporting each other, and create narratives that are our own and don’t come from the foreign eye.

What's next for A Chambear a Chambear?

Valentina — We’re taking over the world!!! The possibilities are endless. I want to have a restaurant, a world tour, or a festival. I can tell that my friendship with Sabri will continue to grow, and that’s all I need to be sure that we’re going to continue to do big things together.

Brands and designers included in A Chambear a Chambear included Ajaie Alaie, Banzo, Costaiia, De Maria, Jakhu, Katerina Annunziato, Maison Quintanar Nicolete, Martin Across, Religare, Rocatarpeya, Sabrina Ol, Sentimiento, Unsx, and Virginia Jirash.

Although the event took place April 9th, you can dive in below, through viewing exclusive photos from A Chambear a Chambear.

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