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Words by Dominique Nzeyimana | Assistant: Immi AbrahamA big dream of mine is to be part of a frequent council that feels like a mix of stand-ups hanging out in bars after a late-night show and AA (for the mandatory sharing).We don’t all have to be best friends, but there’s big mutual respect. Every so-often, we’d congregate, and talk about what’s been on our minds; admit when we’ve been assholes , and celebrate each other’s wins. We’d also express love, exchange information and contacts, name figures, amounts, pitfalls, percentages, and laugh loud.. The small talk, while everyone’s trickling in, is “what did you eat today?”, “where do you get your jackets altered”, “how have you been sleeping?” and “which records have you been listening to?”. All before we also dive into building secure spaces, art shows, entertainment, alternate education, and specific care. Before we head out, “Does anybody need anything else?” has definitely been asked. Black bonding, but no one’s excluded except bigots. A couple of times a year, we would release a double vinyl carrying the best excerpts of what was said.For Patta Volume One, I feel like jotting down the most direct outline of my conversation with two people who have been instrumental to my growth these past years. So let me introduce Steve McQueen and Guillaume Schmidt, who, both in their own brilliant ways with their art and their deep thinking and conscientious execution, have been forging brand-new connections and possibilities in my brain and reality. Gifts beyond measure. If you haven’t had the pleasure, I am sure they will do the same for you, and this talk is a start.  Beyond an unafraid chronicler of our collective and ancestral history, globally acclaimed British-Caribbean director-filmmaker, artist, producer, and screenwriter Sir Steve McQueen CBE possesses the uncanny ability to discern, unlock and carefully release emotion from his audience. The agony and ecstasy of Black existence reflected — often for the very first time — back at you, not like a cold mirror but like a heart-to-heart with someone who deeply understands and cares. In a career spanning 30 years, as the first Black filmmaker to ever win an Academy Award for Best Picture, McQueen has today moved far beyond institutional praise–though it has come thick and plenty in the shape of an Oscar, BAFTA, Golden Globe, NAACP Image Award, Turner Prize, a knighthood, Cannes Caméra d’Or, BFI Fellowship, and many more.Steve grew up in Ealing, west London, in a Grenadian-Trinidadian household. Despite educators misreading his many talents, Steve pushed forth, self-sure and tenacious, to study art at the Chelsea College of Art and Design in London and at Goldsmiths College, where film became his preferred medium. A later stint at the Tisch School of the Arts at NYU defogged a path to further creation through photography, sculptures and installations, and, naturally, film. His early work in the ‘90s ranged from transgressive shorts in black-and-white (Bear) to a Super 8 film (Exodus), which eventually landed him the Turner Prize in 1999. In 2007, McQueen made waves by unveiling an artwork honoring fallen British soldiers on stamps–daring the Royal Mail to take a stand. This thought-provoking work proved fertile ground for his feature-length films, the first two starring Michael Fassbender: Hunger (2008), on the last days of Irish nationalist Bobby Sands and Shame (2011), a sinewy story on sex addiction. Next, McQueen moved mountains to get his culture-shifting film 12 Years a Slave released. The unflinching story of enslaved free man Solomon Northup cleared the 2014 award season, receiving a Golden Globe and Academy Award for Best Picture. The following feature Widows (2018) was widely acclaimed for deepening the heist genre. In 2019, Steve created Soundtrack of America, a tour de force concert series feting the history and influence of African American music. In 2019 and 2020, both Tate and Tate Modern showed Year 3 and the major exhibition Steve McQueen spanning 20 years of McQueen’s work. More recently, McQueen co-wrote and directed the deeply influential anthology film series Small Axe (2020), centering the West Indian Windrush community in London through visceral vignettes. For this series, he collaborated with Patta on a limited 2021 Small Axe T-shirt and knitted jumper and produced the feted Patta x Nike ‘The Wave’ short film series with his production house Lammas Park. In 2022, McQueen’s Uprising documentary won the BAFTA for Factual Series. The list of incredible achievements goes on. For all his commercial and critical success, true iconoclast Steve McQueen has achieved one of the rarest feats in artistic life. He has arrived at that plane of visionary achievement that stands beyond critique and the white, Western gaze, creating a vault of timeless heirlooms and capsules of Culture.Guillaume Schmidt, known as ‘Gee’ to many and as ‘Gui’ to Steve, is the co-founder of Patta. Along with his business partner and best friend Edson Sabajo, he turned what was once a small sneaker shop and streetwear brand into an ever-evolving magnum opus, shifting culture and community as we know it. When Schmidt and Sabajo — who met working at record store Fat Beats Amsterdam — opened the doors of the first Patta store in 2004, energies aligned for the most successful Lowlands community brand ever to take root and bear fruit. Trial, error, and woes turned into wins, which organically grew Patta’s halo until it spanned an Amsterdam flagship and sought-after clothing line, a huge international fandom, London and Milan brick-and-mortars, a charitable foundation, an entrepreneurship Academy and summer school, a record label, a running team and much more. As an internationally respected creative, industry, and community leader, Schmidt has worked with just about every major name in the fashion industry; from Nike to Levi's, Converse, Puma, Tommy Hilfiger, Reebok, New Balance, Vans, Napapijri, Asics, Fila, Alpha Industries, Timex and many others. With Patta, Gee has had an unmistakable impact on how streetwear and hip-hop culture evolved from an underground phenomenon to a globally dominant culture. Crucially, Team Patta has transcended the success of their products and collabs by putting community, intersectionality, and culture above profit. It’s a level of care that shows in any interaction you could have with Gee, whether it’s face-to-face or through wearing Patta: he makes you feel seen, uplifted, and respected.By dragging banks and billion-dollar brands alike into their ‘pull up and give back’ philosophy, Gee, Edson, and the team have not only made sure we looked great in their sought-after collections for nearly two decades, but they are also doing more than their part in the imperative re-imagining of how we can be more of our authentic selves and break free from institutional and internalized restrictions. DOMINIQUE NZEYIMANA: “Thank you both for being here. I’m extremely nervous. My daughter and I went to see The Cure in concert a couple of days ago and we went to dinner first, and she asked me: ‘Mom, why are you so nervous? You talk about both of their work all of the time!’ And I said: ‘Yes, but not to their faces!’ “So, I’m honored. Gee, of course, you know I love you so much and I love everything you and Patta do, thank you so much for asking me to take this on. Steve, your work over the past couple of years, I don’t think anything has touched and inspired me more. I was on holiday this summer and I read your book on the beach and I had the best time, just sitting in the sun, exploring your work even further. “I would love to go back a little bit with this first question. Who, in your recollection, was the first person to instill confidence in you?”STEVE MCQUEEN: “Well, other than my parents, it was Simon Foxton. For people who don’t know him, he was one of the original stylists, along with Ray Petri, before the word ‘stylist’ was ever known. It was amazing meeting him. I was in Camden, with my friend, Danny, and we thought: ‘let’s sell food at the market here. You could sell second-hand clothes and food at Camden Market.’ “This was before vintage was called ‘vintage’; it was just second-hand. So, Danny and I were selling some stuff, and a guy came up to me with a phone number and said: ‘I’m Simon Foxton’s assistant, are you interested in doing some modeling?’ I said: ‘Huh? What’s that about?’ I didn’t know who he was, but Danny said: ‘Simon Foxton worked with Nick Knight, oh my god, you’ve got to do it, you’ve got to do it.’ I rang the number and, strangely enough, the first three digits were very similar to my three digits. Meaning that he lived in my neighborhood. Turned out Simon lived only 15 minutes from my house. 15 minutes. So, that was such a beautiful coincidence. “Anyway, I got to know him, we did a shoot, and that’s how I met Edward Enninful because Simon had spotted him too. That’s how our worlds collided. Simon is just beautiful, and was extremely helpful in giving me confidence. You know, in the house I grew up in, the only real book was the Bible. Going to Simon’s place, it just offered me situational possibilities. He was that person, and I used to go to his house every Friday. We used to watch TV and have a nice time just talking about things. He was just a wonderful person who gave me a lot of ideas. Just talking about inspiration. Not necessarily having the answer to anything but allowing conversations to develop. Still, to this day, he’s my best friend.” GUILLAUME SCHMIDT: “Was he also connected to Judy Blame?”SM: “He knew Judy, yes. We used to all hang out together. It’s London; everyone knows each other. Strange, but true.”DN: “I just read Edward Enninful’s memoir and I marveled at how closely connected you all were. When I first got the question if I wanted to sit in for this conversation, I told Lee Stuart that I was reading A Visible Man and that I was highlighting some pieces where your name came up, and that was even before I knew that I was going to be here today. And the parts where Judy Blame came up as well. Because, obviously, when Neneh Cherry came onto our screens in the late 80s, she made such an impact on me and I went out of my way to find out where she got her clothes from, and that’s how I also found out about Buffalo and Judy Blame. So now, to read in Edward’s book you were all within each other’s orbit, it’s amazing. Gee, I’m first going to ask you that question as well, who was that first person to instill confidence in you?”GS: “Definitely my dad. Both my parents are very inspiring to me, but my dad was the one to emphasize knowing yourself and being proud. My neighborhood was pretty mixed where I grew up, but then I went to do Atheneum which was pretty white. I was a rare sight at my school and things happened that sound strange now, like the touching of hair, very familiar. So, my dad was very protective in that sense of me not trying to be someone else but being proud of who I was and where I’m coming from. He is my inspiration. And then, of course, coming of age: Edson. To this day, our partnership blended into our friendship is something special. Since the early days of our company, he would take on the financial tasks so I could take on more of the creative–although he has talents in that arena himself. He knew the importance of us getting our business in order and sacrificed himself for me, although he would never put it like that. He also did that in a way that he was always the type of financial man–like: ‘Yo, if you think it’s a good idea, let’s fuckin’ do it.’ We failed, and we won sometimes, but even when we failed ten times, he was still supportive and always about confidence. Always: ‘Listen, if you think that is what we should be doing, I trust you, so let’s just go.’”DN: “In conversations we’ve had, this has come up, and you’ve used the word ‘sacrifice’ before regarding Edson wearing the finance hat. Do you feel guilty about this early allocation of tasks?”GS: “Hmmm, no, I don’t feel guilty. I think I have put my money where my mouth is. We’re not sitting here, having this conversation for no reason. But sometimes, it’s also good to acknowledge it. We could’ve both wanted to do creative stuff. I would say ‘the fun stuff’. I just think it’s very good for him to know that I know. I don’t feel guilty because I’m very good at the creative part. And whenever he asks, when deliberation is needed, I'm there from a financial point of view. But I mean that sometimes you have to see it, say it, and be aware of it.”SM: “I imagine Edson also acknowledged that you were better at one thing and he was better at the other thing. I think the acknowledgment, understanding, and appreciation of each other’s positions makes for a good partnership.”DN: “We’ll come back to the materializing of the work and some collaborations, but the second part of my first question is: what was the first place or space where you felt truly at home?”SM: “Amsterdam, to be honest with you. It’s kind of weird to say that. I always make a house a home anywhere I live. I never had a studio for work. The studio is in my head, and it used to be that my home was in my head. When I got to Amsterdam, I didn’t know anyone, and everything was unfamiliar. So therefore, I had space for myself. When I’m in London, I’m always on. There’s a certain kind of code of conduct, a thing that goes on subconsciously, and it’s exhausting sometimes. You don’t even know you’re doing it because it’s just how it is. So, when I got to Amsterdam, I discovered: ‘Oh, there’s another way of living; there’s another way of seeing.’ I had more time for myself; I had more time to reflect. And that was interesting. Plus, I’m a homebody. I love being at home.” DN: “How did you make your house a home? Without being too intrusive, is it through art that’s on your walls, special furniture? What is it?”SM: “I’m surrounded by a lot of books. Books are my thing. I just love being here with my kids and my wife. They’re not always home, but I love it when they are. I don’t have any art on my walls. When I was at art school, all my walls were white. Because if I had anything on the wall, it sort of infects thoughts. What else is home for me? It sounds funny, but I like to be warm. (laughs) I like to clean. I moved my vacuum cleaner, my Dyson, off-screen a second ago. It’s like nesting. When I come back from a shoot, I often annoy my wife because I end up cleaning. She will ask: ‘It’s not clean? What’s the matter with you?’ But it’s not that. I’m just making the nest again.”GS: “When I think about Steve’s home, I think about birthdays. As you know, I met Steve through our kids, his son and my son; they were in the same class. We were two dads on the playground, giving each other the nod. And the nodding became a cup of coffee, and the cup of coffee became ‘hey, come to my son’s birthday’, or ‘come to my birthday’. And just, from the gate, before really knowing him, I got to know his mom, his sister, his cousin, and I just had such an amazing time. It really felt like a home from the moment I set foot inside. That’s a special thing. And, also segueing into what he’s saying about Amsterdam… Originally, I came from a smaller city in the Netherlands and riding the train to Amsterdam in the late ‘90s felt like arriving at a big playing field. It was just such a brilliant city for me to come of age. I really loved the place from the get-go. And I still feel that way. It was also very much of a safe space for me. “Can I say a little thing about Steve’s hometown of London? That’s a city I fell in and out of love with. Sometimes, I really loved it, and sometimes, I really hated it, mostly depending on what I was doing there. It’s huge, which makes getting from place to place such a thing. I really had to get used to it, but I must say London (Notting Hill) Carnival, going there these past couple of years, totally opened my eyes. I’m so in love with that place now.  I’m still buzzing from the energy I got there last summer..”DN: “Is that a feeling you can get in Amsterdam as well? Or is that really specific to London?”GS: “I’ve never been to Rio, or to any of those types of carnivals and celebrations. I’ve been to America, I went to Puerto Rican day parades, summer festivals, and all that type of stuff. Obviously, we have Keti Koti and Kwaku Summer Festival, but to be honest, I have never experienced something similar to the London Carnival in 2022. I’ve been there before. Maybe it was the space I was at in my head and what I had going on and all the COVID, Black Lives Matter, and all of these things that also very much occupied my head… But it was so much more apparent for me now; it really clicked. There are these conversations about why it’s still going on and sometimes people forget about the reason it was there in the first place. I think it’s so needed, and it felt so good.” DN: “Steve, London is your hometown; you grew up with this festival. And you’ve probably been to Keti Koti as well? GS: (nods) “Yes, he has.”DN: “Can you grasp the difference?”SM: “In London, Carnival is unabashed, and the style is ‘come as you are’. Also, there are older people, my parents’ generation who follow their steel band. Then there’s the mid-generation going for reggae, maybe, and the younger generation for grime or whatever it is they’re into. You have all these different generations who go there and enjoy themselves unabashedly. It’s a real process. It’s a street party, don’t forget it’s a street party. Meaning that there’s a situation; it’s a vibe. People get a sense of authority, a kind of brazenness, that they own the city. Unlike a party that’s enclosed, London carnival is a roaming situation. This is ours. We own the streets. “And very important to remember we missed the 50th anniversary because of COVID. So, when people came out this year, they came out and wanted to be seen. As Gee has said, a lot has happened in that time. George Floyd’s murder and Grenfell, five years prior. People wanted to be seen and heard. There’s just a celebration. My friend said to me: they’ve got every Saturday with their football, we’ve got two days in the year, let’s go for it. It’s about being celebratory, about owning it, about being sexual, having fun. It’s about being unabashedly you. Extraordinary.”DN: “I was wondering Gee, in the beginning of you two knowing each other, did you talk to Steve about his work?”GS: “At first our relationship was purely getting to know each other, really. A cup of coffee and some small talk. Over time, you also start talking about what interests you. If you like someone and know that they created work that you love…” SM: “Can I jump in here? I had no idea who this guy was. This tall, dark-skinned, handsome Black guy is waiting for his child. I gave him a nod, here and there, and that was it. Obviously, our sons hung out, so then, they brought their parents in, and we got to meet. So, up until a long time, I didn’t know what Gee did. I didn’t even know what Patta was. I saw it around, and then: ‘That’s you, Patta? Oh, okay.’ We got into a conversation, all very organic. I wasn’t looking for him; he wasn’t looking for me; we just found each other. That is the beautiful thing about our relationship, really.” GS: “I cherish the way that we bonded. To Steve’s point, it was very organic and very much about us and the relationship. Then we started talking a lot when Trump won the election. The day before it was final, we were talking to each other saying: ‘This is not even possible, man! The world will be upside down if Trump becomes president.’ And then, next thing, you come to school and Steve just looks at me like (makes dramatic side-eye) ‘What a nightmare.’ Crazy.”SM: “I will never forget waking up in the middle of the night. I was so selfish, I thought: ‘Whyyy? Why me?  Why do I have to live through this?’”(Everyone laughs)SM: “It wasn’t even about my wife or my children. Just why me?” (laughs)GS: “And you weren’t even living in the U.S.!”DN: “So, Gee, Small Axe came out. Did you immediately think: ‘We have to do something together?’ Or how did that happen?”GS: “Again, very organically. I was incredibly compelled that he was doing something so democratically available. For a theatrical release, you have to go to a cinema. You have to pay for the ticket. You have to make an effort. But the fact that he wanted it to be on national television, the BBC, and that it becomes so democratic and that it actually can be watched by an entire nation so to speak, I found that amazing. “I watched Lovers Rock again with a friend last Friday, because I have a really nice sound system in my house. And she said exactly what the movie and Steve’s idea was about: ‘I’ve never seen this. I have no recollection of mostly or all Black people being captured on film in this manner.’ There are all these references of white people partying and having a good time. There are a gazillion references for that. However, even what was captured for Lovers Rock and all these other little-known stories, he wanted them to be accessible to as many people as possible. “That thought process and those stories are so important. And I just thought that it was imperative for us, and for Patta as a brand, to support in any way we could. We want our DNA and the people that follow us to know that this history exists and that they need to spread the word. I would say that it is a secondary mission for me to let as many people know about Small Axe as I possibly can.” DN: “I think, on my podcast, it’s the most recommended piece of work, I yell it at everybody. ‘Have you seen this? Have you not seen this?’ waving my box set at them. (laughs) As soon as someone talks about music or loving movies, it’s top of mind. Always. From the moment I saw it. And, for me, out of all the films, they all touched me, but the two that touched me the most were Lovers Rock, obviously, because of all the details–the getting ready with friends, the love story, the music, the nuanced characters, the style, the dancing, the drama, and suspense. The first time I watched it–of course, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop because that’s kind of what we learned as Black people seeing ourselves on screen if it goes too well for a long time, you think: when is something really bad going to happen or when is someone going to get killed? And in the end, there’s an interaction where someone tries to put the protagonist in his so-called place. And then, I watched Education—I followed the chronology Steve set up for the BBC—and when the credits started rolling, I just sat there and really bawled my eyes out. Just like Gee, I went to a super-white Catholic school until I was fourteen and I was the only Black girl the entire time. My headmaster was a nun that entire time, plus I had a nun for a teacher for a whole year. Watching Education, it was the first time that so many things that I felt were acknowledged. I knew it all happened, but this was the first time I saw it emphasized on screen. That shifted and lifted something inside me. So, thank you so much for that, Steve! Can you talk about what making Small Axe did for you?”SM: “My pleasure! I made four movies before I did Small Axe – Hunger, Shame, 12 Years a Slave, and Widows. Many people asked why I didn’t make it in the beginning, and honestly, I didn’t have the life experience. I wasn’t ready yet. And it’s only because of getting older, I can look back at what that timeframe was, what that time was about. Particularly Education was based a little bit—obviously not exactly—on my education. It’s so interesting all three of us talking about our education, it’s very noticeable how it was traumatic for all three of us in one shape or another. For a long time, I didn’t want to reflect on that. “The only reason I’m here talking to you is because of Black people and what they did to reverse the system. Because, if anyone hasn’t seen the film, there’s a situation where a lot of Black children are being put in this section, and they call it ‘Educationally Subnormal’. If you were deemed ‘educationally subnormal’, you got put in a special school. And that would have happened to me, if it wasn’t for those Black parents and the Saturday schools formed in the UK through them. “Black parents fighting the school system to say: ‘this is not right.’ And it’s very important that we, as Black people, govern ourselves to change and reverse the law so children can fulfill their potential. Because, if that hadn’t happened, I would’ve been in a ‘subnormal’ school, no doubt.”DN: “Did making Education resolve anything for you?”SM: “It was part of the process. For a lot of people, the damage that is done in your early education can be like a ball and chain. The self-doubt and lack of belief in oneself can linger. I was very lucky, similar to Gee, with my parents and the people around me. And also, I was cocky. I thought I was the best. Even if people thought I wasn’t, I thought I was the best. Absolutely.”DN “Me too. You have to.”SM: “But I really believed it. (laughs) In some ways, you’re quite right, you have to. But to be in the situation to have done what I’ve done, and to have had teachers and other adults telling me I was stupid. I just knew I wasn’t. I really knew. It wasn’t a case of false faith; it was a case of: I know I have the capability of doing this. That came from my parents, for sure, no doubt about that.”DN: “Do you have a reaction to that, Gee? How was watching Education for you?”GS: “It manifested a lot of things that should be very common for me but are uncommon. In every movie, I saw similarities, but what stayed with me the most was that I had never actually seen it as much on-screen. And I’m a movie buff, I watch a lot. But overall, I loved all the movies, for the resilience and people not taking what they were being served. Whether it’s the buff guy in Lovers Rock that comes outside to protect this girl that’s going into a dangerous situation, or it’s the parents and the Black women standing up for a kid. Watching these films, I learned a lot and I have a really special place in my heart for them.”DN: “Same here. Steve, you have been rightfully so bestowed with countless awards, accolades, and prizes. I was thinking about Kara Walker, she got the MacArthur Genius Grant and she later said in an interview: ‘I didn’t use it enough as a shield’. That struck me. Is there one out of all of your prizes, titles or awards that means the most to you in the sense that it lets you do things, it gives you more freedom?” SM: “Well, you know the fact that I won the Oscar for ‘Best Picture’ and I was the first Black director and first Black producer ever to do that–that means a lot. But at the same time, it’s as Miles Davis said: ‘So what?’ Because, honestly, I do not want to be judged by white people. And most people who judge these things are white. So, yes, it did allow me some access and as far as history is concerned, in movies, that is undoubtedly very significant. But, at the same time, so what? It’s about the work. It’s about what you produce. Who is this person saying it’s good or it’s bad? It’s the same person at school, telling me: ‘Steve McQueen, you’re good or you’re bad’. I must judge myself, on myself. And your peers, the people you respect and the people you hold up high. Those are the people I’m most interested in having conversations about what they think, rather than anyone else. “I remember while making 12 Years A Slave, someone close to my camp kept talking about ‘your impossible movie’. They said to me: ‘Movies with Black leads don’t travel abroad, don’t make any money abroad, they fail. Black movies don’t do anything but a little domestic box office in America, nothing crazy.’ Of course, 12 Years A Slave changed that completely. In the first two weeks, they only put it out in a hundred or even less cinemas. And people were knocking on the door asking: ‘Where is 12 Years A Slave?’ So, then they released it to 2,500 cinemas. We lost over 20 million in our first two weeks because they didn’t believe it would do well. In its first week of DVD sales in America, it sold over a million copies. In its first week. I only just found this out.”  GS: “Over a million DVD’s in this day and age.”SM: “This is when people used to buy DVDs for $20. I never saw any of that money, by the way. People were saying: ‘White people will be too afraid to go to the cinemas to see 12 Years A Slave. And then in one week, we sold 1 million DVDs.”DN: “What do you do with that information, because you don’t seem angry or frustrated at all?”SM: “Sometimes you just have to break the mold. I know for a fact that without 12 Years A Slave; Moonlight, and Selma wouldn’t’ve been made. I know this because the same producers couldn’t get it made. After 12 Years A Slave, they did. Now the thinking became: ‘Black movies make money? Okay, let’s get this out’.” The trajectory goes all the way to Black Panther. And I know that if Obama wasn’t the president, 12 Years A Slave wouldn’t have been made, at all.” GS: “Wow.”DN: “Have you been able to tell him that?”SM: “I was invited to the White House because of 12 Years and we met and he said congratulations and all kinds of lovely words. He was very gracious and did talk about the movie, but no, I wasn’t able to tell him that.  A lot of things happened because of him, absolutely, there’s not a question about it.”GS: “The importance isn’t about what you think about what Obama did as president, or even what your opinion is about 12 Years A Slave. It’s about the possibilities it creates, just by existing.”SM “That’s what I’m most proud of, I’m very happy and excited about 12 Years A Slave and what it did and was. People were talking about slavery for the first time in a very interesting way. It wasn’t really spoken about. You go back to 2013, look what has happened in those ten years – things changed completely. Thank god.” DN: “Yes, thank god. I hope it keeps going and that the momentum for ‘Black films’ or for Black people getting the opportunities to make their art, to be at the forefront, continues that way and there isn’t another halt like there was in the 80s.”SM: “Indeed. Gee said the word ‘sacrifice’ very early on and I really believe that what happened during the pandemic and what happened with the murder of George Floyd is representative of that. We Black people have to deal with extremes. The fact that George Floyd was murdered in such a horrible, heinous manner in front of the world, during a pandemic: an earthquake has to arise before there’s an advancement in how we are treated. A lot of things happened after that moment, but do you see what we continuously have to sacrifice? A death in the most brutal way and a pandemic before people thought: ‘You know what? Maybe there’s something about this racism thing.” (shakes head)DN: “We go through this as adults, I just hope that our kids who went through the same thing get to process this in a healthy manner.”GS: “I’m hopeful. We’re all here, we’re working on it. I can’t be sorry about nothing; I can’t dwell on things. I got to move and get shit done. I don’t really wake up on some activism tip; I just do my things, I do what I love and what I like. I put music on, I go outside, and do creative shit. And, obviously, that is really empowering. I think that’s also something that came out of all the things that happened during COVID, the global rise of ‘Black Lives Matter’ and the aftermath of the murder of George Floyd, which is the empowerment of each other. When we were talking about the Nike commercials for ‘The Wave’ I called Steve not knowing whether he would like to do it because it’s definitely not something he’s said ‘yes’ to before. How we approached making those films together, giving space and opportunities to our Brothers and Sisters, people who are trying to do things, is the main takeaway. Getting together, establishing things together, applaud even if you don’t like a specific work. In the white man’s world, it’s very normal to have multiple perspectives and opinions, but it’s very important for us to be able to listen to each other and voice our thoughts and still say: ‘Whatever happens, yo let’s do this thing, let’s push’. Small Axe brought forth the opportunity for us to design a T-shirt and a jumper, and for Steve then came a chance to do something with a company he really likes. And it’s this Nike project and now even doing this interview and recognizing and seeing possibilities in each other, that is incredibly important. This could all be done on a much, much higher level. And don’t forget: you can vote with your wallet. If you don’t trust politicians, maybe leave the Louis Vuitton bag for once and buy a Patta hoodie or a Daily Paper shirt, or shop at Union or whoever you want to support. That’s awareness. That’s what a case like this is also showing.”DN: “I love that about you, Gee, and about Patta as a whole. I felt very early on that this was so much more than a brand and you all have proven that afterwards with Patta Academy, Foundation, Running Team and so on. Even just the expansion of the company, the stores and seeing all the ideas come to life. It gives me so much joy to witness.” GS: “You know what the thing is too? I just love people who can do things at the highest level. Regardless of color. I just like creativity. So yes, of course, I want to work with Steve because he makes incredible stuff that I adore. Making these choices and getting these ideas out, I really deem as super important.”DN: “Steve, have you heard about the Patta retirement home?”SM: “No, what is that? Gee, what have you been up to, what’s going on?”GS: “I’m not retiring. Edson has been talking about: ‘We materialized Patta Academy and now there’s another thing I really want to do: a retirement home for our people.’SM: “That is so brilliant! That is so good. I was thinking about that–maybe not what you’re doing, but is there a Black retirement home? Is there a place to go? And I couldn’t think of it. That is so beautiful.”DN: “And the best thing is, we can keep working and be mentors and still do our stuff!SM: “That’s very important. That’s so beautiful. Just to educate about Black health in general is so very important. And I think, again, people work so hard to do what they have to do, and I think this is a wonderful idea: just to look after these people who are our pioneers.”DN: “So, Gee, can you tell Edson that we’re coming?”GS: “A couple more spots filled.”SM “Seriously, are you doing that?”GS: “You know what, it’s on Edson’s mind and the same happened with his idea for Patta Academy. Our parents are getting older and we are getting older as well. I’d love to create a place where there is room for different interests beyond sitting around and playing bridge.”SM: “Interestingly, I was filming at a few retirement homes as I was doing a documentary in Amsterdam and I was just thinking: where are the Black people? Where are they?”GS: “Probably in family’s houses or family that come to their house to care for them–that’s what happens most of the time in these cultures. Sometimes, there’s also a budgetary problem. But it’s the same as with Patta Academy. When resources open up and you can get specific ideas executed, you can pull up for older people. We have to take care of the next generations to come, but we also can’t forget about the people that created space and made the ground fertile for us to build on.”DN: “This is excellent and I’m so honored to have had this conversation. My heart is full, it was amazing. Is there anything that you feel like you have to add?”SM: “I think it’s a perfect ending because we started with us discussing who inspired us as children, we talked about our childhood and our adulthood and dealing with the pasts of these institutions. To end on this beautiful note of these old people’s homes is fantastic. It’s a full circle. It’s something that often gets neglected, so I’m very inspired and touched by what Gee said.”GS: “Thank you for this. You know, when I reached out to Steve months ago: ‘Steve, we’re going to do this magazine.’ He said: ‘That’s brilliant!’. I went: ‘I really want to do an interview with you and somebody else, it can be anybody. Who would you like to talk to?’ And I gave him all these names. And he said: ‘I want to talk to you! Let’s have this conversation with you and me’. I was like: ‘Oh my god, but we can pick anyone on the planet’. And he said: ‘No! I’ll only do it with you’.”SM: “That’s typical Gee, I don’t think he knows how influential he is. I think that’s great. Sometimes I say: ‘Do you know what Patta is?!’ Before I finish: I went into the Patta store in London and I bought some stuff for my son. We were leaving the store and I had two bags. We went to this other store, just to buy some trainers and I was talking to this lady and she said: ‘You’ve just been to Patta? Aw, I love Patta. I love that store, it’s amazing, it’s really, really good. But I can’t afford it.’ When we were leaving there, I had an extra cloth bag, and I said: ‘Look, have this.’ And she was so touched. And she gave us a discount.”GS: (laughs)SM: “That’s the impact you are having. It’s the philosophy around the brand and people are obviously attached to it, so congratulations. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, you’re that significant.” 

Words: David Kane, originally published in Patta Magazine Volume 6Isimeme “Easy” Otabor selects Nas’ timeless classic as his ‘cover story’, a long-running collaborative column between Wax Poetics and Patta. Illmatic is a fitting first in the series to feature in Patta Magazine.At this point, there’s little we can say about Nas’ Illmatic that hasn’t already been said. Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones aka Nasty Nas, aka Escobar, was aged just 20 when he released his musical masterpiece to an unsuspecting world with a little help from his producer friends — DJ Premier, L.E.S., Pete Rock, Q-Tip, and Large Professor (who must be kicking himself for turning down the opportunity to executive produce the record) — which has gone on to transform hip-hop, modern music and the wider pop culture canon.  Yet despite more than 30 years of lore-building, there are still some lesser-known aspects of the album and the greater cultural fabric it is woven into — and the millions of people's stories it continues to soundtrack.Otabor is a Chicago-born curator and gallerist whose work bridges contemporary art, fashion, and community-forward programming. “Born and raised in Hazel Crest in the south suburbs. My parents are both from Nigeria — first generation — they came here in their early twenties and tried their best to make a way for us. I started in sneakers, working at all the sneaker stores as soon as I could get a work permit. “I went to school for fashion, worked at RSVP Gallery with Don C and Virgil (Abloh), and learned by doing whatever needed to be done. That led to (the clothing brand) Infinite Archives and then Anthony Gallery, named after my dad,” he explains over a call from Florida. He’s often on the move, listing off Amsterdam (where he recently launched the second Anthony Gallery), Berlin, London, and Tokyo as recent destinations. Something of a Japanophile, Easy’s initial touchpoints into art came through anime like Akira, Fist of the North Star, and then Takashi Murakami, thanks to his work on the cover art for fellow Chicagoan Kanye West’s Graduation album. Easy credits his brother Ade for his omnivorous approach to culture. “He introduced me to Illmatic — really, all the music I know came through him. I was lucky to have a brother who knew what was happening, who was open to different sounds and always tuned into what was next.” The Illmatic cover operates as a kind of cultural Rorschach — the same image, endlessly reinterpreted. For some, it’s a portrait of lost innocence; for others, a map of inevitability, where place and identity are already fused. What you see says as much about you as it does about Nas.“Honestly, whenever I think of Illmatic, I think of that cover first. There’s a quote I can’t fully remember, but it’s about true genius being found in simplicity. You see where Nas grew up, merged with a childhood photo, those piercing eyes — but also this sense of knowing what he was about to do. Even the background, driving through his neighborhood, all comes together. It’s a perfect blend. You feel like you see yourself in it. No matter where you’re from, you can relate to that feeling of reflecting on your past while being ready for the future, and the present.”The 30th anniversary of Illmatic in 2024 coincided with a global tour, a 7” boxset release, and the publication of a cluster of new and archived content celebrating the record, including a musty interview recording with Nas’ father. In one video, Olu Dara, a successful jazz musician in his own right, recalled the moment the photo was taken. It was when he returned to the States after a long tour in Europe, found Nas and his brother in Queensbridge, who both excitedly ran towards him.  Olu said he saw it in Nas’s eye — “his mind was saying, wow, what a world.” In addition to Olu — who in the same recording mentions a “man with a camera” rather than explicitly claiming to have taken the photo himself, as is popular belief — the artwork was part of a cross-generational collaboration that included photographer Danny Clinch, with art direction by Jo DiDonato, and design by Aimée Macauley — the latter two, employees of Columbia Records. Clinch photographed Nas and his crew in Queensbridge, the largest housing project in the US. Six images appeared across the original vinyl and CD releases.According to Large Professor, speaking to DJ Vlad, the portrait of Nas, in which his hand obscures his face — complete with a small rip — was always meant to be the cover. The tear was accidental. “He had it under a piece of glass, and I guess when he went to grab it, the glass must’ve stuck right there, so that’s the rip right there.” It stayed because it felt right.Illmatic is widely considered to be the first of many hip-hop album covers to feature a child — from Biggie through to Lil Wayne, and Kendrick Lamar. Ghostface would later infamously call out rappers (supposedly Big) for biting the cover art during a skit on Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Link. Though Nas later dismissed the critique — but it’s not the first outside the genre.When I send Easy a Discogs link to A Child Is Born (1972) by The Howard Hanger Trio, he chuckles at the artwork. “If I had to guess,” he says, “it’s probably a record his dad had in his collection.” The resemblance to Illmatic is uncanny: a child’s face, roughly the same age, gazing directly at the viewer, superimposed over a crumbling city street. Musically, it’s a deep, almost spiritual modal jazz record, featuring eerie interpretations of Simon and Garfunkel’s Scarborough Fair, and Eleanor Rigby, by The Beatles.When it surfaces, A Child Is Born now sells for three figures, likely inflated by its accidental proximity to one of hip-hop’s most revered LPs. The trio released just three albums between 1970 and 1977 before quietly disappearing. Howard Hanger himself came from a lineage of principled Methodist ministers; a family history marked by civil rights activism, anti–Vietnam War protest, and the defence of same-sex unions. No official link has ever been acknowledged between the two covers. Which only reinforces the point: the difference isn’t what you take — it’s whether you make it yours.The red thread here might just be family. As Easy explains, “My older brother changed my life. I probably wouldn’t be where I am without him. Even recently, with a Jordan release, I made sure it landed on his birthday.” Easy’s referring to the 2025 release of the Infinite Archives x Air Jordan 17 Low, inspired by the OG model by Wilson Smith, the first Black sneaker designer for the Jordan brand.Long before culture was flattened into clicks and stories, Easy Otabor was dedicating himself to moments — overlooked and era-defining — that once felt abundant and now feel increasingly rare. As for Illmatic today?“I go back to it all the time. There are just so many records on there — ‘Life’s a Bitch’, ‘The World Is Yours’, ‘Halftime’, ‘It Ain’t Hard to Tell’. The whole album stays in rotation. So when the question came up about album covers and what they mean, it was a no-brainer.“It’s as timeless as the record itself. It taught me not to overdo it — that less really can be more, and sometimes more powerful than anything complicated. Every time I look at it, everything stands still for a moment.” 

Captured by David Sims for Fantastic Man 42. Now on stands, including at Patta Chapters in Amsterdam and London.Dive into the cover story here.

Words by David KaneWhat Do You Call It? From Grassroots to the Golden Era of UK Rap took me over three years to write. It wasn’t supposed to. Deadlines came and went, and nine months before it was finally finished, I decided to rip it up and start again. Or at least start the start again. Part of that was driven by a change of start date, at first the book begins at the turn of the century a time fraught with tension (remember the ‘millennium bug’?), political machinations, and creative possibilities, where technology and culture were changing faster than it had for decades. But as I dug deeper, I realised I had to go further back, extending the scope to the start of the 1980s, when rap music landed on our odd little island, imported through the electro-driven hip-hop of Afrika Bambaataa, shaped by sound system culture, inspired by punk and accelerated by rave. And one name kept coming up. Thirty years ago, Tricky released Maxinquaye, and that album changed everything.By the early 90s, the excitement and promise of the UK hip-hop 1.0 had almost fizzled out. Dismissed by the media, denied by music industry gatekeepers, and only the most hardcore fans continued to show interest while the US was going through its golden into the gangsta era, attracting a broader—read, white suburban—rap music fan. There was friction within UK hip-hop, as Trevor Jackson, a.k.a Underdog and head of Bite It! Recordings, one of the few labels releasing consistently challenging hip-hop at the time, put it; “Everyone wanted to get a piece of a very small pie. Some UK foundational figures felt they owned everything and were entitled to success.” The energy in the UK had to come from somewhere and sound like something else.Adrian Nicholas Matthews Thaws grew up in Knowle West, a tough, predominantly white working-class area in South Bristol. Thaws was born to a Jamaican father and a Ghanaian-English mother, a poet named Maxine Quaye, who committed suicide when he was just four years old. His grandmother and various aunties brought him up. It was a happy, if unconventional, childhood despite being surrounded by violence;  “Where I come from, a lot of people are either on drugs, in prison or dead,” he later recalled. Fortunately, Thaws found solace in music. First, he was known as Tricky Kid, a rapper and sometime member of The Wild Bunch, a loose collective of musicians and artists who were so hip it hurt. They formed in the early 1980s and played at warehouse parties and Bristol institutions like St Paul’s Carnival, Special K’s cafe and the dingy Dug Out club. The influence of reggae sound system culture, punk, jazz, soul, and hip-hop were all present, but there was an unhurried melancholy to the music that was unique to a notoriously laid-back and diverse city.The Bristol music scene is a storied one, but The Wild Bunch — including Miles Johnson (a.k.a. DJ Milo), producer Nelle Hooper, Robert Del Naja (a.k.a. 3D), Grant Marshall (a.k.a. Daddy G), and Andrew Vowles (Mushroom) — were arguably the inception point and ruled the roost. Confident aesthetes, rolling around town on hi-tech mountain bikes decked out in Stüssy jeans and Vivienne Westwood shirts with an uncanny knack for sound. Milo introduced Tricky to the crew. He was a shy and sensitive teenager, but he had a supernatural talent for lyrics–sounding like a troubadour of darkness who had toked his way through a maze of marijuana. The collective dissolved in 1987, with Hooper joining Soul II Soul and Milo moving to New York, which left 3D, Daddy G, and Mushroom to form Massive Attack. Tricky appeared in three singles — “Daydreaming”, “Five Man Army” and “Blue Lines” — from the group's seminal debut album, Blue Lines (1991). A broody, epic sounding and insular feeling masterpiece, it helped redefine dance music and coin a new subgenre, trip-hop–a name almost every artist associated with it utterly detests, particularly Tricky. Both Tricky and, to a lesser extent, 3D rap with regional British accents, which was unheard of at the time, but the intention behind Blue Lines was to “Create dance music for the head, rather than the feet”, explained Daddy G. Yet Tricky was more interested in hip-hop. Tensions within Massive Attack (and The Wild Bunch before that) always seemed to be brimming close to the surface. While working on Blue Lines, Tricky produced the demo for “Aftermath”, a bluesy, smoky single with esoteric wood pipe samples featuring the dulcet tones of Martina Topley-Bird and Tricky’s haunting vocals. Tricky offered the track to Massive Attack as they were finalising their debut album, but 3D dismissed it, telling Tricky he’s “Never going to make it as a producer”. The single remained moored to tape, unreleased for a further three years. Shortly after the release of Blue Lines, Tricky departed the group and began working on solo material at a stoned snail's pace. Although ‘Aftermath’ laid the blueprint for what would eventually become his 1995 masterpiece, Maxinquaye (named after Thaws’ mother), a strikingly original body of work “Which acknowledged and accelerated what was new in the 90s, technology, cultural pluralism, and genre innovations.” As adroitly proposed by author Mark Fisher, a stark counter to the “reactionary pantomime of Britpop,” with its refuge in the past.That Tricky was even prepared to take centre stage was partly thanks to the mentorship of Mark Stewart, ex-frontman of legendary new-wave outfit The Pop Group and Bristol sound linchpin, who met Tricky via The Wild Bunch. Stewart is credited as ‘executive producer’ for Maxinquaye. If Stewart were the mentor, Martina Topley-Bird would often be framed as the muse (Tricky went on to have a romantic relationship with Topley-Bird). But in reality, Topley-Bird, who came from a well-off family with experience in the music business, helped influence as well as inspire the music for Maxiquaye, conceiving the jingle jangle melody of “Ponderosa” and provided an unexpected new take on the lyrics from Public Enemy’s “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos” in “Black Steel”. The legend goes that Tricky met 15-year-old schoolgirl Topley-Bird outside his house, waiting for a bus and invited her to make a song on an impulse. That impulse continued in the eventual studio sessions, where all the vocals were recorded in the first take. Alongside the expected hip-hop, dub and soul influences, there is an art-rock weirdness to the sound, a sludgy filter over the percussion and, of course, that famed dark atmosphere with cracks of piercing light courtesy of Topley-Bird’s soothing vocal. “Let me take you down the corridors of my life.” Tricky beckons on “Hell Is Round The Corner”. Tricky was still in his early twenties when he wrote and recorded Maxinquaye. Yet, he had a pool of life experience to draw from, with no shortage of trauma and complexity, having grown up around gangsters with limited familial affection and often went looking for fights in Bristol’s nightclubs, wearing makeup and a dress. Drugs, sex, dysfunctional relationships, and a broader pre-millennium tension are subjects broached in the record. Despite this heaviness, he appears sensitive as he is streetwise and raw. Two things stand out from Maxinquaye and much of the music Tricky has made since. The first is how quietly Tricky raps, a silently disciplined zig to everyone else's clamorous zag, which demands the listeners' attention. The second is his androgyny as a lyricist; in “Suffocated Love”, a seemingly straightforward track on the inner dialogue of a couple where the man gets the sex, and the woman gets the money, isn't quite what it seems with sexual violence and man's dread of intimacy playing the background; “I keep her warm, but we never kiss / She cuts my slender wrists”. “I think ahead of you, I think instead of you”, Topley-Bird’ teases in response. It’s worth remembering that Tricky is responsible for nearly all the lyrics on Maxinquaye, a morass of gender-bending adventure and sonic contortion. In an interview with Mark Fisher for The Wire, Tricky admits his “Lyrics are written from a female perspective a lot of the time.” This takes us to the fourth significant collaborator on the album—there were others, including The Cure producer Mark Stewart and DJ Howie B, who got burned by the experience, but that’s another story—in the voodoo homage to the mother he never knew, claiming that she channelled his lyrics through him and Martina Topley-Bird. The album prompted universal and hyperbolic critical acclaim, perhaps the most memorable of which was David Bowie's 2,000-word paean in Q magazine. In this, Bowie, in typically Bowie-esc glossolalia, acknowledged the arrival of an heir to his shape-shifting crown (or tiara?) and also recognised that his own game might be up. “Here come the horses to drag me to bed,” Bowie concluded. “Here comes Tricky to fuck up my head.”Despite the success of Maxinquaye—the record proved a completely unexpected commercial triumph, reaching number 3 in the UK album chart, selling over half a million copies since, and regularly appearing in ‘best of’ lists—Tricky’s life didn’t get any easier. There have been battles with mental health, problems with guns (his cleaner’s young son accidentally set off a Uzi in his New Jersey apartment), and a hedonistic lifestyle that almost left him in financial ruin. Most tragically, Mazy, his daughter with Topley-Bird, took her own life in 2019.  Like all great minds, Tricky reminds us how noble, tortured, and downright absurd a creature humans can be. And he writes raps as hard as hell. What Do You Call It? From Grassroots to the Golden Era of UK Rap is out now on Velocity Press. The book is available directly from the publisher, all good book and record stores. It’s a book about the evolution of rap music in the UK, when hip-hop landed on our odd little island in the early 1980s. Shaped by sound system culture, inspired by punk, and accelerated by rave, A sound that has evolved from Britcore, UK hip-hop, and trip-hop of the late twentieth century to garage, grime, and drill. What Do You Call It? is also a story about what it means to be seen and to belong to this country. Get familiar with David Kane or head to your local Patta store to get your copy of Patta Magazine Volume 4 now.

Farida’s work doesn’t just engage; it rallies while exploring intersectionality and the influence of monetary economics, heritage, and politics on the future of globalism and community life. Hip-hop, punk activism and social care are all themes the acclaimed multi-disciplinary artist puts on wax via screen prints, textile art, murals and beyond. Her label HOSSELAER (est. 2008) has collaborated with Patta and Junya Watanabe, while her oeuvre includes a partnership with Emory Douglas, artist and former Minister of Culture for the Black Panther Party, in collaboration with HipHopHuis Rotterdam and work for Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam. Farida also recently designed a beautiful book and the visual identity for Our Colonial Inheritance at Wereldmuseum Amsterdam, where her art installation occupies an entire room. As the newly crowned winner of the Amsterdam Prize for the Arts - Work of the Year for her solo show and art market People’s Forum, Farida levelled the field, bum-rushed the show and won big. For those usually left looking up. For the underdog. For the arts. For the people.DOMINIQUE NZEYIMANA: Cover girl!FARIDA SEDOC: “A 44-year-old cover girl! Nice!” (laughs)

DM: Congratulations on your major Amsterdam Prize for the Arts win! I’d love to talk about the process behind People’s Forum, your now award-winning exhibition. I witnessed first-hand how fantastic it was. How did you land on wanting to do it and when did you start building it?

FS: “Some years ago, I had a conversation with Fadwa Naamna, an artist and curator living in Amsterdam. We’d worked together on an exhibition at the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam. During that time, we talked about W139 - the independent art space squatted in the ‘80s by artists looking for alternatives to the traditional art world. W139, much like major institutions such as the Rijksmuseum or the Stedelijk, is often debated in the Dutch art scene, especially when it comes to its funding and future. The Netherlands has this unique, discourse-driven subsidy system free from commercial influence that supports critical thinking. W139 was on shaky ground financially around then, as Fadwa and I discussed alternative ways to sustain such spaces. The concept of organising a bazaar came up and I suggested an art market where artists could sell anything they wanted, not just their work. The idea clicked, and Fadwa invited me to develop it further when she joined the artistic team at W139. Initially, we planned it for 2021, but the pandemic delayed everything. A couple of years on, we set a date for late 2023. Working with W139’s new team and co-curator Claudio Ritfeld, we started drafting budgets, securing funding and coordinating logistics together with technical and supporting staff. It was a long road. In the Netherlands, curators often have to source their own funding instead of working with a pre-approved budget. It makes the process complex. It’s like: ‘Hey, do you want to do an exhibition?’ If you say: ‘Yeah!’, they reply with: ‘Oh, also, we don’t have any money.’ (laughs) And then if you’re still up for it, you start building a case to get funding.”Photographed by Pieter Kers, W139, 2023, Exhibition People's ForumDM: That takes a lot of faith!

FS: “Of course, you get some money while you’re working on your bid. But it does highlight the vulnerability of the art world. Institutions might provide a buffer but for artists, financial uncertainty is constant. It’s a system that often limits opportunities to the privileged few. After months of development and waiting, we finally secured backing from sponsors. So, after the 2022 group show Non-profit At All Cost I curated at NEST in The Hague, I was officially invited to do my first institutional solo show at W139. I wanted it to serve as the backdrop for a public programme that could engage wider audiences beyond the art world – a decision that also tied back to certain funding requirements. The market became part of this programme, spanning two weekends. Half the vendors were people we know and the other part was curated through an open call. They joined us, offering everything from independent magazines and music to clothing, crafts and handmade goods. Athenaeum Boekhandel hosted a pop-up, vinyl sellers brought their good shit and local artists added something unique. Artist advocacy group Platform BK had an office-in-residence. We also hosted workshops every Friday to help artists professionalise their artistic practices. These sessions covered everything from navigating contracts and understanding AI to owning your rights and working with digital art. Lawyers with art backgrounds guided participants and answered questions. For me, it wasn’t just about the market but about creating a space where artists could experiment, collaborate and exchange. The collectivity of it all was powerful.”DM: How did you approach the Farida Sedoc - Solo Exhibition part of it? 

FS: “I was working on what I love most: screen printing. I had been collecting images and when I thought about the huge space at W139, I initially wanted to make large works that would have an impact. But creating several big pieces wasn’t doable time and budget-wise, so I decided to make about 40 smaller works instead, hung in a single round-about line as one cohesive series. I also want to add that the graphic design and spatial design was done by Heavy Bones, and the success of the show as a whole was greatly impacted by this. It allowed me to focus on the story I wanted to tell rather than being overwhelmed because I had to fill the room. I also love doing research, so I set out to explore feminist archives. But the pandemic made access difficult. Instead, I went to my mom’s house and found a trove of books and self-published ‘80s magazines. The themes were still deeply relevant today, so I took pages that caught my eye and used them to create new prints and collages. One moment that stood out was finding old newspaper clippings about my father and my mother’s university friend. It highlighted the importance of migrant communities documenting and sharing their own stories, rather than having them told by others. This inspired me to create works that imagined new futures while building on past stories - a way of reflecting on our own narratives and shaping what’s to come.”

DM: What was the most important takeaway from the overall experience?

FS: “People’s Forum proved that it can be whatever you want: selling your art, the cookies you baked or even clothes left lingering in your closet. Artists have many facets. The beauty was that you weren’t forced to sell your art, if you made the best hot chocolate in Amsterdam, you were welcome to sell that. It forces you to reconsider what defines your practice and how you want to make a change in the world. At its core, it was about sharing resources and challenging the exclusivity and pretentiousness of the traditional art world. It responded to the idea that artists must follow a set path: go to art school, land a gallerist, make work in a studio and then let the gallery sell it. But that’s not the only way. People’s Forum showed there are many paths to success and no shame in a non-linear journey. The market also brought accessibility to the conversation. Artists reserved tables for 25 euro and sold whatever they felt like, with some making 600 euro, enough to cover their rent for the month. How great is that!”DM: I love how you have this introverted energy that I completely relate to, but yours almost always gets overruled by your care for the collective. FS: “I, myself, love working alone. I’ll be in my studio, minding my business, chugging away. But when I’m ready to step outside, a lot of my work is about shared energy. Not everyone is entrepreneurially inclined, yet the system often demands it. People’s Forum is a DIY approach to the art world system but with a collaborative spirit. Instead of DIY it became DIT, ‘Do It Together’. The Amsterdam Prize jury and the city saw it as something wild and impactful.”DM: So, where do you want to take your work next and what about HOSSELAER? How do you sense when it’s time to tap back into your brand?FS: “Well, it’s more practical. Whenever I have an exhibition, I create HOSSELAER merch, like a T-shirt capsule. It’s always tied to the show and when people are excited about the exhibition but perhaps not yet familiar with my work, they want something to take home. A T-shirt becomes an accessible way for them to connect with the exhibition without necessarily having to buy a piece of art. It’s also a way to communicate the message or context of the show in a simple, affordable format. I also enjoy doing collabs, but not by directly linking HOSSELAER with other brands. Instead, I’ll design T-shirts on commission. Like when I worked with Patta, they reached out and asked: ‘Hey, would you like to design a T-shirt for this project?’ and I said: ‘Bet, let’s do it!’ These collabs are more project-based. Of course, I’d love to keep doing this, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s not my core business. That was hard to accept at first, but I’m okay with it now. Sometimes, I think about improving the quality of the T-shirts. For instance, on a random Monday night, I’ll go: ‘We need to step up the quality’. Recently, my studio mate made a really nice T-shirt and I was shocked by how good the fabric was. I yelled: ‘What is this?! I have the same supplier, but they never sent me these!’ (laughs). Then by Wednesday, I’ll have forgotten about it and three months later, it’ll pop back into my head. My neighbour says, at this pace, I’ll have a successful T-shirt business when I’m 80. Which is fine by me. Hopefully, I can keep collaborating - whether in fashion or another field - and maintain enthusiasm for the creative process. I’ve seen too many artists lose that passion over time, for various reasons, and it’s such a shame. Whether the work is big or small, I want to keep that fire close to me. It’s about having something to say, staying connected with my medium and finding my tribe. That’s what I strive for - to stay true to my art and continue to express myself in ways that resonate with others.”Photographed by Peter Thijhuis, Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, 2020, The Future Ain't What It Used To BeDM: What’s next? I know you want to retreat a little bit, but momentum is also a real thing. 
FS: “What’s most important for me is that, as an artist, the focus stays on the work. Once your attention shifts to everything around it - negotiating contracts, dealing with different departments, making videos about the project or talking about it - then the quality of the work itself starts to suffer. That’s why I don’t say no just to say no - I do it because I need to stay sane and capable. I need time to sleep well, be able to get out of bed, not burn out and approach projects with the right energy. Whether I’m happy, pissed the fuck off or somewhere in between, I still have to be motivated to create. And that’s where I’m at now. I want to make space for that, and the prize gives me that freedom - to take time and develop new work. Even though I do have exhibitions lined up for 2025, I’m prioritising that deeper engagement with my practice. As for other goals: a solo expo internationally would be cool.”
DM: Any specific museums you have in mind?
FS: “I’ve learned to go where people understand my work without much explanation. In independent, experimental spaces, there’s genuine respect, and people get the work for what it is. That’s where I feel most at home. The gallery world is still new to me, and I’m exploring it to understand what production and storytelling mean in that more commercial setting. I want to dive deeper into that context. Sometimes I feel I may be overthinking it, but it’s a process and I’m open to seeing where it leads. Some of my friends will say: ‘Money is nice, Farida, it’s really fun to have. You don’t have to make it so complicated. Just create something, and then the gallery will sell it.’ (laughs) I’m still figuring out what that balance looks like for me. And finding a good gallerist is almost like finding a lover. You can’t force it.”Photographed by Goedfolk & Charlotte Markus, Nest Art Space, 2022The gallerists I know work so closely with their artists. They call them almost every day just to talk about what’s on their mind. It’s like a marriage. I don’t think I could take on a second husband or wife like that. Speaking of love: the night you won the Amsterdam Prize for the Arts, my IG feed was full of Farida, which was the best. Everybody was rooting for you. You were in a category with Steve McQueen. How do you look back on that moment? FS: “It was amazing to win a prize from the city and the people of Amsterdam, not just the art community. The recognition felt good, especially knowing a lot of this year’s winners were underdogs who have been at it for years and kept pushing against all odds.”Photographed by Goedfolk & Charlotte Markus, Nest Art Space, 2022DM: How did your family react? FS: “My dad is proud. My mom was at the ceremony, and brought along a bunch of elders. They were drinking wine and having an excellent time! (laughs). My daughter and my partner were with me, as were my little niece and my neighbour’s kid - they’d never been up that late. Our crew was rolling 20 or 30 deep. All the nominees were smiling big at the cameras. Everyone wanted that grant! My fellow nominee Ena, who’s won a bunch of Golden Calves (the award for the Netherlands Film Festival), told me backstage that she knew I had this. When they announced People’s Forum as the winner, everyone screamed as loud as they could. It was a great night.”The Patta Magazine Volume 4 will be included for free with each online order of the Patta Angelwings T-shirt while stock lasts.