The New York Actress Pulls Out Her Best Moves at Her Father's Studio
Stella Schnabel teases out her inner dancehall queen for photographer Rachel Chandler’s debut film. The hypnotic short was captured earlier this year in the balmy August heat during a five-hour dance-athon at Stella’s father, artist and director Julian Schnabel’s Montauk studio. “I had wanted to film her dancing for several years,” says Chandler, a contributor for Vogue.com, Purple Diary and Dazed Digital. “She would come to my nights when I was a DJ and I would just watch her.” The haunting score comes from Paris artist and agnès b. collaborator Charles Derenne’s musical project, 1982. “I was asking a lot of her and her openness exceeded my expectations,” continues the filmmaker, whose intimate, on-set crew included Schnabel’s Chihuahua, Little Joe. Read on for the actress' thoughts on dance.
What type of music do you like to dance to?
Stella Schnabel: Any Aphex Twin album, Nas, Mobb Deep and of course the original New York OG Lou Reed.
Where do the dutty vibes come from?
SS: I've been going to Jamaica since I was a kid; it’s a reliable source to get my mood in a good spot.
Favorite dancing memories?
SS: My first rave was outside of London when I was 14 with my old pal, Dan Macmillan. Since then, dancing with my girlfriends from Brooklyn at their block parties.
Who is your dream dance partner?
SS: Bez! And Nancy Sinatra, Tina Turner, James Brown, Chris Walken, Yolandi Visser.
What do you do to get in the mood to dance?
SS: There is never a moment I don’t want to.
Chef Provocateur Craig Thornton On the Art of Underground Dining
“The opening dish is venison, ripped apart and strewn onto the plate to look like a bloody and decayed piece of meat,” says Craig Thornton of the visceral food he will be serving up at Cut Your Teeth, the collaborative installation made with artist Matthew Bone that opens today at the Santa Monica Museum of Art. “You are eating something that looks eerily similar to a deer carcass, but the dish itself includes moss, blackberry beet gastrique, coffee cocoa crumble and purple cabbage.” Armed with a range of culinary experience—from learning his trade at Thomas Keller’s Las Vegas bistro Bouchon to becoming Nicholas Cage’s private chef—and having recently received profiles in The New Yorker and Hollywood Reporter, the man behind culinary sensation Wolvesmouth is captured here by filmmaker Jordan Bahat in a Downtown Los Angeles loft during one of his monthly conceptual dinners. “The Santa Monica installation is the first foray into a direction I’ve wanted to take Wolvesmouth for a long time,” says Thornton, who will be working with art impresario Jeffrey Deitch when Cut Your Teeth moves to New York. “It is a snapshot of everything we push away to keep this perfect idealized box of what we think reality is, leaving a lot of people devoid of knowing where their food comes from.”
Cut Your Teeth runs at the Santa Monica Museum of Art, October 16 through October 26 and in New York City November 7 through December 14.
A Vision of Mexico’s Day of the Dead from the Late Pioneer of Brooding Photography
A crowd clambers across ghostly ruins in the town of Mineral de Pozos, Guanajauto, Mexico, in Night Cry, today’s haunting film from the late New York fashion photographer, Deborah Turbeville. Steeped in religious iconography, Turbeville envisions her guilty protagonist’s final moments. “I hear people talk about John Ford having a particular place to shoot—Monument Valley in Utah. This was Deborah’s, a location characteristic of her sentiment, mood, and the way she worked,” says cinematographer Marcin Stawarz who first met Turbeville at the dilapidated mining town during Valentino’s Spring-Summer 2012 campaign. The influential image-maker, who recently passed away at 81, started her career as a fit model for friend and designer Claire McCardell, before going on to become Fashion Editor of Harper’s Bazaar in the early 1960s and realizing her passion for photography, shooting for Vogue and W magazine. Turbeville was dubbed the anti-Helmut Newton for her melancholic fashion imagery. “She was always searching for a certain strangeness,” says Stawarz of Turbeville’s approach. “This ruinous architecture reminded her of Roberto Rossellini’s work. Referencing [his 1950 film] The Flowers of St. Francis, she was very much amazed at the way he used architecture in film. She talked about him a lot when we were working.”