Darkness was never their subject. It was their address. Mr. and Mrs. Arafna have built two projects, Haus Arafna and November Növelet, and a label named after a body producing milk for a life that will not come. Every record pressed, packed and shipped by hand. Every sound assembled once and never again. A conversation with the band, drawn from thirty-five years spent observing what they describe as the slow collapse of the human project.

A shimmer caught between signal and silence. Forms stretch, dissolve, reappear. Time glitches, texture speaks. What once was solid now hums with absence, like something recalled too late to hold.

In the candid rooms of the Musée de la Mode, Rick Owens constructs a sanctuary for what society has cast aside: the discarded, the reviled, the beautifully defiant. Draped in silence and sheathed in felt, cement and steel there is no chronology to follow, only a slow unraveling of obsessions and of bodies eroding under the weight of time, of filth recast as dignity, of decay offered as erotic promise.

Inspired by the photographer's experience working at a strip club as a dancer. Shot using the wet plate collodion technique by Ania Zalaszewska.