“I wanted long necks, big eyes, a good profile,” says the artist Mark Leckey, talking about the models in this story, his first fashion project for a magazine. He was searching for the kinds of faces that might have fit into paintings from one of his favorite historical periods, “just before the Renaissance,” when Italian artists such as Giotto were, he says, “moving from Byzantine icons to sort of early realism.” Giotto lived in Florence in the late Middle Ages, and Leckey is excited to note that one of the models is Florentine too. “He looks like a kind of angel,” he says. “I always had this expectation that models were not going to be that luminous in real life, but they are. It’s like, the closer you get to them, the more impossible looking they become.”
Working in mediums including film, installation, and performance (he once inhaled refrigerator coolant in order to get into the mindset of a Samsung fridge), Leckey has carved out a unique niche in the art world. Many of his works draw on youth cultures; his most famous film, Fiorucci Made Me Hardcore, from 1999, is a euphoric but eerie montage of frenzied British clubbers in the ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s. In 2019, at Tate Britain, in London, he re-created the overpass where he used to hang out at night as a teenager in Liverpool; he is about to make a similarly site-specific intervention at the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain.
Leckey is also a DJ—he says that the night before our meeting, he cleared the dance floor at the London nightclub Fold by playing “horrible gabber,” the super-fast, super-hard Dutch techno subgenre. One of the chief inspirations for this shoot is the year 1971, sometimes acclaimed as the best year ever for rock music, with landmark albums including Led Zeppelin’s Led Zeppelin IV, Joni Mitchell’s Blue, and Carole King’s Tapestry. “I was only a little kid in 1971,” says Leckey, who is 61, “but it calls to me in some way. There was a notion that you could create a culture from the detritus and waste of contemporary capitalism. I guess I still believe in that.”
The artist, who is wearing a rumpled gray suit and a single piratical pearl drop earring on the day of the shoot, says that, like the rest of his work, the images seen here are a way to try and bring together disparate cultural elements to evoke some kind of mythology. He also incorporated one of his obsessions since the pandemic: the Middle Ages. He’s noticed how club kids have been wearing what he describes as “medieval athleisure”—picture a Joan of Arc haircut, chains, and a tracksuit. “Covid felt very medieval, in the sense of a plague,” he notes. “But I also think that the more ubiquitous technology becomes, the more it paradoxically throws us back into a kind of animistic past.” With the online and offline, Leckey notes, “you’re experiencing the world as both material and immaterial at the same time. And I guess that’s what felt to me akin to kind of a medieval mindset.”
Leckey also wanted to convey something else he often returns to in his work: states of bliss. “I’ve always been fascinated by the ecstatic, whether it’s through music, drugs, or religion,” he says. “I once had a moment of rapture. It was the end of lockdown. I was with my little kid in the pram, walking in the park, freer than I’d been for the whole year. I was listening to Judee Sill’s ‘Jesus Was a Cross Maker.’ The sun came out through the trees, and I was just overwhelmed.” Leckey says that the images and music he makes are an attempt to recapture that transcendent moment. Then he adds: “Because I can’t do yoga.”
George Anderson wears a Prada dress.
Edna Karibwami wears a Rick Owens gown and boots.
Amedeo Mancini wears a Palomo top.
From left: Karibwami, Matilde Lucidi, Anderson, and Geng.
Geng wears a Fforme coat.
Lucidi wears a Colleen Allen cloak.
Anderson wears a Prada dress.
Karibwami wears a Rick Owens gown.
David Gant wears an IM Men coat and pants.
Hair by Claire Grech for Oribe at Streeters Agency; makeup by Daniel Sällstrom at MA World Group; manicure by Chisato Yamamoto for Essie at Caren Agency. Models: Edna Karibwami at IMG; Matilde Lucidi at Society; Athiec Geng at Fusion Models NYC; George Anderson at Viva Paris; Amedeo Mancini at the Claw Agency; David Gant at Models1. Casting by Ashley Brokaw Casting.
Production: Farago Projects; executive producer: Sylvia Farago; producers: Kate Duncan, Sarah Aranda Garzon; photo assistants: David Manion, Abena Appiah, Max Lancaster; digital technician: Patricia Benitez; projection technician: Dawid; fashion assistants: Jordan Kelsey, Atalanta Thornton, Maria Vredko, Lily Ramsay; production coordinators: Keri Hannah-Pettigrew; Mia Vinaccia; hair assistants: Kirsten Bassett, Gordon Chapples, Krisztian Szalay; makeup assistants: Martina DeRosa, Martha Inoue, Naomi Gugler; manicure assistant: Tomoko Komiya; tailor: Inna Romanovych at Galedi Agency.
In 1977, Mary Boone paid about $1,700 a month to rent a gallery space in SoHo to show relatively unknown artists. Within a few years, her eponymous gallery and the artists she championed, including Jean-Michel Basquiat, Julian Schnabel, and David Salle, had ushered in a new creative era. Known as a no-nonsense dealmaker, Boone cultivated difficult geniuses, wooed pedigreed collectors, and accumulated a closetful of Chanel. But in 2018, after four decades in the art world, she was suddenly embroiled in scandal. Boone was convicted of tax fraud, forced to close her two galleries, and served 13 months in prison. She kept a low profile after her release, but that didn’t last long. In 2024, the band Vampire Weekend released a single titled “Mary Boone.” “[Lead singer] Ezra Koenig called me up and said, ‘Tomorrow we’re going to drop your song,’ ” recalls Boone. “It’s flattering.” Now she’s enjoying a comeback. On a recent Tuesday, the 74-year-old was at Lévy Gorvy Dayan, the uptown Manhattan gallery where her first curatorial effort post-prison has been on view since September. “Downtown/Uptown: New York in the Eighties” features work by the artists she helped launch. After prison, she says, “I thought I was never going to do this again!”
Mary Boone pictured in 1956, at age 5.
Courtesy of Mary Boone
Born in Pennsylvania to Egyptian parents, Boone moved to Los Angeles as a child after her father died. In Los Angeles, she says, “it was like every day was Saturday. We lived by the beach; you were always in the sand.” Growing up, she discovered she had a talent for drawing. “Everyone encouraged me to become an artist.”
Boone with Michael Werner.
Courtesy of Mary Boone
Boone married the German art dealer Michael Werner in 1986. Their honeymoon, in Venice, overlapped with a professional commitment: One of Werner’s artists, Sigmar Polke, was included in the city’s Biennale. “It always seemed like the art world and our lives intermixed,” says Boone. Like her, Werner had emerged from a working-class background, and had earned a reputation for nurturing young talent. Though they divorced in the 1990s, the two remain close friends.
Boone pictured in her SoHo gallery in 1982.
Michel Delsol/Getty Images
Boone studied at the Rhode Island School of Design. As a student, she caught the attention of the artist Lynda Benglis, who also lectured at universities. Benglis told her, “You can’t be in Providence—you have to be in New York.” Boone moved to the city in 1970 and hung out in the Max’s Kansas City scene, which was populated with the likes of John Chamberlain, David Bowie, and Patti Smith. Mostly, though, she found herself at the Odeon and the Ocean Club. “You’d go in, and there would be a table with Barbara Kruger, Cindy Sherman, Laurie Simmons, and Sarah Charlesworth. Then there’d be another group with David Salle, Julian Schnabel, and Ross Bleckner. It was just fun.”
Ileana Sonnabend and Boone.
Courtesy of Mary Boone
Boone’s first gallery was at 420 West Broadway, which also housed the influential galleries run by divorced art world giants Leo Castelli and Ileana Sonnabend. “I used to joke that when the elevator was broken, which was a lot of the time, people would come into my gallery instead of going up to see theirs.” Both became important mentors and friends of hers. Here, Sonnabend and Boone celebrate their joint birthday in October 1981. “I was turning 30, and she was not turning 30.”
Leo Castelli with his then girlfriend, the art writer Laura de Coppet (left), and Boone at art collector Douglas Cramer’s Los Angeles ranch for a party celebrating Boone’s wedding, in 1986.
Courtesy of Mary Boone
Castelli joined forces with Boone to usher in the neo-Expressionist movement of the 1980s. “Leo didn’t race to show my artists. I had to persuade him to do a show with me,” says Boone.
Boone in front of the Berlin Wall in 1989, while on a trip to visit an artist.
Courtesy of Mary Boone
Boone met Werner in 1981 at the opening party for Norman Rosenthal’s landmark show “A New Spirit in Painting” at the Royal Academy of Arts in London. Many of Werner’s artists, including Gerhard Richter and Anselm Kiefer, were on display, and Boone wanted to exhibit them in New York. “I was too young of a dealer to show them, but slowly we started working together.”
In 1987, Boone and Werner had their only child, a son named Max. After giving birth, “I just got a whim to have my hair cut off,” says Boone. “It was a lot of change becoming a parent. I was really lucky—I have a great kid.” Max has worked with both Boone and Werner, and recently struck out on his own as a gallerist.
“Jean-Michel found out where Andy Warhol would go to lunch, and he went there and started selling drawings to everybody,” says Boone, who staged a Basquiat show in 1984. “I made it my business to meet him.” At top, Basquiat and Boone are pictured at that exhibition in Boone’s gallery. “He had a thing with his mother. I think I became a substitute for his mother, and Andy became a substitute for his father.” Warhol took the bottom photo in 1985, as Basquiat prepared for an opening. “He didn’t let the packers pack up his paintings. He rolled them up and dragged them.”
“I always liked artists who did something I had never seen before,” says Boone. She originally turned down the chance to represent Eric Fischl, known as the “bad boy of painting” for his voyeuristic style, but she eventually relented and worked with him for 30 years. The two are seen here at the opening of his show at the Whitney Museum of American Art, in 1986.
Ron Galella/Ron Galella Collection via Getty Images
Boone attends the 1990 launch party for Bob Colacello’s Andy Warhol biography, Holy Terror. She showed numerous Warhol works throughout her career, and he eagerly embraced her stable of young artists. “I think he really loved being the head figure,” says Boone. Warhol was the first person to show up to Boone’s inaugural Basquiat exhibition, together with “this man who was smaller than he was, and it turned out to be Manolo Blahnik. Andy tried to get him to buy a Basquiat painting, which was, like, $10,000 at the time. Maybe $5,000. Manolo said he was saving up his money to open a shoe store.”
Boone and Nicole Miller attend a party in 1989 at The Lowell to celebrate Miller’s collaboration with Absolut Vodka.
Patrick McMullan/Getty Images
“Nicole Miller and I have been friends since our days at RISD. We moved to New York together.” While Boone rose to the top ranks of the art scene, Miller’s fashion brand established her as a household name in the 1980s. “I’m very loyal, and so is she.”
Boone with Eric Fischl (center) and Michael Werner at Fischl’s 1985 solo show at Kunsthalle Basel.
Courtesy of Mary Boone
When Boone first moved to New York, she worked at Bykert Gallery, which was run by Lynda Benglis’s boyfriend, Klaus Kertess. “At around four or five, all the artists would start coming in, like Richard Serra, Brice Marden, Chuck Close, and Agnes Martin. Hearing these artists talk about art really was educational,” she says. Kertess left the gallery in 1975 to become a writer, and Boone decided to strike out on her own. “For every artist I ended up showing, I went to a thousand studios. Slowly, I put together a group.” Here, she is pictured with Eric Fischl (center) and Werner at Fischl’s 1985 solo show at Kunsthalle Basel.
Boone attending a Christophe de Menil fashion show at the Palladium, in 1985.
Patrick McMullan/Getty Images
Boone’s first brush with the press had come in 1974, when a young Anna Wintour asked to include her in a Harpers & Queen story on stylish young New York women. “I told her, ‘Please don’t write about me, because I don’t want to be talked about in terms of my clothes. I want to open my gallery.’ ” Nonetheless, Boone paid attention to fashion. “It started with Armani. I, and a lot of other dealers, wore the low-key gray.” She developed a taste for Chanel when she found a trove of vintage couture suits in her size at auction. “I bought one or two. Tina Chow bought the rest of them, like, 30. Then Lagerfeld took over Chanel, and I wore that most of the time.”
Boone and Julian Schnabel in 1980.
Photo by Bob Kiss
Julian Schnabel’s first solo show in New York, at Boone’s gallery in 1979, was a breakthrough for both artist and gallerist. Previously, Schnabel had worked as a cook at the trendy Ocean Club restaurant. (David Salle, another of Boone’s artists, also cooked there.) Schnabel’s plate paintings—literally paintings on broken plates affixed to a canvas—marked a break from the minimalism of the 1970s. “It was just something completely different,” Boone says.
DAVID X PRUTTING/Patrick McMullan via Getty Images
Schnabel’s defection from Boone’s gallery to Pace, in 1984, was her first major setback. “I was heartbroken,” she says. Here, she poses with Schnabel’s son Vito at his gallery show in 2008. “It shows you life is just a circle of events. Hopefully, the good outweighs the bad.”
New York magazine and Vox Media, LLC
A 1982 New York magazine cover on the booming art market named Boone “The New Queen of the Art Scene.” The city had emerged from bankruptcy, and suddenly money was flowing into the art world. The article painted Boone as a new type of gallerist, one always ready to pour a glass of champagne or make 10 phone calls to close a sale. “I kind of blocked it out,” she says. “I became a symbol. But, listen, a lot of young women, like Thelma Golden, came up to me and said, ‘I wanted to go into the arts because of seeing that cover.’ ” She credits Wintour, then working as New York’s fashion editor, for her inclusion.
Fairchild Archive/Penske Media via Getty Images
In the 1980s, a magazine asked a selection of gallerists how they celebrated a big sale. Most said with champagne or food. Boone said she bought a new pair of shoes. Her reputation as a shoe lover has followed her ever since. “Someone told me Warhol read that. Then I got my first invitation to lunch at the Factory,” she says. “I do like shoes, because they’re about moving forward. And particularly being a woman in what was still a man’s world, it was like taking steps.”
Boone with Parker Posey and Posey in the film Basquiat.
Left: Marion Curtis/Starpix/Shutterstock. Right: Eleventh Street Prod/Miramax/Kobal/Shutterstock
Parker Posey with Boone, played a fictionalized version of the gallerist in Schnabel’s 1996 film, Basquiat (right). Boone likes to separate herself from the character: “Parker asked me some things, but she pretty much did her own thing.” Even so, Boone is a fan of both the actor (“I wish she could play me in real life”) and the film. “This is Julian’s story about what he thinks of me, Jean-Michel, and himself. It’s a good movie because he’s a painter. A lot of the problem with movies about artists is believability.”
Courtesy of Lévy Gorvy Dayan, photos by Elisabeth Bernstein
Initially, Boone and her band of artists were dismissed as a fad. “I never really listened to that,” says Boone. “I just had to keep doing serious shows.” Her 2025 exhibition at Lévy Gorvy Dayan presents the people she worked with as the definitive 1980s American artists.
Boone with collector Stan Cohen on opening night of her 2025 exhibition.
Courtesy of Mary Boone
The exhibition includes a Barbara Kruger silkscreen bearing the phrase: what me worry? “I’ve shown that work three different times, and it’s never looked as good as it does here.”
Boone with Pharrell Williams and the artist KAWS in 2013.
Neil Rasmus/BFA/Shutterstock
The VIPs who have shown up to Boone’s galleries on opening night include Steve Martin, Monica Lewinsky, Diane Sawyer, Bianca Jagger, Katie Couric, and David Bowie, among many more. Here, she poses with Pharrell Williams and the artist KAWS at the opening of a 2013 show she organized. Nonetheless, Boone never chases celebrities on opening night. “There should be a lot of energy focused on the art and the artists.”
Her films have grossed more than $6 billion worldwide. She won the Academy Award for best actress at 22 (the second-youngest winner in that category) and holds the Guinness World Records title of highest-grossing action heroine in movie history. In May, she received a Peabody Award. Yet accolades make up only a fraction of who Jennifer Lawrence really is.
For W’s Art Issue, three masters of their craft—the American painter Elizabeth Peyton, the French multimedia artist Philippe Parreno, and the German photographer Wolfgang Tillmans—conceive of Lawrence, 35, as a work of art unto herself. Painting, film, and photography are woven together into a three-part portfolio exploring the intersection of intimacy and image.
Seated at one of the many cafés on Manhattan’s West Side for our interview, Lawrence wore a red Charvet sweater, a white tee, and a pair of Still Here blue jeans. She became animated as she spoke about her collaborators for this issue. “It doesn’t really matter what you’re doing,” she said. “You just say yes to genius.”
The project’s production spanned three cities, over as many months. In Paris, Parreno cast Lawrence in a short film in which she plays a character who is—and isn’t—Jennifer Lawrence. The 37 pages of dialogue that Parreno provided felt “almost Ang Lee–like,” she said. It helped that the legendary Iranian-French cinematographer Darius Khondji served as director of photography. “I called him Dr. Khondji, appropriately,” she said, grinning.
Dior cape, jeans, and belt; Longines watch; stylist’s own tank top.
Stills from a short film by Philippe Parreno with cinematography by Darius Khondji
Tillmans, whose unglamorized imagery earned him a Turner Prize, photographed Lawrence at both his London home and his former studio in London’s East End, now a gallery run by the famed art dealer Maureen Paley. The shoot was surprisingly intimate and spontaneous, even for Tillmans. “I had this idea to put a T-shirt on her from my 2025 Centre Pompidou exhibition. It reads: Nothing could have prepared us / Everything could have prepared us,” he said. “Then I took her out to this roof area where I had the fondest memories of parties. The intimacy of our house beforehand, that old location where I used to throw parties on the roof, the T-shirt from an exhibition—all that was well prepared, but not planned as to what exactly would happen. And she was totally game. It was amazing to be able to ask her, ‘Could you just dial in 5 percent of friendliness, a tiny hint of a smile?’ And I could see in front of my eyes how it really would be dialed in 5 percent—she was so in control of her expressions. It’s a privilege to be one-on-one with someone you feel is of great talent.”
T-shirt by Wolfgang Tillmans for Centre Pompidou, Paris; The Row long-sleeve top.
Photographed by Wolfgang Tillmans
Photographed by Wolfgang Tillmans
The collaboration furthest from Lawrence’s typical repertoire was, perhaps, with Elizabeth Peyton. Lawrence sat for hours in the painter’s downtown Manhattan studio, chatting and drinking while Elvis played on repeat. “She’s so much smarter than me in every conceivable way,” Lawrence said. “She can have a snippet of wallpaper and think, Oh, yeah, this makes me feel like this. That’s so freeing. At the end of the day, what she does is completely different from me. I mean, I cannot draw.”
Dior men’s shirt and men’s jeans.
‘Jen’ by Elizabeth Peyton, 2025.
Lawrence paused and then reconsidered: “Well, the only thing I can draw is a horse head profile.” I slid my notebook across the table. “And I will draw,” she declared, before sketching a crude equine form with the charming, elementary proficiency of someone who’s reproduced the same image hundreds of times. “I learned it from my older cousin when I was 5 or 6,” she explained. “I actually ended up tattooing this on my friend’s body once.” She signed the doodle with mock solemnity.
Lawrence’s artistic abilities are considerably less open to interpretation in Die My Love, a psychological drama that places her physicality front and center. Directed by the Scottish filmmaker Lynne Ramsay—whose previous excursions into the outer limits of mental health include We Need to Talk About Kevin and Ratcatcher—the film stars Lawrence as Grace, a new mother and would-be author unraveling in psychosis. Her husband, Jackson, is played by the Twilight star Robert Pattinson, whom, it should be noted, Peyton depicted in vampiric white face paint in 2009, after the film became a global sensation.
“My biggest fear is that people are expecting fanfic because it’s me and Rob,” Lawrence said. She conjured an image of legions of YA fans misreading Die My Love—a film one critic described as “placing its hands on the sides of the viewer’s head, violently shaking them, forcing their eyes open like A Clockwork Orange”—as the kind of cinematic crossover event that would’ve sent Tumblr into meltdown circa 2012, when Lawrence starred in The Hunger Games. “Huge mistake to go into this movie with that expectation,” Lawrence playfully warned. “Everybody, pump your brakes and maybe watch a Lynne Ramsay movie before going in.”
Photographed by Wolfgang Tillmans
Adapted from a novel by Ariana Harwicz, Die My Love portrays a shattered emotional landscape. Grace’s selfhood unravels slowly at first, as she mumbles, snaps at people, and wields a fly swatter like a medieval bludgeon. Lawrence said one source of inspiration for her portrayal was the TLC series Baylen Out Loud, which follows a young woman who’s living with Tourette’s syndrome and obsessive-compulsive disorder. (“I’m usually watching that or Little Women.”) She studied the show’s honest portrayal of the mounting tension before a tic, the irresistible urge to act, and the relief that follows—“the visible cycle of buildup and release,” she said.
Grace soon begins acting out with increasing disorder: hurling herself through a glass door, bashing her head against a mirror, stripping to her underwear at a children’s pool party, setting forest fires in the buff. “She’s terrified of being invisible,” Lawrence said. “She would rather her husband be mad at her than not see her.”
Stills from a short film by Philippe Parreno with cinematography by Darius Khondji
At one point, Grace destroys a bathroom in a frenzy of primal fury. On location at a desolate house flanked by the Canadian Rocky Mountains, Lawrence ripped a sink off the wall and clawed down the wallpaper until her fingertips left streaks of blood. “We had only one take, because you can’t un-destroy a destroyed bathroom,” she said. “That was adrenaline-inducing in itself.” Alone in the tiny space with a single camera operator, she didn’t know what she’d do until she was in the moment. “The emotional ‘calling up’ was almost like physical exercise,” she said. The cameraman left with glass in his knee.
Lawrence’s corporeal characterization, often on all fours and wriggling through grass, evokes both Andrew Wyeth’s midcentury masterwork Christina’s World—depicting a young woman, vulnerable yet indomitable, crawling across a desolate field—and performance art in the tradition of body as both subject and medium.
In truth, audiences have watched Lawrence wrestle with anatomy and autonomy for decades. The Hunger Games franchise broke records even as Lawrence accumulated injuries across its productions: a wall-run bruise so severe during the making of the first film that it required a CT scan (her trainer worried her spleen had burst); a punctured eardrum and temporary deafness in one ear from underwater stunts for Catching Fire; and near suffocation from a fog-machine malfunction during Mockingjay – Part 1. On the set of Darren Aronofsky’s Mother!, she hyperventilated and dislocated a rib. During Don’t Look Up, shattered glass struck her eyelid.
Photographed by Wolfgang Tillmans
Lawrence was deliberate for Die My Love, on- and off-screen, by timing her pregnancy to align with production. “I knew I was going to be doing the movie, and I also knew that I needed a second child before my other son got too old,” she said. Being in the second trimester was the sweet spot for shooting, she explained, because typically “in the first trimester, you’re very sick; and in the second trimester, you start to feel better.” (“Real sexy family planning,” she quipped.)
Her pregnancy lent the film a dose of cinema verité. She understood, quite literally, how motherhood “takes any kind of veneer off, because now you’re seeing the world through somebody else’s eyes—somebody who’s so much more important than you are,” she said. Yet, to her surprise, those same instincts doubled as roadblocks. When Ramsay directed scenes that required Grace to wake her sleeping newborn out of boredom and other “things no parent would ever do,” Lawrence said, her body rebelled. Ramsay held firm, pushing her to dig deeper into Grace’s instability and confront, in real time, the unresolvable tension between maternal instincts and maternal madness that animates the movie. Just as you can “feel” a car chase with 4D seats, you become so intimate with Grace’s flickering disintegration that a strobe warning for the psyche might be warranted.
Dior cape, jeans, and belt; Longines watch; stylist’s own tank top.
Stills from a short film by Philippe Parreno with cinematography by Darius Khondji
For Lawrence herself, Die My Love was what she called an “eight-dimensional ride”: reading the novel when her first baby was six weeks old, becoming pregnant with her second as the film was greenlighted, shooting while expecting, and then screening it postpartum. She’s still wrestling with “what I thought the movie was while I was doing it, versus viewing it afterward,” she said. “When I’m performing, it all has to be real and straightforward. Everything Grace does has to feel grounded.” But after giving birth, she changed her perspective. “Watching it back, I was like, Oh, maybe that was a fantasy. Maybe that was in her mind. I have different versions of how the whole movie could be interpreted now.”
The Row top, sweater, and shorts.
Photographed by Wolfgang Tillmans
It was Martin Scorsese, the movie’s producer, who urged her to take the role. Scorsese will also direct Lawrence and Leonardo DiCaprio in an adaptation of Peter Cameron’s What Happens at Night, a psychological ghost story about adoption scheduled to begin production in January 2026. Eventually, she plans to direct. “But, you know, I’m also going to see my kids,” she said, adding with resignation, “at least for a couple minutes.”
The dark humor feels earned. “When I had my first child, I felt completely connected to my baby,” she said. “But I also realized the world wasn’t designed around that relationship. Suddenly, you’re like, Wait, how am I supposed to go back to work? Get in a car and drive away? Get on an airplane and fly away from my baby? Like, what are you talking about? Everything looks different after that.”
It’s a postpartum epiphany shared by her character Grace. “She says it in the movie: ‘There’s nothing wrong with me and my baby; it’s the world that’s fucked up,’ ” Lawrence said. “And I don’t know, maybe with a little more time, in retrospect, I’ll be able to tell the difference. I’m still not sure what was acting and what was just me being a mother.”
Jennifer Lawrence directed by Philippe Parreno. Cinematography by Darius Khondji
Still from Jennifer Lawrence’s short film by Philippe Parreno.
Wolfgang Tillmans shoot: Style Director: Allia Alliata di Montereale. Wolfgang Tillmans’s creative team: Olly Shinder, Simon Nicholas Gray. Hair by Gregory Russell at the Wall Group; makeup by Georgie Eisdell at the Wall Group; manicure by Kate Williamson for Dior Vernis at A-Frame Agency.
Philippe Parreno shoot: Style Director: Allia Alliata di Montereale. Hair by Cyndia Harvey at Art Partner; makeup by Lucia Pica at Art Partner; manicure by Ama Cauvas at Artlist. Sound design: Nicolas Becker; production: AP Studio, Inc.; executive producer: Marie Godeau; producer: Leeloo Turmeau; production manager: Charlotte Thizeau; first assistant camera: Vincent Toubel; second assistant camera: Alejandro Asensio; camera intern: Ulysse G. Castel; gaffer: Thierry Baucheron; spark: Jerôme Robin; key grip: Vincent Blasco; postproduction: Jenny Montgomery at Company 3; fashion assistant: Brice Costa; production coordinator: Gabrielle Lussier; unit manager: Jack Sciacca; production assistants: Alphonse Emery, Robinson Guillermet; hair assistant: Ronke Olaibi; makeup assistant: Vladimir Gueye; sound operator: Ondine Novarese; sound operator assistant: Lou Jullien; tailor: Alice Chastel.
