No Boys Allowed: The New Rules Of Co-Working

“Women are craving community, connection and confidence, and that’s what we’re going to give them.”

Female focused co-working spaces and social clubs are cropping up across the country, as a response to contemporary feminism and a reaction against fratty venues that advertise kegs and pingpong. There’s The Wing in New York, New Women Space in Brooklyn, Rise Collaborative Workspace in St. Louis and Hera Hub in Southern California, Phoenix, Washington D.C. and Stockholm. But do women need a space of their own? Here’s a snippet of what the founders of these spaces had to say about how the future of co-working could be female. Read the full story online and in Bloomberg Businessweek.

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WATCH: The Man Who Saves Carousel Horses From The Glue Factory

In an age of high-tech amusement parks, carousel carvers are a dying breed. Bob Yorburg is one of the last ones.

“During America’s carousel “golden age,” which lasted from the late nineteenth century until about 1930, there were more than four thousand handcrafted carousels made by famous carvers like Gustav Dentzel and Marcus Illions. In the last century, many of the period’s iconic horses, chariots and carriages have become more mechanized and technologically advanced. They’ve also drastically decreased in popularity. Yorburg says he knows of only about a half-dozen independent American carousel carvers like him. According to Patrick Wentzel, chairman of the National Carousel Association (NCA), there are just a couple dozen others employed by the few remaining companies that specialize in carousel carving and restoration. They all work to maintain the two hundred antique American carousels Wentzel monitors in an ongoing NCA census project. In fixing and sometimes recreating old carousel horses, menagerie pieces and band organs, Yorburg aims to make sure this number doesn’t drop further, preserving a sliver of Americana for generations to come.”

Read the full story about Yorburg and the evolution of the merry-go-round on Narratively.

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The Female Street Artist Changing The Game For Women

Brooklyn’s ELLE is at the front of a pack of female street and graffiti artists clawing their way into what has historically been a male-run art scene. Her murals of strong women cloaked in bright colors and wolf imagery howl characteristics of female power. They’ve earned her attention both in the U.S. and abroad and established her as an advocate for gender equality.

Since the start of her art career in New York seven years ago, ELLE has collaborated with renowned photographer Martha Cooper, accepted a $100,000 sponsorship from Liquitex and travelled all around the world, working on commercial projects in places including Malaysia, Germany and Mexico.

ELLE was born and raised in California with her three siblings. After graduating from college, she spent a year at Brandeis University working toward a post baccalaureate degree in art. Frustrated with the sexist ideology of the program, ELLE quit and moved to New York. She landed in Brooklyn, dated an artist and got involved in graffiti. When they broke up, she shifted more toward street art, carving out her own style and sense of independence.

Now, most of ELLE’s downtime is spent in her quaint and sunny Greenpoint studio. When she’s not out spraying, collaging or wheat pasting, she’s home, prepping for upcoming jobs using Photoshop, ordering paint cans and mailing out hand-designed T-shirts to her fans — who’ve come to know her as much for her art as for her fierce heart.

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WWII Photographer Gets Another Shot In the Dark Room With New Long Island City Studio

For Tony Vaccaro, a 92-year-old Long Island City resident, World War II veteran and retired magazine photographer, little has been constant. His home, his job, his family and even his name have all changed throughout the years. Only one thing has stayed the same: a camera has been by his side no matter where life has taken him.

From battlefields to fashion runways, Vaccaro’s cameras have captured soldiers, models, politicians and celebrities at war and at work. He’s developed photos in soldiers’ helmets during the war, in midtown-Manhattan studios when he worked in the magazine industry and then, for years, in a spare bedroom in his apartment near Vernon Boulevard.

Now, for the first time since 1973, Vaccaro once again has his own professional space, a studio less than a mile from his apartment. It features a darkroom, a cappuccino machine and a balcony overlooking the neighborhood.

Photographer Tony Vaccaro, 92, hasn't had his own professional studio (pictured) since 1973. He is using the space to archive and display his old photos as well as to develop new ones. (Ariana Igneri/The Ink)
Photographer Tony Vaccaro, 92, hasn’t had his own professional studio (pictured) since 1973. He is using the space to archive and display his old photos as well as to develop new ones. (Ariana Igneri / September 2015)

Vaccaro agreed to open the studio after the wife of his oldest son, Frank, gave birth to twins, his first grandchildren. Vaccaro gave Frank permission to organize his archives and assets and market his work in order to leave a legacy for the grandchildren. The birth “changed everything,” said Frank Vaccaro. “We feel Tony can and should do better. We think he could be the best photographer ever.”

Vaccaro’s already hosted a prominent visitor – the mayor of Bonefro, the Italian town that hosts a museum dedicated to Vaccaro’s work – who came to see the studio in late September to celebrate its completion. While Vaccaro enjoys showing guests the framed awards hanging on the wall or the stacked press clippings sitting on the bookshelf, his favorite things to share are the thousands of negatives, slides and transparencies he’s accumulated throughout his career.

Vaccaro could tell a story about every photo.

Vaccaro has accumulated thousands of negatives, transparencies and slides since he started to take photos in the 1930s. He is digitally archiving his work at his new studio. (Ariana Igneri/The Ink)
Vaccaro has accumulated thousands of negatives, transparencies and slides since he started to take photos in the 1930s. He is digitally archiving his work at his new studio. (Ariana Igneri / September 2015)

He described how he captured a soldier’s last moment alive during World War II. On January 10, 1944, in Ottre, Belgium, Vaccaro, a private first class, and his U.S. Army division were attacking a German strongpoint, he said. Bullets were whizzing back and forth as Germans ambushed two American squads. As soldiers ran for cover, Vaccaro followed, his rifle in one hand and his Argus C3 in the other. When mortar bombs exploded, Vaccaro paused mid-stride to snap a shot of the soldier behind him. The moment the shutter closed, Vaccaro was thrown off his feet. Shrapnel flew, and clouds of dust rose from the ground.

“The more cruelty you see, the more you want to help mankind,” said Vaccaro. “That’s the reason I took photos of people like this.”

His combat portfolio helped Vaccaro land his first professional photography job in 1950 for Flair magazine. Editor Fleur Cowles hired him on the spot after viewing his work, he said, even though he had never taken photos for a lifestyle magazine. He shot about 2,000 celebrities over the course of his career, later landing at publications including Look and Life before they eventually folded. He took portraits of famous figures such as John F. Kennedy, Jackson Pollock and Pablo Picasso, portraying his subjects not as posed icons, but as living people — with emotion, candor and nuance.

One of Vaccaro's most famous combat photos is this shot titled "The Kiss of Liberation." It was taken in Saint-Briac-sur-Mer, Brittany, on August 15, 1944. (Ariana Igneri/The Ink)
One of Vaccaro’s most famous combat photos is this shot titled “The Kiss of Liberation.” It was taken in Saint-Briac-sur-Mer, Brittany, on August 15, 1944. (Ariana Igneri / September 2015)

One of Vaccaro’s favorites, is his 1960 photo of artist Georgia O’Keeffe peering through a slice of Swiss cheese. He had spent several days unsuccessfully trying to gain O’Keeffe’s trust when he discovered a topic she loved – the Spanish matador Manolete. “When she found out that I had met Manolete,” said Vaccaro, “she couldn’t resist.” As they bonded over the bullfighter, O’Keeffe asked Vaccaro to take her for a car ride. While driving, Vaccaro noticed O’Keeffe looking through the cheese slice, studying the perspective for a painting. He seized the moment and got the shot.

Vaccaro also likes to describe the day in October 1962 when he first saw and photographed his wife Anja in Finland, where he was shooting a fashion show. Elegant, down-to-earth, with brown, wispy hair, Anja was modeling for the design company Marimekko. “When I first saw this woman,” Vaccaro recalled, “I said, ‘She’s mine.’ I basically proposed to her right then and there.”

Vaccaro’s son Frank describes his parents’ relationship as stormy, and they ultimately divorced. But Vaccaro is sentimental when talks about Anja, who died in 2013 from lung cancer. “I never loved another person,” Vaccaro said.

Vaccaro looking at two family photos — one of his wife, Anja (left), and another of his two sons, Frank and David, with Anja (right). (Ariana Igneri/The Ink)
Vaccaro looking at two family photos — one of his wife, Anja (left), and another of his two sons, Frank and David, with Anja (right). (Ariana Igneri / September 2015)

Vaccaro has gray hair, wise eyes and plastic-rimmed glasses. He’s a deeply thoughtful man whose views about life were shaped by his experiences in battle. “When we kill Italians, we are not killing I-T-A-L-I-A-N-S,” Vaccaro said, “We are killing blood.”

Those who know Vaccaro well, such as his best friend, Meir Newman, have memorized Vaccaro’s ideas: “ ‘Be kind to mankind.’ Those are Tony’s words,” Newman said.

Vaccaro’s photos are in the permanent collections of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the U.S. Army Heritage and Education Center, the Rochester Institute of Technology and other institutions. They’re also on permanent display at his favorite Italian restaurant, Manducatis Rustica, in Long Island City. Vaccaro visits the restaurant several times a day, often singing the Italian classic “Ciao Ciao Bambina” to owner Gianna Cerbonne-Teoli. “That’s what he calls me, his baby,” Cerbonne-Teoli said. “When my parents go to Italy, Tony says, ‘Don’t worry. You have me.’ ”

Vaccaro sitting in front of Long Island City's Manducatis Rustica. A collection of Vaccaro's work hangs in the restaurant, which he frequents up to five times a day. (Ariana Igneri/The Ink)
Vaccaro sitting in front of Long Island City’s Manducatis Rustica. A collection of Vaccaro’s work hangs in the restaurant, which he frequents up to five times a day. (Ariana Igneri / September 2015)

Vaccaro was born in December 1922 in Greensburg, Pennsylvania as Michelantonio Celestino Onofrio Vaccaro. Most people call him Tony now, but he’s also been known as Michael. Vaccaro moved to his father’s hometown of Bonefro with his mother and two sisters in 1926. In 1929, while in Bonefro, he said he watched his mother die giving birth to twins. His father passed away several years later, and Vaccaro was sent to stay with an uncle in Italy until he returned to America in 1939.

At the Isaac E. Young High School in New Rochelle, New York, Vaccaro joined the photography club, and it changed his life. He didn’t have a country. He didn’t have a family. But he had a camera. “That’s all he needed to give value to his existence,” said Frank Vaccaro. “It saved him in the deepest way possible.”

Vaccaro describes his photography as art in an instant. He still carries a camera — or his iPhone — with him wherever he goes in Long Island City. Whether he’s shuffling to his apartment, to his studio or to Manducatis Rustica, Vaccaro is alert and ready, waiting to capture the moment and to share a story. “To be able to do something like that,” Vaccaro said, “is the finest thing you could possibly do.”

This story originally appeared on theink.nyc on October 5, 2015.

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