
New York to Welcome CANYON, a New Hub for Video, Sound and Performance Art
Equal parts museum, performance venue and social space, CANYON promises to bring depth to new forms of art. The venue will feature evening-focused hours and cutting-edge technology tailored to immersive, screen-based storytelling — works 'resists the quick glance,' co-founder Joe Thompson described.
Created by philanthropist Robert Rosenkranz and Thompson, who also serves as the founding director ofMASS MoCA, the institution, at its core, is a commitment to artists specializing in time-based mediums, wrestling with ideas of surveillance, artificial intelligence and climate anxiety. 'In a world where most people engage with information, memory and identity through screens, video has become the natural language of rising generations, and artists are using that language in profoundly inventive ways,' added Rosenkranz.
The upcoming institution will call Lower East Side's Essex Crossing home.New Affiliates Architecturehas been tapped to lead the building's transformation, which will feature 18,000 sq. feet of gallery space, a 60-foot-tall gathering space and a 300-seat performance hall for concerts, lectures and screenings.' The goal, according to Thompson, is a welcoming environment that 'feels more like a living room than a white cube,' with a focus on hospitality and atmosphere. Key cultural partners, such as Electronic Arts Intermix,Rhizomeand the ARChive of Contemporary Music, will also maintain a permanent presence within CANYON.
While programming development is still underway, tentative plans include a retrospective of Japanese sound and media artistRyoji Ikeda, andWorldbuilding,the acclaimed video game-focused group show curated byHans Ulrich Obrist. As New York continues to push the boundaries of contemporary culture, CANYON positions itself as a future-facing space for the evolving language of contemporary art.

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Buzz Feed
29 minutes ago
- Buzz Feed
Mario And Peach Are Just Friends
Since the '80s, our favorite mustachioed plumber, Mario, rescued our blonde-haired princess, Peach, from that problematic turtle monster, Bowser. But if you thought they were madly in love and destined to be together forever, think again. Newsflash: Mario and Princess Peach are apparently just friends! No, you didn't read that wrong. After decades of romantic rumors, Nintendo basically revealed the actual status of Mario and Peach's relationship. "Princess Peach and Mario are good friends," the Japanese video game company wrote in a statement this past week, "and help each other out whenever they can." The news was brought to everyone's attention by X user @KirPinkFury, who discovered this bombshell announcement via the Nintendo Today app and shared it to X on July 23. For decades, across multiple platforms and forms of media, Mario has rescued the kidnapped Princess Peach from Bowser, and sometimes he was even rewarded with a kiss. But this viral revelation changes everything we once knew about the Mushroom Kingdom's greatest hero. If this news rocked your world, here's how people online reacted: If you've played Super Mario Odyssey, then you'll remember when Peach rejected him after he traveled across the galaxy to rescue her. People couldn't get over the idea that he was seemingly "friendzoned" after all these years: Some folks were downright shocked and saddended by the news: And finally, somebody joked that maybe his archnemesis Bowser was in charge of the company: Funny enough, technically Doug Bowser is the current president and CEO of Nintendo of America, the American branch of the Japanese company. So, yes. Bowser is the CEO. It'll be okay, everyone. We need an update on Princess Daisy and Luigi's relationship status. We contacted Nintendo for comment and'll let you know if we hear back.


Time Magazine
a day ago
- Time Magazine
We Are Drinking So Much Matcha That Supplies Are Running Out
Matcha tea, a powdered Japanese green tea, has become a cultural phenomenon in the West, so much so that its popularity has resulted in a global supply problem. Western consumers have thirsted for the health option in recent years, a trend skyrocketed by social media—especially through Tik Tok. At the same time, Japan has experienced a mass tourism rise in the post-pandemic years—in 2024, Japan welcomed a record-breaking 36.9 million international visitors, surpassing the previous record of 31.9 million in 2019 — leading to many mass tea companies and local vendors to report shortages of supply. Back in October 2024, two well-known matcha companies—Ippodo and Marukyu Koyamaen—limited and/or stopped selling certain kinds of matcha, citing short supplies. 'Dear customers, We have been receiving an unexpected high volume of orders during the past few months. Taking production scale and capacity into consideration, we regrettably announce that availability for all Matcha products, regardless size and packaging type, will be limited from now on,' Marukyu Koyamaen's website still reads. Matcha comes from the same plant that many different teas come from— the camellia sinensis. The camella sinensis leaves can be made into green tea, oolong tea, and black tea. Though matcha originates from China, it has become closely associated and rooted in Japanese culture. Matcha is a type of green tea, but the processing, form and taste differs significantly, and is made specifically from tencha, a shaded green leaf tea. Matcha also only makes up a small amount of Japanese tea production—just 6%—according to the Global Japanese Tea Association. Yet, the demand has skyrocketed. And as a result, prices have also soared. According to Forbes, the matcha market is expected to hit about $5 billion by 2028, an expected growth of more than 10% since 2023. Further, the Japanese agriculture ministry has reported that the 2024 tencha output was over 2.5 times higher than 2014. The question is whether increased demand, small farmers trying to meet this demand, and a crop that is heavily dependent on weather patterns can keep up, even as the spring matcha harvest attempts to make up for the shortages of the past year. This year, though, the Kyoto region of Japan, which accounts for a large percentage of tencha harvest, was hit with a hot and dry harvest season, say farmers in the area. In 2025, Zach Mangan, founder of Kettl Tea, a Brooklyn-based company specializing in high-quality teas imported directly from farms in Japan, called this year's harvest a 'high-quality but lower-yielding harvest' in a blog post in May of this year—the kind of harvest that will boost demand and lower availability, potentially raising prices even further. Read More: The Surprising Reason Your Groceries Are More Expensive According to the Global Japanese Tea Association, the average price for tencha in late April reached 8,235 yen per kilogram, which is 1.7 times higher than last year's average. And according to producers, that can only be expected to continue. 'Over the past year, demand for matcha has grown beyond all expectations,' Ippodo updates customers on July 18. 'Unfortunately, supply constraints are likely to continue.'


Atlantic
a day ago
- Atlantic
A Requiem for Puff Daddy
Black cool is one of America's great innovations, right up there with basketball, blue jeans, and the internet. It blends several forms—music, sports, fashion, speech, ways of cutting through space—into a wholly distinctive, globally influential aesthetic. There are French fashion houses in thrall to silhouettes first spotted in Harlem, Japanese men who have devoted their lives to spinning jazz records in Shibuya, and lavish murals of Tupac Shakur as far apart as Sydney and Sierra Leone. Sean Combs, the disgraced record mogul, certainly did not invent Black cool. But like Miles Davis, Muhammad Ali, and Michael Jordan before him—and like Jay-Z, Kanye West, and many others who followed—for a flicker of time he was its most formidable ambassador. That moment coincided with my adolescence, which is why the revelation of Combs's extravagant cruelties —the depravity with which he used all that he'd gained—has left my childhood friends and me feeling so betrayed. We had looked up to Diddy, whom I will always think of as Puff Daddy or Puffy. When we were at our most impressionable, he taught us what to want and gave us a model for how to behave and succeed. Seeing him fall apart in our middle age feels like a kind of heartbreak. The verve and swagger he injected into our childhood dreams have curdled into something rancid. Certain photographs of Puffy are permanently etched into my memory. In 1995, dipped in a flowing black-and-gold Versace Barocco silk chemise, liberally unbuttoned to flex a thick Cuban link anchored by a diamond-encrusted Jesus piece—the definitive signifier of inner-city affluence. September '96, on the cover of Vibe magazine: head peering from behind his greatest protégé, the Notorious B.I.G.; signature blackout shades; a perfect S-curl relaxing the weft of his fade. The cool he exuded in these moments was inspirational, even masterful. My friends and I had never seen anything like it so fully pervade the culture, certainly not from someone we felt we could relate to. I have not admired Combs for decades now, since well before his trial this year. But I will always be partial to the Puff Daddy of the '90s: from 1993, when he founded his record label, Bad Boy Entertainment, through the spectacular rise and death of the Notorious B.I.G., and peaking around 1998 during hip-hop's 'shiny-suit era,' which he pioneered with Ma$e and the Lox. By the time I got to college, Puffy was even wealthier, and my cultural references had begun to change. I vaguely remember the preposterous images of him strolling beneath a blazing Mediterranean sun while his valet spread a parasol over his head. He was mainly in the news because of a shooting at Club New York, which resulted in bribery and gun-possession charges against him and a highly publicized trial (he was acquitted). For my friends and me, his shocking newness had begun to fade. Back in his prime, though, Puffy conveyed a sense of youthful ambition that we revered. He was able to transition from sidekick and hype man to dealmaker and multiplatinum performer. Before turning 25, he had founded his own culture-defining business—soon-to-be empire—and knew precisely how to leverage his growing fortune into social capital. More than his success, we were struck by two qualities that seemed novel to us. The first was the amount of effort he openly displayed, which counterintuitively amplified his cool. Puffy made no pretense of obscuring the maniacal work required to achieve his goals. When he closed a million-dollar deal, he slammed the phone down and screamed. (Years later, he would become one of the original hustle-culture influencers on Twitter.) He showed us that flourishing was not a condition one had to be born into—that luxury and labor were connected. The second quality was his ability to make Black people and Black culture—even its less compromising, more street-inflected iteration—feel at home in places, such as the Hamptons, that had not previously welcomed them. Puffy's motto 'I'ma make you love me' felt innocent and aspirational to us, not least because he actually achieved it. We were still many years away from realizing just what he would do with all the love he was given. Helen Lewis: The non-exoneration of Diddy Puff Daddy seemed to us then like a Black man utterly free in a moment of expanding opportunity. Before the age of social media, before we'd ever stepped on a plane, Puffy represented our first intimation of an unrestricted way of being-for-self in the world. On the one hand, he was the antidote to the soul-crushing squareness of upwardly mobile middle-class life that we so feared—degrees, office jobs, bills. On the other hand, he was perfectly assimilated into the good life of the American mainstream, to which we desperately craved access. This made him dramatically unlike his peers. Tupac and Biggie were confrontational, and look where it got them. Rap entrepreneurs such as Master P and Brian 'Baby' Williams were rich but ghettoized; any number of establishments wouldn't seat them. Puffy, by contrast, looked like a marvelous solution to the problem of success and authenticity that my friends and I had been struggling to solve. Yet we were suffering from a kind of myopia. And it wasn't unique to us. The generation after us put their faith in Kanye West, whose most recent contribution to the culture is a single titled 'Heil Hitler.' Role models are like seasons. One passes irretrievably into the next, but for a moment they might reveal possibilities that outlast and surpass them.