World Changers: Iris Fen Gillingham
When Iris Fen Gillingham arrived at college at 16 years old, it was the first time she had a flush toilet. “I grew up off of the electric grid on a farm in the Catskills. I remember my brother asking why we couldn't have snacks in the cabinet and my mom answering, “Well, we have a whole garden outside. Go and pick something.” I got to learn what it means to live consciously with the land and I am so grateful for the perspective I have on the basic skills it takes to live,” she says. “It is something that I think a lot of young people are disconnected from.”
By Alexandria Haechler Photography Moriah Aslan
Up until Gillingham was six, her family ran an organic vegetable farm in Jeffersonville, but within ten years, the area was hit by three historical floods that ultimately decimated their farm. “It completely changed the course of my family’s life,” remembers Gillingham. Soon afterwards, her father started taking her to town meetings over another pressing, local issue: fracking. “I’d be in the room with all of these leaders who were talking about why they were fighting fracking— for their kids and their grandkids— but I would look around and I would be the only kid there. I wanted to see their kids and grandkids there too because this is our future and these discussions are going to impact all of our lives. It prompted me to start speaking out,” she says.
Fast forward to this past December and the now 18 year-old, full-fledged environmental activist helped to deliver over 100,000 signatures to New York state in an effort to ban fracking (as well as waste water and water withdrawals used for fracking) in the Delaware River basin. Gillingham has found her fellow youth activists, too.
A member of Zero Hour, a youth-led climate organization that facilitated a march on Washington, she joined her peers in meeting with over 40 senators in an effort to get them to sign a “no fossil fuels money” pledge, which declared they would stop accepting campaign money from fossil fuel executives, lobbyists, and their front groups. “For me, I’m not intimidated because I feel very supported by the group of young people that I’m surrounded by. As teenagers, we don’t have a decision-making body in the rooms where the decisions are happening so it’s vitally important for us to use our voices,” Gillingham says. “The elected officials might not have all listened to us that day, but we are continuing to fight and we will continue to call for change.”
Recently, Zero Hour introduced Getting to the Roots of Climate Change, a new program which will appoint youth ambassadors who will speak to climate change from an educative perspective, teaching their peers about contributing factors that extend far beyond inclement weather. “Where I come from inspires me,” adds Gillingham. “I want to bring knowledge back that can help my community here to flourish and to survive what is going to be a very turbulent next decade.”
This article originally appeared in DVEIGHT Magazine, The Women’s Issue #12.
When you first meet Sunrise Ruffalo…
What strikes you is the unmistakable suspicion that she is a “somebody.” With her tousled blonde mane, her slim gray wool blazer, her pristine Adidas Stan Smiths, and a level, assured voice, she exudes a stealthy glamour that makes her stand out, even in a stylish town crawling with stylish city weekenders like Narrowsburg, NY.
Words by Mimi Vu Photography Michael Mundy Creative Direction John Paul Tran Beauty Moani Lee Hair Michael Thomas Lollo
Sunrise Ruffalo featured on the cover of DVEIGHT The Tastemakers Issue #9
Even if you didn’t know she was married to an Oscar-nominated movie star (that would be Mark Ruffalo), or that she pals around with the likes of Kirsten Dunst and Dakota Johnson, or that she’s a red carpet regular in Valentino and Chloé, you would understand instinctively that she was, at the very least...not exactly a local.
Sunny is standing in her newly minted store, Sunny’s Pop, on Narrowsburg’s Main Street, briskly rearranging her stock of elegant housewares and antique furnishings, chatting to neighbors who come from up and down the street to say hi, and running ideas past her longtime assistant, Noelle. She is prepping for a photo shoot for her website and there is a lengthy to-do list and—”Oh no, my dustpans, where are the dustpans?” She stops to tell me the beautiful, sleek chair I’m admiring is “actually a potty chair,” and breaks into a good-natured laugh.
I’ve never spent time around celebrities, or even their next of kin for that matter. Despite my initial apprehension, Sunny turns out to be a thoroughly charming, funny, intelligent, down-to-earth spirit, with not a shred of pretense in her being. She has no hesitation in talking about her itinerant childhood living on food stamps. Half of her life was spent with her hippie father, who took her on the road in a VW bus, following the Rolling Stones from city to city (“My dad dressed like Mick Jagger up until the day he died—with the spandex pants and everything”).
Sunrise Ruffalo in Callicoon, New York. Portrait by Michael Mundy
The other half was spent in France with a more “normal” aunt who had a steady job and owned a children’s clothing shop, where Sunny would spend her days lovingly wrapping people’s purchases. She dropped out of high school at age 14 and left her home city of New Orleans to model, making her way to Paris, Italy, and Japan before landing in Los Angeles, where she ultimately met her husband. With no proper education or training, she tells me, she has always thrived on pure instinct.
It was instinct that eventually brought her to live in the Catskills. Many people who come to roost upstate are fleeing something, even if it’s just the high rents and noise and chaos of city living. But for Sunny and her family, the flight turned out to be much more dramatic.
Back in 2007, Sunny was the co-owner of a jewelry boutique, Kaviar and Kind, in L.A.—a much buzzed-about shop that showcased the new designers, such as Jennifer Meyer, Solange Azagury-Partridge, and Lorraine Schwartz, then making a name for themselves with playful, ethically leaning jewelry for a clientele of young Hollywood stars. When she and Mark had their third child that year, Sunny made a difficult decision to close the wildly successful shop and focus on her family. Then disaster struck: Mark’s younger brother, Scott Ruffalo, was killed in L.A. “Literally everything happened within months,” she says. “We had another baby, we decided to shut the business down, Scott died.” They soon dropped everything and ran. “Mark fired all of his agents, everybody. Our kids needed something different, we needed something different. We decided to come here. It became a place of refuge and peace and calm.”
Red dress by Uzi, jewelry by Melissa Easton
The move was a perfectly natural one for the family. Sunny and Mark had owned a house upstate since 1999, and had faithfully been spending every summer there with their kids, who could run wild in the surrounding fields and woods. Soon they were full-timers, people who did chores and salted their roads in the winter and hauled their trash to the dump like everyone else. It turned out to be precisely the salve they needed. “Tragedy and drama propel you to either sink or swim,” she says. “And for us, it felt like a very survival move.”
What helped them mend their spirits were their neighbors. Their first winter here, Sunny broke her leg in a riding accident. There was an outpouring of support, not to mention a procession of homemade tuna casseroles, soups, and stews. “It really shows you the grit of your community when you’re sick,” she says. “I have found the most amazing friends here, and I could not have done it without them. The locals really embraced Mark and me and my kids and brought us into the fold.”
Poplin jacket in navy blue, embroidered ivory camisole, both at Sunny’s Pop
After several years of raising their kids in the Catskills, Sunny and Mark decamped to NYC, largely for the kids’ schooling. But they are still regulars upstate, and last summer, with her youngest child approaching 10, Sunny started thinking about retail once again, and how much she’d missed it. When she heard that a local antiques shop in Callicoon was vacating its space, she pounced and got to work. The result, Sunny’s Callicoon Pop, a pop-up selling home décor and antiques that she’d sourced in her travels, was her way of gingerly sticking one toe back into commerce. “I was nervous because I hadn’t been in retail in ten years,” she admits. “I thought, ‘Is it going to embrace me? Are people still going to think what I have to say is relevant?’ ” It turns out her fears were unfounded. The pop-up did so well that she officially transplanted it to this Narrowsburg storefront—a longterm commitment—this past December.
Perhaps it was her uncertain childhood, or the trauma of losing her brother-in-law, or the years spent raising her own clan—but this time around, she has a very different focus than the rarefied bling she specialized in during the Bush years in L.A. “I’m a mother of three, I spend a lot of time in my home, and I love my home,” she says. “[The shop] reflects how closely knit I am to my family, and how much it means to me. It’s much more democratic, having a store that’s home goods. There’s something for everyone in my shop.”
Shirt dress by Elena, fleece pullover in blue by Isamu
Indeed, browsing her selection, I found at least a dozen things that were very much “for me.” The shop is quietly impeccable, with an array of beautiful yet unshowy goods, arrayed nonchalantly on simple and utilitarian shelving. Functionality dominates here, even in the more decorative items. Sunny enthusiastically shows me a “seed pod” clutch purse by Albuquerque-based accessories line Oropopo—it’s a neat little pouch that sort of resembles a fruit husk, made of laser-cut leather and just big enough to hold “lady accoutrements.” It hangs next to a set of military-green metal tool and storage boxes from Parma, Italy, and fold-up travel totes from the NYC label 8.6.4.
Along the opposite wall are an array of ceramics from artisans such as the upstate-based Kelli Cain; measuring spoons and spatulas made of ethically sourced exotic woods from Guatemala; hand-crafted brooms from Thailand; and even gorgeous birch-handled toilet brushes from Iris Hantverk in Sweden, which nest into minimalist concrete bowls nice enough to eat soup out of. “I find things that have the human touch, of some kind of craftsmanship to it,” she explains. “And things of some socially conscious message, too. There’s wonderful artists all over the world, and people are championing them and helping them survive by bringing their work out of those countries.”
For Sunny, connecting small communities of artisans and shoppers is the right way to have a voice in retail in 2018. “Smaller towns are benefitting and supporting the artist,” she says. “They want us to be here, because it brings in food, it brings in people. This was a great tourist community at one time, and it’s coming back.” And she’s clearly thrilled to be doing her part to revive it.
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This article originally appeared in DVEIGHT Magazine, The Tastemakers Issue #9, spring 2018
Made in Heaven
Taylor Foster has traveled the world, modeled for Vogue, and worked with some of the most prestigious brands—but she's not just a pretty face. With a degree from the Culinary Institute of America, an upstate empire and now a holistic skincare line, Foster proves that she can do just about anything and then some.
Taylor Foster has traveled the world, modeled for Vogue, and worked with some of the most prestigious brands—but she's not just a pretty face. With a degree from the Culinary Institute of America, an upstate empire and now a holistic skincare line, Foster proves that she can do just about anything, and then some.
Interview by Michael Mundy Photography Ruobing Li Creative Direction John Paul Tran Styling Yuiko Ikebata Beauty Kaori Soda
Brown plaid jumpsuit by Electric Feathers, necklace model’s own
It’s so nice to speak with you again. I’ve known you for a long time, mostly as a model, but I also remember that you were a great pastry chef, and that you’ve worked with some amazing people. Can you tell me about what you’ve been up to?
I got my associate degree in baking at the Culinary Institute of America. I had always wanted to open up a bakery. That was my lifelong dream, but I was flat broke. So I thought that maybe I should try modeling to save money to open up a bakery. When I started modeling, it was like this moment that kind of hit hard—it was great, and I ran with that. But then I got burned out on fashion and that’s when I started working at Daniele in the city.
I think that’s where I met you.
I think it was actually; because I remember I had short hair then. I had gone from traveling the world and shooting for Vogue, and watching all the runways, and then I went into the kitchen of an amazing five-star restaurant in New York City.
When did baking start for you?
Always. I was one of those little kids. At 4-years-old, if you asked: What do you want to be when you grow up?’ I would respond, ‘I want to be a bakery.’ My mom would try to correct me and say, you mean a baker? And I’d say ‘No, a bakery!’
So you moved to Manhattan, became a model, then became a successful chef. When did you find your way upstate?
I think it was just shortly after I met you. I got laid off after 9-11 at Daniele. I was one of the last that had been hired, so I was one of the first to go. That threw me back into modeling. I also bought my first house just around then in this little town called Grahamsville in Ulster County. It was right on the border between Ulster County and Sullivan County. That was short-lived. I was engaged to someone, and we bought it together, and that relationship fell apart. I didn’t get the house. Then a good friend of mine had a place in Roscoe, and he had this one-room schoolhouse that had been converted on 60-acres. He bought the house for $100,000 and was paying $600 a month, and I was like, ‘Wait a minute, this is doable.’
Sweater and pants by Marissa Web, scarf by BLK DNM
Top by Baja East, pants by TSE, overcoat by Marissa Web
I came up to Delaware County, and it struck me in a whole other way. I fell in love with the openness of it. The beauty: it was a different landscape than Roscoe, where I had been spending my time. I went back to the city, started looking online for things that were for sale, and a building on Main Street in Bovina popped up. I just fell hard.
Why?
It was this 1860s building that had been a restaurant. The main floor was a commercial restaurant space, and it had two beautiful lofted apartments upstairs. Two days later, my then-husband and I drove up, saw it, and I just started crying. It was one of those rainy, crappy days. I remember it precisely. We walked through the whole thing; we got back in the car; and I looked at him and just started crying. I was so in love with this place, and I didn’t even know how I would buy it. But I called, made an offer, it was accepted, and I was like, okay, I’m going to figure this out. That’s how I got my first place here.
Amazing. And that became what?
That was Heaven, the cafe I opened.
Your dream came true.
My dream had come true. I wasn’t quite expecting to start it at that time. As I said, I didn’t have tons of money to pour into it. I didn’t know the area at all. I didn’t know a single person in the town. I didn’t know anything about it, but I just fell in love with this building.
So then, how did you end up finding your spot where you are now?
I ended up also buying the house across the street from the cafe. It was a five-bedroom house, and I did a bed and breakfast there for a minute. (This was before Airbnb.) I had so many people coming in because there was barely any place for anyone to stay in the area. We did three rooms and then literally had four guests and I was like: I can’t do this. I was running the cafe; I was baking everything; I was running the whole business side of it; and it was hard to find someone that I could trust and work with. So adding on top the bed and breakfast, I was heading fast to the burnout phase. And I was still modeling and going back and forth to the city. It was a lot.
Black dress by LINIE
That is a lot.
I ended up saying, you know, this isn’t for us. We need to move out of town. I wanted privacy and I wanted to get off main street. We were living above the cafe initially and then we moved across the street. Once we were across the street, we had a bit of separation, but it still wasn’t enough. I ended up running into a friend on the street outside a house I was looking at, and he said, ‘If I had to do it all over again, I’d start from scratch and not fight an old system and do exactly what I wanted.’ I hadn’t considered that I could build a house. I asked my friend if she knew of any great properties, and she did. So again, we went up, came back, put an offer on it, and got it.
Definitely meant to be.
Yes, very meant to be. My husband at the time and I got this property and then he started building. He was a fashion photographer, but he always had this penchant for building. And he always wanted to do it himself. So we built this cabin.
Let’s talk about the cabin then. It’s a pretty rustic.
Yeah, there’s no running water, no electricity. It’s super rustic and it’s amazing. I have a great community of friends here. It would be more challenging if I didn’t have them. We rely on our friends’ to do laundry, to take showers in the winter, and to fill up our water bottles.
So what’s home like when you’re here? Are you baking? Are you creating?
The only oven on the property is in the sunset trailer. There’s a propane oven in there that I can use if I want to bake bread, cookies, quiches, and things like that. Things unexpectedly transitioned about a year ago when I started making all this skincare. I suppose I enjoy having a lot of different things going on and following whatever I’m passionate about.
What’s your skincare line called?
It’s under the Heaven brand, but it’s Cloud Nine. Skincare is something I’ve always done for myself. I just started doing skincare as something fun for myself and I didn’t need a professional kitchen. I find the alchemy similar to baking.
Is there a typical day up at your cabin?
The cabin is very dependent on seasons. It’s a lot of work. To wash any dishes, you have to go and get water. We have this great little run-off pipe that comes off the mountain. We fill our bottles there and bring them back. It’s labor: we’re filling bags, hanging them, then boiling water to wash the dishes. The water drains into the pot underneath the sink, and then we have to bring that huge pot outside and dump it.
It certainly puts things in perspective.
Yeah, it does. We’re so disconnected from that. I have such a different viewpoint. When I do go to the city, I’m like, look at all this free-flowing water!
You mentioned a couple of times in this conversation, the word “community.” It’s a word that is sometimes not used enough these days, but it seems people are becoming more aware of the importance of it.
It’s a big part of why we moved up full-time. I’ve been in this community now for ten years, and it’s amazing. Even from the beginning, I remember thinking I’m much more social up here than I am in the city—it’s odd. Then I thought, is that because I’m running a business that I know everyone? But the dinner parties and the level of comfort that’s here is so different than the city environment. Especially at this point, with my son, I feel more isolated in the city. There, I’m surrounded by tons of people, but I feel incredibly isolated, and I barely have anyone to reach out to. When I am up here, I instantly know who I can call. Not even have to call—just stop by and have a cup of tea and chat with. When I’m stuck up here, or I need help with something, they’re there for me.
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