Noirfonce Paddock x adidas - Making It 1 of 1

Noirfonce Paddock x adidas - Making It 1 of 1

Day two at Noirfonce Paddock started early, with a table full of patches, rivets, metal studs and a pile of adidas denim jackets waiting to be taken apart and put back together.

A breakfast customisation workshop

We invited a small crew of friends and family over for breakfast and a morning of customisation. The idea was simple: take the adidas jacket as a starting point and see where everyone could take it from there. No templates, no two jackets looking the same, no real rules. Just a table full of materials and a few hours to get creative.

Some jackets stayed relatively quiet. Others were covered in patches, hardware and details. As the morning went on, people started walking around to see what everyone else was doing, comparing ideas and stealing the occasional bit of inspiration.

What could have been a simple customisation workshop quickly became something much more familiar: a room full of friends and family, eating, talking, making things and getting carried away with an idea.

By the time breakfast was finished, the jackets had changed completely. Each one had its own personality, built by the person wearing it.

1/1 in the most literal sense.

Opening the doors to the community

In the afternoon, we opened the doors of Noirfonce Paddock and let the rest of the community in.

The space shifted from a small creative workshop into a place to spend the afternoon. adidas clothing and footwear were there to be touched, tried on and looked at properly, while the weekend's racing played out around us. With the Spanish Grand Prix approaching, the timing felt right. Qualifying was on, Formula 3 was running, and conversations moved naturally between cars, racing, clothes and everything else that happens when you put a good group of people in one room.

And then there was the Scalextric

We had built a track specifically for the Paddock, and it quickly became impossible to walk past without having a go. Laps turned into races, races turned into rivalries, and suddenly people who had come in just to look around were standing behind the controller, trying to shave a few tenths off their time.

That was really the spirit of Day 2.

Making something, being there

The morning was about making something. The afternoon was about being there. Different people, different interests, different reasons for showing up, all sharing the same space.

This is what we like about these weekends. They don't need to be complicated. Give people something interesting to do, something worth looking at, something good to eat and enough room to make it their own, and the rest tends to happen naturally.

Day two of Noirfonce Paddock x adidas was exactly that.

A few jackets, a lot of hardware, some racing, plenty of Scalextric and a room full of people we are lucky to call our community.

Missed the start of the weekend? Read about the Day 1 run through Madrid and our day at the Spanish Grand Prix at Madring.

We keep it going.

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There is something slightly strange about having one of the world's most important photography foundations sitting in A Coruña. Perhaps because the city is not normally the first place that comes to mind when we think about fashion photography, or perhaps because the scale of what the MOP Foundation has created here still feels relatively new. Either way, walking into the MOP is a reminder that interesting things do not always have to happen in the places we expect them to. The Marta Ortega Pérez Foundation was established in 2022 with three ideas at its centre: A Coruña, photography and fashion. Since then, it has brought some of the most important names in the history of photography to the city, from Peter Lindbergh and Steven Meisel to Helmut Newton, Irving Penn, David Bailey and Annie Leibovitz. The exhibitions are free, and the Foundation has also developed educational initiatives and Future Stories, a program supporting young creatives at the beginning of their careers. It is an impressive program by any standard. It becomes even more impressive when you consider where it takes place. The MOP Centre occupies a former industrial space on A Coruña's Muelle de Batería, restored and reimagined by local architect Elsa Urquijo. What was once part of the working infrastructure of the port has become a place dedicated to looking, thinking and spending time with photography. The building itself is worth paying attention to. There is something particularly satisfying about seeing an old industrial structure retain its character while being given an entirely new purpose. This summer, that space belongs to Paolo Roversi. For anyone interested in photography, Roversi hardly needs an introduction, although his work deserves considerably more attention than a list of fashion clients would suggest. Born in Ravenna and based in Paris since the 1970s, Roversi has spent more than four decades developing a photographic language that is immediately recognizable: soft, atmospheric, intimate and often suspended somewhere between photography and painting. His relationship with fashion has been extraordinary. He has worked extensively with Dior, Comme des Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, Cerruti, Yves Saint Laurent, Valentino, Armani and Chanel, among others, while his photographs have appeared in publications including Vogue Italia, Vogue America, W, Vanity Fair and i-D. His collaborators have included some of the most important designers and models of the last four decades, from Rei Kawakubo and Yohji Yamamoto to Kate Moss, Stella Tennant, Natalia Vodianova and Saskia de Brauw. But looking at Doubts simply as an exhibition of fashion photography would be missing the point. Roversi has always been much more interested in what happens between the photograph and the person in front of his camera. His images often feel as though they have been allowed to exist rather than forced into existence. There is movement, blur, imperfection and a particular softness to the light that makes even the most recognizable faces feel strangely private. His techniques are equally important. Roversi became fascinated with large-format Polaroid in the early 1980s and has continued to explore its possibilities throughout his career. He has also deliberately embraced accidents and imperfections, including an accidental processing experiment in 1990 that produced a colour negative from black-and-white Polaroid material and opened another avenue of experimentation. His work has incorporated slow exposures, movement, blurred focus, unusual lighting and, at various points, even the use of a simple flashlight to illuminate his subjects. There is a lovely contradiction in all of this. Roversi has spent his career working within an industry obsessed with perfection, yet so much of his best work seems to come from allowing things to remain unresolved... Which brings us to the title: Doubts. For Roversi, doubt isn't something to overcome. It is where the interesting part begins. He describes doubt as an open door to creativity and imagination, whereas certainty closes it. The exhibition takes that idea and turns it into the organizing principle of the entire experience. Rather than presenting his career chronologically, Doubts moves through nine interconnected spaces: Theatre, Appearances, Shadows, Doubts, People, Presence, Grace, Beauty and Fading. Each room approaches his work from a different angle, creating something closer to a journey through his way of seeing than a traditional retrospective. The exhibition brings together around 196 works, including some of his most recognizable photographs alongside images that have never previously been shown.  Perhaps the most memorable thing about Doubts is how dramatically the exhibition controls it. You move through rooms that can feel almost completely dark, with the surrounding space deliberately disappearing around you. Then, seemingly suspended in that darkness, a photograph is illuminated with extraordinary precision. Nothing competes with it. There is no visual noise around the image. You are given the photograph, and almost nothing else. Roversi's photographs already depend heavily on the relationship between light and shadow, and the exhibition seems to understand that showing them requires something more than simply putting them on a white wall. The darkness becomes part of the work. It slows you down. It changes your eyes. It makes you look at the photograph differently. 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Lire la suite
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Westside Gunn x Saucony Grid Jazz 9

There are a few artists who slowly build an entire universe around themselves and go beyond music. This is the case of Westside Gunn.  Over the last decade, he has transformed Griselda from an underground label in Buffalo into one of the most respected names in contemporary hip-hop, but reducing him to "rapper" has never really done him justice. Listen to one of his records, spend five minutes on his Instagram or walk through one of the exhibitions he's put together during Art Basel and it quickly becomes obvious that music is only one part of the equation. The references never stop. Professional wrestling, Basquiat, Japanese fashion, Luxury tailoring, records, Virgil Abloh,  Maison Margiela and of course... Buffalo. They all exist in the same conversation, and somehow it never feels forced. One of the things we've always admired about Westside Gunn is his ability to make people look (or listen, sometimes both) twice. His albums are full of references that don't necessarily reveal themselves on the first listen. The artwork surrounding every release is treated with the same care as the music itself, and over the years he has become just as known for commissioning painters, photographers and designers as he has for the records that accompany them. That's probably why this project with Saucony feels so natural. It doesn't feel like somebody was handed a silhouette and told to "make it artistic." It feels like another piece of Westside Gunn's world. The Grid Jazz 9 has always been one of Saucony's strongest archive silhouettes. Originally designed as a high-mileage running shoe, it has gradually found a second life outside performance, becoming one of those early-2000s models that feels just as relevant today as it did twenty years ago. Instead of stripping it back, Gunn does exactly the opposite: the entire upper becomes a canvas: pink, cream, brown and black all somehow manage to coexist without ever feeling chaotic. Like much of his work, the more time you spend looking at it, the more details begin to emerge. The packaging deserves just as much attention. Rather than another oversized collaborative box covered in logos, Saucony and Westside Gunn present the shoe inside what looks more like an object frame than a shoebox. Before you've even opened it, the message is already there. This isn't something that was designed to disappear into a stack of boxes in the wardrobe...It's something you're expected to keep. That attention to presentation says a lot about how Gunn approaches everything he creates. Whether it's an album, a vinyl pressing, an exhibition catalogue or now a sneaker, the object itself matters just as much as what's inside. There is a tendency today to separate culture into neat categories. Music over here. Fashion over there. Art somewhere else... Westside Gunn has spent years ignoring those boundaries. He's brought painters into rap, rappers into galleries, wrestling into luxury fashion and Buffalo into conversations usually dominated by New York, Paris or Milan. Somehow, it all makes sense because none of it feels calculated. They're simply the things that have shaped him. The Saucony collaboration reflects exactly that. Not because it's covered in artwork, but because it carries the same point of view that has defined everything else he's touched. The Grid Jazz 9 doesn't pretend to be minimal. It doesn't chase trends or rely on nostalgia alone. Instead, it feels like walking into someone's studio and seeing half-finished canvases leaning against the walls, books piled on tables and records playing quietly in the background. The shoe is simply another object in that room. And perhaps that's why it works so well.

Lire la suite
What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

Originally released in 2008, the shoe has always felt slightly different from the rest of the Jordan archive. It doesn't simply reference basketball. It connects basketball, the Olympics, Barcelona and modern art through the work of one of Spain's most important artists, Joan Miró. Now, almost two decades later, the “Miró” is returning. And for us, it felt like the perfect opportunity to ask a simple question: What would the Jumpman look like if Miró were interpreting it today? To understand the “Miró,” you have to go back to 1992. Michael Jordan arrived in Barcelona as part of the United States Olympic “Dream Team,” arguably the most important basketball team ever assembled. The Air Jordan 7 had been introduced that same year, designed by Tinker Hatfield, and its identity became inseparable from that moment. Jordan wore the model during the Barcelona Games, helping establish the AJ7 as a symbol of basketball's arrival on a truly global stage. Barcelona itself became part of the mythology. And it wasn't just because of basketball. The city was undergoing a cultural transformation, and at its centre was an artistic language that had been developing for decades. Joan Miró had spent much of his life connected to Barcelona, developing a visual vocabulary built around primary colours, organic forms, lines, symbols and an almost childlike sense of freedom. One of his most recognisable public works, Dona i Ocell — Woman and Bird — became an especially important reference point for the Jordan 7 “Miró.” Its red, yellow, blue, black and white palette is translated across the shoe in an intentionally irregular way, with colours appearing almost as if they have been painted onto the architecture of the sneaker. And then there are the Olympic references: the number 9 on the heel, representing Jordan's Team USA jersey number in Barcelona rather than his familiar 23, alongside details in the outsole referencing the Games. We've become accustomed to seeing sneakers treated as canvases. Collaborations between artists, designers, musicians, fashion houses and sports brands have become commonplace. But the “Miró” arrived at a very different moment. In 2008, the current obsession with constant collaborations and endless storytelling around sneakers hadn't yet reached the scale it has today. The original pair was produced in very limited quantities — reported at around 1,000 pairs worldwide — which only added to its status as one of the more unusual and elusive Jordan retros. Because Miró's work wasn't really about putting a few colours together. It was about reducing things to their most expressive forms. A line could become a person. A dot could become an entire universe. A shape didn't necessarily have to represent something recognizable to communicate something. Rather than simply photographing the returning sneaker, we wanted to take the idea behind it and move it forward. The original shoe asks: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Air Jordan 7? We wanted to ask: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Jumpman itself? The Jumpman is one of the most recognizable symbols in sports. It is already a piece of visual shorthand. You don't need to see the word Jordan to understand what it represents. So we imagined taking that familiar silhouette and giving it back to Miró. Iimagining how the symbol itself might have evolved if Miró had been the person asked to draw it. The result is deliberately imperfect. The proportions become more organic. The body becomes less anatomical and more symbolic. Limbs turn into lines. Movement becomes a gesture. The figure becomes something that could exist somewhere between a human, a drawing and a constellation of shapes. The colours come directly from the visual vocabulary associated with Miró: red, blue, yellow and black against an almost empty canvas. And importantly, we wanted it to feel painted, rather than digitally constructed. Canvas. Brush. Texture. Imperfection. Because if we're asking what Miró might have done with the Jumpman, it doesn't make sense for the answer to look too polished. This is ultimately what makes the “Miró” such an interesting Jordan. It's a reminder that sneakers can be more than objects. They can be cultural documents. The Air Jordan 7 represents a particular moment when basketball, sport, music, fashion and global culture were colliding. The 2008 “Miró” looked back at that history through Barcelona and one of its most important artists. And now, in 2026, the shoe gives us another opportunity to look backwards while imagining forwards.

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What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

Originally released in 2008, the shoe has always felt slightly different from the rest of the Jordan archive. It doesn't simply reference basketball. It connects basketball, the Olympics, Barcelona and modern art through the work of one of Spain's most important artists, Joan Miró. Now, almost two decades later, the “Miró” is returning. And for us, it felt like the perfect opportunity to ask a simple question: What would the Jumpman look like if Miró were interpreting it today? To understand the “Miró,” you have to go back to 1992. Michael Jordan arrived in Barcelona as part of the United States Olympic “Dream Team,” arguably the most important basketball team ever assembled. The Air Jordan 7 had been introduced that same year, designed by Tinker Hatfield, and its identity became inseparable from that moment. Jordan wore the model during the Barcelona Games, helping establish the AJ7 as a symbol of basketball's arrival on a truly global stage. Barcelona itself became part of the mythology. And it wasn't just because of basketball. The city was undergoing a cultural transformation, and at its centre was an artistic language that had been developing for decades. Joan Miró had spent much of his life connected to Barcelona, developing a visual vocabulary built around primary colours, organic forms, lines, symbols and an almost childlike sense of freedom. One of his most recognisable public works, Dona i Ocell — Woman and Bird — became an especially important reference point for the Jordan 7 “Miró.” Its red, yellow, blue, black and white palette is translated across the shoe in an intentionally irregular way, with colours appearing almost as if they have been painted onto the architecture of the sneaker. And then there are the Olympic references: the number 9 on the heel, representing Jordan's Team USA jersey number in Barcelona rather than his familiar 23, alongside details in the outsole referencing the Games. We've become accustomed to seeing sneakers treated as canvases. Collaborations between artists, designers, musicians, fashion houses and sports brands have become commonplace. But the “Miró” arrived at a very different moment. In 2008, the current obsession with constant collaborations and endless storytelling around sneakers hadn't yet reached the scale it has today. The original pair was produced in very limited quantities — reported at around 1,000 pairs worldwide — which only added to its status as one of the more unusual and elusive Jordan retros. Because Miró's work wasn't really about putting a few colours together. It was about reducing things to their most expressive forms. A line could become a person. A dot could become an entire universe. A shape didn't necessarily have to represent something recognizable to communicate something. Rather than simply photographing the returning sneaker, we wanted to take the idea behind it and move it forward. The original shoe asks: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Air Jordan 7? We wanted to ask: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Jumpman itself? The Jumpman is one of the most recognizable symbols in sports. It is already a piece of visual shorthand. You don't need to see the word Jordan to understand what it represents. So we imagined taking that familiar silhouette and giving it back to Miró. Iimagining how the symbol itself might have evolved if Miró had been the person asked to draw it. The result is deliberately imperfect. The proportions become more organic. The body becomes less anatomical and more symbolic. Limbs turn into lines. Movement becomes a gesture. The figure becomes something that could exist somewhere between a human, a drawing and a constellation of shapes. The colours come directly from the visual vocabulary associated with Miró: red, blue, yellow and black against an almost empty canvas. And importantly, we wanted it to feel painted, rather than digitally constructed. Canvas. Brush. Texture. Imperfection. Because if we're asking what Miró might have done with the Jumpman, it doesn't make sense for the answer to look too polished. This is ultimately what makes the “Miró” such an interesting Jordan. It's a reminder that sneakers can be more than objects. They can be cultural documents. The Air Jordan 7 represents a particular moment when basketball, sport, music, fashion and global culture were colliding. The 2008 “Miró” looked back at that history through Barcelona and one of its most important artists. And now, in 2026, the shoe gives us another opportunity to look backwards while imagining forwards.

Lire la suite