Amsterdam-based nail artist Daniel Smedeman has established himself as one of the go-to creatives in nail art culture. As the co-founder and Creative Director of Glazed Salon, Daniel has created a signature style. His work has been featured across leading publications including Vogue, Acne Papers, Carnale, Perfect Magazine, Harper’s Bazaar, Vanity Fair and in campaigns for Tom Ford, Versace and Viktor & Rolf.His creative direction sets the tone on the runway, as he leads nail design for houses such as Casablanca and Willy Chavarria. Being such a talented individual, it was a no-brainer for Patta to collaborate with him in the past. His salon, based in Amsterdam’s Red Light District, is a place we turn to whether we’re after a perfectly clean nail or a piece of art.Fashion and beauty are becoming more intertwined than ever. How do you think nail art fits into the broader fashion narrative today? Just like fashion, beauty is forever changing. Sometimes it's more out there and sometimes more muted. Either way, it can definitely be seen as a form of individual expression, community, celebration or even protest. What was it like entering a field that’s mostly female-dominated, and how did you find your place in it? At 38, I wanted to be self-employed and more creative, so I was determined to succeed. For me, being a man in a space where there were few was one of the reasons for me to venture into nails. During my first day in class, I fell in love. Still, even now, I see myself being who and what I am as a plus.You’ve created so many standout looks over the years. Is there a particular set or moment that still stands out to you? I mean, there have been a few; however, the one closest to my heart is doing a simple red nail for my grandmother for a story in the Dutch national newspaper, the NRC. What have been some defining moments for Glazed, the projects or milestones, that made you realise it was becoming something bigger than you imagined? My first Paris fashion show with Viktor & Rolf was for sure a pinch-me moment! Opening Glazed with my business partner Jessica van Houten, a salon that creates space for community, is humbling. Especially to stay true to our initial concept. Working together with Willy Chavarria, a brand that stands for the same things I believe in. Being able to bring my team along with me, I very much believe in sharing this experience with them.Collaboration seems central to your world, from working with artists to fashion brands. What makes a collaboration feel right for you, and how do you make sure it stays true to the Glazed vision? Even though I believe in individual expression, I believe it's very important to come together. It is what creates so many more possibilities, brings knowledge and is so powerful. Making the right decisions is a gut feeling and always thinking about the long run. Believing in a constant vision, calmness and daring to swim upstream.There have been rumours about a newspaper-like magazine you’re working on called ‘Unguis Oracle’, set to launch in January 2026. Can you tell us a bit about it? What can people expect from this release? The rumours are true. It's been a long-time dream coming true. It's a love letter to everything hands. A physical paper celebrating craft, care, knowledge and a whole lot of creativity. Collaborating with photographers like Paul Kooiker, Woody Bos and illustrations by Piet Paris and more.What’s next, either for Glazed or for you personally? Any new directions, collaborations, or ideas you’re excited to explore? For Glazed just to stick around and dare to stay true to its core values. Collaborate, celebrate and give back. As for me, to always keep dreaming dreams that lead to creation, I hope.Visit Daniel at Glazed Salon.

Photography by Gabe Searles and Max Hummels“I'm using this residency to kind of reset a little bit mentally. This year was pretty busy for me,” says Raheem Esteban over FaceTime from Chatham in upstate New York.Esteban Raheem Abdul Raheem Samayoa has just wrapped up his first solo institutional exhibition at the Institute of Contemporary Art San José, titled Blood Be Water. Capping off a formative year that is not quite over yet, the moment even came with a profile in The New York Times. Born in Sacramento and now living in Oakland, the Mexican-Guatemalan artist took the opportunity to incorporate new mediums like pastels and ceramics rather than the airbrush and charcoal drawings that he has previously been known for.It is immediately evident that Samayoa’s art is a personal reflection of his life, experiences, and perspective. Based around themes of community and identity, “what I want people to grasp from the work is a feeling of being comfortable, a feeling of being seen and heard,” he explains.Below, Samayoa speaks to Patta Magazine about the themes that define his work, his love of dogs, and what’s next.Tell me about what you’re doing in New York and the residency. What do you have planned?I’m upstate in Chatham for the Macedonia Institute Residency with another artist, Leonard Macintosh. We’re here for a month. For me, it’s a reset. This year was busy, two solo shows, group shows, another residency in August, so being out in nature lets me get away from the noise and reflect on what’s next when I get back to Oakland. This is my last engagement of the year. Next year I’ll have a group show at Jonathan Carver Moore Gallery in San Francisco and a solo show with my friend Callie Jones at COL Gallery, a small space in Ghirardelli Square. It’ll be an intimate show, which I’m excited about.Tell me about your early exposure to art. When did you realize you wanted to be an artist?I’ve been drawing since I was a kid, maybe three years old. My mother said I was always sketching cars and people. But growing up, I didn’t see art as a possible career. I was focused on working and surviving, figuring things out on my own. Art was always a calling though. During the pandemic in 2020, I finally had the time and resources to create a body of work. I’d moved to Oakland in 2017, and by 2020, galleries started noticing my work for the first time.You often mention community. What does home mean to you, and how does it appear in your work?What I want people to grasp from the work is a feeling of being comfortable, a feeling of being seen and heard. I’ve faced a lot of hardships, and while my story isn’t unique, people in my community often feel isolated in their struggles. My work aims to show that we’re not alone. I try to be vulnerable with the viewer, to build connection and empathy. Many of my paintings reflect not just my life but stories from friends and people in my community. That’s why the work feels relatable, it’s all drawn from shared experiences.And the dogs that appear throughout your work. What do they represent?Dogs are a recurring motif. I grew up with Dobermans and Rottweilers, breeds people often see as dangerous because of how they look. But the ones I had were rescues, they just needed love and care. That mirrors how people see communities like mine. They might look at me, with tattoos or whatever, and assume something that isn’t true. The dogs represent misunderstanding, but also loyalty and family. In hip-hop, “my dog” is about brotherhood and trust. I also grew up on old cartoons - Looney Tunes, Tex Avery - those characters stuck with me. And funnily enough, I’m born in the Year of the Dog, so it all connects.Why do you gravitate toward charcoal?I love its softness, similar to airbrush, which gives my work a nostalgic, dreamlike quality. Charcoal feels physical, I’m blending it into the fibers of the paper, really working with it. Early on, I painted with acrylics and oils, but charcoal was the first medium that completely drew me in. It let me express myself the way I needed to.How do you think art can create real impact or change in the world?Artists are essential to keeping hope alive. If you have nothing else, you have art and water. Artists express what’s happening in their communities, and that sparks a connection. When I see great art, I leave inspired and eager to create. That ripple effect builds energy across people. The message varies for everyone, but art keeps the human spirit hopeful, especially in difficult times. It reminds us that change and connection are still possible.Given everything happening in the US right now, has it changed or influenced your work?Definitely. As I’ve grown older, I’ve tried to lead by example and take on more of a leadership role. I’m aware that what I create can have an impact, even for people I don’t know. These times push me to be intentional and use a louder voice in my work, to reach further and express freely.Looking ahead, what are your short- and long-term goals?I’m focused on getting my art in museums and institutions and creating more opportunities to speak at colleges and universities. I want to share my story with younger generations and make art more accessible. I didn’t grow up going to museums, my first time was in college, so I want to bring that experience to others. I’ve really been pursuing this career seriously for about five years, and I’m learning to be patient, but I know it’ll happen.Is there a moment or accomplishment you’re most proud of so far?This year, for sure. It was packed, but a blessing. I took every opportunity, even when I wasn’t sure how it would work out. I had my first institutional show at the ICA San Jose, got a New York Times write-up, then had my first LA solo show, plus two residencies. Making all of that happen through art alone, that’s a huge accomplishment for me. Get Familiar with Raheem Esteban's Artist Residency in the Patta Magazine Volume 6. Patta Magazine Volume 6 is available now at Patta chapter stores in Amsterdam, London, Milan and Lagos.

Interview by David Kane | Photography by James Pearson HowesIn Summer 2024, when Ashley Thomas also known as Bashy returned to making music with the release of Being Poor Is Expensive, many of those familiar with his face would have been forgiven for not knowing that he even made music in the first place. It was his first album in 15 years. Since then, his acting career has flourished with roles in Black Mirror and Top Boy, as well as US performances in HBO’s The Night Of and the lead in Them - a slow-burn, psychological horror set in the ’50s that exposes how racism seeps into the mind and the idea of the American home itself. The Guardian described his performance as “magnificent”.Yet the music itch persisted, and Being Poor Is Expensive proved a revelation in sound and narrative scope, earning its place in the evolving canon of UK rap. We spoke at a live Q&A at the Patta London store and again towards the end of 2025. Looking back at his cultural highlights, Bashy namechecks Adolescence and the “incredible” Sinners film, alongside albums by Clipse and Jim Legxacy, and — in the year where he turned 40 -  winning Album of the Year and Best Hip-Hop Act at the MOBOs, and being nominated for an Ivor Novello award for "How Black Men Lose Their Smile".Looking ahead, he is performing at the National Theatre alongside Letitia Wright in The Story, a play about “journalism, race, and gender politics”, sandwiched between recording TV shows for Netflix and FX. The following conversation has been condensed for clarity.Bashy is wearing the Patta Washed Canvas Jacket.A lot of people discovered you through the song “Black Boys”, which inspired a lot of people — and artists I spoke to for my book. I also saw Enny speak about it on The Reasoning. Were there specific songs in your formative years that made you think about the world differently?Reggae, definitely — Bob Marley, through my parents. And I listened to a lot of A Tribe Called Quest. The first album I ever bought was People’s Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm. They’re probably my favourite artists. “Stressed Out”, and Nas’ “If I Ruled The World” — I loved that blend of something melodic with proper bars.You came up in that late-garage, early-grime period, but many artists from that era can be quite tribal — UK hip-hop or grime. Your style feels less tied to one lane. How do you define your music?A hybrid. I don’t think it’s unique to me, I think it’s just when I was born — 1985. You grow up listening to jungle, garage, hip-hop, grime. That’s the palette I use. And it’s not just me; people from that time can tell their story over different tempos and styles. There’s a small window — maybe early ’80s to early ’90s — where a lot of MCs move between genres.Something else that’s quite unique about you: you don’t get many artists who admit they’ve had a day job while doing the music. Why is it important to acknowledge that?Just being honest. I think it matters that the stigma is tackled, because a lot of people pursuing creative things feel embarrassed. I was driving a bus and I kept it low, but it put money in my pocket so I could get to auditions. It was funding the dream, rather than sitting there depressed because I was broke.That’s a bad headspace for creativity — worrying about money all the time. You mentioned driving the bus. I remember D Double E talking about getting inspired by what he hears in markets or in bookies — everyday life. Did that kind of stuff inform your world-building?Not so much ad-libs, but it definitely informs my story. It gave me things I wanted to talk about — the feeling. On “Sticky”, when I say “Mill Hill and back” and repeat it, that’s what it felt like when I was driving.So in a way, it inspired you.It did. I lived a more traditional life before I transitioned into this. It gives you perspective. I know what it’s like to get up at 4 a.m. and have a job. I was a postman as well — I worked retail for a bit, too.You began working on Being Poor Is Expensive at the start of Covid, right? What was your headspace, and how did the album come together? And were you surprised by the impact?I started writing it in 2020 during lockdown. I was reflecting on my life, like a lot of people, because I didn’t know where the world was going. People were losing family members; people were dying around us.Very unsettled times.It was unsettled and unpredictable. I was in Los Angeles filming a TV series called Them. When Covid hit, production paused, and I had to stay in LA because they didn’t know if I’d be able to get back into the country if filming restarted. So I stayed. I was in my apartment, and I had to build a routine, because I can go inside my head and end up in a negative space.To counteract that, I made an itinerary I’d follow every day: work out, read a book, watch a film, watch a TV series, meditate, sit in the sun, write lyrics, and cook food. I did it religiously, ticking it off, and it gave me a sense of purpose.Writing lyrics became the key thing. It was the first time in a long time I’d had room to be creative because I’d been focused on acting. I thought: if I don’t write this now, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance. So I promised myself I’d write 100% the truth.In hip-hop, people lie or embellish. You might have had an argument with two people, and twenty years later it’s a war with twenty men. It makes a good story, but it’s not the truth. So I told myself: if anything felt exaggerated, I’d scrap the lyric and start again. That was the foundation — always checking, “Is it the truth?”Toddla T and my friend, the producer Casa, were encouraging me to make music again. That sparked it. I’m telling it backwards, but that’s how it started: “Okay, let me try.” And then, as I was writing, everything started coming up.I’d associated music with a traumatic time in my life — growing up in the ends. I had to unpack a lot of trauma, just being a young Black brother from London trying to navigate that. It was hard writing it, but it was therapeutic. It helped me unpack feelings I’d never addressed and had bottled up while moving through life.One of the lines is, “Keeping it real, I spent most of my teens shook.” And I was. When I was 17, 18, I was outside putting on this armor, but really it was because I was scared.Those are the stories I wanted to tell — my life, my parents’ lives, my friends’ lives, my community. I wanted to be specific. That’s why I made it about Brent, northwest London, and what I saw there. I think that specificity is what’s connected with people.Bashy is wearing the Patta Whole Lotta Labels Denim Jacket.Something else I really enjoyed were the references — MJ Cole, Wookie, Dizzee. It felt intentional, like you wanted to recognise this period in British music. It almost feels like you, Toddla, and your producer were like kids in a candy store, sampling all these sounds.Some of it was like that. I’m heavily inspired by US hip-hop. And the ingredients of the production — the soundscape — in a lot of the hip-hop I listened to, and still listen to, come from the music those rappers grew up on. The lyrics are one layer, but if the music supports it, it can transport you to the time, the place, the people I’m talking about. That’s what we wanted to achieve. As for how I feel about the album: it’s exceeded my expectations. The way it’s been received, the awards, the critical acclaim — it feels good.And we’re not going to wait as long for the next one?We’ll see. I’m between acting and music, so when it lands, it lands.There are many themes on the album, but one is in the title. There’s a line: “There were many times when I never had a grand… now when I buy something nice, I feel bad.” How do you reconcile your success now with the struggle it took to get here?A lot of people from where I’m from suffer from what me and my friends call “post-traumatic poor syndrome.” You grow up without things, and even when you have money, because you know [how hard it is] being broke, you almost don’t want to spend anything. You’re like, “I’m not putting my money on that.”That’s what that line is about. My friends still tell me, “What’s wrong with you? Just buy it.”I just never want to go broke again. Being broke is rough. It can be a dark place. That’s why on the opening track, “London Borough of Brent”, I say:When you’re broke, you would do mad thingsWhen you’re broke, you would do bad thingsWhen you’re broke, you would do sad things.When you’re broke, you’re desperate to escape that place. I don’t want to be back there. I want to be in a place of abundance where I can help people, take my time on decisions, and make the right choices. Because when you’re doing things purely for money, your judgment’s clouded, and the choice can be a bad one.You’ve spoken about therapy before, and the album is very vulnerable. I get the impression that even though it’s painful at times, it was cathartic to make — that the process of creating is catharsis for you.It’s very cathartic. It helped me understand myself. Music and writing are my medium for release. With acting, I don’t go into a character to find release or live something out through a role. Writing lets me exercise whatever demons I’m dealing with, or speak about an issue or a feeling — about myself.This album is very internal: how I see myself and my community. I don’t know what the next album will be — maybe it’ll be how I see the world differently — but this one helped me get outside my mind and put my thoughts and feelings down.Bashy is wearing the Patta Whole Lotta Labels Denim Jacket.What do you look for in an acting role?I'm interested in roles that are a challenge; I aim for roles that push me to grow as an actor and creative. [The Amazon Prime show] Them is a good example. To get into character, I look at a person's core essence and principles, and try to find similarities or differences with myself. Or I'll look for clues in the script, and observe people from the time period through reading, watching documentaries, and viewing photographs and memoirs. Ultimately, I'm interested in original works with original ideas.It sounds like two distinct headspaces — actor vs musician/writer. Do you ever see yourself combining them? Directing, writing a screenplay?I write. I’ve got scripts — a few short films.Anything that’s been made, or anything in the works we can talk about?Not yet. Just getting the ideas out, which I think is important. People always say, “That film is dead,” or “I could do better than that guy.”Maybe you could.Maybe — but then you should do it. I try not to criticise film or TV. If I want to tell a story, I should try and write one. So that’s what I’ve been doing. There are TV scripts there. Even if they never come out, at least I got them out of my mind. I didn’t die with the idea.As an independent musician who self-releases while also working as an actor, how do you feel about the compensation from the streaming industry? Streaming’s a catch-22. It gives access, but it doesn’t always value the work. I was lucky — acting gave me the space to release the album on my terms. When it landed, people realised what I was saying mattered. That was the point.Touring has helped too — you’ve done shows, a UK run?I’ve done two headline dates at Bush Hall, and they sold out straight away. That was another way to enter the music industry — another element of the career. Then there were festivals: Glastonbury, We Out Here, Across The Tracks, Colours — and brand situations.So there are ways to navigate it as an independent artist, and it’s been good for me. It shows there’s a blueprint — that you can navigate music and come out in a good position.Something sustainable.Yes. There’s an audience out there. And cultural impact — cultural currency — can be as valuable as the financial side.That’s what you want, right? Artists creating work that has cultural currency rather than just being part of the noise.Exactly. Because cultural impact lasts longer than a number-one hit or an award. If you ask who won what award in 2003, nobody knows. But if you ask someone their favourite album, they’ll tell you: Boy in da Corner, Kano’s Home Sweet Home — those things last.That era was all mixtapes. No social media. Everything was in the moment. How do you feel about the promotion side now — the relatively newer part of being an artist?I like to create and release. I’m not with the extra antics.Patta Magazine Volume 6 is available now at Patta chapter stores in Amsterdam, London, Milan and Lagos.