The Warehouse Candy Issue by The Warehouse Magazine

Photographed by Renan Ribeiro

theWaReHoUsE

THE MAGAZINE FOR SICK & TIRED PRESENTS

THE CANDY ISSUE APRIL 2013

MARCH

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ONCE UPON A TIME A group of students got excited and nurtured to life a new magazine: The Warehouse. Promoting passions, wit, and originality we invite anyone and everyone to write, edit, and layout.

B***H PLEASE, OUR CHIEF HAS SOMETHING TO SAY The Congo Square Sunday was the day they could play, Sunday was their day. Transforming the desolate into the cultivated they played their instruments and their hearts out on that square. 'The square', known as the 'Congo Square,' was located in New Orleans, pre-Louisiana purchase. 'They' were the trafficked populations mostly of African origin. Sunday was the day of rest. Under French colonial rule, laws were ever so slightly more lenient concerning Sundays, which enabled the playing of drums, gourds, marimbas, flutes, and anything that made sound. Infused with French, spiced with the accordion, yet ever defiant of their present and past, artists such as AmĂŠdĂŠ Ardoin layed the foundations for a musical revolution in Southern Louisiana. Out of that square evolved a new genre of Cajun music: Creole jazz and folk. Exponentially growing with the influx of Haitian immigrants from the West Indies, the square symbolizes a bitter-sweet historical exchange, forever changing the American South. For this Issue, Issue Four of the Warehouse Magazine, the theme is candy. During our meetings as a team, the majority of us came up with sweet experiences or colorful pieces to write about, all original and interesting. Nevertheless, it was a curious phenomenon in which several of our contributors drew off the idea of candy, it's bitter, acidic, and sour characteristics, therefore taking the idea to another level. This made me think about the bitter and sweet side of candy, the wrapping, and the notion of change. This drew me to unusual circumstances, like the one described above, where a positive came out of the negative. I invite you to read this issue with that idea in mind, and as always invite you to join us next time. Naomi Verbong Roland

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CREATIVE EDITOR / GRAPHIC DESIGN Kevin Holicka

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Naomi Verbong Roland n.roland@jacobs-university.de

k.holicka@jacobs-university.de

CONTRIBUTORS

Andrés Suárez

Diana Bautista

Gabriela Constantin

Hauke Zießler

Julia Psilitelis

Karanjit Singh

Lebriz Kiziler

m.sugimoto@jacobs-university.de

Valentina Uribe Restrepo

Mari Sugimoto

Vivian Urquidi

GUEST APPEARANCES

Aila Hauru

Alexandra Moroti

Jeppe Ugelvig

Marko Arsic

Rebecca von Koslowski

ART EDITOR / COVER&BACKCOVER DESIGN

IN-HOUSEPHOTOGRAPHER Renan Ribeiro r.ribeiro@jacobs-university.de

CONTENTS

Photographed by Karanjit Singh

BEAUTY BLURP

SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY

CAFETÉREO

GENDER AND SEXUALITY AWARENESS WEEK

OBSESSED WITH CANDY

MISS CANDY

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

CANDYLAND

THE WRAPPER GUY

ECHOES OF REASONS COMPARABLE MADNESS

KARANJIT SINGH PRESENTS

LICORICE

CANDY, WHAT DO YOU EXPERIENCE?

HEARD THE MERMAIDS SINGING, EACH TO EACH

EYE CANDY

THE WINNING CANDY

OF AUSTRALIANS AND CAR ACCIDENTS

WHAT IS CANDY?

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B***H DONâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;T KILL MY VIBE THE MAKING OF CANDY

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Vivian Urquidi Presents Beauty work is a slightly bizarre concept to me as it comes hand in hand with that big puddle of philosophical mush that is beauty perception. Aesthetics, being predominantly subjective, allows me to express a lot of what I feel are repressed creative urges and to do so on a human canvas is really exciting. It terms of makeup, human faces are so strange and different, despite the commonality of our basic features that the possibilities are nothing short of endless. Inspiration comes from all sorts of places, so a final product is obviously a collage of whatever I actively expose myself to and the prompt or theme I’ve been given for the job. It’s a bit of a cacophonous jumble of images from fashion and makeup history (I’m especially interested on how they’ve developed alongside female emancipation and the economic conditions of the time), mixed with pieces by my favourite illustrators and painters (Klimt, Dulac, Gibb, and Barrett to name a few), Natasha Kahn of “”Bat for Lashes” and Björk are major inspiration and girl-crushes, not gonna lie, a bit of elixir-of-TerryGilliam-film-ambience, and a dash of science for good measure – it’s crazy how decked out in evolutionary bling our fellow organisms are – and voila, a pretty standard beauty-inspiration cocktail best served with sleepless nights and anticipation for the upcoming CocoRosie album (in May you guyz).

BEAUTY BLURP

I suppose, referring strictly to the world of fashion, editorial works by far are more riveting than commercial modelling and photography. This should come as no surprise as commercial fashion tends to be bland and boring with the rehashing of the same cookiecutter facial structures and styles. On the other hand, works by Ellen von Unwerth and Ellen Rogers are both haunting and captivating and sometimes kind of ridiculous whereas Jurgen Teller is renowned for his minimalism and almost two-dimensional look (and fascination with naked gals but that’s another story altogether). What’s really particular about them, and countless other editorial photographers, is that they keep the viewer interested and allow for speculation. It’s refreshing, weird, awkward and sexy…kind of like all of us.

Diana Bautista Presents

SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers” Blanche Debois A Streetcar Named Desire, Tennessee Williams—N/A

Deep in wandering thoughts the man sat, The closed book in hand, Himself a background image in a world passing him by His large brown eyes Full of an implicit sadness Had foretold his future, And showed the story of A self-fulfilling prophecy of Everything, He feared The chaos had taken him over suddenly, And in his attempts to overcome it, He was consumed, By his paralyzing fear of the unknown

Photographed by Renan Ribeiro

Happiness became his illusion light, Shining through to expose the reality Of his platonic image, Slowing fading, Until he had become his own ghost A floating stick in the sea of his desires, “Welcome to Candyland” he mumbles, As the book drops, And the man’s imagination takes over Turning the trees into forests And filling the air with the sweet smell of candy, And the familiarity of joys from a time long ago.

Andrés Suárez Presents

CAFETÉREO Godly children of the village know the rules of the game: vermilion wintry skies crumble into pouring rain every day after twelve PM. All the clocks ticking in asynchrony and the timely souls still gather round. Climbing uphill in concealment their youthful unspoken frights swiftly turn into play. Yet the inner voices swirl ecstatically, reproachfully, until no trace remains.

Photographed by Renan Ribeiro

Encrypted secrets suddenly unveiled on the surface of a white blank slate make Adam’s apple tremble and fall down their throats feeding the dormant Beast watchfully waiting underneath. Crunching lollies, popping candy between coffee gulps won’t make the awakening fade away: the arterial flow of an overexcited muscle ignited the visceral implosion of unpronounced aged words. After hours of cleansing rain the clocks were shattered and the timeless words flushed away. Tic, tac, toc. All the clocks ticking in asynchrony and the timely souls still gather up.

Photographed by Karanjit Singh

Gabriela Constantin Presents

GENDER AND SEXUALITY AWARENESS WEEK Just have a piece of candy

“Don’t you ever take candy from strangers!”

Because there was an H3 party the same night. Because people did not want to hear that going to a party was How many times did you hear that from not safe (or, at least, not as safe as just your parents when you were little? I still having tea and cookies and talking). hear it sometimes… And because we are young, because B u t n o w I ’ m o l d e r . N o w I s t a r t we want to make fun of everything, questioning the prohibitions of my because we think we are better than childhood. Now I start questioning everything… authority and norms! Come on! Are we really going to come Why should we teach the young to avoid up with that excuse to motivate our candy instead of letting “strangers” lack of interest?! Are we actually going know that they shouldn’t mess with it? to get that low and blame it on our Actually, do we even fear candy? No! age?! We are OLD ENOUGH to avoid We fear the stranger, the one that comes the man giving away free candy. We from the unknown, from the uncertain are OLD ENOUGH to say NO to him! with a bagful of candy, of treats that we Then, we are OLD ENOUGH to know cannot trust. when to pay attention and when to Did you ever think the problem went listen. We are fucking OLD ENOUGH to away just because you grew? No! The know that some matters are actually only difference is that now you are more important than our own petty actually responsible for taking the candy. reasoning of it would not make me look People will blame YOU for having trusted cool if I went to this stupid meeting! the stranger, that man who opened his wonderful bag filled with colorful candies But I haven’t even talked about my in front of you and offered you one. There favorite response to the concept of is no way of saying you were not aware. having such a meeting: Virgin spiritism. After all, it was the song of your childhood. That’s how it got called somewhere on Facebook. Because that’s what virgins “Don’t you ever take candy from would do, right? Spiritism? Talk to the strangers!” spirits so they can finally get rid of their “Don’t you ever take candy from problem? So that they get screwed by strangers!” some asshole? Oh, honey, you really “Don’t you ever take candy from think so well of yourself and of your strangers!” gender. Just because you are not constructed to care it does not mean And, really, aren’t you already old that everyone has the same amount of enough to know not to trust a man who emotional scarcity as you have. carries candy with him all the time? You know what? You might have And aren’t you old enough to pay actually liked the idea of this whole attention and listen? “Gender and Sexuality Awareness Week” if you were strong enough to listen and not mock it. Because it is not But I should maybe cut to the chase and about a bunch of girls telling each other tell you about this event happening on how men suck because they don’t campus. This Gender and Sexuality buy them chocolate after sex. It’s Awareness Week. From March 11th till about people trying to tell people that March 17th. somewhere in this BIG world there is shit going on. The spams were sent more than a month ago. Just like one of those events where But you can just close your eyes and you really need to let people know stick your hand in the bag of candy. what’s going on, so you bombard them It’s not like you ever had a choice and with e-mails non-stop. At first, they were could actually say NO, I CAN GET MY just advertising a gathering, where you OWN CANDY, THANK YOU. could talk to others “in a safe, cozy” environment. And that’s when things got complicated. 15

Marko Arsic Presents

OBSESSED WITH CANDY New Wave Project presents the exhibition of fashion editorials by eleven young photographers from Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina and Serbia. Photographs will be exhibited in public transport in Belgrade from April until June 2013. This Project is mentored by MiĹĄa ObradoviÄ&#x2021;. New Wave Project aims to promote young fashion talents giving the opportunity to enjoy the art of fashion while they are commuting every day.

http://www.markoarsic.com

Our very own Marko Arsic presents his work on Candy where he explores fashion, sugar and sweets. Enjoy his obsessiveness.

Photographed by Karanjit Singh

Hauke ZieĂ&#x;ler Presents

AND NEXT UP WE HAVE OUR SPLENDID AND OH SO LUSCIOUS DANCER, MISS CANDY! The 100 dollar bills came a flying as the bodacious female form on stage peeled of the layers. The drool was dripping and t h e t e s t o s t e r o n e wa s raging.

But a twist in the tale! the dancer began to sway to an unheard tune. The new and unheard music of the early 1900s caused the female assets to jiggle and swing around the pole. The music the guests heard on that interesting night was soon to be known as Jazz.

It sprang up out of Storyville the red light district of New Orleans and spread like a burning fire. Music as we know it today would not be where it is if Jazz did not exist. Jazz was based on improvisation, which has evolved to lip dubbed electronic beats that are no longer made by the artists themselves. What made the evolution of music go so wrong? In the past music was used to unite, encourage the masses and as a form of protest. Tupac epitomises this when he said: “I'm not saying I'm gonna change the world, but I guarantee that I will spark the brain that will change the world.” Today the world sees music as a form of entertainment a way to get a quick fix. The pop culture has changed. In the good old days it was a selective crowd where quality was supported. Today the mainstream is infested with basic and bland statements like: “blow my whistle baby.”Now I am not trying to destroy the mainstream or even make it look like a pack of headless chickens. But there is a sense of “I listen to this song because it’s the cool thing to do.”There is no more climbing over the ominous wall to see if the grass is greener on the other side. You rather sit in your beach chair hoping that some kind soul will throw you some new merchandise over that may remotely resemble quality. Now perhaps this is a generalization but I ask myself why the likes of Rihanna has been in the charts for years even when some songs consists to 99% of lines such as “umbrella ella eh eh eh”. Perhaps a disclaimer is at hand. I am not trying to destroy the mainstream. With the reckoning song by Wankelmut or Sonnentanz I have realized how quality sometimes does get thrown over that evil wall.

The change in popular music also changes the nature of clubs! One now has to search for clubs that do not play the same music every weekend. Or clubs that are not controlled by a fat man playing his iTunes playlist. The idea of clubs today have been misconstrued and are explained through an image. No one goes to McDonalds to enjoy the great ambient and the comfortable chairs. One goes to get FOOD (in our case music)! The sanctity of music is no longer the reason why one goes to clubs. Can one not get crunk and laid with a focus on music? It seemed to work in the past but something has changed now. We are mindlessly following the masses hoping not to be exposed as different. I am not exemplified. I have been dragged into these clubs over and over. And every time I slowly see through the masquerade. It’s a money scheme! The music is no longer honored, it’s merely used and abused to exploit the human blindness. We live in a globalized world where we can pick and choose what we like and want to hear. We don’t have to adapt to our neighbor cause if he doesn’t like your style there will be someone that does. So let us seek the unknown! let us jump over the borders as our ancestors did. So do not disregard commercialism but embrace it while looking over its shoulder seeking for more. For more info tune into Radio Achtung: the Partigiano show on Tuesdays from 8-9pm. Stay tuned for more details.

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

Supported by The Warehouse

Jeppe Ugelvig Presents

CANDYLAND

XX My name is Jeppe Ugelvig. I am originally from Denmark, but have been rootlessly roaming Europe and South East Asia for the last 5 years. I live in a warehouse in East London and study art at Central Saint Martins School of Art and Design. I spend most of my time on the internet, in front of the mirror, with boys in bed and in the darkness of different East End clubs. I watch French new wave cinema from the 50's and read feminist literature from the 20's and feel nostalgic about experiences I never had. I fall in love with authenticity and men of the past, or rather, the idea of it. I'm a dreamer and generally quite na誰ve, but intelligent, if I should say. From 2010 to 2012 I lived in rural India, which changed me dramatically. Besides devoting myself to a higher intellectual analysis of the contemporary occidental world, and simultaneously working at a local orphanage for HIVpositive kids, I was also super bored, and super alone. I smoked joints and skyped with my (now ex-)boyfriend. I was surrounded by teenagers from all around the world who tried to make sense of themselves, in the most absurd ways. I did too. I guess this is where I grew an interest for how we establish ourselves. With my art practice I mainly focus on the youth's emotional, aesthetic and intellectual attempt of coming-of-age, of growing up. Being a part of a generation who primarily grew up in cyberspace (myspace, Facebook, .blogspot.com, Tumblr), I feel, in a way, hovering and distanced to the physical reality I am positioned in. I understand the world just as virtually as physically, and sometimes prefer virtual communication. I am interested in the creation of our social and philosophical identity, and the feeling of dislocation this often results in. I think we generally try to deny our cultural heritage of the past (childhood) and discriminate the associated moods, ways of thinking, aesthetics. As an artist, I am trying to retrace this heritage, embrace it, challenge it, and abstract from it. At the end of the day I just want to be happy, inspire people, look cute and have an amazing BF. Oh, and I love candy obviously. xx

Lebriz Kiziler Presents

If we were to categorize people as hunters and gatherers, Siggi Wegmann, would be a candy eater. This IES freshman became involved with the

THE WRAPPER GUY

Jacobs community so quickly and effortlessly that I first though the subject of out interview would be undergraduate student government handing out candy or something, hence this issues theme. Instead, it was about his habit of collecting candy wrappers.

As I force my way into his room Siggi looks indifferent, as if my visit wasn’t an unplanned one. After taking over the responsibility of the interview I forgot about it completely and since I have midterm tomorrow, I figure writing this article would the best way to procrastinate. So I message him, don’t take no for an answer and appear at his doorstep with my camera. I start searching for the candy wrappers and they are stacked at a not so visible part of the room, they are not so surprising or interesting looking in such a stack. But as I start laying them on the nice little rug he has, we see how much of a candy eater this fit friend of ours is. I can only capture a fragment of his “collection” even though I’m standing on his bed to get a wider view. His excuse for this extraordinary behavior is a future project: he wants to cover a wall of his room with the candy wrappers. I remind him that he doesn’t have that much time left in that room, since we’re almost one third into the second semester. He just shrugs and simply says “Then I’ll do it next year.”

Looking at the room I notice piles of various collected trash; muesli-to-go cups, Fructiv and Müllermilch bottles and even a bag of wine bottle corks. He tells me about how he collected them; during some Nordmetall event he, without participating in the consumption of it, collected the corks from all of the bottles around. I ask why. He just shrugs. (I notice this is a habit of his.) We talk about his room window facing the Stonerhenge and how it is weird that some people don’t use their curtains whilst facing an area that allows them to see into others peoples’ rooms easily and vice versa. Then we proceed into some other sort of small talk, but there is not much energy left to talk, there is schoolwork to do and it’s already 2 am. I leave him in his roomful of stacked trash and make my way out, threatening him about how easy and entertaining it would be to make him sound like a creepy collector with possibly a box full of pieces of girl hair hidden somewhere in his room. He sounds ok with it.

Gabriela Constantin Presents

ECHOES OF REASONS – COMPARABLE MADNESS Literary experiment in 13 acts

Act 1 – Black background. Just voices. The World: -Are you happy? X: -I myself couldn’t really tell you what happiness is.

Act 2 – Inside X’s mind X: I am too messed up. Being miserable has always felt nobler. Act 3 – Anywhere. Let’s say in a restaurant. The World: - Why don’t you eat the candy now? X: - No, I’ll save it for last. I’ll eat the meal before and have the candy at the end. Candy is the good part of the meal, the part I enjoy most. Act 4 – Black background. Just a voice coming from above. Some forgotten soul: - Nobility is not of the spirit anymore. These are odd times. No longer can unhappiness be evidence of intellectual reflections. Act 5 – Black background.

Photographed by Karanjit Singh

X: - Don’t say it. Unhappiness is not nobler by definition, it is by approach. The World: - Do you approach unhappiness?

Act 6 – Anywhere. Let’s say on the street. The World: - Then, why don’t you have the candy first? X: - No! Wouldn´t that spoil everything? I want to savor the sweetness at the end, after I’m done with all the bitterness.

Act 7 – Black background. Just voices. X: - I do not long for it. But I must seek it. The World: - Why don’t you seek happiness? Would that hurt so much? X: - It would be the end. The end of all my searches. If I encounter it on the way, how will I ever make it to the final destination? Act 8 – Anywhere. Let’s say in a bank. The World: - Wouldn’t it be more efficient though if you had some candy while eating your meal? Act 9 – Black background. Just the voices again. The World: - Is happiness the end? Your final destination? X: -It can’t be anything else…

Act 10 – Anywhere. Let’s say in a candy store. The World: - Just split the candy into many pieces and with every mouthful, have a bite of candy. Your meal won’t seem so bitter. You can enjoy the sweetness all along. Act 11 – Black background. Only voices. X: - That sounds so efficient. So calculated. I am not like that. The World: - But you already decide that you save the candy for the end. You are being calculated! Can’t you change?

Act 12 – Black background. Just the voice, with some echo after it. X: -It’s not about changing. It’s about tendencies, about perspectives. About deciding on your own who you want to be. Act 13 - White background. The World: -Is it so important?

http://yellowcircles.tumblr.com

Karanjit Singh Presents Growing up in India, I came from a very religious political Sikh family. All my life I had been reciting prayers, going to temples and places of worship and taking part in religious ceremonies without actually knowing why I was doing them. Tradition had clogged my reasoning and I started to grow dillusioned of the belief system I was brought up in. The farther away I went from my religion, the more cynical I became unconsciously and yet I longed for spiritual answers to the conflicting questions in my head. I was told religion was meant to me a safe heaven for those seeking solace in life and yet I found it troubling me more on the inside. What did mean to be religious? Did it mean wearing a turban and growing a beard? Did it mean reading the scriptures 10 times a day? What did it mean to be spiritual? What did it mean to be human? In a quest to answer these questions, I started photographing people in my make shift studio, who I felt were in the same sinking boat as me. I photographed them while they were at their most vulnerable: angry, sad, confused and lost; they would talk of the nightmares they have and the storms of contrasting emotions raging through their head. Often these portrait sessions would turn into a time of self introspection, where my subject and I would sit back and discuss life, death, growth and decay and how all of these things combined make us the most human that we are.

Out of your vulnerabilities will come your strength. â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Sigmund Freud

“That’s what the world is, after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories.”—Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

LICORICE The Warehouse Presents

or how you end up liking things you hated at first sight This happens to me too many times. I wonder if it has anything to do with me being so ready to hate things or lacking the personality to stick to my decisions. It definitely cannot be because I’m flexible and ready to give a second chance to everything I hate, because, well, even if that was the case I wouldn’t be able to admit it myself for the sake of not being a cheesy “optimisto”. Licorice is the easiest example for this phenomenon in my life and it sounded like it would be a cool metaphor when I was planning about writing, so I apologize in advance for being a pretentious prick and misleading you into thinking this article might have something interesting going on, because honestly it is just as shit as your shit the morning after a spicy dish of mysterious Apetito food.

My love-hate relationship with licorice started more than ten years ago, back in my home country. I remember seeing it for the first time in a Haribo candy center. Where I come from it’s not that widespread, in fact hardly anyone that doesn’t live in a big city knows about it, so excuse my ignorant fascination with its glossy, black appeal to the eyes that made me imagine a mysteriously divine taste hiding behind it. I just wanted it in my mouth (hee hee hee). As soon as I arrived home with my orgasmic selection of all sorts of gummy candies I shoved my fat hand into the bag and started searching for the “black mystery”

I am not even exaggerating my enthusiasm in this sad situation. And as soon as I had a bite of it I remember being utterly disgusted by the salty taste that overwhelmed my whole existence and made me gag hard (hee hee hee hee).

As a fat kid with a sweet tooth, and faith in Haribo that has never, ever failed me before that; I was DISAPPOINTED BEYOND BELIEF. I blacklisted licorice at that moment and tried to mend my scarred soul by disgustingly finishing that whole bag of candies (minus the licorice, obviously). Years later, during a visit to the very Germany we live in, I was shocked to discover that licorice was in fact something popular. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that people were willing to pay for this shitty, disgusting, salty piece of hell on earth. I was encouraged to give it another try, but couldn’t really get over my traumatic past experience and hid in a corner until my licorice loving demon friends left me alone. It was everywhere. A nightmare following me and preventing me from experiencing the traditions of anyplace European to the fullest, licorice was hiding under every rock I came across. I tried my best to stick to my blacklist. The revolution happened one day, very early in the morning while I had the biggest case of munchies due to, ahem, consumption of a certain plant. I was ready to eat my leather shoes at some point by luckily I came across this huge box of, (surprise surprise!) Haribo megamix. My eyes watering with the the beauty of such sight, I opened the lid and was greeted by a pile of leftover licorice, since all the nice juicy gummies were picked beforehand. It was utter terror. My hands started shaking and my crying got a real reason to happen. But I figured it was a better choice than my moccasins. So I ate it. I ate ALL THE LICORICE that was left in that box. I ate the ones with filling and the purely licorice ones. I ate them all. And I figured my first impression was kind of misleading; it wasn’t that bad. I mean, I wouldn’t crave it, no way. But I would enjoy it once in a while if there was nothing left.

Now, I even crave it sometimes. After many nights of surviving on licorice, I hardly even dislike it. Similarly I had the “hate turning into tolerance” in many other aspects of my life. I mean, you probably did too, it’s no big deal. I started enjoying R’n’B after 9 years of hating it wholeheartedly. I would change the channel even before hearing the song just because of hearing 4-5 songs of that genre and childishly concluding in my superior taste. Then, as I met more and more people with very diverse interest I was reintroduced to R’n’B and was surprised at myself hating it so much back in the day. (Like, why would anyone ever hate a music genre, I mean, just don’t listen to it or something.) I started not being annoyed by my friends that lack sense of humor after being forced to live through it. You can’t have ten good friends in your life that are at the same frequency in every aspect, you see? They can be the best listener but cannot get a joke to save their life. After years of ruining friendships for the lack of humorous connection, now I’m perfectly fine with it. I kind of even enjoy it because sometimes, life is not just laughs, lol, who am I kidding, it is. But, well, you don’t want your friends laughing at you when you tell them about those ridiculous situations you put yourself into, which might have a dramatic catch. Then you need your humorless friends to come into the picture and console you about how “shagging a transvestite in the bar toilet the night before and finding out later that he (she?) had HIV” is nothing to kill yourself about, or something. Moral of the story: I became this mild, submissive excuse of a girl after all the angsty teenage years inlaid with pointless hatred, and started liking stuff like staying home on weekend nights. Nah, that’s still BORING.

Julia Psilitelis Presents

CANDY

what do you experience?

Characters Young girl named Wind Old woman Rounded-face old woman Other old women

HEARD THE MERMAIDS SINGING, EACH TO EACH.

Valentina Uribe Restrepo Presents

- FIRST AND ONLY ACT Scene I Curtain opens A quiet street in the nighttime illuminated only by three light posts. A young girl of about fifteen years old walks down the street. Outside house number eleven she sees a sign that reads, “Perilous Poetry Club”. She stops intrigued, standing in front of the sign, doubting. She decides to knock. A small old woman opens the door. She appears to have just woken up from a long nap, her white long hair awkwardly hanging, straight on the sides and a fluff at the back. She wears house-shoes. Her eyes look straight into the distance, nowhere. She is blind. Old woman: Who is that? (She stands blocking the passage, one hand holding the doorknob the other stretched to the doorframe) Wind: I read the sign outside. I wonder what it means… (The face of the old woman becomes confused when realizing that the voice is that of a child.) Old woman: (sternly) This is a private meeting young lady. (attempts to close the door) Wind: I apologize, I did not know that. I was walking when I saw the sign…(old woman is ready to close the door) I know of poetry. For my birthday last year my father gave me a poetry book, which I have read many times (The old woman stops.

Something inside her, changes. She moves her head closer to the girl almost touching the child’s face with her nose.) But I don’t know what the word ‘Perilous’ means. (the old woman lifts her face upwards so as to give her nose a privileged position in relation to the face of the child and then sniffs the child.) Have a good night. (Wind gets ready to leave) Old woman: (sniffing the cold air) I seems a storm is coming. Come in then. We are about to get started and we don’t have so much time. The head of the old woman re-enters the house. Wind is now confused. She does not know what to do. Then, she decides to follow. She walks shyly. The street is left empty and silent. Scene II An entrance hall. A chandelier hanging to low. Thousands of shoes organized in a line. Old woman: The shoes stay here. There are house-shoes over there that you can borrow for (emphatically) tonight. Perilous means something like dangerous and you must know, young lady, this is a club only for those who are not scared of looking at danger straight in the eyes.

(The old woman begins to walk towards a far away door at the end of the hallway, helping herself by touching the walls. She mumbles while walking) If Round-faced woman: Ours is not the you decide to come back, you must shore bring your own pair of house-shoes. Group of women: But the Wind is left alone in the hall. She sits in unbreakable line that extends in the the floor and unties her shoelaces. As horizon indicated, she dresses a pair of house shoes and wanders around the hall as if Round-faced woman: We sit skating on ice. She stops before a observant within this infinite anatomy, painting; a boat navigating in a sea storm. Outside, the sound of wind Group of women: Singing, cracks the night. The young girl walks towards the door where the old lady Round-faced woman: for the waves disappeared before. She enters. come breaking beneath us Scene III

Group of women: for the years come lighting towards us

When entering the room Wind is blinded by the whiteness of the walls and the light coming from a multitude of standing lamps, table lamps, hanging lamps. She covers her eyes with her hands. When opening her eyes she sees the silhouette of a thousand little house-shoed old women sitting on polka-doted sofas. Their feet resting on top of feet-cushions. The eyes of the women look straight into the distance, nowhere. They are blind.

Round-faced woman: one by one like cruising ships in the distance Group of women: one by one like exploiting stars Round-faced woman: braids whispers in our hair

The wind

Group of women: flip flopping memories, wild fish

The old woman stands now next to a gramophone. She moves the arm of the device. A jazz song starts playing. Wind remains standing next to the door. The old women stand up and begin to dance carefree, as if guided by an interior force that knows no boundaries.

Round-faced woman: and we swim backwards

A round-faced woman wearing a dark green long skirt. Her eyes are hidden behind the thick layers of elastic skin. She holds a book in her hands, opens it and begins to sing verses while dancing. The other women join her.

Group of women: towards where we, in light and fear

Group of women: away Round-faced woman: where the sea is uncertain

Towards

Round-faced woman: in chaos Group of women: become foam Round-faced woman: sea waves Group of women: the ocean

The wind hits the window glass, it has begun to rain. Old woman: (to Wind who is still standing next to the door, perplexed, listening to the unison of voices) Now it’s your turn (A sudden hand drags the young girl to the middle of the room and passes the book to her) Wind: My turn? What should I do? Where should I begin? Old woman: You said you did not know what perilous poetry meant. Well, this is your time to experience it. It is not enough just to look at something; the body must live it so as to know exactly how it goes. To be a perilous poet you must let the body guide you to the words and you must blindly follow him. There are words that can shake the world as you know it, to pieces, and transform it. These words are not just any words; they must be (stressing the word) only yours. These words are hidden in a very deep place inside you and it can be that you must travel long to find them. This place is what we call the perilous seat, because it is fatal to anyone that is not you. (Wind takes a step back in a subtle attempt to leave. Then she sees the thousand houseshoed women, back in their places, resting their feet in thousand colorful feet-cushion, like mermaids softly resting their tails on rocks.) It is a seat in which only you can feel comfortably, because it was designed for you. You must trust your body to take you to this seat; you must let your body dance to it. Wind: Does it hurt? To travel, so far, so long?

So when you think back on the taste of the berry, you remember both, the thorn that hurt the finger, and the berry that that finger caught. Wind: You see, I am… not very fond of blackberries.

Old woman: This seat is not easy to find, and yes… this search can hurt. But this search is an important part of the process. That is why we dance, to make the pain become a tender one. You can think of it as the pain you feel when picking wild blackberries from the bushes and your finger meets a thorn. The pain is there, in a way, making the berry sweeter.

She opens her mouth and pronounces the words that travel through her like a century. That initiate her in the ritual of longevity. The music blends with the sound of the rain.

Old woman: Not all people dare to do this, you know? To decide to travel this dangerous journey requires a bit more than the usual amount of courage. The courage to close the eyes… so as to be able to see farther inside the self. The courage to keep the eyes fixed on what one can find, there, hidden inside. (moving away from the girl back towards the gramophone) Let us just it try… (She moves the arm of the gramophone towards the turntable and sets it on the record) and dance. The same dark voice of before begins to sound. Wind closes her eyes and lets the jazz fill her up from inside. She moves her arms timidly. As the song progresses she moves them more intensely, as if she was flying and then begins to move across the floor, as if the wooden floor was ice and the house-shoes skates. The wind outside has turned into a storm. The girl dances unaware of the world outside, the world of the openedeyes. Unaware that a small sprout of a mandarin tree is coming up from her belly bottom. Sweet, tender, patient.

Curtain closes.

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PHOTOGRAPHED by Renan RIBEIRO DIRECTED & EDITED by Kevin HOLICKA Mari SUGIMOTO HAIR & MAKE-UP by Vivian URQUIDI

AILA HAURU FINLAND 30.01.93 165 cm

Photographed by Renan Ribeiro

THE WINNING CANDY

Alexandra Moroti & Rebecca von Koslowski Present The dress was created for the Arts Olympix – an art competition between the four colleges (dorms) at our university. The task consisted in creating a fashion show with twelve outfits according to six categories; each look was presented in pairs of a guy and a girl. One of the categories was You are what you eat. Our plan was to have a concept behind the outfit that would represent a story, but at the same time add a personal twist to it by using unconventional materials. After an intense and fruitful brainstorm session within the team, we came up with a bunch of feasible ideas, out of which we eventually decided on Popeye and Olive. The reason we chose them is because they represent a very dynamic couple, with Popeye as the super strong sailor and Olive as his super sweet baby girl. Also, as the College 3 official color is green, we thought of the empowering spinach that Popeye eats as a metaphor for our strong college spirit. As the Popeye character is pretty well defined, we went with the original approach of him, dressing him up in a sailor’s outfit made out of paper bags and pimping him with a jar of spinach and a pipe.

As Olive is not that well defined, but rather just his ‘sweet girl’ we permitted ourselves more of an artistic input in her outfit. The idea behind the dress was basically to create a more modern version of Olive’s dress so we decided to make her dress out of candy - it is colorful, interesting, sweet and super diverse. We took an old shirt and dress, cut and sewed it to fit the outfit. That was followed by the fun part: Candy shopping! For the top part we hot-glued sugarcoated red winegummies in different shapes to the shirt and used spikey candy for a special shoulder application, added yellow marshmallows as buttons and bubble gum stripes for the collar. The skirt was supposed to be entirely black with only one yellow line so we felt it was extremely important to create the illusion of a pattern. Thus we used tiny liquorice shoes and put them in a “flowing” flower print and added marshmallows for the line. Both the audience and the judges savored the delicious outfit.

photographed by Naomi V Roland

Naomi Verbong Roland Presents

OF AUSTRALIANS AND CAR ACCIDENTS: 1

A Bitter-Sweet Trip to Pakistan Last winter, The Warehouse went to Pakistan and this is the account of that trip. Yeah, yeah, yeah we know what youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re expecting, but this article is not about the who and when or the apparent dangers and realities on the ground. It is about the offbeat stories, laughs, and a few downright weird and unforeseeable circumstances which need to be accounted for. The first of these occurred directly following arrival at Allama Iqbal Airport in Lahore. Things were going well, a smooth landing and pick-up, yet driving into Gulberg (a residential area) requires passing through a checkpoint: A fact of life which became second nature by the end of the trip. Being stopped by the bumpy halt of the car in front of us was not the most comfortable feeling in the world and we soon realized the car running on empty. Hai Allah, now what? A moment of silence occurred between us, crammed between our over packed luggage at three in the morning. Out pops the driver, ek second ek second, and he quickly reaches into the trunk of his car and pulls out a plastic water bottle filled with extra car juice: Petrol. Clearly, ain't nobody got time for gas stations, and the problem was solved and off we were.

The Car All events on this trip involved a car, some less pleasant than others, but let's begin with the comical: Traffic. Traffic here, traffic there, traffic everywhere yaar. Lahore, a city of 11 million, was fairly manageable for that size, yet one person suffered the most: Our driver. Three times we attempted to go to the Lahore Museum, only on the third try did we make it on time. An hour and thirty minutes taking pictures? He waited. Manoeuvring through the crowded old city? He did it. Everyday a different shop, a different wedding, a different house. And once, yes, a fellow passenger could not keep a toxic mix of food and drinks down. Thus a stop on the side of the road was in order. 'The D' (driver) was a superstar in his own right. The streets are filled with interesting characters. Therefore the traffic did not matter to us. From a historic hijra community (males with feminine gender identity â&#x20AC;&#x201C; third gender) to Pakistani truck art, movement was all around. Beautiful colors, mosaics, and dangling chains decorate these three-story transportation systems on wheels. Giving a few rupees while waiting in traffic would earn you a hijra's blessing. That blessing is perhaps exactly what we needed one night. A common occurrence in Pakistan is to get early morning breakfast or Nashta. As cool as we had become and as empty as the streets were at that hour, we decided to drive fast - Real fast. It was fast enough to miss the curve and slam into the Khaadi wall (Khaadi being a high-end fashion store). The car was tilted to one side and obviously totalled as we crawled out to fifty big eyes staring at the crash site, waiting to help us out, shukriya shukriya bohot shukriya. We learned a lesson that night, no matter how full the streets may be during the day, they might be just as dangerous at night. We rickshawed-it back home.

The Food Every-so-often you would find a group of men carrying drums alongside the street, carrying huge dhols and an accordion. Then you would find them inside a home, playing for hours on end. Definitely a site to hear and see. Definitely music for the most spiritual of us Paan

I know New York is supposed to be the city that never sleeps, but can you order McDonalds delivery at 4AM? I think not. Now McDonalds being your culinary preference after travelling seven thousand miles across the globe was not my idea either, but I was told this is not like any McDonalds you have ever had before. McArabia? Spicy Chicken? Indeed, I was reaching for my Coke more than once to calm the spices. Now if you were worried that we missed out on seekh kebab, parathas, jalabi, biryani, saag, or tikka, you clearly do not know how many events there are in one single Pakistani wedding. By the end of the trip, we had attended a total of 11 events for three weddings, all including food. And clothes for each event. Different clothes. Clearly, someone knows how to celebrate.

The most surprising event of the trip came in the form of a little leaf. That is right: a leaf, a betal leaf to be exact, prepared either with or with tobacco, sweets, or other variations. Just eat it whole they said, it would be delicious they said. Our thoughts? It is like having the rainforest party inside your mouth, sometimes with a side of chocolate. Now we realize that is being a bit unfair to a century old tradition, but perhaps take one bite your first try.

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hijra.jpg

The Australian The oddest encounter and perhaps the most random, was a man named Marty. Or Mรกรกรกdy, as he insisted we pronounce it. He was from, of all places, Australia and he did not care about weddings. He did not care about Islamic architecture. He did not care about food. All he wanted to do was hike in Gilgit-Baltistan (previously known as the Northern Areas). Not that odd of a request, nevertheless it is in the North and by some accounts perhaps not the best areas for tourists, certainly when military men suggest avoiding travel. Yet Marty became impatient, became anxious, and finally annoyed. Thus, one day he set out on his hiking adventure. Alone. A car, bus and plane ride later the legend was safely hiking about, meeting new friends, and even drinking with tribal acquaintances. For perhaps the palest person to ever travel to Pakistan, the journey was saved. In Pakistan, nothing is quite what is seems. 52

Photographed by Renan Ribeiro

Kevin Holicka Presents

WHAT IS CANDY? When I grew up, my mother told me not to ever, ever receive candy of any kind from a stranger. It was quite natural for a 20something-mother to worry the well being of her eldest son. But if you look at my photos from the 90s, my teeth was almost black from caries. You know what they say, if there is sugar, there is an ant. I was hopelessly a victim to anything sweet. That is why I like having wishful thinkings for things that might never happen. Just like an ant hoping to indulge himself into that gigantic piece of cheese cake but simply resist the temptation because an even bigger piece of human hand may squeeze him flat.

The concept of candy itself is very lucrative. A solid proof of our capitalized world where sweets cost next to nothing. Kids cry for candies, teens are secretly obsessed with this guilty pleasure while adults simply have them as necessity. But candy is not all about the luscious things that provide extra sugar boosting your energy. It could be the girl next door with her sex bomb looks. Maybe it is the secret nickname that your boyfriend gave you before going to bed. Or even, candy can be this certain substance that you get addicted to every odd days of the week.

My candy was special. It led me to my very first kiss. Then it brought me to the capital where I discovered my identity. It even flew me all the way to India for an opportunity of a lifetime in a utopia world full of wonders. I met every flavors of candy, but they all never fail to make me happy. Before things turn any bitter, I just recently turned 20 with people that made my birthday a memorable celebration. Five years ago, these candies were all strangers. My mom was right advising me not to ever receive candy from strangers, but she was wrong in one thing: Strangers give you the best candy.

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