ARMOUR IS A MAGAZINE, WEBSITE, A CAMPUS ENCE, A CULTURAL CURATOR. WE EXIST AS A PLATFORM FOR WASHU’S WEIRDNESS, BEAUTY, DIVERSITY, CREATIVE ENGAEMENT.
SEEK TO SOW CHAOS, LYZE COOL, BRING OUT BEST IN EACH OTHER, FAIL SPECTACULARLY.
DIRECTORS OF LAYOUT
Annabel Gillespie John Tischke
DIRECTOR OF MARKETING Ruby Berryman
DIRECTORS OF FINANCE & OPERATIONS Lea Bond Alberto Buzali
DIRECTORS OF STYLING Lenna Bekhiet Coco Yuan
DIRECTOR OF CREATIVE COUNCIL Celia Gerber
CREATIVE COUNCIL Aliya Hollub Kennedy Morganfield Meyme Nakash Dylan Stein
DIRECTORS OF SOCIAL MEDIA Audrey Engman Isabelle Jefferis
DIRECTOR OF VIDEO & ANIMATION
Ava Farrar
DIRECTORS OF WEB MANAGEMENT
Ella Dassin Lu Gillespie
DIRECTOR OF SPECIAL EVENTS & PARTNERSHIPS
Lambo Perkins
This issue is dedicated to Armour’s torch-bearers. Over the past 10 years, this silly little magazine has become a place of community and creativity for so many at WashU. For those that founded us, for those that funded us, for those that fuel us, and for those that chal lenge us to change and grow—thank you.
To ten years and ten thousand more, happy birthday, Armour. May you continue to be the “armour to survive everyday life.”
Greetings goblins, ghouls, and geese. Welcome to Issue 28. The theme and title of this season was Ten. Inspired by both the number and Armour’s 10 years of history, Armourites explored boldly: deep sea cruste ceans, mortality and philosophy, planets, appendages and princesses. We hope you enjoy our ten editori als, book-ended by a retrospective and introspective look into Armour’s ten years back and ten years forward.
In the Spring of 2012, Armour was first published by Chantal Strasburger, Felicia Podberesky and Jacob Lenard to incite a revolution of personal style on campus. They named the publication (originally a street style blog) ‘Armour’ from the Bill Cunningham quote, “fashion is the armor to survive the reality of every day life. To do away with fashion would be like doing away with civilization.” The ‘U’ in Armour is inspired by founder Chantal’s British mother, an extra letter, a little flair. Through their leadership and those that followed, the magazine grew from a 40 page coverage of the latest trends to over one-hundred pages of nonsensical editorials and poetry. Somewhere along the way, Armour became a capture of not just expression in the garment sense, but in the philosophical, political, and social as well. All the while, the magazine has continued to high light our community and promote young artists. With our generous Student Union funding and loyal readership, we have been given the incredible opportunity to indulge the less digestible, useful, and known. Armour will continue to change as our campus culture does, but we hope this publication is always a space for WashU’s originality and play.
origi nality–gods of cool. We see that same spark and power in so many of you.
Thank you for your talent, commitment, and patience. We will always be here to support you. Keep sending us Instagram reels, asking us which professors bite, and Facetiming us at Paddy O’s. We are genuinely so proud to have been a part of your Armour journey.
We would like to extend a special thanks to the Sam Fox School of Design and Visual Arts, our financing friends at Student Union and Treasury, our numerous community and campus partners, our friends at Colour
Spring issues are tough. The school year ends much faster than it begins and the shininess of the first semester tends to wear down a bit. But this semester we saw the team replace flared enthusiasm with evergreen passion, naivety with maturity, and overcommitment zeal with time management and self-advocacy. Beyond anything else, Armour should be a flexible outlet, a repository for your creativity and needs; this spring we truly saw so many make Armour their own.
We write this teary-eyed, wine-sedated, and thesis-grizzled. As the university made the begrudging decision to send us old cows out to pasture, we now pass the Armour torch to the next generation (with white knuckles).
As hard as it is to leave, we couldn’t be more excited for your future. When we first joined Armour, the EICs were a pantheon of adolescent
Magazine for your support in our shared charity fundraiser, our alumni predecessors, and our personal icons (and advisors) Cathy Winters, Mimi Mudd, and Rachel Youn.*
Kisses from the misses,
*After years of service as our advisor and a longstanding commitment to the publication (spot them on the cover of Issue 17!), Rachel has abandoned us as they pursue an MFA at the Yale School of Art. Rachel is quintessential Armour—a beacon of creative excellence, friendliness, and ultimate cool-weird kid chic. Although we will miss Rachel dearly, we wish them and their horny robot plants world domination. Come back and see us soon.
Legs
Schmit
John Tischke
Brooke Cowan
Sophia Palitti Lilly Vereen
Brooke Cowan Sophia Palitti Lilly Vereen
notes from those along the way & our Shrine to Armour on its 10th Birthday
Armour has meant many things to me over the years! First, it was a lesson: if you need a specific space or wcommunity, go out and make it yourself. I started Armour with my friends Felicia Podberesky and Jacob Lenard because we felt a distinct lack of conversation on campus around not just fashion, but personal style. Creating Armour galvanized us to talk to the people around us. It gave us an excuse to ask the intimidating senior about her favorite places to thrift in St. Louis or be invited into the dorm room of a classmate and learn how they turned their space into a home. Beyond the print publication itself was the exciting evolution of distribution: from the three of us strategically placing ourselves around campus at 8AM to nervously greet half-asleep students with the precious few copies of our very first self-fund ed issue—to slightly more glamorous and official launch parties (with an actual budget!). It chal lenged us to learn every aspect of putting together a magazine (if you want a good laugh, check out the layouts of the first few issues…all us baby!) and then understand the importance of assembling a team and delegating to our endlessly-patient photography and graphic design major friends.
The experience I desired and then crafted for myself set me up for success in the professional fashion magazine world, from NYLON to Teen Vogue. The valuable lessons I learned from those Armour years of pitching ideas, writing copy, and building a brand have continued to help me today with my own small business, Read Receipts. Seeing what Armour has grown into over the past decade makes me feel incred ibly old, yes, but extremely proud and thrilled that a conversation we started in 2012 is still going strong.
Neha Nair
Until 2013, I had never stopped anyone on the street (read: the path to Olin Library) to snap a photo of their outfit. I’d never bargained with local St. Louis business owners (shoutout Vintage Vinyl and Cour tesy Diner) to transform their spaces into our next on-location sets. I’d surely never written a Student Union constitution or calculated bulk printing costs before (what devastating cuts do we have to make to this semester’s issue to stay within our strict budget?).
Armour was always a series of firsts. The insanely talented group of editors, writers, photographers, and designers I had the privilege of knowing saw our work represented on campus magazine stands for the first time with peer publications StudLife and WUPR. We watched the digital version of the publication age out of the Blogspot era, and we hit ‘post’ on Armour’s first-ever Instagram photo.
Armour means so many things to me—big and little. Too many to list out in this short reflection, but here are a few:
• I’ve been working in politics for years now, but I like to think Armour opened the door for me. The first person to ever offer me a job in politics walked into the room, slapped a copy of Armour down on the table and asked me, “When can you start?” Unsurprisingly, Armour teaches you some very transferable skills: creativity, collabo ration, humility, and resourcefulness.
• Whenever a friend laments to me that they “cannot pull something off,” I respond swiftly and unironically with a quote attributed to our wise founders, Jacob, Chantal, and Felicia: “If you’re putting it on, you’re pulling it off.”
• The sense of fulfillment I derive from my college experience comes in large part from my involvement in Armour. And it makes me unbelievably happy to know so many Armour alums feel the same way.
When I think of Armour, a few things quickly rise to the top of my mind. The first, the OG Armour—the team, the design, the spirit of we can do this first of its kind. It launched the year before I started WashU, and it was this creative safe space, led by fashion and architecture students.
I also think fondly of our redesign, something we undertook the summer before my senior year along side EICs Charley Jones and Grant Phillips and De sign Director Jacqueline Pifer. We wanted to leave our mark and give the magazine an updated feel— taking what we had learned as graphic designers in Sam Fox and giving the magazine a template. Like charley mentioned, we underwent many versions— landing on a piece of the world of Armour you see now. We also reduced the cadence to once a semester but doubled the amount of pages per issue. More content, bigger launches, parties at the Kemper Art Museum with bands from campus.
The last thing I think about is my mother, Armour’s biggest fan girl and strongest contributor to the wardrobe department. She lived a 15 minute drive from campus, so I’d call and let her know what we were shooting and she’d drive over with a suitcase of clothing from her archive. She’d later piece through printed issues and call out the things that were hers and tell the story of where they were from. I’ll never forget the time we shot at the Hilton Pool in Ladue—it was the one and only time the team ever let me shoot anything and I used her FM2 Nikon she bought in the 80s, she came along and consulted that my focus was right and that the light was in the direction we wanted. Both myself and the model got waist deep in the pool—it to this day is one of my favorite stories in the issue. The year after I gradu ated, my mother passed away and I started to piece through that very archive that had graced the pages of the magazine. Karalena (the then EIC) called me
and asked if I’d write a story about her and what piecing through her things felt like. It was a story about collection and a story about grief and I’m honored that I was invited back to write it.
Armour was on of the most formative parts of my time at WashU. It was a space to play, create, and highlight students, faculty, and the community around us. I was always in awe that the university handed us thousands of dollars every semester to produce a thing that was so big and real.
I think the beauty of Armour is that it got to be a thing for us, capturing specific cultural moments and themes using talent from our student body. I look back at the stories we did, traipsing around St. Louis with suitcases full of our clothing, sneaking into abandoned lots or convincing museums to let us shoot. I’m thrilled its gotten to grow and thrive as an outlet for fashion and art. Long live Armour.
Charlotte Jones Editor-in-ChiefArmour was my crucible for learning what good leadership was - and wasn’t. Looking back, I think about my mistakes as an EIC just as frequently as my triumphs. But what a lucky thing - to have a place to blunt my sharp edges and nudge me to internalize the often trite, treacly expression that more heads are better than one. That phrase is trotted out so often that I don’t think many people believe it. I don’t think I did until Armour taught me I needed to. I remember coming back from my branding agency internship in SF and immediately hopping on a bicoastal zoom with Grant Philips and Lily Sullivan to discuss Armour’s (first) significant rebrand, which only existed in our minds and notes. I had spent some time fiddling around with cover layouts and as I showed them to the two talented comm des majors, the message was clear: sit down AMCS major. I sat down. They and Jacqueline Pifer tackled
the cover and layout design. We were better for it. Respecting other peoples’ talents and knowing your weaknesses is a difficult lesson to learn gracefully, and is a difficult lesson to learn while also having fun. You’d have to ask others if I succeeded fully at the former but I experienced an embarrassment of riches with the latter.
I am indebted to Armour for many things: extreme ly close modern-day friendships, an instinct for composition, an ability to influence and energize without direct power (used daily in my job as a product manager) and a love for and hobby of film photography. Every time I return home my dad holds my heavy stack of Armour magazines aloft and asks - do you still need all of these? The answer is invariably yes. Despite their existence on Issuu, I need to feel them in my hands, to re-experience the emotion of seeing them fresh from the printer, the release of handing them out to students to flip through. I want to look at the cover and remember sitting in studio, spraying sriracha from Seoul Taco as I gesticulate wildly to Lily on why one selection is superior to another. The way we fought like sisters over a pixel to the left or to the right. Obsession. I learned that at Armour too.
I read every Armour issue now and feel like an invisi ble ancestor, grey and wizened, watching down from on high behind my computer screen. The current staff doesn’t know who I am and that’s perfect. They are doing new things with and to Armour - things it didn’t occur to me to do—and that’s perfect. I am so proud, and at times in awe, of the life the staff con tinues to pour into its pages. As the new guard joins the ranks (kids born in 2010 are sooner than we think!), I can’t wait to have the current staff join me in Armour alum obscurity—it’s a good place to be.
When I think back to my days working on Armour I remember late nights amongst friends planning articles and photoshoots. I see it as an outlet to collaborate and find inspiration amongst peers and a space for all students to have fun, play and express themselves. Getting a single magazine to print is no small feat and 10 years of magazines that document the brains and beauty at WashU is something to celebrate. I am glad that Armour continues to evolve with each cohort of students that take it on and share their creative passion with the world.
When I joined Armour as a freshman, I didn’t feel like the typical Armour recruit. I was a B-schooler taking street style photos around campus, and had tremen dous imposter syndrome comparing myself to the talented writers and artists who surrounded me. However, over the next 4 years, Armour’s supportive environment taught me to experiment without a fear of rejection. When Charlotte Jones and I were coEICs, we inherited Armour’s massive growth (shout out to the full ’15-’16 squad) and tasked ourselves with bringing more discipline (never a fun word, especially in regards to a creative project) to Armour. We definitely didn’t always get it right…as we wrote in our last Editor’s note: “for those we ironed out our management and leadership abilities on—we extend an apology.” I am forever grateful to Armour for providing me with some of my best friends, the best career prep I could ever imagine, and an ever-lasting appreciation for glue bound magazines after we transitioned from our stapled issues. I feel giddy whenever new issues come out and can’t wait to see how Armour continues to grow and evolve!
To me, Armour was an extraordinary world where the creative ideas I had only ever dreamed of executing as a high schooler were possible with a little resourcefulness and vision. In my 4 years with the publication, I came to understand the deep power of visual storytelling, which is a pivotal part of my job in the industry today. In a way, Armour prepared me for my current creative role more than
my formal education ever did. Leading the publi cation my senior year was pivotal in my growth as a leader and concept designer, and it was an absolute thrill to see each editorial come to life after hours of MacGuyvering photoshoot sets, editing layouts, and agonizing over every detail (which still hasn’t changed). My time with Armour was proof to myself that I could really make it doing this, and a testament to what talented people can accomplish together with minimal resources, but shared passions. Happy 10 years to the publication that I used to call my baby <3
Armour gave me and everyone else who joined it agency. The agency to embrace and relish our own style—and more importantly, the agency to create without waiting for adults or professionals to give us a chance to. Armour taught me that you don’t need fancy equipment, designer clothes or professional sets to make something good; you just need creativi ty and a team who cares.
Editor’s note: Mikki wrote the following during a bath room break from her adult, late-night pottery class:
The beauty of Armour is that it’s shaped by its bylines, its readers, and its community; it has taken on so many meanings throughout and since my involvement. Under my reign of terror specifically, however, we realigned its workflow closer to that of a real-world magazine: editors and art directors commissioned written works and visuals, creatives were encouraged to send pitches, and directors worked with producers and stylists to plan shoots. In doing so we sought to provide exposure to the editorial process, making pre-pro experience more ac cessible in an industry infamous for barriers to entry.
Through Armour, we—WashU’s creative communi ty—had a network, had resources, had an endeavor larger than the sum of our parts to hold us account able. We had what we needed to make the stuff we needed to make, for ourselves and for each other. I’m writing this from my postgrad posting in Brooklyn, where it can be difficult to produce work outside the influence of market value. In moments of doubt, Armour reaffirms, for me, the inalienable value of creative practice: getting your hands dirty, collaborat ing, and learning something new. Big love to you and yours, Armour, and cheers to many more birthdays.
Armour was without a doubt the most valuable community I was a part of during college. During years when there’s no shortage of things to do, places to go, deadlines to meet—what made Armour spe cial was the people who showed up and logged late hours cultivating our brand for no reason other than passion and excitement about what it could be.
I’m thinking of the students who, between club fair and launch night, became photographers, make-up artists, digital designers, creative strategists, fashion writers, event planners—the list goes on. Unlike anything else on campus, Armour truly offers an un paralleled opportunity to hone your skills, grow into your strengths, and share in the joy of a stunning and entirely unique final product.
Working as a journalist in the years since graduating, I’ve only become more impressed by and grateful to the people who have kept Armour running. It’s not easy creating a magazine of such high quality (espe cially as full-time students!), that only has become more brilliant with age. Cheers to you, Armour! I can’t wait for the next issue.
Rachel HellmanArmour was an incredible platform in my college years to grow as a creative and a writer, and for that, I will be forever grateful. It gave me the chance to feel out what my creative voice was and perhaps most importantly, the opportunity to grow into a position as a leader. Being EIC was a really import ant moment for me, as it meant stepping into the space of imagining a creative vision and executing it. It was so empowering and solidified the fact that I wanted to continue writing as a profession. I also met so many wonderful people through Armour—it was a lovely social space that allowed me to work alongside my friends as artists and collaborators. Now working as a professional journalist, I can now see quite clearly how being a part of Armour influ enced my journey. Happy 10th Birthday, Armour!
Armour was, without a doubt, the crown jewel of my college experience. It pushed me to be the boldest, most creative version of myself and introduced me to some of the most talented people I’ve ever met. Especially during the COVID year of Armour, it was able to provide a level of community that had seemed almost impossible to find. I will spend the rest of my life chasing the high of a successful launch. All my love, forever.
As a WashU pre-med, I was not someone who got to explore creativity every day. Armour became really im portant to me because it was the outlet that allowed me to utilize that part of myself. It felt very freeing and really added balance to my life that I didn’t ini tially know I needed. Being in the creative spaces that Armour facilitates, and meeting other creative people, was very inspiring. It allowed me to consistently push myself to think about the world in new ways and collaborate to bring about new perspectives and editorials. Becoming Editor-in-Chief was an awesome way to give back and allow others to explore their visions, their dreams, their nightmares, or even just whatever they were thinking about that day.
I remember joining Armour as a timid staff writer in the Fall of my freshman year. I sat in the back row of Pitch Fest and, in the last five minutes of the meeting, raised my hand hesitantly to stammer out the title of the first article I ever wrote in college. Every subse quent semester, the Mag provided me with chances to step outside my comfort zone, always encouraging experimentation. Armour cultivated a creative confi dence in me that gained momentum as I continually immersed myself in its vibrant community. From conducting interviews with people I otherwise would not have encountered, to reflecting on my grand mother’s style, to writing strange ekphrastic poems, to becoming an editor of other peoples’ inventive work, I have known Armour to be an expansive and malleable vessel. It can uniquely hold a vast array of creative impulses, mediums, and forms in one space. It gave me an arsenal of mentors, friends, and collaborators that I know I’ll remain tethered to– championing one anothers’ work and continuing to make things together as the years go by.
Armour is so incredibly gooey. Its a big, sticky, gloopy, wiggly thing. It gives you the opportunity to pull off a chunk of a mess so much bigger than any one person and own it– mold it, recolor it, smooth it, destroy it.
To me, it’s been a remedy. When I feel creatively exhausted, Armour is restorative. When I am feeling isolated, Armour is warming. When I am feeling in spired, Armour is a conduit for energy and eagerness. The Mag provides a community of peers, people who see your weirdness and celebrate it. My predecessor served as mentors and friends. They made me feel assured in my creative voice and capable to bring my visions into reality.
More than anything else, Armour is freeing. At the end of the day, there is no point to the organization. We don’t have to be marketable. We don’t have an audience to cater to. We don’t have a puppetmaster or censor. Armour has the incredibly rare opportunity to just be– to act as a reflection of the contemporary thoughts, feelings, successes and shortcomings of those that produce it. In a world that demands more and more productivity and accountability, Armour has become a place to just be.
Serious or silly, new or reverential, holy or sacrilegious Armour is a space shaped by countless voices and in tentions. I hope over the years to see Armour become even more experimental– give me illegibility! As the organization grows, I pray that the infectious slime of Armour Magazine continues to charge the veins of campus’s boldest, sexiest, self-assured muckraking muck-makers.
And so on the muck-makers go...
Maxine Roeder
Haley Harris PHOTOGRAPHY
Lily Kapner Emily LapidusJess Piard
Ava Farrar
Lily Kapner
Maxine Roeder
Abigail Cannon
Mona Li
Yasmin McLamb
Ava Morgan Shelby Roach Sidney SpeicherAnnabel Gillespie
Follow rising junior Maxine Roeder, a Fashion Design and Biology double major, on her self-described “chaotic” and “thrilling” journey of creating this series of stunning late-Victorian Era inspired dresses as a passion project this Spring. Carried from the brainstorming phase to the final photo shoot, Maxine facilitated the construction and detailing of six full-scale historicalmeets-modern pieces made largely of environmentally-conscious fabrics.
Maxine’s initial intrigue sparked further research on mid-to-late-Victorian era attire, collecting both design methodologies and visual references that served as base silhouettes that she could work outward from.
Building mood boards and drawing sketches allowed Maxine to begin conceptualizing a modern flair on the Victorian style. It was this step where she realized she could maintain the decorative elements of the style that she admired while reimagining a look that aligned more closely with her design values.
Maxine’s fascination with fashion and costume design began in childhood, as she assembled a series of evening gowns for her collection of Barbie Dolls. As she got older, she was able to transfer these same skills to human-sized pieces.
While enrolled in a fashion history class at WashU, Maxine immersed herself in decades of the past, making note of a variety of aesthetics and sensibilities. The Victorian era caught her eye because of its decorative style, frilly gathered elements, and delicate floral motifs. She was also drawn to the style for its capacity to be played with, altered, and reclaimed most readily.
human-sized pieces.
Silk, some of which were deadstock or remnant material.
chose to use a combination of more sustainable textiles such as Tencel and
some was repurposed from old projects. For the rest of the fabric, Maxine
are meant to be dresses that can be moved around in.
old projects, discovered either in studio or in her home in New York City’;
important to Maxine to make her pieces non-restrictive. These
imize waste, much of the fabrics used were found scraps and remnants from
prioritizing environmental and social consciousness. It was also
mind: sustainability and creating pieces that are liberating to wear. To min
process sought to preserve the style’s luxuriousness while also
When approaching a design project, Maxine keeps two central tenets in
often quite wasteful in its utilization of resources, so in her own
Maxine notes how the construction of Victorian pieces was
Admittedly, Maxine spent several all-nighters in Sam Fox making these dresses, because, she claims, “it was fun.” One of the nights, her best friend joined her in the studio for a sleepover while she worked. This nocturnal dressmaking schedule gave Maxine reign over an empty studio so she could spread herself out. Maxine placed each dress on its own table, giving her full freedom to hop between pieces and work on multiple at once.
Upon her return to St Louis, Maxine used draping methods and pattern drafting to bring her vision to life. The bodices of the dresses were constructed first, complete with drafted pattern ribbing and corset-inspired backs. The skirts came second, a more freestyle process that depended on the movement of the fabrics she had. She also began hand-sewing the decorative floral appliques that adorn the dress es–made with multicolored pieces of spare fabric scraps leftover from this, and past projects.
The repurposed fabrics Maxine used for the dresses were also hand-dyed in an array of pinks, peaches, and blues. Much of this work, she admits, was done in the bathroom of her dorm room, (which is not something she recom mends doing, by the way!)
Maxine almost missed her flight home to New York City, as she decided at the last minute to stuff a suitcase to the brim with her newly-dyed scrap fabric. Lugging her dressesto-be to the East Coast, she made plans to begin cutting her pieces over Spring Break to prepare them for assembly.
On the day of the shoot, Maxine had the chance to see her hours of labor and care come to fruition in a cohesive visual landscape, as her pieces were worn lovingly, styled inten tionally, and frollicked around in freely.
She sells feet pics online but doesn’t make much money from it. She only takes the specific requests– stepping on boiled potatoes, digging her toes into kitty litter, getting every little piggy caked with mud. It makes her giggle.
She sells feet pics online but doesn’t make much money from it. She only takes the specific requests– stepping on boiled potatoes, digging her toes into kitty litter, getting every little piggy caked with mud. It makes her giggle.
Her schedule is confusing, enviable, and strange. It’s full of invite-only jazz bars and sold-out concerts, drunken pot lucks with friends and dinners alone, weekend road trips to the World’s Largest Ball of Paint, and flights to see her high school friend whos an up-and-coming New York musician, artist, influencer, sex symbol.
They used to hook up. She dumped them.
Her favorite snacks are boiled eggs and pickles. She eats chocolate chips straight from the bag stored under her bed while she reads. She can’t sleep without a little some thing sweet.
Since her sophomore year of high school, she’s been the undisputed queen of Halloween. One night she’ll be dressed skin-clad, smokey-eyed, fish-netted, pat ent-leather-wrapped, gelled-hair, thigh-high booted. The next night she’ll be Grimace.
She’s really bad at texting but always picks up phone calls.
You’d think she’s a fashion major by the way she dresses, but she’s a computer science whiz, an English minor, and an Ervin Scholar.
When she’s talking about something exciting, she’ll ram ble and lose track of the conversation. Then she hesitates, gets a nervous and defeated look in her eyes, and apologiz es for making no sense; but you always enjoy her tangents.
Over the summer, she asks for your address and sends you little handmade cards. They’re not sweet or cute. They’re crudely folded pieces of construction paper with googly eyes and sequins and puffy paint and sharpie that bleeds through to the back, all scented with straw taps from her empty 5th-grade stocking stuffer perfume bottle.
She always has chapstick to share.
When she showers, she lets her makeup run down her face and draws pictures with her hair on the walls. After finishing in cold water, she admires the perkiness, droops, freckles, and folds of her body in the mirror while listen ing to Stromae.
Her laugh is scary, full of snorts and cracks. She’ll throw her head back and cackle or press her chin into her chest and scrunch her face. Either way, it’s loud and lovely.
She has a habit of biting her nails.
On Fridays, she sometimes attends Shabbat at her profes sor’s house in Clayton. She babysits for their kids when they go on dates and walks their seventy-pound rescue dog around campus when she’s feeling sad.
She carries around a little digital camera with produce stickers stuck to the back.
Tonight she took you out for dinner. You were surprised she asked you. No one has talked to you much since your frat boy boyfriend dumped you. You and she used to be in the same friend group freshman year. But then she called the nice girl with the nice dorm and nice alcohol in her nice ottoman “fake.” The fallout was nuclear. You and her lost touch. But the breakup broke down already hollow friendships. Turns out the nice girl was less nice once you weren’t her automatic party bus ticket.
During dinner, you and her make friends with the wait er. She’s always nice to waiters. They bring you free shots and chocolate cake for dessert. When the check comes, she insists it’s “her treat.” She just got paid.
Feet pics give her just enough pocket money to take care of her friends.
NOW
Neptune:
Eris, your flirtation with lowliness
Is coming to an end.
You may bask in my holiness, I call you, now, my friend.
In your silver face I see a new shining radiance, Which makes you more than miscellaneous.
The Solar Panel met, and we’ve agreed to decree To make you a planet, not just orbital debris.
Raevyn
Mairead
John
Eris:
Once just a dwarf erring in obscurity, I rotated, I waited, and waited For this consummate maturity. Oh Nepture, I am simply elated!
My ego has grown, as has my status. I’ll be the sterling star of the space apparatus. For eons, I’ve yearned to sit at your side, Now with Mercury and Venus, I share in your pride.
Eris: [Awash with self-worth}
Wait just a minute, Neptune.
This reeks of neglect.
Eris is dwarf, a ditz, a near-moon
Though I mean no disrespect.
I have been saying this for years so why even try, But, frankly, should she be a planet then so shall I. She swooped into your orbit, but I don’t care. Nothing about this news seems remotely fair.
Eris, I regret to inform you, but inform you I must: Your status has fallen through A dwarf you are just.
I fear we acted with unfortunate haste, And rocketing you higher was in poorest taste. With the sun’s hot decree there was no debate, There is no one quite like the core greater eight.
Neptune, your words stung and chilled
My heart, you have shattered.
My dream’s unfulfilled, You made me think that I mattered.
This was the meanest injustice in all of the galaxy, Neptune I beg that you correct this fallacy. You led me to think I might be a planet, a god. But now you tell me I’m nothing, it was all a facade!
Pluto:
[witnessing a familiar pain, a change of heart blossoms]
Pluto:
Neptune, I apologize sincerely for my outburst, My anger was wholly misplaced. If our roles were reversed, I would hold Eris in distaste.
Though she did nothing to earn her ascension, Which in fact is my point of contention, And though her hubris was fully disgusting, To my new non-status I am still adjusting.
Pluto:
Eris, though my condolences might seem fake, And my actions might be held in distrust, I am sorry for acting a snake, What happened to you was unjust.
I was blinded by my days in the sun, I felt forgotten, and by you, outdone. But I hope we can turn from envy and disgrace, To two be sisters, the classiest dwarf planets in all of space.
I sat down with Bo Schmit on a rainy day in early March. We met in his studio in the basement of Walker Hall in the Sam Fox School at WashU. He let me sit in the plushy chair situated on the left side of his studio, the resident “napping chair” for him and his studio mates. He sat across from me on a stool. The objects of his installations–suitcases, dresses, fabrics– lay scattered and hung all around the studio. His handmade sculpture objects line the studio’s table among a smattering of individually-named stuffed animals and colorful books. Time melts away as we chat.
CW: Brief mention of topics surround ing the representation of sexual assault
HJH: OK, so this is something I’ve been do ing with my friend a lot recently… we give each other our “image of the day.” It’s a way to locate your soul in this world through a physical object or depiction. So, Bo, what is your image for today?
BO: My image for today is an alien that is very close up. I have a specific screenshot in mind. It’s an alien that is very close up and washed out because the lighting is terrible. Like a classic gray alien. Blue lighting. Big eyes. It’s from a video called “Area 51: The Alien In terview” on Youtube and it’s like, 104 minutes long. It’s a whole documen tary from the ’90s. It’s clearly such a prosthetic alien head that’s hidden in shadow, and they’re just like talking to it and
shit. It’s really bad. But it’s the image of the day.
HJH: I wanted to ask next where you’re from.
BO: I’m from Salem, Missouri. Which is a rural town in the Ozarks, about two hours outside of St Louis. It’s sandwiched between Jeff City and St Louis, so like dead-cen ter of Missouri basically. Again, very small, rural town. I think our pop ulation was like six or seven thousand growing up. The school I went to had a graduating class of around 100 every year. And there was only one high school in my town.
HJH: Whoah.
BO: Yeah. and My par ents have actually recently moved to Rolla, Missouri. Which is moving up in the
world. *Laughs* It’s thirty minutes away from Salem, and it has a college. So, you can imagine, it’s the more bustling town. So that was exciting. To be in a house that is closer to a Steak n’ Shake was crazy.
HJH: Huge for the program.
BO: Yeah! Life-changing. I’ve never been the same.
HJH: It’s all about the proximity to Steak n’ Shake, really.
BO: Honestly. Like, Lowe’s, Steak n Shake, 3-minute drive? That’s it. All you need.
HJH: OK, so Sa lem, Missouri.
BO: Yeah, like, the Witch’s Place.
HJH: How was it grow ing up there? What was the visual landscape, and what did a day in your life look like?
BO: An average day was going to school, and for a long time it would be going to daycare after school because both of my parents worked. So the bus would drop us off at daycare. I have a young er brother, who’s 2 years younger than me, and we were pretty close growing up. So we would go to daycare together and had friends there. Our dad would pick us up and then we’d go home and have a nice little home-cooked dinner at home. And then, obviously, as we got older, it was like… so what do we do to have fun in this town? And I never per sonally experienced this, but this is like, the culture
of Salem, Missouri, is that a lot of the high-school boys will go to a very spe cific parking lot. The one with the Dojo, the Floor Laminate Company, and the Subway all occu py the same micro-mall situation. They’d go to that parking lot and just like, have fights? Smoke. Hang out and talk about their trucks. For hours! And that was the happen ing spot. The crossroads.
HJH: I love it. The park ing lot culture of it all.
BO: It’s like, you go to the Walmart and hang out by walking around the Walmart, or you go to Shawnee Mac, which is a little lake around there, and just walk around the trails. But luckily, my best friend growing up– her dad was the local lock smith. The only one in
town. He bought and renovated a building that used to be very similar to a Chuckee Cheesetype business. It was a children’s entertainment warehouse, where there were things you could climb on, there were mul tiple ball-pits, all this. He bought it, and turned it into a locksmith shop. He converted the upper level into a home theater. So, in high school, I spent basically every day after school going over to this home theater, playing vid eo games, watching mov ies, and shooting pool. So that was cool. And, it was right next to the Walmart.
HJH: Conve niently placed.
BO: Yes, on the other side of the Walmart Parking lot. We could just walk on through. It was great.
BO: I currently am some one who likes to laugh a lot, but when I was a kid, it was all highs and lows. I’d be laughing my head off, couldn’t stop for twenty minutes. But if I ever got sad, it was like, bawling tears. My mom also describes me as a very socially-awkward, shy child. People would come up to me and try to talk to me as a little child and I would just hide be hind her and not make eye contact with people. I think I’m best described by my favorite T-shirt growing up. Which is a pink, camouflage short sleeve t-shirt that has a Winnie-the-Pooh icon smack-dab in the mid dle. Totally unrelated. Just Winnie-the-Pooh, straight up. Pink Camou flage. It’s sensitive, it’s soft, but also Butch-Adjacent. A lot of character there.
HJH: How would your
smarter than me. I’m su per fascinated by the ways they are a million times better at something than me. I like to know what I feel like I understand very well, and to see someone else exceed at something totally different is really exciting to me. I think that I like to surround myself with friends that I see as very powerful in very different ways. A lot of different skill sets, and a lot of different ways of approaching the world and seeing situa tions. A diverse group of thinkers and talents.
HJH: I love that. Have you heard of that saying “you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with?”
BO: That’s so true, I feel. I think spending time with other people is ob viously rejuvenating, but is also building yourself
something you always knew about yourself? Was it a lightbulb mo ment or did it hap pen in increments?
BO: I think there’s a spe cific moment. When I was really young, I drew com ics. The first comic I ever drew was about an angry bull. I was like five years old, and I drew this lit tle flip-book of different scenes of this bull just be
consistently. Like, that was something important to me. As a six-year-old. And that is something that has stuck with me. Just the experience, espe cially, of drawing at school and getting in trouble with teachers because I would draw all over my homework. Just being aware that it was a priority over whatever was hap pening up on the board.
ing mad. My mom says she took it to her work and she was so impressed that I knew to give the bull an gry eyebrows to show that it was angry. She was like I knew from that moment. But making those comics as a kid, I always go back to one that I made– it’s so silly now–it was a com ic about a monkey who loved chocolate instead of bananas. It was inspired by Bobby Jack. It was so derivative. I just remem ber thinking I need to draw these ears
HJH: So your young self would draw these comics, what did high school look like for you in terms of your art? What mediums did you have at your disposal?
HJH: To be friends with the local lock smith. Incredible.
BO: He was also a magi cian in his off time. He per forms for local events and parties. He can do it all.
HJH: Magician X Locksmith. What I’m trying to be.
BO: Oh, yeah.
HJH: How would you describe your young self?
BO: Very emotional.
HJH: Mm, me too.
*Laughs*
BO: I think my friends would describe me as talkative. High-energy. Bubbly. I think some of my friends consider me smart. *Laughs* OK, this is gonna sound corny, but I'm a Gemini. So like, so cial butterfly, bubbly, may be not super emotionally intelligent. So just laugh ing, joking around a lot.
HJH: And how would you describe your friends?
BO: Oh, my friends. I would describe them as… great. Funny. Powerful. I think that all of the people I like to spend time with I really consider to be much
and them up through this feeding relationship. Like becoming better and better at things, both on ladders at the same time and helping each other climb up to new levels.
HJH: Oo, I love that image. And when did you know you were an artist? Was it
BO: Well, high school was skipping out of class to go spend hours in the art room. I would fin ish my math homework early and go spend the next three hours working on something in the art room. Largely, that ended up being really basic ce ramic pieces. We did a lot of hand-built sculptures and just really small-scale firings. But also a lot of traditional drawings with both oil pastels and crayons and pen cils. Lots of two-di mensional stuff.
My art teacher was actually the per son who con
vinced me to go to art school. I was like, I can’t make it as an artist, so I’ll just find something else to do. Maybe I’ll become an accountant, I don’t know. *Laughs* And she was like, you will not be hap py doing anything else. At least go to school. If a school offers you enough money to go there, you need to make that happen.
HJH: As a second-semes ter senior, like you, I feel like I’ve been in this really reflective mode recently, considering the nature of the time. I’ve been think ing a lot about all my dif ferent eras in the last four years. I was wondering if you had any poignant eras you can pinpoint…
BO: I definitely had my Cherry Tree Era. Where it was like, I’m gonna do
my homework and I’m gonna get a little treat. And that is how I would spend a night. Just like getting my little cheesecake and minding my own business.
BO: Something I’ve also been reflecting on re cently because I’ve been working with Avery John
son on an installation, is the time period when I met her prior to her Gap Year. We had a ceramics class together, and some times I think back to that and how drastically I have changed from that era. At the time I was dyeing my hair red and I was wearing high-waisted pants with shirts that were not good. Just like, not great shirts. Really bad shirts. And I still do that, but I think that it works a little bet ter now, hopefully. At the time I was also working re ally intensely on a ceramic sculpture for like, months. So it was a lot of time in the ceramics studio, head phones in, just being en tirely in my head and in my hands. Now I feel like I’ve become more of a person.
HJH: Two things– love the shirt you’re wearing. Great shirts in your cur rent era. Also, what was the
sculpture you were work ing on in that time period?
BO: It was something I ended up just calling “Road Kill” because this was before I knew how to title anything. It was basically a set of four dead animals. A coyote, a raccoon, a bird, and a lizard that were intended to be lying on their back, feet up in the air, X’s for eyes, all in a stack. That didn’t quite pan out– they can stack, but it’s not the most stable. It was this piece that I spent a mil lion years on–kind of carving fur. It was a really reflexive and really med itative process of zoning in. Now that I think about it, actually, that proba bly had a large impact on my process now, which I consider very therapeu tic. Spending a lot of time working on something by hand leads to quiet mo ments with myself where I think about things and
Spending a lot of time working on something by hand leads to quiet moments with myself where I think about things and let things go.
let things go. That proj ect was probably my first branching into that with out me even knowing it.
HJH: That leads me right into my next question. To start, I am wonder ing what the moment of inspiration looks like or feels like to you. And then what does the actu al art-making feel like?
BO: The moment of in spiration is usually the flash of an image across my brain. That’s how it’s been for the last two years basically. I’ll end up mak ing something that I just saw momentarily in pass ing in my brain. I sketch it down a bunch of times and I start putting things together in space and then the thing is there. And so, the making process from that, I guess, would be ma terializing something that just briefly made an ap pearance behind my eye balls and just letting my
self be driven by material and color and relationship to the body. A lot of time is spent picking through fab rics and also gauging how big something should be. Not with a tape measure or actual measurements based on how big some thing actually is, but just kind of spacing my arms out, standing back from it, seeing how it kind of fits up to my body. That has honestly resulted in a lot of my stuff, for a long time, being scaled really small. I started out doing things that were more bodysized. A lot of the stuff I made throughout the first two years of college was approximately the size of my torso. So I’ve had an intentional effort to kind of break out of that and say, OK, this is enough. I need to make something big. I’ve been making big things since then.
HJH: To briefly circle back to the images that
flash across your mind– I study and write poetry and I think I experience something similar. Do these images come to you ever in dreams, or like, while you’re waiting in line for coffee, or perhaps while you’re walking?
BO: It usually comes about when I am some how getting into some sort of relaxed enough state. I’m never going to see something that in spires a sculpture while I’m actively working on something else. But a lot of it comes from sit ting and having my sketchbook nearby but may be reading something or
watching something. Kind of absentmindedly. For me, it takes moments of not really doing anything to have things and ideas start popping up. I have had a couple of
times where I’ve woken up from a dream and imme diately grabbed my sketch book, just scribbling in the dark. And then I wake up and I’m like, OK, well I can’t use this but thanks for
trying I guess.
HJH: That’s like my Notes App.
HJH: Totally. I know what you mean about a re laxed mind, though. It’s so essential. And it’s so hard to achieve that in an envi ronment like WashU. And like, under capitalism. That moment of rest, for me at least, feels like it al most has to be curated and
get back at it. Maybe not the healthiest way of do ing it. But that’s usually how it happens. These relaxed states come about after multiple late nights in studio and having that day where I can’t really get out of bed. So I’m going to try to let things pass by me today, and hopefully, something will stick in my mind and I’ll be able to get started on something else.
HJH: Yeah, I’ve come to cherish those days where
working on something and rushing to grab some thing, that is kind of when other people will recog nize, oh, he’s in it right now. So, very intense fa cial expressions of concen tration and my eyebrows being furrowed. Definite ly meditative. Just last night, I had a late night in studio and realized that multiple hours had gone by, but I was doing some thing that was new and fun to me. So it was kind of interesting to enter a
chosen. I would love to hear how you get yourself into those relaxed modes.
BO: I definitely agree that there has to be an inten tional choice sometimes, to not do anything. For a lot of people, that’s re ally hard. Because there’s a lot of pressure of like, if you’re not being pro ductive then why are you even here. And so, for me, it usually ends up being a case of work, work, work, burn myself out, sleep for a couple of days, and then
you let things just wash over you. Do you subscribe to the idea of a flow state?
BO: Yeah, I definite ly think flow is real and super cool. I know that when I’m working, when I’m really working, I kind of tune other things out. I rush around a lot. I’m also someone who really likes to talk to people, and people will usually try to start a conversation with me because I am very talk ative and enjoy conversa tion. But if I am actively
different space after doing all this work and be like, I feel good and it’s 4AM? And it’s crazy that that can even be a possibility.
HJH: Totally. If you could create a working definition of flow state, how would you define it?
BO: I think the rest of the world kind of melts up around you and you are surrounded by this space of both productiv ity and pleasure or en joyment, and that space
can’t really be interrupt ed by anything but the completion or complete severing of that connec tion somehow. It’s a space where everything else is quieter and further away.
HJH: Wow, yeah. I’ve also thought of it as an immense presence. I really like how you mentioned time slipping by without realizing– the feeling of, it’s 4AM– why do I not feel like shit right now? It sort of is this weird space that is so present that it almost doesn’t exist in linear time or some thing. I’d also love to ask you, now, about your art. Which I love. I’ve no ticed a motif of intimate enclosures and an act of peeking through, specifi cally in Changing Room and Cheap Tricks and Guys Named Dick. Also in The Phenomenon of Mourning Things Which were Never Lost. I am so fascinated by these medi ated layers of vision. I was wondering if you could tell me about the impetus for projects like that, the process of creating, and the themes for creating.
BO: I really like your words of “mediated lay ers'' and also “looking as an impulse.” Conceal
ment, as well as interior and exterior relationships, are really important to a lot of my work. I think I use an interior-exterior discrepancy. Like having the outside be something different than what’s on the inside, and setting up expectations only to break them or twist them in some way. That, to me, is a tool for portraying dif ferent socially constructed binaries in the same light. So equalizing my own dif ferent variety of life expe riences under this branch of the same kind of view ing device. My work is very object-based. So by having that interior and exterior relationship, it means the object is becoming a body. It has an outside that is being perceived and then it also has its own interi or reality. So whenever I would talk about my work previously, for example during Junior Year Pre sentations, I would really stress the way my work is informed by exterior per ception. And the ease at which people are able to label something just by seeing it and thinking they recognize it as something, while the interior space can be either more real or more fantastical. That is another binary I am really interested in. Hallucina tion versus fantasy. This idea of questioning the validity of a reality that is being presented to you, like is this actually what I think it is? Is this some body’s idealized version or is this somebody’s worst nightmare?
Just having all of those things on a level
playing ground and re ferring to them all as a reality is really fun to me.
HJH: I’m fascinat ed by your reference to hallucination. Tell me more about that.
BO: I very recently found the words for this. Be cause before, I would think about that binary as fantasy versus false memo ry. But I recently read an
olence in an ambiguous and undefined space vi sually. Which leads people who have that experience inflicted upon them to have a difficult time pars ing out what reality is. It becomes a second-guess ing of, is this thing that has occurred to me just my misunderstanding of someone else’s fantasy? Is it my own hallucina tion? Is it really as bad as I think it is? And this cy cle of questioning reality all comes from a lack of representation, basically. I think that one of the
HJH: I’ve noticed how some of your installations seem to unfold in space. Specifically, Knowing No Better They Burn it Down from the Inside and The Quilt as well. I’d love to hear about the objects you choose, and what that pro cess of selection looks like.
BO: I hadn’t really put those two together in my mind before, but now that
sion out of it and a banner with something on it. So that form was what I initially saw and was inspired by.
article from a book about contemporary photogra phy and politics that is ad mittedly pretty difficult to get through. It’s written by Ariella Azoulay and called “Has Anyone Ever Seen a Photograph of a Rape?” It is about how by not pub lically exhibiting images of sexual violence in the same way we exhibit pho tos of other kinds of vio lence, that places sexual vi
things that really draws me to extrapolating the body out onto objects is it makes things that people are too uncomfortable to address easier. Like if you can see a suitcase instead of a body. And so that is what I hope to get at in the things that I make–to make something more universally recognizable because it doesn't have that barrier of entry.
you say that, it was kind of a similar process of assem blage. The Quilt took a lot of meticulous hand-sew ing and making to put together these panels on it. But then when it came time to display these pan els I had already had the image of what I wanted this thing to be, before I even started handmaking I knew that I wanted a suitcase that had an exten
BO: And my mom, the lovely Joy Schmit, got me this luggage set for mov ing to college which was the red clam-shell suitcase that I use in that piece as well as it has a little trav eler bag companion. So I had these things in my apartment at the time, and made it work. And then a lot of the rest of the making process came from building up from that color scheme and tex tures that are in the suit case. And trying to match the paint on the PVC pipe to the same color of the fabric of the suitcase. It was kind of interesting to start out with this ob ject and say I know I want to do something with it, and let every decision be led by should I do option A or option B, and choose which one is closer to whatever the suitcase has going on. So that was very fun. And for the candles piece [Knowing No Better They Burn it Down from the Inside], the sanctuary lamp is the only thing I made by hand. It is fabric and paper mache over a cardboard infrastructure. So, it took some time but it wasn’t a very meticu lous task. But I started out with that object as my thing to base the rest of the stuff on because I made the sanctuary lamp. I had wanted to do a dif
ferent in stallation with it originally that did not pan out. I knew I had to do something with it, I had to show it as something more than just an object I had made. And then I went to the Goodwill Outlet and found this here [a child’s vintage long-sleeve white dress] as well as its little companion over here [a smaller size of the same dress]. It was great. Liter ally, they were gently laid, perfectly flattened across one of the Goodwill bins.
HJH: They were placed there for you!
BO: It was like a spot light was shining down on them. I started with the sanctuary lamp, found these dresses, I had got ten this little brown case at a studio sale, and all of these things were just ob jects that had been float ing around my studio for a couple of weeks. I knew I wanted to do something with them. Actually, on the same Goodwill trip, I found two tablecloths, and those are the brown fabric things on the ground. So, I had all of these things that I liked and thought spoke in the same visual language. They all repre sent different things, but I ended up getting into the installation space and spending five or six hours just putting things up in different configurations,
think that one of the things that really draws me to extrapolating the body out onto objects is it makes things that people are too uncomfortable to address easier. Like if you can see a suitcase instead of a body. And so that is what
hope to get at in the things that I make– to make something more universally recognizable because it doesn't have that barrier of entry.
moving things across the room, and asking how far away does this need to be from this, in order for it to feel like they’re in a con versation with each other but that they’re also two distinctly different spaces. That was the first time I did an on-the-fly assem blage. It was really fun, and I enjoyed it. I don’t think I would have been able to make something that I ended up enjoying as much as I did if that hadn’t come at the tailend of last semester after I kind of set my mind on sorting through a partic ular instance. I find my self relying on particular memories. Every semes ter, I try to work through one thing. Instead of going to therapy, I just spend a couple of months making art about it.
BO: I had spent a couple of months last semester trying to get at some rep resentation of this memory of mine. Finally, it just took getting all of the pieces and spending some time with them to put them together in a way that felt right to me.
HJH: It’s so cool to have the context for that piece [Knowing No Better They Burn it Down from the Inside] being assembled during that five to six-hour window. The instanta neous creation. Having all the parts and pulling them together. And so begin ning with the sanctuary lamp– was this piece call ing back to the church?
BO: Yeah, so a sanctuary lamp is a red glass lamp that hangs to the right of the altar in a lot of Prot estant churches.
I grew up Luther an,
so we had one. It’s ba sically a light that stays constantly lit to represent the ever-present pres ence of God. To say, “His light is always there” or “He’s always watching.” So yeah, heavy church business last semester.
HJH: Heavy church busi ness, indeed. I grew up Protestant, too, and went to an Episcopal school. There’s a weird shared vo cabulary there, I think.
BO: Well it’s weird though, too, because there are even strange hi erarchies. The Lutherans are all like, “Those bap tists aren’t getting into heaven” and everyone else is like, “Oh those Lutherans are drunks!” you know? It’s weird.
HJH: Totally. The ban ter is crazy. So, this piece, you say, was working through a specific memo ry– how did you know it was the right time to work through the memory?
BO: Hm, that’s a good question. I had spent the semester before this in two classes I felt I was drastically under-prepared for, and one of those was a photography class. The professor was so kind and understanding, but I am by no means a photog rapher. I’m really bad at it. And that’s totally fine, but I really struggled in the class. So I ended up pursuing this final project that had no photographs in it. Instead, I spent a month just talking to peo ple and listening back to conversations or notes that I took and kind of challenged myself to write
these reflections the night after or the day after, or the week after, or two weeks after. To just see where these conversations led me in my own pursuit of memory. Before this, I felt like I really couldn’t remember a whole lot of my childhood. I think that’s something that just happens in junior year of college, you realize there’s a blockage there. I wanted to get down to the bottom of it. So I set out to exer cise my memory more. Through these conversa tions, I kind of came out of these reflections thinking, like, oh this person in my life has these connections to their family that I feel are very similar to con nections to my own. I remember talking to
one of my friends about her younger brother, and I have a younger brother, and thinking about how close they are and how close I am to my brother. Feeling this nostalgia for my own past through peo ple telling me about theirs. Which is arguably greedy.
BO: But I do think it was something I needed at the time. The final project for this class ended up being these baby blankets that were sheer fabric with some text reflections writ ten on them. That was just a point where I kind of let myself be like, OK, it’s OK to indulge in a mem ory. And so after that, I spent part of the summer
You reach a place where you realize there were good times, there were bad times, and it becomes easier to see the evolution rather than just broken up time chunks that are neatly sorted away.
in Virginia with some re ally cool people, and some of the best parts of that experience were getting to know everyone better and talking about our lives. That led me to just being able to feel frustrations towards things that had happened to me in the past. It was a culmination of things that led to this moment in time at the beginning of last semes ter where I was like, this
representing it through my words on the page.
BO: Yeah, and I wouldn't consider it running away from the past, but I think there’s kind of a rebel lious era where you say that’s not me, that’s in the past. But it all kind of catches up to you. You reach a place where you realize there were good times, there were bad times, and it becomes
times, absurdity. I think that’s why it’s endlessly available as a resource for art.
BO: It’s almost always changing because of that, too. And just like, what ever you’re around in your current space, that’s gonna bring completely different things up. To just be able to spend time and reflect on those mem ories can be difficult in this environment as well.
HJH: Totally. I feel like sometimes I’ll even pick up certain scents in the air as I walk around, and it will be like “this is from when I was nine years old in a forest.”
BO: Yes. I love that. Any time I smell the first smell of spring, I’m like, my window is open, I’m nine years old. It’s great.
HJH: What has been moving you lately? What has been turning lightbulbs on for you?
BO: Lately, it’s been goofing off. I feel like last semester I got into a re ally serious place. I kind of had to recognize, hey, you like to make things with your hands and you like to make jokes, so let’s do that again. So, again,
with fake porn. And so it’s all of these porno covers that have different slogans and excerpts. There’s fake insulation on the walls, and where normally “di rections” for installation would be printed, we’ve swapped it out with “erection.” We’ve also in cluded just a list of dick jokes from Google. It’s been really fun. It’s for a printmaking class I’m in right now, and I’m also in a sculpture class but I
work there to make that happen. Hopefully, it will pan out in some capacity. There’s a space over there, it’s a gorgeous beautiful space, called Domestic. It’s a gallery they don’t use super frequently anymore. It’s this apartment build ing that has a great mix of the worst wood-paneling you’ve ever seen and this lovely green and baby pink wallpaper with floral pat terns and there are holes in the walls and a little
haven’t touched my sculp ture project for a week. I’ve just been spending time goofing off! It’s been rejuvenating lately.
v
HJH: Final question for you– what’s next for you? If you know, because I certainly don’t know for myself.
BO: I don’t have any setin-stone plans, that’s for sure. But there is an op portunity I am excited about that would hopefully pan out in Granite City, IL. They have their art and design district, GCAD, and they have a couple of buildings that are converted into art spaces, like gallery spaces but also commu nity spaces. And Sage Dawson, just absolutely wildly said, what if your first post-grad show was at GCAD, and what if we figured out a way to make that happen? So, the cu rator over there is gonna be coming in and doing studio visits very short ly and so I am hoping to just set some ground
bathroom where the door is held open by chick en wire, and tiny little bathtub and a tiny toilet.
HJH: Your oasis!
BO: We visited the site and I almost fell to the ground. It was like fall ing in love. But I’m really drawn to that space and re ally hoping that I’ll maybe get to do something there.
HJH: I will love to see it when it happens. Bo, thank you for spending this hour and something with me.
BO: Thank you! This has been great.
can find Bo’s work here:
You’re told at ten you’ll die at eight, what will you do before it’s too late?
Speicher
Sam Brady-Myerov
Daniel Osemobor
WRITING
Reni Akande
Sophie Goldstein Becca Tarter
PHOTOGRAPHY
Sophie Goldstein MODELING
Yabsera Bekele
Sophie Goldstein
Kiv King
Claire Magnuson Anna Theroff
Christophe Wassmer
Sam Brady-Myerov Annie Ferdman
VIDEOGRAPHY
Daniel Osemobor LAYOUT
Annabel Gillespie
I’m not sure I know the difference between love and love. I see his name on my phone and I smile. I read his text and I smile. I text back and I smile, harder, because with him I can speak in my most absurd tongue, and because he knows me well enough to re spond in kind. He calls me often, if not daily. He wants to see me, to sit together on my pink suede sofa or in the middle of my living room floor – I am a floor person, as he has come to be – and do nothing, anything. Everything. We play Scrabble and he’s quiet, quieter than I’ve ever seen him. The first time we played, he won. The next, he lost.
I think of him on the nights I drive home late. I know that he’s up and I know that he’s home. I call him. I ask what he’s do ing, which I do on the nights when he doesn’t call me first. One way or another, we talk into the ether, at each other, and I smile, knowing that this is what love is supposed to feel like. Reciprocal, stable. Love, love, it doesn’t matter. Ours is a re
lationship that exists beyond the bound aries of colloquy.
He called me the night after our first date, and I didn’t answer. I didn’t know him well enough to answer coolly, Hey. I texted him. Sorry, I think I missed your call. What’s up? He responded, Call me.
I didn’t see him that night but the night after, when we made a dinner of salmon and potatoes and brussels sprouts, and he asked permission to kiss me. He asked if he could lower the strap on my dress. He asked if he could rest his hand on my thigh. He was a man who called in place of texting, communicative and respectful. A man with staying power.
My first love sent packing lists in place of Good morning texts, which I liked better. Be ready in 10. Bring a bathing suit and towel. Remember to pack a granola bar, I know you get hungry. Oh, and a pair of sweatpants. We’re going on an adventure. I fell hard for the barista who took interest in the progress of my manuscript and shared with me his burgeoning novel. I wrote my name and number on a yellow post-it and passed it over the bar, saying something like If you ever need another reader. He never called. We never addressed it. Months later, he told me that this was his last day, that he and his girlfriend were moving to Chicago. Finally, I understood.
Mayme Nakash
I live in two worlds. One is a world inside my head, abounding with familiar ideas arranged in various impractical permutations that generate new thoughts with unknown outcomes. It is inhabited by curves and lines and sometimes textures and amorphous figures which circle my brain, inspiring perpetual chaos. It is a rewarding world, breathing life into otherwise inanimate, fleeting ideas, but the second one holds far more power over me because it exists outside my head. It began to manifest between the first and second decades of my life, when I could no longer recognize myself beyond the fragments of the person I used to be.
My mom always wanted me to be an artist. I remember once coming home from the first grade, a notepad clutched in my arms, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over me as I presented her a sketch of a woman I’d never met before (surely, she was a resident of the world fabricated inside my head). As we sat together, squished between the leather folds of our living room couch, we fantasized about art schools and galleries where I’d one day make profound (snooty) comments about the spatial composi tion or value scale of a given piece. That was all before I stepped foot in the second world, planting firm roots in the expectations of those around me.
As I grew older, studios sprawled with easels and stools became rooms with endless rows of desks, lined calculatedly by proctors who smelled funny or wore too much makeup for a Sunday morning spent with hormonal teenagers. I’ll never forget the sensation of my legs sticking to the plastic chair beneath me as I sunk deeper and deeper into a stream of consciousness not unrelated to the equation glaring back at me from my desk. Outside my head, “I” was a number defined by a number that yielded from some test my body and soul physically resisted. Inside my head, “I” was an unknown variable subject to change at any given moment, unbounded by time and space. At war with two versions of myself, I had to decide whether I would be a real number or an imaginary one. I chose to be real.
Years later, in my first year of college—when the version of myself I loved most was gone, or at least, forgotten—I laid in bed on what was a regular Monday afternoon, paralyzed by the ubiquitous ques tion, “Who am I?” As I buried myself deeper in the folds of my sheets, memories of long nights spent looming over a sketch pad came back into view, the bitter scent of charcoal mixed with the sweetness of thin mints filling my nostrils. I replayed this scene in my head over and over, until somewhere be tween scribbles and strokes, I remembered the person I used to be.
Many regular Monday afternoons later, I’m still remembering that person. I recall her most in mo ments of starting a second project before finishing a first, when I feel too inspired to wait. Or when I use cost-benefit analysis to weigh whether I should study for an anatomy exam or spend hours leafing through Fashion Week’s ready-to-wear collections (knowing good and well that I’ll end up with a more informed understanding of the pleated skirt than the types of innervations associated with a given part of the nervous system). Moments like these remind me that my north star isn’t “success,” but rather a passion for language and the arts. And if I’m doing things right, maybe I’ll grow up to resem ble that sketch from the first grade:
X
a woman fabricated by a little girl with a notepad.
A Mouse, grey and small, tiptoes to the edge of dusk; once there, he quivers, tail rose-pink and delicate and vibrating madly. He wrings his hands—or is it paws?—as he waits, not quite knowing for Who or What or Why or really even Where he is, because how can one crawl along heaven’s peripheral in the papyrus skin of man, a hoax conjured in Moses’ pale dreams— He pauses. Shying away from the sun, pepper-hot and draped in the pelt of Coyote, a tremble running across earth-ground and along spinal cords and into teeth already chattering with reverberations of yesterday’s sin. Coyote does not grin/grimace/bear her teeth— mushrooms flourish in the dampness beneath slick tongues, borne of saliva and hot breath. In the New Mexico desert, creatures with bellies ravenous crawl out: from sand and glass, from under bridges nursing parched creeks, from hibernating in cacti agua, chasing the wind currents northbound with a palate for the sticky-sweet.
Coyote, instead, turns glowing eyes upon the Mouse. Petrified, urine runs hot down his leg, a soldier’s beacon against stillness and frigid threats of farewell trailing the horizon. We must be on the moon, he muses dazedly; I will devour you is her response. Fur, little bones, fragile organs— even the blood quickening in your veins.
Mouse had left his burrow in disarray, however–dust devils and bits of lizard and leftover clouds cluttered on bookshelves and kitchen sinks and scattered across dunes, under whose sands, regrets fossilized. I wish I had cleansed this space of its filth before light had sunk into the night, and taken me with it.
Saguaro flowers’ redolence permeates and carries on the breeze, sifting-ash through wingtips so delicate and hush-soft that all traces of sound are brushed into a little pan and disposed of, neatly, in silent oases.
Burrowing Owl is giddy–her young are hungry, and a rodent is a fine catch when all you have sustained upon for a month are thoughts and your children cannot gorge themselves on starved dreams. She is coming, she comes, forth, onwards.
Mouse lies still now.
It’s time, he believes, for doors to crack open; and for him, hesitantly, to alight from the bus at its final stop.
The side of his tongue rubs against his teeth; the sore chafes with a warning sting, and he winces in regret. Talon and claw synchronize, beak plucks, tooth tears— and the fickle desert proffers a needle to the Mouse in his final hour.
“Tonight, too, will end graciously,— it harbors tomorrow on pretense” Paola Santiago
He won’t take it, not at first.
Better give it to the horned toad or jack-rabbit, groans Mouse.
Even the harvester ant and their colony. Some body who still cares.
The desert won’t relent, it never does.
With a sigh, the sand pushes the needle down, neatly, into Mouse’s damp palm. Your move.
Aching muscles twitch reflexively, a faint heartbeat echoes in the abyss.
With Owl and Coyote clashing viciously, rolling in the wind above him, Mouse raises the needle, points it compass-North, and races towards the canyons over which the glowing moon waits.
Fortune, Upright Elaine Choy
Water drips gently off a marble edge, streams caress the floor into little mirrors.
One step–waves ebb, endless.
A lucky penny carried in a back pocket, its surface smooth and matte.
Curved in familiarity.
A stone with comforting weight laid reverently on a windowsill.
A lightly-torn four-leaf clover, thin and frail– pressed in a book.
A silver orb hangs by a thread, drawing arcs in supple air.
Flowers and vines move with the breeze, tangling closer as a sharp current dances past broken wooden stumps from brittle trees.
Ladybugs slowly circle the edge of the fountain, choosing not to move closer, though never staying still.
WHICH IS ALSO KNOWN AS
MORE SIMPLY, IF YOU PREFER,
Ava Farrar
Ben Levine
WRITING Sidney Speicher
Ben Levine
Curran Neenan
Yabsera Bekele
Mona Li
Lilly Vereen
Madison Hunt
Ava Farrar
Annabel Gillespie
John Tischke
In the lobby of a hotel under a chandelier of suspended diamonds captured stars
I sit on the stairs eating a lobster.
Marine Marie is what her name was when I bought her in the store. Now I stain my ballgown dress with buttery pink slivers of crusty crustacean and contemplate the purpose of high heels.
The man in the tux across the hall Is staring at me and I want to shout “Don’t be crabby” Because he’s being rude.
I decide I don’t like his face, the way it looks like a stern glob.
I wonder what he would do if I stuffed his handkerchief with lobster and tucked it into his pocket.
There is a carnival north of here All lit up with happy faces, shining lights. Marie Marine and I decide to attend Because it’s by the ocean And it smells of salt.
I win a stuffed crab from the claw machine Ha…claw…crab…lobster.
I feel kind of bad, eating a lobster in front of it.
We decide to sit by the ocean. I stir the water with my feet Lob some stones into its depth Stir-lob: Lobster
I wonder why they sell (shell) lobsters and crabs the way they do.
Now, under the real stars, I look like a slob Eating a lobster and holding a crab in a ballgown dress. Maybe I am being rude…poor stern glob in a tux was right to stare.
I feel like the karma is following me…the claw-ma? I take my heels off.
Marine Marie, my stuffed crab, my heels: fly under the moon before hitting the water with a pattering of splashes.
Then wipe my hands clean on my dress.
Lob my Lobster under the stars – Lob Lobster Star Easy fix.
Our editorial was born out of a desire to uplift and recognize the beauty of queer Black and Latino folks, specifically meditating on the artistry that was born out of the blooming ballroom scene of the 1980s. This piece seeks to give space to the next generation of queer representation, demonstrating their capabilities in filling the shoes of their pre decessors. In conceptualizing the shoot, we drew information from the popular documentary, “Paris Is Burning,” the TV show “Pose,” and Marlon Riggs’ documentary “Tongues Untied.” There is much credit due to all three, as each one gave us great insight into the community and helped us get to know the Ballroom scene better.
The idea of a new trans visual grammar refers to the need for a new form of visibility for trans people in society, one that does not define itself by white, cis-heteronormative standards.
Leena Bekhiet
Victoria Brigglier
Leena Bekhiet
Victoria Brigglier
Reni Akande
Ella Dassin
Ben Levine
Eyit Bada Aries Ballard
Bariat Bashiru
Lawton Blanchard
Marc Ridgell Shalah Russell
STYLING
Leena Bekhiet Madison Hunt
MAKEUP
Bariat Bashiru Shalah Russell
Maxine Roeder
LAYOUT
Annabel Gillespie
Features quotes from FX’s Pose
Marlon Riggs highlights the importance of the Ballroom culture for combatting the HIV/AIDS crisis, a form of intervention coming directly from black queer individ uals. Riggs writes about the importance of social spaces in decreasing the threat of the epidemic, where the people who participate in the Ballroom culture “have the opportu nity to be nurtured, to experience pleasure,” and to live a safer, more fulfilling life. When surrounded by a community that under stands the struggle, queer black men can learn how to keep themselves safe from HIV and AIDS, while also bettering their life in general. Additionally, intervention practices born out of ballroom communities help shift harmful narratives of the queer black male demographic in Ballroom being an “at-risk” community and reveal the spaces of mutual support they provide aided by performance. The very idea of a community being “at risk” in an epidemic often centers actions of the af fected individuals, which inadvertently assigns blame to them for their own vulnerability.
The popular television show “Pose” exempli fies a new trans visual grammar, portraying a variety of romantic and sexual relationships where trans people engage in sex and real relationships that do not make their identity the core focus of the scene. Although “Pose” and other shows like it have recently broken into popular media, trans visibility did not always present itself in such an unproblem atic way. Representation has been thought to provide sufficient visibility for trans people and their struggles, but the full scope of the
trans tipping point is growth in visibility paired with the silencing of less privileged trans people and the violence they face. As it stands, representation gives the public a false idea of progress for the trans commu nity as the smiling faces of gorgeous and perfectly manicured women grace the covers of magazines, when low-income and heavily discriminated against trans people who “constituted the ground” for the modern era of trans visibility are left in the shadows. Not only are they kept out of the limelight, but they are actively assaulted by transpho bia. Trans people, especially women, live in fear of being brutalized on the street or murdered by a prospective partner after informing them of their trans identity. The issue with the trans tipping point is that although it provides visibility for trans people in the media and could potentially raise awareness to the public about what it means to be trans, it actively hides the struggles of thousands of trans people who are not deemed right for the spotlight. This means that mostly white and affluent trans people have been represented in the media, without sufficient recognition of women like Sylvia Rivera, a woman of color who fought for trans rights.
The following excerpts are from FX’s Pose, in which Elektra Abundance responds to white transphobic women telling her to quiet down.
“None of these things make you a woman. Your uniform of ill-fitting J.Crew culottes, fake pearls and 50 cent scrunchies cannot conceal the fact that you do not know who you are. I know our presence threatens you.”
“God may have blessed you with Barbies, a backyard with a pony in it, a boyfriend named Jake and an unwanted pregnancy that your father paid to terminate so you could go to college and major in being a basic bitch.”
“We fought for our place at this table, and that has made us stronger than you will ever be. Now pick your jaw up off the floor, go back to your clam chowder and shallow conversations. My girlfriends and I aren’t going anywhere. Y’all heard that?”
Sophie Goldstein
Meyme Nakash
Sidney Speicher
Sophie Goldstein
Haley Harris
Logan Krohn William Satloff
Coco Yuan
John Tischke
Maddie Savitch
in 10 years... I’ll be unabashed
introspective. the Sidney synthesizes seniors’ self-speculations
Director of Styling
I will accept myself like I accept my city. Loud nois es, chaotic energy, and a confident presence. I will be seen. Catch me always in colorful suits - slacks, of course - but never in sneakers. If you see me in heels, run the other way, because I’m about to walk all. over. you. After all, what the heel were you thinking, cross ing the line with me? I don’t tolerate that.
If you’re hoping to buy some accessories this week end, be careful, because I’m already wearing them. Statement pieces are associated with my name: big bags all the way, massive rings, chunky jewelry, flashy sunglasses, billowing headscarves. I’m your fashion Pinterest boards icon and don’t you forget it. I prom ise you won’t see me in Aritzia because, quality over quantity, always.
It’s guaranteed that you’ll be stricken by my emotion al independence, my empathy toward others, and my love for myself. No one can make me question what I know, which is that I’m here to do what I need to do. Or at the very least, I’m here to own these fabulous vacation homes. Somebody’s gotta do it, after all ;)
Have you heard about the newest book on absurdism/ sex/presentation of anxiety? It’s mine. You can tell by the cover because, well, it’s me. Arms crossed, ciga rette lit, and eyes geared directly at the camera. I see you reading, and you meet me while reading. Carrie Bradshaw is no more; Sophie Goldstein has entered downstage left.
My taste in men is exceptional. Each one is worthy - not only because he reads well - because he is kind and thoughtful and intelligent and sends me excerptsfrom his books that remind him of me. He contin ues to do the work to earn my affection because he knows my worth too. Respect is everything, and my relationship has it.
I can hear myself, 10 years from now, better than I can see myself because of my heels. They’ll announce me to every room. I’ll be wearing a well-tailored pant suit and red-bottomed pumps and handbags that are the envy of everyone. I will command attention. I’ll have power in my career, in my love for myself, and in my goals. I’m a woman for women; more than that, a woman for myself.
Title upon title sir. dr. will-YUM Satloff, that’s who.
Honorary chair of this big department you’ve defi nitely heard of at some institute of sophistication that everyone wants to associate with. Every corner of the world has been touched, stepped on, and visited by yours truly and if a country’s stamp isn’t yet on my passport or the handwritten letter I wrote you, just give it a few weeks.
You can find me in the attic or guest house of a gorgeous Tuscan villa (not mine yet, but maybe in another few years). Think: Voltaire somewhere hilly with olives and good earthly soil for my pottery. Oh, and you can bet said pottery will be strategically placed throughout the villa for all to see and comment on.
If I’m not making pottery or traveling the world, I’m keeping up with the evolution of Scandinavianminimalism in women’s wear. It’s all about neutrals - NOT color - and texture and volume. If a math problem and high fashion had a dream wardrobe to gether, it would be my closet.
The brand is this: Sir. Dr. Will-Yum Satloff, inaccessi ble, Matte, ornato.
That’s who.
By the time I’m 32, I’ll already have come to terms with my mortality. I’ll be someone who wakes up every day feeling excited about the things I’m about to accom plish and creatively stimulated in every part of my life. If your most aesthetic, quirky, aspirational Pinterest board were to come to life, it would still pale in com parison to my 10-year plan.
I’ll be wearing the kind of outfits that make people stop in the streets and whisper to their friend’s thingslike where do you think he got that? Or oh my god I wish I could pull that off! Think: feathers, curls, tinted glass es. Your grandma’s best jewelry, your dream thrift finds, and vintage meets modern meets me. No one needs to know I bought all my wacky prints while day-drunk shopping with my girlfriends and only wear them out of regret for the charge they put on my credit card, butthat’s the truth.
At the end of the day, I’ll be that 30-something withthe coolest townhouse. It’ll have wallpapered ceilings, a chair that people are nervous to sit on, and a mono chromatic room that gives blinding headaches. My real element of stability will be with my pet jumping spi der, and I really hope my college succulent will still bearound…optimism is key.
By the ripe age of 33, I have shed my incessant sec ond-guessing and am in full remission from Imposter Syndrome. Instead of filling my days wondering when the other shoe will drop, I trust that I can handle itwhen it does.
My closet is entirely composed of Edwardian night gowns in a range of sheer pastels, which I wear around the house, to the grocery store, and to the Club. On my feet? Rain boots. Good old Wellies. Rain or shine.
I live in a Tiny House. Its interior is wallpapered with lily pads and postcards. I have adorned every spare cor ner with Cookie Jars and Piggy Banks. I spend my days editing essays, reading poems, and making Sculpy clay figurines while blasting Charli XCX.
Annabel Gillespie
Logan Krohn
John Tischke
Alaina Baumohl Leena Bekhiet Lea Bond Sam Brady-Myerov Victoria Brigglier Wolf Chen Brooke Cowan Ava Farrar Sophie Goldstein Jessie Goodwin Lily Kapner Abbie Leonard Ben Levine Mona Li Alex McLaughlin Ali Meltzer
Meyme Nakash Daniel Osemobor Sophia Palitti Maxine Roeder John Tischke Lilly Vereen
Leena Bekhiet Victoria Brigglier Violet Chernoff Elaine Choy Sophie Goldstein Haley Harris Logan Krohn Meyme Nakash Paola Santiago Sidney Speicher
Reni Akande Nina Bergman Ella Dassin Jessie Goodwin Sydney Hou Lily Kapner Kate Kunitz Emily Lapidus Erin Lee Ben Levine Dear Liu Alex McLaughlin Curran Neenan Daniel Osemobor Jess Piard Helen Piloto Owen Rokous Maddie Savitch Cloris Shan Becca Tarter
STYLING
Alaina Baumohl Leena Bekhiet Lea Bond Sam Brady-Myerov Mairead Burnwell Laney Ching Brooke Cowan Ava Farrar Annie Ferdman Alice Foppiani Cara Gillow Jessie Goodwin Haley Harris Madison Hunt Lily Kapner Logan Krohn Abbie Leonard Sophia Palitt Faith Phillips Maxine Roeder Bo Schmitt Lilly Vereen
Eyit Bada Aries Ballard Bariat Bashiru Yabsera Bekele Lawton Blanchard
Abigail Cannon Brianna Chandler
Raevyn Ferguson Sophie Goldstein Eloise Harcourt
Haley Harris Kiv King Logan Krohn Mona Li Claire Magnuson Halla McKenzie Yasmin McLamb Bryanna Mendez
Ava Morgan Annika Pan Faith Phillips Marc Ridgell Shelby Roach Parker Robinson Shalah Russell William Satloff Bo Schmit
Sidney Speicher Anna Theroff Lilly Vereen Christophe Wassmer Leah Witheiler Coco Yuan
and orginal Editors-in-Chief: Jacob Lenard, Chantal Strasburger, and Felicia Podberesky
For ten years,and ten years more.
