Parsons Illustration Class of 2022
Longing and How it Functions Without Any Limbs:
Fold after fold after fold, unfolding. A sensation or sensational masquerade underneath autonomy or loneliness. Sometimes there is a sense of voyeurism, outside of yourself, perverted and welcoming. A shift that shows yourself in the light of fracture or something celebrated. A never-ending audio piece, an outline that governs your life. Outlining otherness and revealing something lacking. Something that is lacking being your only will to live or a terrible habit you’re trying to kick. A living artist refusing to see their own exhibit as a form of nothing-ness or a paradox or something vaguely in between. An invitation that is futile or still attached to you by the umbilical cord like you are its mother. A mother, something of a phantom or a presence in your palms. The definition of “an innocent bystander” as something being tethered to yourself or something that your life is building up to. Becoming yourself like walking through a sterile entrance and filling an orifice. An orifice that is left unpenetrated but is still full of gunmetal or upper, middle and lower body parts. A rife navigation of the issues of first, second and overturning. The order of “things” or what leaves you breathless. What leaves you feeling like you’re holding a sense of pleasure?
A lexicon of external mediation or something working in tandem to the way you are. You are delayed, producing delay. A chapter, broken off, waiting for the next episode. Periodical certainty, turning and returning. Yourself as multiple layers of removal or the first thing you ever heard being immediately contradicted. Unfolding— this feeling, this fugitive feeling that someone is no longer asking, but rather, showing or telling you that this is a list of yourself, a form of unraveling.
Words: Gwyneth Giller
Picture: Ana Curtin
Carefully look at this mask–Reveal to everyone why do you feel this sense of longing?
Pieces of a story, a narrative of transformation, an untold story.
This is an idol, reminding you, reminding you, That you are different.
Speak to this idol and reflect. This story will remind you that you are different.
Masks of the past, masks of reminding, two demons holding you back. Show your true face and move forward.
Words: Julian Turovsky
Picture: Sezi Kaya
Words: Hana Massalski
Picture: Abigail Mcguire
i’m supposed to be but all I can think of is sunshine and lavender and you can’t help but think that i should get lost nestle in the gaps of your arms while you sleep while I sleep
funny that i see you everyday (but i still miss you) or who you were a year or two ago
not that i don’t love you. i do i do i do
just nostalgic for the past and maybe miss me too
i’m supposed to be daydreaming but all i can think of is brown eyes and past lives and you
Bumble bees kiss the corners of my pale yellow home
Cross legged
Wooden chair
Baby blue pinstripe lined little dress
I make a pattern out of the chirps coming from the crooked trees Back and forth between them & the slow violins
Drowning each other out in cacophonous ease
Brooklyn enclave Womb I reside in
Breach my head outside
Watch the sky melt as the minute hand ticks & the branches become silhouettes
My color of choice
When the blue sky turns softer
A little dull and gray & the goosebumps raise & I remember how warm I once was Tangled up in your white cotton sheets
Words: Ana Curtin
Pictures: Ana Curtin
Longing is temporal mutation. It is a microscopic eternity. It is impatience boiling over - the excruciating mechanism of losing one’s mind. Longing is waiting. Roland Barthes writes that “waiting is an enchantment.” As the lover counts each breath, itching at his wrists, held captive by his desire, his waiting is a beautiful prison. This process of waiting is “woven out of tiny unavowable interdictions to infinity.”
‘“Am I in love? - Yes, since I’m waiting.” The other never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game: whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely: I am the one who waits.”’
Excerpt from Roland Barthes’, A Lover’s Discourse.
i’d like to have passed you a note all those years ago
about how we’d find ourselves, puffy eyed, eating cotton candy together during the last snowfall of march, bellies full of warm soup, mouths dripping with laughter. about how my eyes would meet yours, & separately, we’d think: “how lovely it is to grow older & younger with you.”
Words: Sally Chen
Picture: Sally Chen
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Cover: Anna Bhatt
Title Page: Xiaoyu Jiang
Opening Page and Credit Page: Waldo Baez
Design: Catrin Morgan
Printed by Conveyor, Jersey City, NJ
Special thanks to all the AMT staff who have supported the Illustration Program this year.
Senior Thesis Faculty: James Bascara, Guy Billout, Caitlin Craggs, Maëlle Doliveux, Jon Han, Jordin Isip, Nora Krug, Melissa Ling, Catrin Morgan, Chang Park, Qiaoyi Shi, R. Sikoryak, Lale Westvind.
Senior Thesis Teaching Assistants: Aekta Khubchandani, Lena King, Alana Saab and Damien Roos.
