Ginger #22: Fall 2020

Ginger Networked feminism

Issue 22

Fa l l 2 0 2 0

Mission

SOPHIE KNIGHT

HANNAH MODE

Ginger maps networks of creative people. In keeping with the logic of a network, all of the contributors to this issue were referred by an editor or contributor from a previous issue. As a feminist publication, we are committed to supporting the work of womxn, non-binary, and gender nonconforming individuals.

Our goal is to produce a zine with a diverse range of forms, content, and perspectives.

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ISSUE 1 ISSUE 2 ISSUE 3 ISSUE 4 ISSUE 5 ISSUE 6 ISSUE 7 ISSUE 8 ISSUE 9 ISSUE 10 ISSUE 11

AMY BERENBEIM CLARE BOERSCH HANNAH NELSONTEUSCH

SOPHIE OAKLEY

STEPHANIE VON BEHR

LAUREN ARIAN

ABIGAIL HENNING

KAYA YUSI

JULIETA BELTRAN LAZO

ISSUE 12 LANI RUBIN

ISSUE 13

MOLLY ADAMS ALEX CHOWANIEC

ISSUE 14

CAROLINE LARSEN

ISSUE 15

CONNAR WESTON

ISSUE 16 ISSUE 17

JULIANA HALPERT

MARTHA WILSON

ISSUE 18

DREA COFIELD + GABY COLLINSFERNANDEZ

ISSUE 19 ISSUE 20 ISSUE 21 ISSUE 22

LEAH JAMES

NINO SARABUTRA

NICKI GREEN

SALTY XI JIE NG

BRE WISHART

GABRIELLA PICONE

JENNY BLUMENFELD

ALANNAH FARRELL

AVIVA ROWLEY

JOHANNAH HERR

JULIE ZHU

LILI JAMAIL

JESSI LI

EMILY LUDWIG SHAFFER

ERI KING

LAURA BERNSTEIN

DEVON GRIMES

JUNE T. SANDERS ELIZABETH TANNIE LEWIN

SARAH MIHARA CREAGEN

JEAN SEESTADT

PAOLA DI TOLLA KARLY SMITH

JILLIAN JACOBS HEATHER LYNN JOHNSON

OLIVIA JANE HUFFMAN

EMMA FLAHERTY

ALISON VIANA

KATY McCARTHY KAVERI RAINA

LEJLA KALAMUJIĆ + JENNIFER ZOBLE

SAM CROW

ANNA GURTONWACHTER

C. CHAPIN SHALA MILLER

JORDAN REZNICK STAVER KLITGAARD

ASHNA ALI CRAIG CALDERWOOD

ERIC DYER

CARLY FREDERICK

CHRISTINE SHAN SHAN HOU

CHARMAINE BEE

AMIA YOKOYAMA

Ginger is run by Markee Speyer and Jacqueline Cantu. Reach us at gingerthezine@gmail.com.

Fall 2020

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ISSUE 1 ISSUE 2 ISSUE 3 ISSUE 4 ISSUE 5 ISSUE 6 ISSUE 7 ISSUE 8 ISSUE 9 ISSUE 10 ISSUE 11

ISSUE 12 NP SANCHEZ

ISSUE 13 ISSUE 14

IRENE CAVROS

ISSUE 15 ISSUE 16

KRYSTA SA

ALLI MALONEY

ISSUE 17 ISSUE 18

LEYLA TULUN

ISSUE 19

ANNA CONE

MARTY MANUELA

CAITLIN WRIGHT

ISSUE 20 ISSUE 21 ISSUE 22

GRACIE BIALECKI

KATIE MIDGLEY JESSE HEIDER

ISA RADOJČIC LIANA IMAM

JOEY BEHRENS KAITLIN McCARTHY

LAUREN BANKA

JAN TRUMBAUER HEIDI BENDER

MOLLY SCHOENHOFF

HAYLEE EBERSOLE

KATIE FORD

NATASHA WEST

CARLA AVRUCH ELAINE HEALY

AMANDA LÓPEZKURTZ

ASTRID KAEMMERLING + BECCA J.R. LACHMAN

AMBER HOY

CARRIE GREEN

HALA ABDULKARIM

COURTNEY KESSEL + DANIELLE WYCKOFF

JANE SERENSKA

GIMO

ASHLEYDEVON WILLIAMSTON

WOLFGANG SCHAFFER

ELESE DANIEL ERICA McKEEHEN ABBY FRIEND

DELILAH JONES

LORI LARUSSO LETITIA QUESENBERRY

MEGAN BICKEL

NATALIE EICHENGREEN

JACQUELINE MELECIO

MIMI CHIAHEMEN JULIANA LUJAN

JORDAN LANHAM

MEGAN SICKLES

NATASHA MIJARES

Ginger

BRITLYNN HANSENGIROD

ALEXIS CANTU

TALI HALPERN

JESSICA LAW

MICHAELA RIFE

KIRUN KAPUR

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JULIA DUNHAM

EIRINI PAPAEFTHEMIOU

LEIGH SUGAR

JENNIFER FANDEL

KRISTINA HEADRICK

JAZZY MICAELA SMITH

ITZEL BASUALDO

ALEX PATRICK DYCK

DEVYN MAÑIBO

MARIA R. BAAB

AGROFEMME

MARIE SÉGOLÈNE

BONNIE LANE

KATHERINE TARPINIAN

DOROTEA MENDOZA

S.E.A. ISSACHAR CURBEON

MISIAN TAYLOR

ARIEL JACKSON

BRIE LIMINARA

MS. NIKO DARLING

ANA GIRALDOWINGLER YI-HSIN TZENG

EEL COSTELLO

CAITLIN ROSE SWEET

NANDI LOAF

TRACI CHAMBERLAIN

CARMEL BROWN

COURTNEY STONE

IVY HALDEMAN

SOFIE RAMOS

RACHEL ZARETSKY

JESSICA PRUSA EMMALINE PAYETTE

HANNAH RAWE

FELICIA URSO

HARRIS BAUER

NATALIE GIRSBERGER

VANESSA GULLY SANTIAGO

EMILY WUNDERLICH

ANDREA GUSSIE

ASHLEIGH DYE

ENA SELIMOVIĆ

RACHEL WALLACH PAULAPART

KELSEY KEATON

FREDRIKA THELANDERSSON

SOFIA PONTÉN

HERMIONE SPRIGGS

LAURA COOPER

LEIGH RUPLE LA JOHNSON JESSICA WOHL

MAYON HANANIA

KATHARINE PERKO

SHWETA BIST SARA LAUTMAN

DEENAH VOLLMER

NATALIE BAXTER

JOLENE LUPO

KATE WHEELER

MOLLY RAPP

INDIA TREAT

ELIZABETH SULTZER

TIFFANY SMITH

MARIA NIKOLIS

RACHEL KANN

BECKY BRISTER LINDA STONEROCK

PRIYANKA RAM

EMILY ROSE LARSON

CYNTHIA ALESSANDRA BRIANO

ERIN MIZRAHI

TYLER MORGAN

B. NEIMETH

BRIE ROCHELILLIOTT

ULRIKE BUCK

ANNELIE McKENZIE

LAURA McMULLEN

HANNAH MCMASTER

RACHEL BRODY KATHLEEN GRECO

DEBORAH DAVIS

CATHERINE AZIMI

ALYCE HALIDAY MCQUEEN

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ISSUE 1 ISSUE 2 ISSUE 3 ISSUE 4 ISSUE 5 ISSUE 6 ISSUE 7 ISSUE 8 ISSUE 9 ISSUE 10 ISSUE 11

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ISSUE 12 LANE SPEIDEL

ISSUE 13 ISSUE 14 ISSUE 15

CLAUDIA GERBRACHT

ISSUE 16 ISSUE 17

MARIE HINSON

SARAH K. WILLIAMS

ALEX VALLS

ISSUE 18 ISSUE 19 ISSUE 20

KATHERINE PATIÑO MIRANDA

ANNE MAILEY

LEANNE BOWES

ISSUE 21 ISSUE 22 ANNIK HOSMANN

KERRI GAUDELLI

MEREDITH SELLERS DEVIN DOUGHERTY

MIRANDA NICHOLS LAURA PORTWOODSTACER

ALESSANDRA CALÒ

MAKEDA FLOOD

MADELINE DONAHUE

BIA MONTEIRO JESSICA KIRKHAM

VANJA BUČAN COLLEEN DURKIN

KATRINA SORRENTINO

KASIA HALL KATHRYN LEIGH

MINNY LEE

GROANA MELENDEZ

VERÓNICA PUCHE

JENNIFER WEISS

COREENA LEWIS MARTHA NARANJO SANDOVAL

KAT SHANNON

MARISSA BLUESTONE

LUCA MOLNAR

JISOO BOGGS JEN COHEN

LEXI CAMPBELL

BIRAAJ DODIYA

NEELA KLER

MARIA STABIO

PARADISE KHANMALEK JESS WILLLA WHEATON

SONYA DERMAN

KAITLIN McDONOUGH AMARA Y. NORMAN

KATIE VIDA MOLLY HAGAN KOHINOORGASM REBECCA BALDWIN CAMERON RINGNESS

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OPULENCE ABUNDANCE

TONI KOCHENSPARGER

JESSICA MAFFIA

Issue 22 contributors Karly Smith............................... PAGE 09 Kathryn Leigh........................... PAGE 15 Lili Jamail.................................. PAGE 20 Amara Y. Norman..................... PAGE 25 Jisoo Boggs.............................. PAGE 27 Sarah K. Williams..................... PAGE 33 Miranda Nichols...................... PAGE 39 Shweta Bist.............................. PAGE 45 Opulence Abundance............ PAGE 51 Julieta Beltran Lazo................ PAGE 54 Cynthia Alessandra Briano..... PAGE 61 Kohinoorgasm.......................... PAGE 63 Jessica Maffia.......................... PAGE 66 Ashley-Devon Williamston...... PAGE 71 Johannah Herr......................... PAGE 74 Emma Flaherty......................... PAGE 79

On the cover: Piece from Caged series

by Jisoo Boggs

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Ginger

Fall 2020

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Karly Smith

if i am here, then where are you?, 2020, paste and newsprint, 7 x 9"

Fall 2020

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KARLY SMITH

what you look like alone, 2020, paste and newsprint, 3 x 5"

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KARLY SMITH

but it's been so long, 2020, paste and newsprint, 3 x 5"

Fall 2020

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KARLY SMITH

this time last year, 2020, paste and newsprint, 4 x 6"

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KARLY SMITH

2017, photo paper, spray paint and newsprint, 6 x 9"

Karly (she/her) is a Brooklyn-based interdisciplinary artist working with text, photography, found objects, earth particles, metal, paint and paper.

She holds a MPS in Creativity Development from Pratt Institute and a BFA with a concentration in Sculpture from Tyler School of Art. Karly employs space in her work by disconnecting shapes and figures, allowing the negative space to hold the viewer like a conversation. Drawing inspiration from the monotony of everyday life, her artwork nods to small details of the world around her; the small cracks in brownstone banisters, a leaking faucet in an empty studio, the lint on the back of a strangers coat. Her work has been featured in group and solo shows in Pennsylvania, New York and Italy.

Fall 2020

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Kathryn Leigh SALON DYNASTY

In Golden Lotus Day Spa, I am a flip-flop princess on egg clock time, feigning deafness for sounds my eardrums already know. A young girl who must be the manicurist’s daughter reads Cinderella on a massage chair, as her mother calls me piàoliang, jīngměi and other words I am not. It’s simpler to leave our shared history unspoken. Noticing the cracks hatching my heels, Yolanda—a name stitched across her smock that I’m sure is not hers—props me on a leatherette pedestal and bends over the basin, grinding callouses to soft flesh. From behind the butterflied book, the girl asks if I’m a half-breed, the term my grandfather used to describe me, and Yolanda erupts the way my mother did when I was to be seen and not heard. I hide my eyes behind a magazine before Yolanda slaps her, a thunder clap of skin, and the girl retreats to the backroom, holding the spot where her mother’s palm met her cheek. In the last chapter of history, we were blossoms of the same autumn plum tree, east winds carrying our pair of winged seeds to opposite sides of the riverbank, where we landed, like paper slippers fluttering to my feet. Kneeling, Yolanda touches her fingers to my ankle to guide my left foot into the sole, but I pull away, telling her I’ve got it, not that I don’t want her at my feet. Her daughter’s eyes peep from the shadows, another girl, born alone and far from home. Tomorrow, her face will bloom the color of orchids and my painted fingertips, the lingering bruises of our mothers’ love.

Fall 2020

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KATHRYN LEIGH

GRISTEDES AT MIDNIGHT

might as well be mid-afternoon in New York City, a museum of humanity. Bleach fume hangs over rows of overripe produce—overpriced—the only thing slimier than Gristedes itself, but now is the hour weirdnesses spill out, check-out lanes at least three people deep, full of secrets that only the late-shift cashier knows. She’s been scanning our barcodes long enough just to keep it moving. A woman in lumpy yoga pants unloads bags of grapes, dusty with bloom, half-off, wilted dinosaur kale and seltzer. A pinstriped man buys double-edged razor blades and a bottle of grocery store riesling. When it’s my turn, the girl at the register rings up my bubblegum and Benadryl. She cups my persimmon in her palm and thumbs the sticker, searching for its unit price. It’s so ripe her crimson fingernail slits its thin skin, and fiery insides drip from the ripped flesh, glistening like an organ. She marvels I pay $1.99 for a single piece of mystery fruit and asks me what it tastes like. If I thought she really wanted to know, I’d tell her the good ones taste like pumpkin, sweet pepper and peach with cinnamon; if caramel grew on trees, it’d be persimmon, juicy gumminess, running home from the fruit stand without a coat on the day my mother first taught me how to pick persimmons. It was September, still warm as July, unwithered trees, the peak season, and she told me they should be deep-hued but translucent, soft enough to give beneath my fingertip but not break, how to find the space before ripeness becomes rotten, and for $1.99, I’ll hold that gem in my hands, let it slip down my cavity, the viscous line of my throat, the only way out.

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KATHRYN LEIGH

AT THE CLINIC

To warn me about love my mother tells me about her abortion. The day before I leave for college, we sit in her minivan, and she kills the engine without unlocking the door—her way of holding me here a little longer. I’ve never asked her about love or boys or growing up, but now, she tells me I must be careful; my father knocked her up just holding her hand. They were eighteen, and it would have ruined their lives. I imagine my mother and father, sitting in the waiting room's monochrome, smelling of bleach, leafing through a magazine, a smocked nurse calling my mother's name, the other girls glancing up, all of them there for the same different reasons. My father doesn’t accompany her back but fumbles with his father’s credit card in his wallet. Behind the curtain, the nurse spreads my mother’s thighs, probing her cavities. Inside, my older brother or sister glows, pink and amphibian, half-formed eyes open, a curved tube of heartbeat, fluttering. Murmurs—the nurse’s and my mother’s—lullaby the little bouquet of cells, its translucence luminous as it floats into the widening light.

When our eyes meet, she looks into my face, unblinking, and unlocks the door. I reach for the handle, about to leap— as she calls after me—“Be careful,” she says.

Fall 2020

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KATHRYN LEIGH

PANDEMIC EASTER

My mother tells me she took three trips to different grocery stores for ham and pecan pie, made the way she did when we were kids. I remind her we’re supposed to be shelteredin-place, ask her if she wore a mask. She’s afraid to, she says, because racism is an essential service here; you can always get some. I recall my schoolmates mistaking her for my nanny and offer to go out there so I can help her do a grocery run or at least keep her company when the suburban rednecks decide to un-mask the next Asian face—to put all my father’s whiteness to good use. But she refuses, as anyone would refuse a visit from the coronavirus epicenter of the world, and I have nothing more to offer than to ask her to be careful, to please stay inside, and before I can tell her all I hear are sirens, and a line of refrigerated trucks whirs outside the hospital for all the bodies, that no one can escape, she’s laughing at me to stop worrying so much, and I think back to all the times she used to ask me how my day was on the way home from school, how I’d tell her it was fine, never mentioning my classmates thought she wasn’t my mother, how I never bothered to correct them—all the parts of ourselves we keep hidden because we don’t want to hurt one another, every time denying each other the chance to understand. A pause fills the line, all the miles between us—everything we both could’ve said —before she tells me she’ll be fine, and I hang up the phone.

Kathryn lives in New York City and is currently pursuing an MFA in poetry and fiction at Bennington College.

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Lili Jamail Home Alone (girls)

Reagan, c-print mounted to plexiglass, 37Â x 46", 2019

Avi, c-print mounted to plexiglass, 30Â x 38", 2018

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LILI JAMAIL

Fall 2020

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LILI JAMAIL

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LILI JAMAIL

"I took this of myself and you can see that my hand is out of the frame but it is holding the shutter release I used to take the picture."

Lili Self Portrait (arms and knees), c-print mounted to plexiglass, 28 x 35.5", 2018

Katina, c-print mounted to plexiglass, 37 x 46.5", 2019

I typically find ways to photograph myself without using myself as the physical subject. In these photographs I positioned my friends in ways I had found myself at a time when I was learning how to be ok on my own. I use a combination of portraits of people and portraits of spaces and up close landscapes to fulfil different sentamites of portraits—emotional and physical expressions. lilijamailphotography.com • @LiliJamail

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Amara Y. Norman Levels

I'm gonna be swallowed up For real for real for sure for sure The jig is up I kneel I kneel, I'm pure I'm pure Heart spire to hearts desires All that Gilded fantasies of Negro baseball and smiling faces All bats Addiction hits different. I can swing.

I transcend and evolve to live with my demons—I live with my ancestors' demons every day.

I see them on the train. Nobody looks away.

Wake up feeling iffy, feeling empty Please don't tempt me, I'm growing less forgiving.

Asking for guidance more and more, asking for help more and moreThe sting of past sins lapsing.

Lucy on le tongue, SZA on my mind Universe be kind What if I'm the higher power?

No weapon formed against me prospers, Baptised in warm water Palms raising me up, current pulling me under Droplets on my skin, sound of wind chimes Couples that don't kiss are my favorite kind I pray they have the most time.

Cheeks hurt from smiling, I can feel it in my stomach I'm stoned in the back seat dreaming ov love

Amara Y. Norman is a poet, pop culture enthusiast, and friend. Born and raised in Los Angeles, CA, she dreams of creating witty, irreverent, revolutionary, emmy-winning and subsequently Emmy-destroying TV. Aramanamron.tumblr.com • @aramanamron

Fall 2020

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Jisoo Boggs Unfinished Journey

Fall 2020

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JISOO BOGGS

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JISOO BOGGS

Fall 2020

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JISOO BOGGS

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JISOO BOGGS

Jisoo is a young ceramics artist from Jeju Island, South Korea now living on Big Island and running Moonbow Studio with her husband. Jisoo’s art career has stretched over the past decade as she attained her M.F.A from the prestigious Hongik University in Seoul, studying abroad in the U.S. mainland at Alfred University as well as short term artist workshops. She has exhibited her work internationally and continues to create her art wherever she goes. Not only does she make functional pottery, but also devotes much of her time producing intricate sculptural objects and installations inspired by ocean environments. jisooboggs.com • @jisoo_aina

Fall 2020

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Sarah K. Williams Library of Gestures for Anxieties and Vulnerabilities

A Gestural Meditation:

Make a choice to begin seated or standing.

This is up to you. Choose what feels most natural. Throughout this mediation, you will be asked to perform a series of gestures. Gestures personal to you, gestures you’ve observed. If, when prompted, you cannot think of a gesture, please take a minute to observe some of these recommended stand-in gestures: (refer to image) Let’s do them together. Remember a few of these—the one’s which feel most natural to you.

You can go back to these gestures whenever you struggle to find new ones.

And let us begin now by closing your left eye, keep it closed. Close your right eye.

Both of your eyes should now be closed.

They will remain closed, softly closed.

It’s alright. No one will come up behind you, no one will touch you, no one will laugh at you, mock you, judge or imitate you, your gestures are for yourself. They are your own.

Only you and those close to you are able to identify the hidden context of your gestures.

A movement which offers emphasis to an uttered word, elaborating on its meaning, adding a personal flavor. Or maybe the gesture contradicts the text entirely, changing the meaning in combination with a flick of the neck or a flutter of the elbow which a conversation partner identifies as a gesture of contradiction.

We understand that by performing the word and the gesture simultaneously, we begin to develop our own language.

The minuteness of a subtle tilt of the head Chose one of our stand-in gestures and perform that gesture now. Find a way to personalize that gesture, letting it deviate ever so slightly from the original. Change the tempo of it, or add another element, change its elevation. Or perform it using a different part of your body. Lean into this new iteration. Find a rhythm. Continue.

Gestural Exercise, 2020

Part I: gestures of ourselves

Keeping this previous gesture going, or letting it fall away (which ever you prefer), tilt your head to the side, ever so slightly. Do you tilt it to the right or to the left? Try both angles, one at a time, alternating until it is clear that one side feels more natural than the other. Settle on the preferred side. Pause here for a minute. [pause] Lean into the tilt, or maybe someone else’s subtle tilt of the head, is your——something else?? When others tilt their head [meaning to say: “interesting”, “come again?”, “not on my watch” ], perhaps your language is not so much

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SARAH K. WILLIAMS

a subtle tilt of the head, but a subtle tapping of the foot.

Try this. Light and subtle. No one needs to notice unless they are truly paying attention.

Does this seem more natural than a tilted head?

Try them both at once. Both on your right side, now both on your left side. Take a breath.

It doesn’t have to be a deep breath. Maybe this exercise is stressful. Maybe you are selfconscious. Maybe you can only manage a series of shallow breaths. That’s great. Keep going. A breath is a breath. breathe. [pause] Move your right foot to its most anxietyinducing position. Why does it produce anxiety?

Is there a way you could slightly alter the position so that it causes more anxiety?

Don’t worry, no one is looking at you. No one is mocking, judging or imitating you.

Remember your most anxious or unsettling

Gestural Exercise, 2020

thought in the last 24 hours. Immerse yourself in this topic and allow your body to express your feelings about it. Let it articulate your anxiety. Feel the energy of the space change. a collective quickening of the breath.

Now all-of-the-sudden, turn your head immediately to the left. Let your head have no doubts. It sees clearly.

Keep your feet vulnerable and your lungs open.

In what ways can a gesture express vulnerability?

Expanding on your current gesture, create a more vulnerable iteration. What can make this gesture more vulnerable?

Now: sure it up, stabilize it, let it become impenetrable.

No one and no thing is getting through. [pause] What gesture makes you feel truly good?

Good to the core. Let one hand comfort the other. One hand holds the other hand. The right acknowledges the left, the left acknowledges the right.

Settle here for a moment. Breath at the tempo of your choice.

Part II: gestures of our Mothers and our Mother’s Mothers:

Did your Grandmother used to wring her hands?

Does your Mother press her lips together in a particular way? Can you tap into that? Press your lips together. In what certain occasions does your mother do this? When you look at the mannerisms of your siblings, can you see your parents?

Take a minute to identify a gesture of one parent: a crinkle of a forehead to emphasize certain words, a down beat of the left hand on the knee in a fit of laughter, a hand on the hip in the doorway, a certain clicking of the tongue in disapproval, a firm hand on your shoulder in reassurance.

Study every detail of this gesture and begin to practice the movement. Shift in the space as you need

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SARAH K. WILLIAMS

If no gesture readily comes to mind, return to your stand-in gesture.

Continual and repeated movement is helpful for clarity of thought. Let this repeated gestural movement conjure memories of your mother or your father, your grandmother, or grandfather.

Lean into the rhythm of repetition as a way to develop your memory.

Don’t forget to swallow Keep your eyes closed, but let them dart around the darkness.

Part III: gestures of communication

Imagine the person who knows you best, with whom you can be truly vulnerable. One who knows exactly how you’re feeling before you open your mouth. Or before you walk in the room. Imagine this person is sitting right in front of you, almost nose-to-nose. Lean in closer, a touch! lean back in observation. Keep your eyes closed.

What do they do to make it safe for you to be yourself ? If you needed to tell them something, how would they let you know that they’re listening? What about them lets you know that they are open? Mirror that attitude.

Borrow from them one of their best listening gestures. Perform it now. Gently.

A listening gesture. A truly and deeply listening gesture. A gesture of focus but silence, space, presence. A certain facial expression maybe, or a nodding of the head: encouragement, a slight lean in of the body, an intensified stare. Listen to yourself listening to them listening to you.

How easily do words come to you? Maybe complete sentences pour out fluidly, fullyformed with accurate punctuation; maybe they get caught on the roof of your mouth, faltering, hesitating. If words and sentences escape you, what do you do? Maybe it doesn’t matter whether you say it or not; your listener knows how you feel regardless.

Can half-sentences, mumbles, mutters, isolated syllables, jumbled consonants and under-prepared vowels express, just as acutely what we mean to say as a structurally-sound sentence? Maybe, by practicing a language of our own invention, we can become more expressive in this fluidity of sounds and letters.

Gestural Exercise, 2020

But who will understand?

Let our alphabet tumble around in your mouth. Feeling the alarmingly vast possible combinations of shapes. Try out a few combinations to yourself. No need to project, unless you feel confident in your findings.

Remember to chew.

What does someone who knows you well know that you do? and you do not know that you do this thing, until the person tells you that you do this thing. Now do this thing, don’t worry, no one is watching.

Part IV: gestures of the future

Has your son inherited a gesture from you?

Does he nod emphatically, at the same tempo as your mother used to? Does he pick at the rim of his pockets when he’s unsure of things, like you do? Does your daughter elevate her right shoulder like an eyebrow the way you do when you get angry? Consider the possibility of the hereditary gesture.

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SARAH K. WILLIAMS

If you do not have kids, imagine a future child. What gestures might they pick up from you? Maybe it’s difficult to identify until a stranger points out how similarity you walk through the world. Imagine this possible gesture. Consider. Visualize. Here are a few shapes to prompt this consideration: a sharp thing, next to a soft and heavy but very small thing moving sluggishly. A flat square with rounded corners. A cylinder next to a set of parallel lines.

Perform your hereditary gesture.

What might these children pick up from your partner? Consider this. Imagine them next to one another in a yard. Perform that gesture.

Perform these two contagious gestures back and forth, on repeat. One yours, one theirs, back and forth, on repeat. Keep the gestures close, subtle, natural. This is not theater.

Let these two gestures blend into one single gesture.

Performed this hybrid gesture as your child would.

Likely it’s a little shaky at first because the child is very young.

But allow this hybrid gesture to mature. Let it become more confident, more refined.

Maybe one evening, standing in front of your adult child, you find yourself reclaiming this new iteration for yourself. It’s strangely familiar, infectious.

Part V: Gesture as Meditation

Identify the gesture you have performed in this mediation which feels most sincere to you, genuine, most connected to yourself and most grounded. Thumb through your collection: your gesture of communication, gesture of your mother, gesture of the truly listening, stand-in gesture, gesture of your future children, gesture of anxiety, gesture of invented language.

Line them up, one by one. Alphabetize them or arrange them by color.

Settle on one, or a combination, letting your heel compliment your mouth, your ears.

Let this gesture rotate on repeat. and repeat.

Let this cycle gather speed, then even out. Find a pulse in the room and lean into that rhythm, tap it out silently using the edge of your feet.

Over and Over

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[pause] What do you mean to say?

Forget that you are performing the gesture at all, let it come naturally, gliding around, slippery, second-nature [pause] Before you make too much of a racket with all of these repeated shapes, stand up and excuse yourself without acknowledging those around you and quietly disappear into another space, letting your fingers and wrists move wildly about.

Do this now, once your last gesture is complete, scattering away.

SARAH K. WILLIAMS

Library of Gestures for Anxieties and Vulnerabilities, 2020, gauche on paper, approx.

72" x 40".

(Left) Detail

Sarah K. Williams is a multi-disciplinary artist working between sculpture and performance, exploring the musicality of instruction and the theatricality of the mundane. Recent fellowships and residencies include Target Margin Theater Institute, Studios at MASS MoCA, AIM at the Bronx Museum, Vermont Studio Center, and the Sharpe-Walentas Studio Program. Raised in Virginia and based in Brooklyn, she received an MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and studied experimental music at the Universität der Künste in Berlin on a Fulbright Fellowship. She is the founder and director of Sprechgesang Institute, a project-based collaborative for artists working in an inbetween language of two or more disciplines and is currently a NARS Satellite Resident on Governors Island. sarahkwilliams.com • @s_k_williams

Fall 2020

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Miranda Nichols Self Reflection

‘Self Reflection’ is an ongoing series of gouache paintings based on photographic self-portraits captured in windows and other reflective surfaces throughout day-to-day life. These subtle moments draw attention to the flaws in our mechanisms of perceiving, offering just enough coherence to begin to make sense of the scene, before opening up into a flattened field of colors with no distinct foreground or focus. The eye is free to wander throughout the image, drawing open-ended interpretations of the relationships between shapes.

In the absence of a clearly defined depth of field, the viewer is invited to consider a third-space, where foreground, background, middleground and subject all become one. As someone whose identity is not neatly categorized, and often erased, Miranda catches the most honest glimpses of themself in these ambiguous third spaces.

Untitled Reflection Sketch, Graphite on paper, 14.25 x 20", 2020

Fall 2020

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MIRANDA NICHOLS

Self-Portrait on 8th Avenue, Gouache on paper, 20Â x 14.25", 2020

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MIRANDA NICHOLS

Self-Portrait across from Crown Fried Chicken, Gouache on paper, 20Â x 14.25", 2020

Fall 2020

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MIRANDA NICHOLS

Self-Portrait on 83rd Street, Gouache on paper, 20 x 14.25", 2020 Self-Portrait on 83rd Street (Pencil Sketch), Graphite on paper, 20 x 14.25", 2020

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MIRANDA NICHOLS

Self-Portrait on Court Street, Gouache on paper, 20 x 14.25", 2020

Miranda Louise Nichols (they/them/she/her) is a non-binary multi-media artist and illustrator from the hill-towns of Western Massachusetts, currently based in Brooklyn, NY. Their work explores the subjectivity of perception and experience, examining how structures, systems and rituals shape our reality and playing in the disorientation and tension that emerges from acknowledging the blurry lines on the periphery of those frameworks. Recurring themes of gender identity, childhood, synchronicity, and self-observation in the solitude of quotidian existence punctuate Miranda’s work across mediums. mirandalouisenichols.com • @allstrangecreatures

Fall 2020

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Shweta Bist Covidity

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ovidity is an ongoing collaborative photo series with my two daughters, ages 7 and 10, who have largely been home since their school closed in mid March of 2020, when the Covid Lockdown was put into effect in New York City. It is an attempt to visualize the many thoughts and conversations that my daughters and I have exchanged over the countless hours we have spent with one another during this time.

It is a reflection of the wanderings of our minds as we navigate this extremely trying time in our symbiotic lives, where we have found ourselves restricted from movement, but not from thought. The series aims to provoke contemplation in the viewer over aspects of our being at this period in our collective history, as seen through the lens of childhood innocence, and its eternal optimism.

The Child’s Pose, 2020 It is meant to alleviate tension in our bodies, and reduce anxiety and stress.

Named after how babies rest, I wonder if there isn't so much more we can learn from our little ones. I for one am learning quite a lot these days. Though I have to admit curling up on the ground and laying still is my favorite!

Fall 2020

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SHWETA BIST

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SHWETA BIST

A Plastic Ocean, 2020 Sunaina loves turtles and dolphins, and is extremely curious about ocean life.

When she learned about The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, and the impact it is having on all ocean life, it led to much distress, and several questions.

The Book Worm, 2020 We document what the girls love to do at the ages they are caught in the middle of a global pandemic.

My 10 year old daughter can never read enough. It's the first and the last thing she does everyday. Books have been our savior during this very outwardly restrictive time.

Empathy Is The Way Forward, 2020 I have been inspired by the youngest person in our home to look at the world around me with curiosity, not fear. We can live more wholesome lives when our are actions are rooted in empathy and consider all creatures that coexist with us not as objects to dominate, but as partners in our well being.

Fall 2020

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SHWETA BIST

You Become What You Eat, 2020 A popular belief and scary thought, if micro plastics are making their way into our food.

I Got You, 2020 Do siblings love inherently? We explore what it means to be sisters and how they are looking out for one another at this moment in their collective history.

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SHWETA BIST

Shweta Bist is a visual artist and freelance photographer based in New York City. Her interest lies in the exploration of the emotional dynamics in familial relationships and how that shapes our human experience. Shweta’s work is greatly influenced by her experience as a mother, and the transformative impact it continues to have on her view of the world. shwetabist.com • @shweta.photo

Fall 2020

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Opulence Abundance Time is A Circle

0. When transformation is coming; things start breaking 1. I lift the veil and gaze deeper. Everywhere I go I feel the abyss. It’s warm breath on my face. It is hungry and ready to consume me. I push my shoulder blades down my back and close my eyes.

2.

I cannot distinguish my first husband from my last. In this lifetime I only recognize them Too late.

3. Last Saturday in my therapist’s office thunder my glasses fell apart In my hands.

4. Time is a circle 5. Just now, I stepped into my car and my phone 6. Slipped 7. from my hands, and now there is a spider web in the top left corner, spiraling out.

8. when she was 28 she began to learn how to find things. Before that………

9. We are naming our desires we don’t have to do it alone 10. survivor?

What does it mean?

11. Intimacy creates a power dynamic: It’s delicious 12. My phone slips again; and this time there is darkness spilling along the cracks 13. Remember that time we flew through the forest as tiny winged creatures and wrestled inside a tulip blossom?

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OPULENCE ABUNDANCE

14. I lift the veil and gaze deeper. Everywhere I go I feel the abyss. It’s warm breath on my face. It is hungry and ready to consume me. I push my shoulder blades down my back and close my eyes.

15. Sometimes painful memories emerge too. The time you hit me, after our 2nd wedding anniversary for talking back to you in front of your father.

16. I am careful not to drop my phone, but the darkness continues to spread. All that is left is a trapezoid of light; I scroll through Instagram anyways; catching pieces: noses, chins, a single tree in a forest.

17. How …………

18. You will kill me, and you will revive me. I am what emerged when the war was over.

I am a boundary 19. Who survived?

20. We need to talk about energetic responsibility 21. I lift the veil and gaze deeper. Everywhere I go I feel the abyss. It’s warm breath on my face. It is hungry and ready to consume me. I push my shoulder blades down my back and close my eyes.

22. Somedays I do not know if my memory is a medicine or a poison.

23. Humiliation is a dark river that runs through the core of my being; did you know these were the waters we were bathing in under the moonlight together?

24. My existence is like the stitching at the hem of my shirt, continuous loops of lives overlaying, encircling my spirit.

25. I lift the veil and gaze deeper. Everywhere I go I feel the abyss. It’s warm breath on my face. It is hungry and ready to consume me. I push my shoulder blades down my back and close my eyes.

26. Who survives?

27. Time is a circle

Opulence Abundance is an artist, educator, cat whisperer, tarot reader, and a student, always.

You can book them for a tarot reading via email at opulenceabundance@gmail.com @cyclopsmermaid

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Julieta Beltran Lazo

I

work from the perspective of an artist who is also revising and re-imagining history: my work is a subjective archive from which I examine and denounce my individual relationship to the celebrations and grievances that accompany Mexico’s recent histories of violence. Through small and medium format embroideries and paintings, and the overlapping semantics/ text that accompanies them, I start a compulsory practice of archiving and repurposing images from and about home, developing a language that speaks of the contradictions and tensions between the love and impotence I feel towards my country.

Materially my work engages with questions of intimacy and physical and emotional labor. I bring materials and objects that have been relegated to a domestic sphere and are rather seen as a craft—such as embroidering and sewing—and use them to address the subtle ways in which the violence that has been normalized by mass media and numbed with statistics, interpolates our subjective experiences as civilians. By cropping the images and emphasizing specific details, such as clothing patterns, fabrics, and body gestures, I create physical closeness to my subject matter.

As such the work I make has a level of intimacy and care, through which I search for ways to slow down our processing of the violence that surrounds the Mexican landscape and question our individual relationship to it. Te pinto y te bordo porque te quiero y me dueles; y es a través del tacto que regreso a ti.

A media asta, 2019, oil on canvas, 12 x 12"

Contención, 2019, oil on canvas, 11 x 11"

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JULIETA BELTRAN LAZO

Las hermanas, 2019, oil on canvas, 24 x 24"

Fall 2020

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JULIETA BELTRAN LAZO

Entre islas desiertas, 2019, oil and marble powder on canvas, 25.5 x 25.5"

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JULIETA BELTRAN LAZO

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Yo contigo (I), 2019, oil on canvas, 7.5 x 7.5" Yo contigo (II): un baile de dos, 2019, oil on canvas, 11 x 10" Uniformado, 2019, oil on canvas, 11.75 x 11.75" Tu roce, 2019, oil on canvas, 8.75 x 8.75"

Fall 2020

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JULIETA BELTRAN LAZO

Represiรณn (I), 2019, oil on canvas 11.6 x 11.8"

Represiรณn (II), 2019, oil on canvas, 11.8 x 12.7"

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JULIETA BELTRAN LAZO

Padre e hija, 2019, oil on canvas, 16.5 x 18"

Julieta BeltrĂĄn Lazo is a Mexican visual artist whose work revises and re-imagines history. She obtained her BFA from the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) where she majored in Painting, and got a concentration in History, Philosophy and Social Sciences (Class of 2020).

Through embroidering, painting, drawing and writing, she examines her relationship to the celebrations and grievances that accompany Mexico’s recent history, approaching them from an affective subjectivity. Her work mediates between lived experiences, fantasies and fears, news outlets, family archives, and popular culture. julietabeltranlazo.com

Fall 2020

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Cynthia Alessandra Briano Where the ocean becomes the mouth

Your imagined landscapes, where will they take you?

To a spot of brilliant white light where the ocean becomes the mouth of a sea cave, wave-cut and chiseled in columnar basalt, to the Grotto Azzurra with its emerald light, where the saltwater is more light-filled than the air, and the sunglow bursts upward from the glass-bottomed boats.

Will you find yourself there one day—standing at the waterline where the light swallows the sea?

Some sea caves, the ones that face into the prevailing northwest swell, empty out at low tide— will you know the measure of light against the measure of waiting?

We don’t know where the earth will take us, but if one day, you find you are far from yourself, cracking under the hydraulic power of the earth saying no— say to yourself—yes and open like the mouth of a sea cave, face the prevailing, northwest swell, and never recede, let it chisel you— tall and columnar, your mouth emptying after the onrush, silvered with light.

Cynthia Alessandra Briano is Director of the Rapp Saloon Reading Series and Founder of Love On Demand Global, an organization which creates custom-ordered poetry for charity.

She has been recipient of the Lois Morrell & J. Russell Hayes Poetry Prize and a finalist in the James Hearst Poetry Prize. She is a graduate student at University of California Riverside Palm Desert MFA program. rappsaloon.org • @CynthiaABriano @RappSaloon • @LoveOnDemandGlobal

Fall 2020

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Kohinoorgasm Exhausted

E

CK LI

TO LIST E :E

C

ARTWORK BY PARADISE KHANMALEK

N

XHAUSTED

xhausted is a song written, produced, performed, recorded, mixed, and selfreleased on May 28, 2020 by me, Josephine Shetty, under my experimental pop music moniker, Kohinoorgasm. The song shares an anecdote of my creative burnout under capitalism, critiques how wage labor stifles our futures by draining our ambition, and goes on to affirm the importance of cultivating and preserving creative energy for pursuing our dreams and blueprinting better worlds. The release also includes a high-speed remix, which I also produced, with the intent of honoring the duality of catharsis. Sometimes catharsis calls for slow-moving, cushioned, and quieting healing, which the original mix aims to facilitate, and sometimes it calls for energetic, stimulating, and rigorous release, which the remix aims to facilitate.

'Exhausted' and it's remix are intended for workers in need of an anti-capitalist dance anthem to replenish their spirits and exercise internalized capitalism out of their minds and bodies. The songs are available for stream or purchase on Bandcamp, Spotify, Apple Music, iTunes, Tidal, and Pandora, with an emphasis on the boycott of Amazon Music.

Fall 2020

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KOHINOORGASM

AR THE F HE U

A LL

LB U M Written, produced, performed, recorded, and mixed by Kohinoorgasm in Los Angeles Mastered by Kelley Coyne in San Francisco ALBUM ARTWORK BY YOKO

Kohinoorgasm (one word: ko-hee-noor-gasm; a playful portmanteau of the words 'kohinoor' and 'orgasm') is the lo-fi experimental pop music project of queer, mixed, desi artist Josephine Shetty. Shetty uses minimal dance beats and susurrate vocals to create hypnotic environments in which she hopes listeners can reflect and replenish. Between one album, two EPs, and a recent single, her released songs address topics ranging from war crimes and abuses of governmental power to emotional exhaustion and body autonomy. As an independent artist, audio engineer, middle school music teacher, and political organizer, critical elements of Kohinoorgasm's ethos include building support networks for marginalized artists and increasing the accessibility of arts education, as well as advancing grassroots efforts to abolish systems that terrorize and criminalize migrants and poor people, decolonize our social and economic structures, and heal the emotional and psychological wounds of living in an unjust society. As Kohinoorgasm, Shetty has performed at festivals, universities, museums, music venues, and art spaces across the US and Europe. Additionally, a strong commitment to community, collaboration, and cultural work has drawn Shetty to other roles, such as DJ, composer, dancer, curator, and model. Shetty is born and based in Los Angeles, CA, and her music is available for stream or purchase everywhere, except Amazon.

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Jessica Maffia Inner Geographies

My body is a map on which I inscribe my inner landscape. I am conducting a thorough psychological excavation using Nature as metaphor for psyche. I am curious about the wilderness within me, exploring the porous boundaries between humans and the natural world, and rendering visible my own cellular memory.

I am teasing apart my dense layers of selves in order to tell the litany of stories that my body holds from which a sense of a single self is derived.

PHOTOGRAPH BY CHRISTIAN NGUYEN

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JESSICA MAFFIA

Fall 2020

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JESSICA MAFFIA

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JESSICA MAFFIA

(LEFT AND BELOW) PHOTOGRAPHS BY CHRISTIAN NGUYEN

Jessica Maffia is a visual artist born and raised in New York City. Her work has been exhibited throughout the US and is currently in the Flat Files of Pierogi Gallery in Manhattan. Maffia created the artwork for musician Childish Gambino’s two singles “Summertime Magic” and “Feels Like Summer.” She is the recipient of 10 artist residency fellowships and two grants. She is currently working on a series of portraits of her non-human neighbors. jessicamaffia.com • @jessicamaffia

Fall 2020

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Ashley-Devon Williamston DESECRATED SITE

This body is a temple to be kept polished pristine inside and out an immaculate shrine to be entered by only one most dedicated worshipper This body is an empty bucket soon to be overflowing with propaganda and haunting whispers "you are not your own" the substance of others violently swirling sloshing dreams of becoming Real drown in the eddy This body is a pyramid robbed of every glimmering thing then preserved paraded by the looters themselves as a gift to those who too snatch bodies and land and cultures the raison d'ĂŞtre is to drink 'til the treasure runs dry This body is a mass grave though the buried are not dead merely muffled muted except at those times when the cries break through rise up and demand to be perceived fret not the doctor always swiftly stuffs them back and insists that no trees have fallen today

This body is a crime scene no spilled blood only too much tea that no one else wanted to sip and so it flowed flooded until, instead of a party there was a mess and arguments of who cleans up when civility was offered but refused This body is a houseboat a rickety refuge that floats flounders in a sea of precarity towards shores stretched out like arms something to finally anchor into yet 2 in 10 are traps stakes much too high it sails onward still This body is obsidian forged in subterranean storms of fire and time it glimmers glints a seemingly whole gem distracts the eye from noticing it is but a bricolage of constant terrors All of this, yet none of these For this body is merely a body a soft, fleshy vessel holding involuntary consciousness coincidentally that ethereal matter which makes us more than beasts but wish that we weren't fights desperately to know the shape of its own container

Fall 2020

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ASHLEYDEVON WILLIAMSTON

EDGING

Had I known the clock would stop so abruptly I might have jumped sank into the deep admitted that the void is not empty swam through the plasmic din and faced the matter of my nightmares to get to anywhere free I would have paused plucked the oranges chewed swallowed not for pleasure but to know fully the disgust within I could have slipped a hand under your shirt blown directly onto your neck nestled much less than 6 feet not a yet a crime to insist we take this to the next level To let swell and mound without promise of release is only torture not sport Now let me become

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Ashley-Devon Williamston is a casual poet from Cincinnati, OH. A cultural anthropologist by trade, they turn to the arts to express things that are not best stated in APA format, such as the delights of surprise homemade pies or perfectly symmetrical leaves.

They also complain a lot. onerarecreature.com @onerarecreature

Johannah Herr Domestic Terrorism: War Rugs from America

D

omestic Terrorism: War Rugs from America is a series of machine-tufted rugs that use the material and visual narrative strategies found in Afghan War Rugs to interrogate State-sanctioned violence in America. [War rugs are traditional Afghan rugs that began to incorporate military weaponry into their design motifs during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, and continue to this day (though now incorporating American drones)]. While the content of my rugs does not singularly address the ongoing war in Afghanistan, the idea of creating a war rug to acknowledge or even exorcise pervasive State violence grounds the basis of this body of work. Domestic Terrorism: War Rugs from America aims to implore viewers to intimately consider the violences—immigrant detention, mass incarceration, wars abroad, gun violence, police brutality, inadequate healthcare and income inequality amongst others—that comprise our domestic American landscape.

Domestic Terrorism: War Rugs from America debuts in a solo exhibition with Elijah Wheat Showroom on Nov 2, 2020 PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOSH SIMPSON @JOSHUASIMPSONPHOTO

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War Rug III (El Paso Shooting), 2020, 28 x 48 x 1", Tufted rug using acrylic and wool yarn Iconography references the 2019 racially-motivated hate crime and mass shooting in an El Paso Walmart. References include: the semiautomatic rifle, ammunition as well as ear protection used by the shooter, police crime scene markers, the 8Chan logo (the extremist right-wing online forum where the shooter posted a racist, antihispanic manifesto before the shooting), 22 Walmart logos (in reference to the 22 victims killed), and map of El Paso.

War Rug II (Mass Incarceration), 2020, 28 x 64 x 1", Tufted rug using acrylic and wool yarn Part of War On Rugs series. This rug incorporates iconography related to mass incarceration in the US. References include: bail bond signs (monetary bail disproportionally impacts poor communities, often forcing low-income people accused crimes to take plea deals regardless of their innocence), slave shackles and handcuffs (the history of US prisons is inextricably linked with the history of slavery and in fact grew out of the need to incarcerate formerly enslaved people to regain free labor), voting stickers (felons continue to be politically disenfranchised even after they are set free, as many states take away voting rights for life), Unicor logo and shooting targets (Unicor is the largest for-profit prison industry that uses prisoners as as cheap labor to produce products for the police and judicial systems that incarcerate prisoners to begin with— such as police training shooting targets).

JOHANNAH HERR

War Rug V (Flint Water Crisis), 2020, 3' x 4' x 1", Tufted rug using acrylic and wool yarn Iconography references the ongoing water crisis in Flint Michigan which began in 2014 and resulted in the lead poisoning of tens of thousands of residents including 12,000 children. References include: Lead periodic symbol, brown water in water bottles (residents had been documenting the discoloration of their water in bottles for months before anything was investigated), brown water in baby bottles (the impact of lead poisoning on Flint’s children has yet to be fully assessed— lead has delayed, devastating results on childhood development), Flint water tower, and EPA logo (along with Governor Snyder, the EPA failed to act for months).

Fall 2020

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JOHANNAH HERR

War Rug VI (War On Drugs), 2020, 36" x 6' x 1", Tufted rug using acrylic and wool yarn Iconography references Reagan’s American Drug Abuse Act (War on Drugs) which began minimum sentencing and extreme maximum sentencing for drug-related crime, resulting in the mass incarceration of POC. References include: Uneven justice scales with crack / powdered cocaine (the criminalization of crack (mostly used by POC) disproportionally outweighed powder (mostly used by whites), marijuana (the majority of drug-related offenses relate to marijuana which is now decriminalized or legal in many States yet prisoners continue to serve multi-decades long sentences, D.A.R.E. logo, and weapons used by SWAT teams for drug raids, reflecting the militarization of police.

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JOHANNAH HERR

War Rug I (Immigration Detention), 2020, 4' x 6' x 1", Tufted rug using acrylic and wool yarn Part of War on Rugs series. Rug incorporates iconography related to immigration detention and exploitation along the US/Mexico border. References include: border wall fencing, ICE and Border Patrol bullet-proof vests, backpacks, prison toilet / water fountain combos, (reports surfaced that when these combined facilities broke, women in detention centers were instructed to simply “drink out of the toilet bowl”), thermometer (detention center cells are often kept at freezing temperatures and referred to by migrants as hieleras or “freezers”), slashed water bottles (videos surfaced of border patrol officers intentionally damaging or contaminating water bottles left in the desert for migrants by NGOs), teddybears (migrant demographics increasingly include children, who are traumatically separated from families), highway overpass / prison tent cities / Walmarts (all were repurposed as detention centers).

War Rug IV (Last Vegas Shooting), 2020, 28 x 48 x 1", Tufted rug using acrylic and wool yarn Iconography references the 2017 mass shooting at Route 91 Harvest music festival in Las Vegas. References include: Two types of semiautomatic weapons and ammunition used in the shooting (which comprised 22 of the 24 weapons used overall), Mandalay Bay Hotel & Casino with windows broken where the shooter fired through the glass, Mandalay Bay poker chips (with numbers referencing the 59 victims), police crime scene markers, and bump stocks (the then legal rifle augmentation which allowed the shooter to convert semi automatic rifles into automatic, aiding the shooter to injure as many people as possible.)

Johannah Herr is an interdisciplinary artist whose work explores State-sanctioned violence in America. She holds an MFA from Cranbrook and a BFA from Parsons. She has had solo shows at Geary Contemporary, Untitled San Francisco, BRIC, Elijah Wheat Showroom, Envoy Enterprises, Red Ger Gallery (Mongolia) and Galeri Metropol (Estonia). She is a Fulbright Scholar (Mongolia) and attended residencies at SIM, Wassaic Project, IEA’s Experimental Projects Residency, Oxbow, Museum of Arts and Design, and Vermont Studio Center. She is also the Co-Founder of Daughters Rising, an anti-human trafficking NGO in Mae Wang, Thailand. She lives / works between Brooklyn and Mae Wang. johannahherr.com • @johannah_herr

Fall 2020

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Emma Flaherty Sicko Stitching

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Pee After Sex, 2020, embroidery thread on beanie; Move On, 2019, embroidery thread on t-shirt; Don’t Touch Me, 2020, embroidery thread on t-shirt; Fat is Not a Feeling, 2019, embroidery thread on sweatshirt

Fall 2020

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EMMA FLAHERTY

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Every Gay is a Blessing, 2019, embroidery thread on linen; Blooming, 2019, embroidery thread on sweatshirt Please Don’t, 2019, embroidery thread on t-shirt; Virginity is a Myth, 2019, embroidery thread on t-shirt

Through Sicko Stitching, I aim to create unique items embroidered with bold wording for all bodies. My embroidery focuses on issues around sexuality, gender, mental health, sexual health, diet culture, and more. Sicko Stitching brings topics to the forefront (by wearing them on your body), which are often willfully ignored by many. I hope to give queer people, trans people, femmes, and women more visibility through style choices, and also force others to stop ignoring the constant issues that these communities are forced to live with. sickostitching.com • @sicko.stitching

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Ginger gingerzine.net