Ginger Networked feminism
Issue 23
Winter 2021
Mission
SOPHIE KNIGHT
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.
HANNAH MODE
CLARE BOERSCH
ISSUE 1 ISSUE 2 ISSUE 3 ISSUE 4 ISSUE 5 ISSUE 6 ISSUE 7 ISSUE 8 ISSUE 9 ISSUE 10 ISSUE 11 ISSUE 12
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ROMINA BELTRÁN LAZO
HANNAH NELSONTEUSCH LAUREN ARIAN
SOPHIE OAKLEY
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AMY BERENBEIM
STEPHANIE VON BEHR
ABIGAIL HENNING
KAYA YUSI
ISSUE 13
JULIETA BELTRAN LAZO
ISSUE 14 LANI RUBIN
ISSUE 15
ALEX CHOWANIEC
ISSUE 16
CAROLINE LARSEN
MOLLY ADAMS
BRE WISHART
LARISSA GARZA
CONNAR WESTON
ISSUE 17 ISSUE 18 ISSUE 19
MARTHA WILSON
ISSUE 20
JULIANA HALPERT DREA COFIELD + GABY COLLINSFERNANDEZ
ISSUE 21 ISSUE 22 ISSUE 23
LEAH JAMES
LIZ NIELSEN
GABRIELLA PICONE KYOKO HAMAGUCHI
NICKI GREEN
SALTY XI JIE NG
ALANNAH FARRELL
JENNY BLUMENFELD
AVIVA ROWLEY
JOHANNAH HERR LILI JAMAIL
JULIE ZHU
JESSI LI
EMILY LUDWIG SHAFFER
ERI KING
LAURA BERNSTEIN
DEVON GRIMES
JUNE T. SANDERS ELIZABETH TANNIE LEWIN
JILLIAN JACOBS
NINO SARABUTRA
OLIVIA JANE HUFFMAN
SARAH MIHARA CREAGEN
JEAN SEESTADT
EMMA FLAHERTY
PAOLA DI TOLLA KARLY SMITH
HEATHER LYNN JOHNSON
ALISON VIANA
LEJLA KALAMUJIĆ + JENNIFER ZOBLE
SAM CROW
Ginger is run by Markee Speyer and Jacqueline Cantu. Reach us at gingerthezine@gmail.com.
KATY McCARTHY
PHOEBE GLICK ANNA GURTONWACHTER
C. CHAPIN SHALA MILLER STAVER KLITGAARD
ASHNA ALI
KAVERI RAINA CHRISTINE SHAN SHAN HOU
CHARMAINE BEE
AMIA YOKOYAMA
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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
ISSUE 13 NP SANCHEZ
ISSUE 14 ISSUE 15
IRENE CAVROS
ISSUE 16 ISSUE 17
KRYSTA SA
ALLI MALONEY
ISSUE 18 ISSUE 19
LEYLA TULUN
ISSUE 20
ANNA CONE
MARTY MANUELA
CAITLIN WRIGHT
ISSUE 21
KRISTINA HEADRICK
ISSUE 22 ISSUE 23 GRACIE BIALECKI
KATIE MIDGLEY JESSE HEIDER
JULIA DUNHAM
EIRINI PAPAEFTHEMIOU
ISA RADOJČIC LIANA IMAM
LEIGH SUGAR JOEY BEHRENS KAITLIN McCARTHY
LAUREN BANKA
HAYLEE EBERSOLE
KATIE FORD
CARLA AVRUCH ELAINE HEALY
JAN TRUMBAUER HEIDI BENDER
JENNIFER FANDEL
NATASHA WEST
COURTNEY KESSEL + DANIELLE WYCKOFF KELLY SHEEHY
ASTRID KAEMMERLING + BECCA J.R. LACHMAN
AMBER HOY
CARRIE GREEN
AMANDA LÓPEZKURTZ
HALA ABDULKARIM JANE SERENSKA
JESSICA LAW
ASHLEYDEVON WILLIAMSTON
ALEXIS CANTU
TALI HALPERN MOLLY SCHOENHOFF
ELESE DANIEL
MICHAELA RIFE
BRITLYNN HANSENGIROD
NIKKI MAYEUX
GIMO
KIRUN KAPUR
ABBY FRIEND LORI LARUSSO LETITIA QUESENBERRY
NATALIE EICHENGREEN
MEGAN BICKEL
JACQUELINE MELECIO
MIMI CHIAHEMEN
JULIANA LUJAN
JORDAN LANHAM
MEGAN SICKLES
JAZZY MICAELA SMITH
ALEX PATRICK DYCK
MARIA R. BAAB AGROFEMME
ERICA McKEEHEN NATASHA MIJARES
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ITZEL BASUALDO
DEVYN MAÑIBO
MARIE SÉGOLÈNE
BONNIE LANE
KATHERINE TARPINIAN
DOROTEA MENDOZA
LAURA McMULLEN
S.E.A. ISSACHAR CURBEON RACHEL BRODY KATHARINE PERKO
MISIAN TAYLOR
ARIEL JACKSON
BRIE LIMINARA
MS. NIKO DARLING
ANA GIRALDOWINGLER YI-HSIN TZENG
EEL COSTELLO
CAITLIN ROSE SWEET
NANDI LOAF
TRACI CHAMBERLAIN
SOFIE RAMOS
NATALIE GIRSBERGER
VANESSA GULLY SANTIAGO
RACHEL ZARETSKY
EMMALINE PAYETTE
EMILY WUNDERLICH
FELICIA URSO
HARRIS BAUER
JESSICA PRUSA HANNAH RAWE
ANDREA GUSSIE
CARMEL BROWN
COURTNEY STONE
IVY HALDEMAN
BRIE ROCHELILLIOTT
ASHLEIGH DYE
ELIZABETH SULTZER
LAURA COOPER
HERMIONE SPRIGGS
ENA SELIMOVIĆ
RACHEL WALLACH PAULAPART
KELSEY KEATON
SOFIA PONTÉN
FREDRIKA THELANDERSSON
LEIGH RUPLE LA JOHNSON JESSICA WOHL
MAYON HANANIA JOLENE LUPO
SARA LAUTMAN
SHWETA BIST
DEENAH VOLLMER
NATALIE BAXTER
MOLLY RAPP
KATE WHEELER
ERIN MIZRAHI
CYNTHIA ALESSANDRA BRIANO
INDIA TREAT
OLGA GARCÍA ECHEVERRÍA + TANYA FLORES HODGSON TYLER MORGAN
B. NEIMETH
EMILY ROSE LARSON
TIFFANY SMITH
MARIA NIKOLIS
RACHEL KANN
BECKY BRISTER WOLFGANG SCHAFFER
PRIYANKA RAM DELILAH JONES
LINDA STONEROCK
KATHLEEN GRECO
ULRIKE BUCK
DEBORAH DAVIS
ANNELIE McKENZIE
CATHERINE AZIMI
HANNAH MCMASTER
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 ISSUE 12
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ISSUE 13 COLLEEN DURKIN
ISSUE 14 ISSUE 15 ISSUE 16 ISSUE 17
MOLLY HAGAN
ISSUE 18
COREENA LEWIS
ISSUE 19 ISSUE 20
CAMERON RINGNESS
ISSUE 21
TONI KOCHENSPARGER
ISSUE 22
LAURA PORTWOODSTACER
NEELA KLER
ISSUE 23 MIRANDA NICHOLS ALESSANDRA CALÒ
MAKEDA FLOOD
OPULENCE ABUNDANCE
PARADISE KHANMALEK BIA MONTEIRO JESSICA KIRKHAM
VANJA BUČAN AMARA Y. NORMAN
KATRINA SORRENTINO KATHRYN LEIGH
MINNY LEE
GROANA MELENDEZ
VERÓNICA PUCHE
IVANA LARROSA
MARTHA NARANJO SANDOVAL
JISOO BOGGS
ANNIK HOSMANN
LANE SPEIDEL
KASIA HALL KAT SHANNON
CLAUDIA GERBRACHT
MARIE HINSON
JENNIFER WEISS
PATTY CUEN
KOHINOORGASM
SARAH K. WILLIAMS
ALEX VALLS
LUCA MOLNAR ANNE MAILEY
LEANNE BOWES
MARISSA BLUESTONE
KATHERINE PATIÑO MIRANDA
KERRI GAUDELLI
MARIA STABIO
SONYA DERMAN
KAITLIN McDONOUGH
MEREDITH SELLERS MICA D’ORLÉANS
JEN COHEN
REBECCA BALDWIN
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MADELINE DONAHUE
JORDAN REZNICK
KATIE VIDA
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JESSICA MAFFIA
LEXI CAMPBELL
BIRAAJ DODIYA
DEVIN DOUGHERTY
JESS WILLLA WHEATON
YEJIN YOO
CRAIG CALDERWOOD
ERIC DYER
CARLY FREDERICK
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Issue 19 contributors
Romina Beltrán Lazo............................PAGE 09 Phoebe Glick............................ PAGE 15 Kyoko Hamaguchi............................ PAGE 15 Patty Cuen............................ PAGE 24 Nikki Mayeux............................ PAGE 27 Ivana Larrosa............................ PAGE 30 Mica D’Orléans............................ PAGE 36 Olga García Echeverría +. Tanya Flores Hodgson............................ PAGE 41 Yejin Yoo............................ PAGE 46 Kelly Sheehy............................ PAGE 52 Liz Nielsen............................ PAGE 57 Larissa Garza............................ PAGE 64
A note from the editors Until last spring, we'd only written one editors' letter—in our first issue, explaining our concept and mission. In the past year, we've had to preface three of our four issues with notes on the pandemic and political crises. We're burned out, and we are sure that our readers and our contributors are, too. Thank you so much to our contributors from issues 20 through 23; you worked so hard at a time when envisioning— let alone completing—creative projects was most difficult. With this in mind, we are going to take a one-issue-long hiatus to rest and recharge. We will be back in the summer, when we hope to move forward with some of the IRL plans that the pandemic put on hold. JACQUELINE + MARKEE
On the cover: Space Station, 2020 by Liz Nielsen Analog Chromogenic Photogram, on Fujiflex, Unique, 22 x 27"
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Romina Beltrรกn Lazo Tiptoeing Un Caballito, Summer 2020, Medium Format Color Film, 124 x 124 cm
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ROMINA BELTRÁN LAZO
Intimacy can’t be neither contained or defined in boundaries or labels. Intimacy is constructed and can only be witnessed with a degree of insiderness, or with a strong outsider camouflage. By shooting my upper-class household, I aimed to capture a specific home decor ––the encounter of Mexican and western aesthetics–– that come to signify particular financial mobility, class codes and domestic lifestyles. However, more than that, my viewfinder focus became the intimate gestures that emerged when being part of this domestic environments. An urgency to capture affective aesthetics rather than objective ones surfaced. The project became about gestures and interactions that seemed to escape me as I pressed the shutter speed because they were too private and fragile to be captured. I grew increasingly interested and aware of the boundaries of public and private domestic spaces, how and when this line gets to be transpassed, and at what cost. This series of photographs became more than a political statement, an exploration of how my familial intimacy unfolds in a domestic, mundane sphere, and how this intimacy takes up space.
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Espina, Summer 2020, Digital, 121,92 x 81,28 cm
ROMINA BELTRÁN LAZO
Doble Paisaje, Summer 2020, Medium Format Color Film, 124 x 124 cm
Cariñitos, Summer 2020, Digital Black and White, 81.28 x 81.28 cm
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ROMINA BELTRĂ N LAZO
Vacio, Summer 2020, Digital, 81.28 x 81.28 cm
La Casa de la Abuela, Summer 2020, Medium Format Color Film, 124 x 124 cm
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ROMINA BELTRÁN LAZO
Brisa Tardia, Summer 2020, Digital, 113.73 x 75.84 cm
Romina Beltrán Lazo is a young Mexican visual artist whose work engages with race and class configurations in Latin America, intimacy boundaries and the sensuousness of memory. Working primarily but not exclusively with analog photography Beltrán Lazo seeks to open conversations about the intersections of Latinx identity in a neoliberal and postcolonial landscape. She is currently an undergraduate student at Wesleyan University double majoring in Photography and Anthropology. rominabeltranlazo.com • @rorobelazo
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Phoebe Glick Definition
INSOMNIA
In the house we build for ourselves, sleep is an icon with a hidden face. It’s not sleep which preserves peace of mind so much as life that projects a picture of perfect sleep on the wall of the barn in a field that we view from parked cars. The sound of it filters out over radio waves. It’s really the film of our own lives we watch in retrospect, waiting for something unexpected to happen. The nightly spectacle calls for us to navigate home in the dark winding country roads where ghosts whisper our names. Life is bordered by remnants of death and death when it comes inflates our lung cavities with the flickering instants of life, but in sleep we learn to balance the two planes at once.
JOB
Sadly there is only so much you pay for with the funds from your job. If you want to buy lavish goods like synthetic fleece shipped to you from across the ocean, or stainless steel frames for TV room gallery walls, you might have to find some other source of money because your job won’t pay. You might catch sight of yourself one day in the synthetic fleece in the window of the dry cleaners and think wow, I am waking each day only to buy myself the clothes I wear to be viewed by my own eyes this exact moment and you might turn and cross the pier and plunge head first into the deepest ocean, if only to govern an event which won’t be bought and sold back to you.
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PHOEBE GLICK
COUNCIL
I draw up a plan for the house, and when I gift it to the council tied in lanolin and drizzled with honey and rosewater they measure it with scales, and mark its weight and presentation and profit margin in the banal notebooks of the administration. It is then my fondness for dirt and the creatures who make homes in it gets lost amongst the language of austerity and acquisition and no longer has any meaning.
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FORGIVENESS
Accountable not in the deadline but in the mutiny of disappointing friends and lovers with our rigorously State-imposed lifetime of anxious avoidance in subconscious animal movement against and away from the reminders of our devastation and towards loving our bodies alongside and braided into each other. Holding our arms around ourselves in our own house is one of the first beams of plywood cut down from the trees on the side of the mountain then set down to frame the foundation of the house which juts out the side of the mountain in line with the trees. We forgive ourselves for needing the earth instead of separating ourselves from the reminder of our need and growing with the earth instead of at odds with it.
PHOEBE GLICK
UNIVERSITY
You feed something for months before noticing it has gone dormant. The structure built to accommodate feeling curls into itself like a house plant left outside through winter. In the spring there’s an unveiling ceremony: the something stripped of its winter covering. The audience praises the unveilers as if they themselves have seasonally transformed. There is always a big show out of the capacity to make a big show. In one season, a show promises relief for the onlookers, then silently swaddles everyone in wool. Years pass. Snow melts. When everyone has forgotten treachery only then is it safe to come out.
EVERY DAY
You and I saw each other in a dream on the same night. It goes like this, we stew in ourselves, it’s absolute torture, until another person blessedly deflates the dream by putting words to it. The problem with waking up, facing yourself, doing your tasks, facing yourself, resting, facing yourself–you start to forget what has been worded and what has only been spiralling speechlessly through your aura. It’s a tip-off when you start to resent other people for not giving you what you only imagined you asked for. Picture this: a bluetiled pool, hair moving underwater in silvery harmony with the light. Swimming together in the future. A long exhale into the valley of the sunk cost. Patience isn’t a virtue, it’s nothing like any other spectacle. I don’t mean to be callous when I say that pausing to take a breath at nothing is as remarkable as looking back at a densely hard time, walking into something lighter.
Phoebe Glick is a writer concerned with preserving queer intimacy under the carceral State. Her work has appeared online and in print at Social Text Journal, Prelude, No Dear, and elsewhere. She teaches writing as a CUNY adjunct. glickphoebe.tumblr.com • @phoebeglick
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Kyoko Hamaguchi Postal Summary
I
n 'Postal Summary', Hamaguchi transforms the delivery system into a process for photographic image making. She gets a shipping box at a post office, makes a pinhole in one of its sides, coats the inside with photo emulsion so that its surface becomes photosensitive, and ships it to herself. While moving through the postal system, the box covertly records the shipment process on its photosensitive interior. Once the artist receives the box, she soaks it in chemicals to develop the image. During this process, the box becomes distressed and the shape distorted. The resulting image is often multiperspectival with several spaces superimposed on top of each other and accentuated by the crisscrossing of fluorescent ceiling lights in a phenomenon akin to abstract painting. Each box produces a unique image dependent on where and for how long the box sat in various locations during its shipment. Hamaguchi engages in this practice every time she goes on a trip, even utilizing international shipping services to accomplish the task, or sometimes she just sends a box from her house to her studio. The box itself is the photograph and at the same time the camera.
Postal Summary, 2018–2020 Shipping box, photo emulsion Dimensions variable PHOTOGRAPHY BY JEREMY LAWSON
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KYOKO HAMAGUCHI
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KYOKO HAMAGUCHI
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KYOKO HAMAGUCHI
Kyoko Hamaguchi (b. 1989) is a conceptual mixedmedia artist who lives and works in New York City. Split between her upbringing in Japan and her new life in New York, she often investigates ideas of place and movement. She utilizes transient materials and services in society such as water, hand sanitizer, delivery systems, and the subway as mediums to investigate movement, transformation, and circulation. Although her work takes form in many different materials including photography, sculpture, and installation, her concept is rooted in the nature of photography and the camera. She holds an MFA from Hunter College in New York (2020) and a BFA from Tokyo University of the Arts (2015). She has shown in numerous exhibitions in New York and Japan. kyokohamaguchi.com • @kyoko.hmg
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Patty Cuen Tracing Constellations
Resembling Alice falling through space and time, I was exported to a new dimension: a place where I felt butterflies in my stomach and the soft hands I touched were mine to hold. I traced over their freckles like constellations, admiring each speck carefully placed by godly Beings. I was captured, raw with emotion, too complex for me to handle with grace. Blinded by attraction, I kept losing footing until they were gone and all that was left to trace was an empty sky.
Patty Cuen is a screenwriter, artist, and humorist currently roaming in San Diego, CA. She’s a curly-haired, clog-wearing Gemini who’s a friend to Pats worldwide. @gentlestbuffalo • gentlestbuffalo@gmail.com
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PATTY CUEN
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Nikki Mayeux The Children’s Hour, Queer Erasure, and All the Things That Don’t Have Names
[cw: mention of suicide in film] When I was seventeen, one of my greatest introverted only-child pleasures was renting a fat stack of VHS's from the "independent" and "classic" sections of my neighborhood Video Joe on a Friday night and staying up until three A.M. watching them all by myself in my room. This was one of the few ways I could access stories outside of my white suburban Evangelical bubble, especially queer stories. I saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch this way, and Rocky Horror, Pulp Fiction, Cabaret, Boys Don't Cry. But nothing ever struck a chord in me quite like a little-known 1961 film based on a Lillian Hellman play called The Children's Hour, starring Audrey Hepburn and Shirley MacLaine. In the film, set in the 1930's, MacLaine and Hepburn are childhood best friends who run a girls' boarding school together. Looking for attention from her grandmother, a student tells a lie about the women being lesbians, which ruins their professional and personal lives. But the Shakespearean tragedy occurs when Martha (MacLaine) confesses to Karen (Hepburn) that although the rumor was a lie, the suggestion was true—she was in love with her and always had been. She confesses this in a climactic coming-out scene in the parlor of the school, first screaming at Karen to listen to her and then shrinking from her touch as though she were coated in poison. MARTHA: "You're afraid of hearing it, but I'm more afraid than you. You've got to know, I've got to tell you—I can't keep it to myself any longer. I'm guilty … I lie in bed night after night praying that it isn't true, but I know about it now. It's there … I can't stand to have you touch me, I can't stand to have you look at me! It's all my fault, I've ruined your life and I've ruined my own. I swear I didn't know, I didn't mean it … I feel so damn sick and dirty I can't stand it any longer." Now, almost one hundred years after the setting of the film and sixty after its production, most contemporary viewers feel unsettled by this scene. We are uncomfortable with the depths of Martha's shame over her queerness. We want to recoil from her even as she recoils from Karen's hand on her shoulder. Twenty-first century films don't tell this story about queer femmes anymore—Martha's story—even if they're set in similar historical eras. They tell Carol's story, or Heloise's. The despair and the selfflagellation here, it's … embarrassing. What does it say then, that teenage me connected more deeply to this near century-old narrative than I did to any hopeful story of queer liberation in technicolor? What does it mean that I saw myself in Martha but not in Sally Bowles, or Magenta? I understood Martha when she watched Karen achingly from across the room. I understood her when she hurled herself out of the closet like an exorcism. And yes, I understood her when Karen finds her body hanging from the tree outside the window. I watched The Children's Hour alone in my bedroom at age seventeen and knew in my bones that I was Martha, and that the best I could hope for would be a tidy life tinged with secret longing. Her despair was not melodrama to me—it was a warning.
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NIKKI MAYEUX
Fifteen years later, I'm happy to be living a life that is neither tidy nor secret. It is rich, complex, and queer as hell, through a series of small humanist miracles that lead me out of religion and into myself. At some point, I stopped fearing Martha's fate would be my own, but I never stopped understanding her, and I never ever forgot her. While researching The Children's Hour recently for a workshop, I ran across a clip from a 1995 documentary called The Celluloid Closet, about LGBTQ+ representation in cinema history. In an interview, MacLaine reflects flatly, "We didn't do the picture right." She explains that if the film we released today there would be a rightful outcry about Martha's characterization, and says that it never even occurred to the filmmakers to envision anything other than abject misery for her. "No one questioned [the scene], or what that meant, or what the alternatives could have been under the dialog … This subject matter wasn't in the lexicon of our rehearsal period. Audrey and I never talked about this." Hearing that really fucked me up, y'all. I thought about it for days after. I'm still thinking about it. This story that was so formative for me, the scene that was so pivotal, the confession that could have been ripped straight from my own throat … and they never even spoke about it? They never said the words? But that's what erasure feels like. It's the phantom pains of a thousand betrayals that you'll never hear about, in rooms where you aren't present. It's all the parts of yourself that you can't love because you can't name them, so you become your own ghost. It's no one even considering what the alternatives could have been. The Video Joe near my childhood home is a Family Dollar now, has been for well over a decade. I wonder where all the inventory went when it shuttered, and if that VHS copy of The Children's Hour made its way into anyone else's hands before its eventual, statistically likely demise in a south Louisiana landfill. I've re-watched that coming out scene many times, but never the whole film. Sometimes things serve you best in your memory, and I like to keep Martha there. I try to protect her. And in more ways than I am able to give language to, I try to live for her.
Nikki Mayeux is a queer ex-Evangelical writer and educator from the strangest city in the Deep South, New Orleans. She completed her MFA in Creative Writing at the University of New Orleans and works in special education advocacy. She also performs public storytelling and produces SANCTUARY, a performance series uplifting stories of religious trauma and deconstruction. Her work has been featured in Infection House, Dinner Bell, Room 220, and elsewhere. Her debut chapbook, Ordinary Time, is available at Tilted House. nikkimayeux.net • @nikki.mayeux
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Ivana Larrosa Untitled (the colony, 2020)
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IVANA LARROSA
24 x 18"
60 x 40"
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IVANA LARROSA
34 x 30"
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IVANA LARROSA
16 x 10"
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IVANA LARROSA
20 x 15"
Ivana Larrosa is a visual artist from Spain based in New York who works primarily with photography, video installation and performance. Larrosa is interested in conceptual strategies that have to do with the body as an object of study and a medium to approach architecture, perception and trauma. Ivana holds a BA in Film and Media Studies from University of Navarra and a MFA at Bard CollegeICP, where she currently teaches video installation and performance. ivanalarrosa.com • @ivanalarrosa
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Mica D’Orléans Girls World
No. C9951, August 11, 2014
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MICA D’ORLÉANS
No. F8783, August 24, 2016
No. F3105, July 5, 2019,
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MICA D’ORLÉANS
No. F8884, August 26, 2016
No. F8397, July 3, 2016
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MICA D’ORLÉANS
No. C9813, August 11, 2014
It was the mid 60’s, a time of war, malaise and angst. Youth and government were at odds. Amid this civil strife, Mica D'Orléans, almost 6, returned to the States from Haiti. Her mother, an avid museum and theater goer, introduced her and her 3 siblings to the arts. Wanting to translate her surroundings, she chose to become a cub reporter, and majored in photo-journalism before switching to film at NYU, with a BFA for film production. Ms. D'Orléans has exhibited in New York, Philadelphia, San Francisco and France. She is also a co-founder of Tribes Gallery in NYC's Lower East Side. She is currently focused on writing short stories. micadorleans.tumblr.com one-peek.blogspot.com
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Olga García Echeverría + Tanya Flores Hodgson SOMOS MUCHAS
All I’m saying is don’t lump us all together in the same cazuela as if you were making capirotada Somos muchas Las Muertas / Las Lloronas Hay Lloronas who appear bloody and greñudas with barbwire tangled around the _______ (fill in the blank) It takes skull and skill and a particular aesthetic to being dead Even a face lacking eyes can be beautiful You just have to know how to carry it you have to know how to wear the void Listen Hear those high-pitched cries that sound like newborns or cats in heat? That’s Me. That’s Us. Have you heard La Carretera Que Chilla?
Milpa
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OLGA GARCÍA ECHEVERRÍA + TANYA FLORES HODGSON
Those are all the whistling bones on the road of time along the arroyos dumped in the ditches That’s Me. That’s Us. When you hear the rattles and feel the Earth quake beneath your feet That’s Me. That’s Us. Somos Muchas Las Lloronas / Las Muertas I’m the enchanting long-haired Woman who lures the drunken into the woods, Ven, Ven acá and then watch as I open up my huge horse mouth to devour unfaithful lovers (The women of Central America aren’t fucking around)
I’m the kind of Llorona who likes to snatch small things humans go crazy when they can’t find—keys, wedding rings, money, children Ay mis hijos! Mis hijos! (Damn! I should’ve put a copyright on that, right?) How many centuries now? Que I kill men Que I kill mis hijos Yawn. Dizque. Maybe. Maybe. Okay, Yes! Ha ha! But why? Why? Don’t forget to ask, Why?
Penumbra
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OLGA GARCÍA ECHEVERRÍA + TANYA FLORES HODGSON
Y no se hagan You all love your monstrous female archetype, your Terrible Terrible Mother That’s Me That’s Us And you scholars Forever taking Me/Us apart and putting Us back together again. I’m flattered, really pero también Where are my flores? Where are my altars? I’m here to tell you it takes a lot of work being a Llorona una Muerta / Mujer Mito Long-ass unpaid hours no justice no closure no respect no peace It’s a split existence one foot deeply buried in the underworld the other still wandering around en un tacón rojo dando patadas y zapateadas (Yes, I’ve taken lessons) Culture
And it’s not like that at all Me who you fear I’m collecting all the scattered bones of women and children across the land (there are so many)
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OLGA GARCÍA ECHEVERRÍA + TANYA FLORES HODGSON
Me who you vilify I cradle the warrior women who die in childbirth I wrap serpents around my waist I am pulverizing bone at the Beginning of time to bring forth life I am always bringing forth life It is I who comes here again and again to shake and awaken your skeletons to scream to frighten you with an obsidian mirror
Cegua
I take your man-made horrors all the female sorrows of the world and drown them in a bathtub in a River You see, I am a River a Lake on the highest of cliffs spilling over, a Rising Ghost Ocean howling howling in ceaseless waves
Olga García Echeverría. Born and raised in East Los Angeles. Ultra Libra in love with the ocean and the trees and the disappearing bees. Teacher of Literature. Creator and destroyer of Language. Splendid Spinster who plans to joyfully spin words until her fingers turn to dust. olgagarciaecheverria.com
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Tanya Flores Hodgson is an artist based in Los Angeles. She was born in Masaya Nicaragua and immigrated to the United States at a young age. She holds a Bachelor’s in Fine Art Photography and a minor in Latin American Studies from California State University Long Beach. Her work focuses on Central American identity, immigration, feminism, social movements and the impact of U.S. imperialism/colonialism on Latin American politics, specifically Nicaragua, through a feminist decolonial lens. tanyafloreshodgon.com
Yejin Yoo Dot-on-dot.net
DOT ON DOT DOT NET: A DIGITAL TEMPLE
Finger points to the Moon. It takes approximately 1.26 seconds for moonlight to reach Earth’s surface and meet a human’s eyes. That is 1.240284738000546 in lunar seconds. Moonlight is a reflective light consisting of sunlight along with a little earthlight. From fingertip to shoulder, the human upper limb ratio corresponds to the golden section (≈1.618), known as the divine proportion or golden number. A newborn infant does not come into this world with this structural proportion, they grow into it as the body matures into adulthood. A pinecone has a spiral structure of the golden ratio among a variety of forms in nature, such as the geometry of crystals, and the spacing of stems in plants. The pineal gland in the human brain derives its name from the pinecone. In evolutionary biology, the pineal gland represents a kind of photoreceptor. In the epithalamus of some species of amphibians and reptiles, it is linked to a light-sensing organ, known as the parietal eye, which is also called the pineal eye or third eye. Dot-on-dot.net is about a finger pointing to the Moon, the patterns of fingerprints that are miraculously unique to each fingertip, and the limbs that grow into sacred geometry. It is also about the Moon, and the Sun—from which moonlight originates. Eventually, it is also about the pineal gland, reptiles, coiled kundalini, pinecones, and plants.
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YEJIN YOO
SEE DOT-ON-DOT.NET IN USE
Winter 2021
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YEJIN YOO
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YEJIN YOO
Winter 2021
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YEJIN YOO
Yejin Yoo (b. Seoul, South Korea) creates cross-medium work researching the essence of the media utilized — painting, audiovisual, and herself — as a fractal of the unknown and ever-shifting whole. She investigates many expressions of human senses including and beyond the five senses to connect the micro and the macro and make visible the thread through the oracle of art-making. Yejin is an artist, creative arts therapist, and practitioner of multicultural energy medicine based in Brooklyn, NY. Yejinyoo.com • dot-on-dot.net • @yejin_yooo
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Kelly Sheehy
BLINK
What happens when you take the street out of art? When instead of letting it blow in overnight on wheat paste winds and yellow spray paint, you commission it? Commodify create spectacle art but with immersion packing 1.5 million folks from the suburbs over the course of a four-day weekend to see it all light up in technicolor and sound in juxtaposition of Black against white. Who gets pushed from the pavement on kickoff parade routes? Lined ten people deep glowsticks and White Claws dance, dance dance for the pleasure, dance for the potential of a neighborhood where they still lock their car doors to drive thru north of Liberty Street or idling on red at night. BLINK and you'll miss Levon at the corner of 14th and Race selling the latest issue of Streetvibes and offering to walk your dog on the 32nd and 33rd of every month. BLINK and you'll miss John in his navy-blue puffer who doesn't stand still and hides his stories behind bright eyes and yellowed whiskers.
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KELLY SHEEHY
BLINK and you'll miss your audience with Mr. Errol the real mayor of Over-the-Rhine (not OTR™) sitting on his stoop with his cane and his cap offering howyoudoins to passers-by. BLINK and you'll miss Wanda and her metal cart none the wiser that you can purchase her complete works of poetry in paperback on Amazon for $10.95. BLINK and you'll miss Ray, who I only met on Saturday, sitting on his trike. A photographic memory, remembers everything he's ever read, He got a 1600 on the SAT. BLINK and you'll miss Ms. Cynthia and her three grandbabies seeing them hand in hand as they cross 13th quizzed on intersection safety and looking both ways. BLINK and another block of Vine Street is construction gated tarps set like a table for a dinner they're not invited to. Between a beer garden and a park bench what makes one social and the other criminal?
What do the works of Ralph Steadman, or Charlie Harper, or Saya Woolfalk mean to a parent deliberating whether to pay the electric or cut out lunch? Does art kaleidoscoped on a brick edifice in tangerine, ultraviolet, and electric blue make up for 47 families evicted their bedrooms tucked in silk-lined back pockets for profits to turn at just the right time? A so-called "shining future city" comes up 28k short in units of affordable housing cuz colonization didn't die with Columbus it just got a re-brand. Brown hands load favorite armchairs into uncle's pickups make way for whiteness on Peddle Wagons claiming this land is my land projection mapping candy-color luxury condos where community should be. You BLINK 19,200 times per day. How many times do you see?
*BLINK is one of the largest light, art and projection mapping events in the nation. This free four-day event takes place in downtown Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky, spanning more than 30 city blocks. BLINK turns the region into an outdoor art museum with large-scale projection mapping installations, murals, and immersive art.
Winter 2021
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KELLY SHEEHY
ARTEMIS, RUNNING
I run from your bark, your cedar, your bur— those roots—again to feel moss between my middle toes—dirt smells of leather—bitter cocoa and dead—I had forgotten the taste of honeysuckle—tiny green pad center stem—yellow sweet pollen dust—then you—through thickets— you—chase me on spindle of doe legs—heather fur and hoof crack—down to water's edge—running—and me—without quiver, without bow—sink into bog—black water bobbing—red with cranberries—fruit that swallows me beneath the crest—shielded from you—naked—berries kiss my body—in a way your lips never could—I run from your electricity—your spit—your noise—calling out to sun and cypress—barefoot in brackish water—where there is palm—I swear, I vow—I am not your river nymph—or siren sea—I am not your waning crescent—naked body caked in mud—petals, no longer for your touch—come wolf, come bear, come dog, and boar— teeth that sink—in severance of you—done means done—means go—my no—branded to your chest—the smell of burning flesh—I’ll run—until I’m tattered—until I am hollow or hallowed or filled—because just like the moon—cast in a velveteen sky—I rise.
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KELLY SHEEHY
POSTCARD
Upon arriving in New York, pick up a stick. Run it along the architecture and listen to the music of the city. —Unknown If I lined up all the bottles and cans in New York City would they stretch to Chicago? Right to your front doorstep—on the brick beneath your mailbox—all green glass and aluminum we could call Poetry—made of tinks and clanks but nothing rusted. It’s dirtier here—greasestained paper plates up and down 28th Street—flattened against stained concrete at the iron mouths of subway stations. Unspoken dos and don’ts regarding eye contact have always made me uncomfortable—but not this sense of enclosure. I can’t touch this energy—this history—or the glistening ducks that hang in steamed Chinatown windows—but I am looking for a sign—Helvetica—there’s something about it that swells me—the red parts of the Bible Jesus speaks with occasional laryngitis. In paperback book stores and hidden galleries something about Marilyn Monroe's face made up of tiny shrunken Mona Lisas makes drywall seem significant—exposed rafters tell of a ceiling that sings. This is where I found Story—realized I am nothing—but could be everything—and walk in an effort to blend—unraveling my sweater along the gutter to trace my way back home. I have discovered I am not the Hudson—or the train surfers or the dog walkers—the siren that echoes down a narrow street—black garbage bags by the curbside—alleyways and fire escapes—because I have never known so many stairs or types of—chiseled stone. I want to be a skyscraper comprised of mirrors and modern angles. I want to be James Baldwin’s thumbprint in 1966 or the bucket of sunflowers outside the bodega—the watermelon I contemplated stealing but can’t be bothered to carry the blocks. I want to be the ballet dancers frozen in the tree boughs of Central Park on the mall— these gold leaves are nothing but metallic and worth the price one pays—I found beauty in decay—on elevated walks—train tracks that meander with newly sprouted trees. There is unity in the muchness—part of the whole on a cellular level in unexpected vegetation. I lit a candle in a crumbling cathedral for your grandmother—sat on a bench—and wondered about the smell of designer storefronts. I learned to taste the word Greenwich—but Washington Heights brought more that I can feel—a reality where graffiti isn’t capital "A" art just paint and that means something too— where the removal of scaffolding makes me feel naked or like I forgot my purse—I learned in a city it’s said thrives on idea makers and doesn’t take care of them—MISSING YOU: takes up my entire chest.
Kelly Sheehy is a Cincinnati-based writer, advocate, prose poet, and lucid dreamer with a BA in English from the Ohio State University and an MFA in Creative Writing from the School of the Art Institue of Chicago.
Winter 2021
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Liz Nielsen Interdimensional Landscapes (2017–2020)
Time Orbiter, 2019 Analog Chromogenic Photograph, on Fujiflex, Unique 40 x 50"
Winter 2021
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LIZ NIELSEN
M
y photographs are experimental, made without a camera and can be described as light paintings or photograms. I build my own 'negatives' by creating a complex arrangement of transparent and opaque layers. Then, I enter the analog color darkroom, a pitch-black environment, where I expose the light sensitive paper with a variety of light sources. Bypassing the camera, I work directly on top of the paper, using the paper as film. The ‘paper’ is then processed through traditional color chemicals and the image appears. Each photogram is unique and cannot be duplicated. What one sees in the world differs from what another sees in the exact same space … even when we think we are looking at the same thing. Seeing and reading the imagery is closer to what one experiences with painting than photography. Yet my work is a very pure form of photography. It is recorded light which is the very definition of Photography. Prior to art, I studied philosophy, and it influences my work directly in that I am endlessly curious about the meaning of life + the dimensions of existence. Light has the incredible power to shape space, infuse emotion into imagery, and transcend time.
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LIZ NIELSEN
CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT
Space Station, 2020 Analog Chromogenic Photogram, on Fujiflex, Unique, 22 x 27" School Boy Landscape, 2019 Analog Chromogenic Photogram, on Fujiflex, Unique, 17 x 21" Mountain Vibrations, 2019 Analog Chromogenic Photogram, on Fujiflex, Unique, 12 x 30"
Winter 2021
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LIZ NIELSEN
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LIZ NIELSEN
FROM LEFT
Backyard Cosmos, 2019 Analog Chromogenic Photogram, on Fujiflex, Unique, 17 x 21" Landscape Oracle, 2019 Analog Chromogenic Photogram, on Fujiflex, Unique, 21 x 17"
Winter 2021
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LIZ NIELSEN
Liz Nielsen is an experimental photographer based in Brooklyn, New York, USA. Her photographs are made without a camera and can also be described as light paintings or photograms. She works in the analog color darkroom exposing light sensitive paper and processing it through traditional photographic chemicals. Nielsen received an MFA from the University of Illinois, Chicago in 2004, her BFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 2002, and her BA in Philosophy and Spanish from Seattle University in 1997. Liz has exhibited her work extensively including recent solo exhibitions in New York, London, and Paris. Her photograms have been featured at international art fairs such as Paris Photo, Landskrona Foto in Sweden, Photo London, AIPAD, New York, and Unseen Amsterdam. Nielsen has been reviewed in the New Yorker, the Guardian, the London Financial Times, LensCulture, Vogue UK, and FOAM magazine among others. liznielsen.com • @liz_nielsen217
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Not my party, 2019 Analog Chromogenic Photogram, on Fujiflex, Unique, 21 x 17"
Larissa Garza no quiero que se vaya el sol, quiero que me trague i don’t want the sun to leave i want it to swallow me
Notes on becoming, expanding, embracing the corporeal and turning into light.
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LARISSA GARZA
Winter 2021
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LARISSA GARZA
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LARISSA GARZA
Winter 2021
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LARISSA GARZA
larissa garza (they/them) is a non binary multidisciplinary artist and picnic organizer. their work investigates the different ways in which we build our life and affective connections through active listening, intention, care and collaboration; and is motivated by keeping alive all of what makes us ourselves, creating space for multiple dialogues and exchanges where individual intimacy and joy often become collective. their research emerges from queer theory, feminism, spiritual practices, rituals, and the everyday; mainly through participatory projects, installations, video, self publishing and cyber resources. larissagarza.online @peachpowerr
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Ginger gingerzine.net
