ZINE
VOL. V
MYSTIQUE
FALL 2021
GLAZE
Glaze is an Austin-based creative community that seeks to celebrate self-expression in every form. See more at www.glaze.community
I’ve always been drawn to the darker side of beauty, found comfort and familiarity in the unusual. So it’s no wonder that my first volume as Editor in Chief has a theme that runs parallel to the darker muses in art and beauty. Mystique was inspired by the Art Nouveau movement of the early 1900’s. Art Nouveau itself is a very muted, pale colored period. However, if you look close enough there’s a sense of mystery, a hint of something not of this world, so you have two different motifs to work with and I think that is made apparent in the spreads you’re about to see. These past two years have made it apparent that not all is as it seems, and we all are trying to make sense of it all. You can really see that as a common motif throughout the zine- all of us going through a sense of change, trying to understand the way of the world and what our roles are in this strange place. When flipping through this zine I challenge you all to look deeper, read between the lines and question everything. For what is life without a little mystery? I couldn’t be more proud of the work everyone has put into this zine and our little community. So now sit back, light some candles and incense, and enjoy Glaze Vol. V, Mystique.
Skyler Burk Editor-in-Chief
ZINE Skyler Burk Mariam Ali Aleigh Gerron Jacob Tran John Coffee Beck Preciado Kalee Sue Gore Joyce Kabwe Cat Cardenas Isabella Martinez Paloma Michel Ava Perez Melina Perez Arjana Alamaneih Maha Qadri
Editor-in-Chief/Co-Director of HMU Editorial Director/Co-Director of HMU Asst. Director of HMU Director of Photography Director of Videography/Asst. Director of Photography Director of Modeling Asst. Director of Modeling Director of Styling Director of Writing Asst. Director of Writing Director of Art History Co-Director of Marketing Co-Director of Marketing Director of Community Connections Director of Layout
Adam Kaplan, Adamaris Liliana Cartagena, Aidan Wilhite, Ajà Miller, Alyssa Lisette Lopez, Ana Brown, Angelica Campbell, Annika Rutledge, Audrey Sinclair, Bianca Felice Yerry, Bryce Ray, Callie Kurpiewski, Casey Tang, Catherine Hermansen, Chantha Dalena Le, Charlotte Rovelli, Chloe Luna, Chyna Marie Pilz, Claire Blanchard, Claire Eaves Philpot, Clara Mundy, Clare O’Brien, Cody Osen, Cruz Rendon, Danielle Xu, Deisy Velazquez, Dominique Coleman, Eileen Wang, Elise M Montemayor, Ella Claret, Emely Romo, Emily Gift, Farah Merchant, Fernanda Guerra, Frances Cava Humphrey, Ginger Rodriguez, Habib Rehman, Hanaa Irfan, Ian Ferrell, Jacob Vivial, Jade Mia Evans, Jamie Villarreal, Jaycee Jamison, Jesus Estrella, Jhyzel Rojas, Juan Antonio Aguilar, Katarina Tyll, Katherine Cruz, Kathleen Segovia, Kayla Dawn Davis, Kaylee Holland, Kim Pagtama, Kristen Guillen, Kristen Tucker, Kristy Thai, Lauren Durán, Lauren Lopez, Leslye Ruiz, Libby Morse, Lilly Gary, Lilly Rose, Lissie Hill, Lizzie Dragon, Lucielle Lopez-Hernandez, Lucy Hwang, Madee Feltner, Madeline Rose Thompson, Madelyn Lily Fischer, Marguerite Carrithers, Marie Rangel, Meredith Brown, Miranda Hynes, Mostefa Sheikhi, Moyosola Akinsipe, Natalie J Arriaga, Natasha Bermudez, Noor Arif Iqbal, Pamela de Marion Silva Diaz, Patrick Grady, Payton Wyatt, Persia Nezhad, Priscilla Takyi, Rachel Aquino, Raina Shea Harmon, Raishma Kazi, Ramray Wong, Rebeca Jovel, Rebekah Heidel, Ren Breach, Rosario Mejia, Roy Salazar, Ruben Paquian, Ryan Velasquez, Ryene Sanders, Sally Vo, Samantha Dorisca, Samantha Suzette Trevino, Sari Beall, Seemani Dash, Shania Wagner, Sofia Melendez, Stacey Alicia Campbell, Summer Fathke, Sumukhi Prasad, Tanvi Sehgal, Tara Bhikha, Taylor Paynter, Tiffany Sun, Tony Vega, Triniti Rhum, Zayana Uddin
table of contents Wilkommen
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Crystal Ball
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Cosmic Vessel
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Absinthe
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Removing You
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Acquainted with Madness
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Ode to the Moth
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Sweet Being
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Metamorphosis
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iichliwp
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See No Evil
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Anticipation
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Dream of Seraphim
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Big Trip
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ET
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Earth’s Cry
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1000°
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The Kiss
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Day & Night
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Bonnie & Clyde
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Misunderstood
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Coven
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Miss. Demeanor
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Vanité
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Misfits
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God of War
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issue no. 5
MYSTIQUE [mi-’stēk] noun
1. an air or attitude of mystery and reverence developing around something or someone 2. the special esoteric skill essential in a calling or activity
Wilkommen
Sensual, raunchy, and extravagant: Welcome to the Cabaret.
hmua CHYNA PILZ, RYAN VELASQUEZ models RYAN VELASQUEZ, TANVI SEHGAL stylist ROY SALAZAR photographer JOHN COFFEE writing SEEMANI DASH layout KRISTY THAI
Starting from the red lights of Parisian Moulin Rouge, inspiring fashion trends across the globe, and encouraging the beauty of queer culture for decades, the cabaret is grounds for performances galore.
As the lights engulf you, switching through all colors, the performers hide behind the curtain, and suddenly they’re just characters that invited you into their lives. They’d revealed all and nothing. Bared their bodies without their minds. Each one lives a distinct life, but they fall in the same place every night to revert back to their true selves.
Now, have you ever ventured into the glamour of Cabaret? The world is filled with the Cancan’s drumbeat thuds, singer’s rich tones, and adrenaline of the stage. Just imagine, the performers transform into their characters, breathing in the side of nonconformity. They first capture your attention. Talent intertwined with confidence. The atmosphere is electric as they open their mouths for the first act. In their minds is a mantra: Set the stage. Sit, spread your legs, and put on a show. Welcome to the cabaret, where anything goes. Suddenly, you’re laughing, you’re crying. You feel the music taking over your mind, playing a gentle game with your mind. You fall madly in love, enraptured by the happenings of the stage. The performers kiss, and you’re itching to join. They draw you in with every breath, and you can’t help but breathe heavier in awe. In, out, in, out.
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So who are they? You may never know. You’d never pass them in a street recognizably. They’re stars that entertained you for the night, leaving you inspired to be a little more like them. Sexy. Passionate. Gorgeous. Rest assured, you can come back anytime you want. You’re always welcome at the Cabaret.
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latsyrC llaB llaB latsyrC A nihtiW redloheb eht fo eye eht ngised s’etaf yb thgil gnidneb dnoyeb morf egassem a seil niereht yretsym taerg smlaer detnahcne ot wodniw hturt fo elcaro eht otni ezag uoy nehw ssenkrad ?uoy ta kcab serats tahw
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hmua ISABELLA MARTINEZ, JHYZEL ROJAS models KRISTEN GUILLEN, MOYOSOLA AKINSIPE, TONY VEGA stylist KATHLEEN SEGOVIA, MELINA PEREZ photographer JACOB TRAN writer ISABELLA MARTINEZ layout ANGELI ADHIKARI
Crystal Ball Within A Crystal Ball the eye of the beholder bending light by fate’s design a message from beyond great mystery therein lies window to enchanted realms oracle of truth when you gaze into the darkness what stares back at you?
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Inside I have a little home here Me and my only mind Everything that’s hummed when the curtain closes Everything left behind. I twirl around concepts of before, Unraveling my softness hidden Always what could’ve been better, Still somehow always wanting more. Only once forgiven Light surrounded by your darkness The night is in love with his beau the stars
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hmua SHANIA WAGNER models SALLY VO, LISSIE HILL stylist LILLY GARY photographer CASEY TANG writing DOMINIQUE COLEMAN layout MAHA QADRI
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Out Outside again, I’m never home Lips and eyes to protect me from electric clatter A vessel that holds me so You’ve always been good to me Even when I couldn’t be good to myself Soft reminders in purple colors or aches that say stay Want less, right here and now that’s all you say My cage cradles my white mind and I am reminded I am free In this little body that houses me
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hmua KATARINA TYLL models FERNANDA GUERRA, REBECA JOVEL stylist KATHLEEN SEGOVIA photographer REN BREACH layout LAUREN DURAN
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g n i v o m e R u o y
hmua MIRANDA HYNES models MOYOSOLA AKINSIPE, KATHERINE CRUZ stylist KATHLEEN SEGOVIA photographer AIDAN WILHITE writing MAHA QADRI layout 26 MAHA QADRI
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My face usually hurts at the end of the day. Tensing and stretching my naturally relaxed muscles into facial expressions is the most vigorous exercise I do. Apparently, if I’m not smiling or laughing, I am unhappy. When I come home, I find solace in the late hours of the night. Undisturbed, I let both my facial muscles and mind rest. Privacy is a catalyst for being your actual self. When I’m alone, I have nothing to prove. Even if you don’t care what others think, humans tend to act in a way that is comforting and socially acceptable to other humans. But alone, I can be quiet, disgusting, vulgar, or restful without having to justify my actions. Body-wracking sobs without the awkward and clueless bystanders. Talking to yourself and enjoying your own company without the pitiful glances. Dancing and moving your body without the judgmental stares. Doing your skincare because taking care of yourself is how you love yourself, and not for the sake of external vanity. When you’re alone, you act dramatically or calmly for the sake of your own expression. Sometimes I’ll enjoy a comedy without cracking a single smile, and sometimes I’ll curse every God there is for simply stubbing my toe. Feeling sexy for your own sake, treating yourself for just getting out of bed, or indulging in laziness. All these things and more are allowed. When you’re alone, pleasing yourself should be your top priority. Therapy and other forms of expression are amazing, but privacy gives you something else, something more. Existing in your natural state is healing. Let yourself be… just be. Offer yourself up to the universe as you are and know that simply being is enough.
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Acquainted With Madness
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hmua SUMMER FATHKE models RACHEL AQUINO, RUBEN PAQUIAN stylist ELLA CLARET photographer AIDAN WILHITE layout SAMANTHA TREVIÑO
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Moths
Ode to Moths I am the lonely grey moth outside your window. Drawn to light, I yearn for someplace brighter than where I am. But here’s the problem with light: It reflects back at you. My matte black eyes, antennae like feathers, I don’t like what I see. For though my wings are streaked with silver, I only seek out gold. Always out of reach but front of mind I beat my dusty wings, feeling jealous of butterflies.
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hmua JAYCEE JAMISON, LIBBY MORSE models CLARA MUNDY, LUCIELLE LOPEZ, JAMIE VILLARREAL stylist JOYCE KABWE photographer SARI BEALL GLAZE writer CLARE O’BRIEN layout ANGELI ADHIKARI
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hmua JACOB VIVIAL, ROY SALAZAR models RYAN VELASQUEZ, LUCY HWANG, JADE EVANS stylist MADEE FELTNER photographer REN BREACH writing LISETTE LOPEZ layout KRISTY THAI
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Oh, sweet being of the breathing land. You share the skin of your neighbors, but we know none of you are one and the same. In this world, you avoid growing separate from each other. Restricting yourselves with disbelief in your abilities. Why do you reject what may grow from you and become visible to all beings? When you drift into the realm of your mind, you are in a state of selfdiscovery. But who are you hoping to find there? What symbols do you journey to find in these fictional locations? We’ve observed the shape-shifting ability of your spirit at work in these dimensions. As you dive into the mystical environment of your mind, your hair begins to flow like water, mimicking the snakes of Medusa’s head at work, preparing to keep you protected from the threat of danger.
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Overwhelmed by internal confliction, your veins flow with the color of envy, seeping through your pale skin. When your head is cleared of doubt, you swim through your made up world so gracefully with joy. Your skin becomes plump like the softest peach and you blush with a vibrant red passion.
Follow us, darling. We are the physical manifestations of your dreams. We will show you how to embrace your sensuality without boundaries. Trust us to help you shed the skin you’ve inhabited for too long. There is nothing more freeing than decorating your avatar with material that represents your spirit.
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hmua CHLOE LUNA models LILLY ROSE, GINGER RODRIQUEZ stylist LESLYE RUIZ photographer RAMRAY WONG writing RAISHMA KAZI layout LAUREN DURÁN
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Love. It only reared its gutwrenching ugly head once in her life, but, damn, if wasn’t already once too many. She never felt butterflies or some otherworldly sense of rightness; no, all she felt was pressure. Pressure to act, pressure to attract, pressure to conform. Like she strayed too close to a black hole and couldn’t escape its orbit, doomed to one day collide and become one. Her life was no longer hers, now the barren outline lay before her, just waiting for her to step into her role. And the worst part is that she could see it: The two of them living out a life that was already carved out for them. Dating, marriage, kids, and then patiently waiting ‘til death do they part. This must be what’s meant for me, she thought. I am a person to whom things happen. So, with a sour taste in her mouth, she patiently bided her time, waited to act, attract, and conform.
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w She waited and waited, growing bored every day that nothing happened to her as it usually did. Waiting for the inevitable was no more stressful than waiting for the unknown. Years passed and her patience wore thin, and she became so bored that she decided to make things happen on her own. They swam with the devil, bathed in honey, and started asking for forgiveness, not permission. They raced through the universe of their own making, leaving a trail of stars and supernovas in their wake. They became something… more.
More than a woman... More like a God. They were no mere black hole, but the fabric of space and time itself. Influence, wealth, status, worldly words like these could not describe their reach. Pure unadulterated power flowed in their veins.
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The bleak life that had once been thrust upon them was now several light-years behind them. They realized that that “love” had never been enough, so happily they gave it up. Power was far sweeter. Finally, they felt butterflies and that cosmic sense of rightness. They were not dragged into orbit; they crafted their own galaxy, putting themself in the center. Heavenly bodies and people alike were caught in their greatness. Happiness, rage, passion, sadness circled simultaneously. Love may not have been enough, but it, too, orbited like a comet, only making contact once every century or so. But it no longer “happened” to them. Love came when it was created and sustained, no longer taking as it pleased. I create what is meant for me, they thought. I am a person who carves their own path.
hmua MARIAM ALI models SKYLER BURK, BECK PRECIADO stylist MELINA PEREZ photographer CASEY TANG writing MAHA QADRI layout MAHA QADRI
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S E E N O E V I
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hmua CHYNA MARIE PILZ, ROSARIO MEJIA models BIANCA FELICE YERRY, AJÀ MILLER stylist MADELYN LILY FISCHER photographer JOHN COFFEE writing LISSETE LOPEZ layout LAUREN DURÁN
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hmua SHANIA WAGNER models SALLY VO, LISSIE HILL stylist LILLY GARY photographer CASEY TANG writing DOMINIQUE COLEMAN layout MAHA QADRI location SAHARA GLAZELOUNGE
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“I WOULD LIKE, IF I MAY,
TO TAKE YOU ON A STRANGE JOURNEY” MYSTIQUE
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I am but a humble sinner, fumbling in the dark.
You were made of the very sins I myself cultivated.
Forever damned to burn in the fiery inferno of hell.
Pride.
The chasm I burrowed into the earth, the very pit I ravage deeper and deeper with every fault I bear on my soul.
Lust.
Yet, you saw beyond my tattered spirit. Or so you initially lead yourself on to see. Presenting yourself as my heavenly savior, sent to heal me of every impurity I harbored. To save me from the depths of hell as my guide to the holy Saviour. But you were nothing of the noble, chivalrous healer you lead yourself to be.
Our bodies moan in sweet ecstasy as we cast aside our guilt in place for erotic bliss. By morning, the deed is done and our souls are damned.
Gluttony. Using me as the essence of your sins, then calling me the root of your sinful attraction. While I may be guilty of this lustful sin myself, neither are you of the stature to alleviate me of the of very the sin you suppress. At dawn, I am but your simple handmaiden, accompanying my most holy master.
Come dawn, I am yet again but your simple handmaiden. Blamed for your very lust. For how could such a holy man rot from such a sin. And yet, you were created from the very sin you repress and forged from human flesh. The same flesh comprising every last sinner on the planet, including you.
Yet, come twilight, sin washes over our guilt-ridden souls as your hands run down my virgin body.
You will face the music you composed from the very sins amassed throughout your pathetic excuse of a life.
Eventually, even that title was revoked by your own hand.
For we are but humble sinners, fumbling in the dark.
hmua CLAIRE EAVES PHILPOT, ANGELICA BLAZE models ANGELICA BLAZE, REBECA JOVEL, EMILY GIFT stylist ANGELI ADHIKARI photographer JOHN COFFEE writing SAMANTHA TREVIÑO layout HABIB REHMAN, MAHA QADRI
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BIG TRIP The trio dares tread betwixt the trees beyond the bounds of the unknown Tired feet trail, timid, through the grass the wind carrying them home Though their bleary eyes, still dazed see not what truth they seek, the kindred spirits travel forth A trip laced with mystique Time twists, temptation leads An outstretched hand, an open door A phantom voice, a hidden world Have we been here before? The closer they get, the further they stray Trinity of light Unity of soul, body, and mind Energy intertwined Awaken! call to the earth rise from the meadow where you lie Return to the sacred soil the path of wisdom divine
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hmua JHYZEL ROJAS, ISABELLA MARTINEZ models LIZZIE DRAGON, GINGER RODRIGUEZ, DALENA LE stylist LIZZE DRAGON photographer AIDAN WILHITE writing ISABELLA MARTINEZ videographer CLAIRE BLANCHARD layout SAMANTHA TREVIÑO
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hmua RAINA HARMON models AUDREY SINCLAIR, AJÀ MILLER, ALEIGH GERRON photographer KRISTEN TUCKER layout LAUREN DURÁN
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writing SAMANTHA DORISCA layout MAHA QADRI
Earth’s Cry
team 26 earths cry
A compilation compilation of of colors colors existing existing simply simply to to kiss kiss the the blue blue skies skies goodbye goodbye A Competing for the peak showcase to remind humanity Good things come to those who greet the daily outbursts of the skies Why do the skies most gleaming moments happen during the moments of solitude From the brink of dawn into the tranquil nights The beauty which awaits Those who seek serenity But for the eyes which wander aimlessly No destination in sight Forgetting their final destination belongs to nature The suns outburst will continue to manifest Waiting for earth’s beings to introduce itself Still, it will rise It will set It is our responsibility to greet heavens design For it is not intended for us to remove ourselves from the earth’s cycle But for us to intertwine ourselves into its wonders
hmua RYAN VELASQUEZ models DANIELLE XU, ALEIGH GERRON, DALENA LE stylist DEISY VELASQUEZ photographer KIM PAGTAMA writing DOMINIQUE COLEMAN layout KRISTY THAI
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1000℃ You watch me as I burn Call it fascination or grief in your eyes I melt softly when you come around Oh now, that was always beyond your control That subsides you, I drip, I drip A blessing, a curse Call it my brief destiny Smoke fills my head aflame Quietly something fills us now I think it might be fear, I am fickle, I grow weak Still my embers keep your warmth Words like wax We knew what this was and we saw it before it was gone This little light of mine Lit your world, for a little while
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The Kiss
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hmua JAYCEE JAMISON models LUCY HWANG, LISSIE HILL stylist CATHERINE HERMANSEN in collaboration with STARDUST VINTAGE photographer KIM PAGTAMA writer SOFIA MELENDEZ GLAZE layout ANGELI ADHIKARI
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Klimt: Art Theft, Adoration, and Adele Bloch-Bauer W
hen one thinks of “art nouveau”, one artist is sure to come to mind: Gustav Klimt. His elaborate, shimmering, patterned portraits of beautiful women embody the era and what it stood for. One of his paintings, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, has captivated fine art aficionados for over 100 years, but not just because it is visually stunning. It was the center of one of the most infamous art plunderings in history. Klimt was born in 1862 in Baumgarten, Vienna, Austria. He attended the Vienna School of Arts and Crafts as a young man via a prestigious full scholarship, studying traditional architecture. However, painting was always his forte; his brother accompanied him painting murals throughout town. His works tended to involve underlying themes of erotica and sexuality as well as dark symbolism (when looking back these can be described as “leitmotifs” in his career). Many of his professional patrons were appalled by his final products due to heavy censorship and classical art values of the time.
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After becoming tired of constantly being turned down jobs, he and other like-minded artists founded the Viennese Sezession in 1897, a collective where they were able to utilize more graphic & innovative themes in their art. Klimt’s most recognizable feature in his art is the use of gold leaf. On a trip to the Basilica San-Vitale in Ravenna, Italy, he viewed the Byzantine mosaics on the apse of the building, which left him stunned. He decided to take this element and incorporate it into his works, starting with Pallas Athene in 1898. However, one of the most recognizable gilded portraits he did was the work I will focus on here, Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I (1907). Adele Bloch-Bauer was a wealthy socialite in Vienna who owned a salon with esteemed patrons such as composer Gustav Mahler. As an artist, Klimt understood the power of women throughout history. He saw Bloch-Bauer, who he first worked with while painting this portrait, as his muse; a strong, powerful “femme fatale”, an archetype that all his works
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have in common. Her career as a philanthropist and business owner captivated him, leading Adele to be the only subject the painter painted more than once in his career (3 times overall). In addition to this fascination was lust - rumors circulated over the years that Klimt daydreamed of a relationship with Adele, despite her being married. Her husband, Ferdinand BlochBauer, a sugar manufacturer, commissioned the work in honor of her beauty. In the portrait, we see Adele staring at the viewer, seducing them in the process. Adele enshrined in gold as the background appears to be engulfing her body. Gold represents wealth power, and status, even in the modern day. This could signify her uncomfortableness with being a well-regarded figure in Viennese society, or a “bird in a golden cage” (Néret 60). Her hair is tidily tied up in a “Gibson-girl” style, which was extremely trendy in the Edwardian era, in which this piece was completed. Her dress has Egyptian-inspired eye symbols on it, representing the eyes of society that were always watching
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her every move. Within the background lie a variety of swirls, squares, rectangles, and more figures, which something Klimt features in several of his works. He attributes this to the “horror vacui” complex introduced by Aristotle, in which materials tend to fill blank space in an unfilled void. It is also inspired his life-long love Emile Flöge’s fashion designs. In 1938, World War II was ravaging the world. The Nazi Party was attempting to fit society into its cruelly strait-laced mold. In the process, they plundered hundreds of paintings that didn’t meet their aesthetic standards, including Klimt’s Adele Bloch-Bauer. It had belonged to Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer previously, who’s family’s fortune and heirlooms were stolen as well, including an engagement ring belonging to his niece, Maria Altmann. She would soon gain her uncle’s inheritance, left to her in his will, which included two portraits of her aunt by Klimt. After successfully fleeing from the Nazi’s, Maria arrived in Los Angeles. In 1998, the Austrian government ordered that all Nazi-seized paintings be returned to their rightful owners. In response, Altmann sparked a legal battle rallying for the rights of all her family’s property. After a long fight, the “Woman in Gold” was returned to a Bloch-Bauer heir. Unbeknownst to Gustav Klimt at the time of painting the Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, his piece would become a part of one of the most notorious events in the history of the art world.
Cohen, Patricia. “The Story behind ‘Woman in Gold’: Nazi Art Thieves and One Painting’s Return.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 30 Mar. 2015, https://www.nytimes. com/2015/03/31/arts/design/the-story-behind-woman-ingold-nazi-art-thieves-and-one-paintings-return.html. Néret, Gilles. Gustav Klimt, 1862-1918. Benedikt Taschen, 1993. Shapira, Elena “Adele Bloch Bauer I.” Jewish Women’s Archive, https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/bloch-baueradele. “The Woman In Gold.” Christie’s, Christies, 15 June 2016, https://www.christies.com/features/The-Woman-inGold-7494-1.aspx. York, Neue Galerie New. “Adele Bloch-Bauer I.” Adele BlochBauer I | Neue Galerie NY, https://www.neuegalerie.org/ content/adele-bloch-bauer-i. York, Neue Galerie New. “Gustav Klimt and Adele Bloch Bauer.” Home, https://www.neuegalerie.org/gustav-klimtand-adele-bloch-bauer-woman-gold.
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“Art is a line around your thoughts” -Gustav Klimt
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hmua LIBBY MORSE, EMELY ROMO models LAUREN LOPEZ, ANGELI ADHIKARI stylist EILEEN WANG photographer PAMELA DE MARION SILVA DIAZ writer CLARE O’BRIEN layout LAUREN DURÁN
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hmua SHANIA WAGNER, ALEIGH GERRON models PERSIA NEZHAD, BRYCE RAY stylist SHANIA WAGNER photographer PAT GRADY 94 layout MAHA QADRI
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Backyard swimming pools distorted by time and space ripples reflecting the white lines dripping off the pointed tips of hooked noses and vulnerability pouring out of big crater-like pores An illuminated pathway into darkness until a screeching halt shattered gem pieces murmuring, speaking up in that emptiness Ugly and cast off to the side, they never wanted to take over the world they just want to be heard, be understood feel the same love that undeserving manicured lawns and flower beds get Why must color, why must beauty be concentrated, organized structured Static and unmoving and concrete to be accepted, recognized, praised, embraced Why must I know my end goal? We move freely, fluidly we swim and drown over and over again in ourselves and all we ask is that you consider taking a dip I never want to be a shiny glob of paint squeezed out of a tube because it too becomes one-dimensional on the blank canvas you find so freeing I want to collide with that chartreuse, that fluorescent, that hypothetical, that holographic, that rusty bronze retired from last season our shards breaking off and plummeting into darkness to form their own maroons and mustards
hmua MARIAM ALI models DANIELLE XU, TONY VEGA stylist CATHERINE HERMANSEN photographer RAMRAY WONG writer NOOR IQBAL layout KRISTY THAI
That is the only we grow we grow we grow In those collisions we are mindful but not single-minded We absorb everything and attach ourselves to nothing
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When you come upon us our noses and pores have enough stories to entrance you You will make a home inside. No prim and proper lawn, no blue skies, no brick mailboxes, cumulus clouds, smooth sidewalks But here you’ll be held Here you’ll grow.
COVEN
hmua MARIAM ALI, ALEIGH GERRON models PERSIA NEZHAD, HANAA IRFAN, SKYLER BURK stylist ELLA CLARET photographer SAMANTHA DORISCA layout ANGELI ADHIKARI
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M IS S. DE M E A NOR
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hmua ALEIGH GERRON, CHYNA PILZ models PRISCILLA TAKYI, KALEE SUE GORE stylist MELINA PEREZ photographer NATASHA BERMUDA writing TIFFANY SUN layout MAHA QADRI
To my darling, I was the perfect wife A product of the 50s My dresses pristine My pearls polished My smile unwavered Where did I go wrong? My job title was: Maid Nanny Chef Because I live to serve you
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Gratefully, Gratefully, II give give My My life life My My everything everything All All to to you you With With my my palms palms wide wide open open Was Was it it not not enough? enough? Gone Gone are are my my aspiration aspiration Gone Gone are are my my voice voice Because Because II belong belong to to you you My My life life dedicated dedicated to to raising raising our our children children Alone Alone My My nights nights spent spent Alone Alone
Leaving Leaving aa home home for for you you to to come come back back to to Patiently Patiently waiting waiting II will will forget forget your your lack lack of of love love II will will ignore ignore your your unspoken unspoken gratitude gratitude But. But. Fidelity Fidelity is is all all II ask ask A A request request proved proved too too much much My My dearest, dearest, II will will have have my my picturesque picturesque life life Because Because II am am your your perfect perfect wife wife Till Till death death do do us us part. part. Signed, Signed, Yours Yours forever. forever.
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hmua RAINA HARMON models KALEE SUE GORE, DALENA LE photographer CHARLOTTE ROVELLI writing MARGUERITE CARRITHERS layout HABIB REHMAN
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hmua MIRANDA HYNES models BECK PRECIADO stylist JOYCE KABWE photographer PAYTON WYATT writing NOOR IQBAL layout HABIB REHMAN
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I
wonder if the ants care when we step on them. In multitudes they matter but individually what benefit do they serve? Each reunion a sweet escape, a celebration of other’s leftovers but never telling of skill or self-worth, instead a mix of luck and a reflection of greed and callousness of a species determined superior. When the moon comes out is when stigma finds its power, tripping to find its footing. But what is the use of power if it is invisible to most eyes when power is in abundance when power is leftover? Each rejoice under the green moon and the smoke it emits is a sweet sweeter escape a celebration not of what is ours but what will never be so what is the benefit of our existence if not to serve as a placeholder? They crowd together like a block of uniformity and not necessarily unity in the untouchable parts of the sidewalk and scatter spreading over the gravel when presented with a reason to, this reunion a sweeeeet escape a celebration of what breaks up a group and determines a free-for-all, a survival-of-the-fittest. We’re here to rejoice over breadcrumbs? To find sustenance in what was thrown not even out of pity but out of ignorance? Night after night we breathe in this cold air like an infection like an attack keeping us alive now and meant to kill us off soon enough and no one questions it, no one wonders what happens when we’re done and what was before us and where we scatter when the sun comes up and where in the gravel do we find refuge in, if there is any place at all. But power is unattainable because secrecy was never meant to lead to it, it gives rise to freedom instead, a paradox often misunderstood until seen directly by those pushed aside, by those given leftovers and left over and over again, over and over. I watch the ants gather again into their pods after a near-trampling and now I know they are content. Those cracks are a far chance from the top of the food chain but each reunion is a sweet escape a celebration of refuge a celebration of survival of knowing their existence at the bottom is existence in the first place. We breathe in that freezing sickness and understand the short timeline of it all. That stinging temporary pinching tingle burn in the back of our throats means a certainty of life a certainty of something and in the bleak emptiness of doubt and confusion this remains a firm truth.
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hmua JACOB VIVIAL models FERNANDA GUERRA, MADELINE ROSE THOMPSON stylist JOYCE KABWE photographer IAN FERRELL writing SAMANTHA TREVIÑO layout HABIB REHMAN
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