Aubergine - Spring 2021 by Guggenheim Investments

Aubergine

ONLINE JOURNAL OF THE ARTS

VOL. 02 | SPRING 2021

Table of Contents Juan Alvarez, New York Questions & Answers

John Casesa, New York Questions & Answers

Haoshi Cheng, New York Questions & Answers

Aubergine Working Group 3 40

4 40

5 40

Juan Alvarez

Arik Hirschfeld, New York

Maria Odessky Rosen, New York

Questions & Answers

Jonathan Barnett

Cedric Jones, New York

Mikhail Romanyuk, New York

Sherika Henry

Questions & Answers

Alysia Stiles Kinsella, Chicago

Mark Rosky, New York

Questions & Answers

Arik Hirschfeld Alysia Kinsella Lori LoPinto

Joseph Dewing, Indianapolis

Chloe Magnuson, New York

Catherine Salazar, Dublin

Questions & Answers

David Milstein

Annie Dong, New York

Hilary Kiely, New York

Krystle Statler, Santa Monica

Joana Piano

Questions & Answers

Krystle Statler

Patricia Dredze, Chicago

Maragatha Lakshmi Kumaravel, Mumbai

Jessica Stern, Non Company Location

Jane Titus

Questions & Answers

Meaghan Fogarty, New York

Debbie Lopez, New York

Jacqueline Taddei, New York

Questions & Answers

Jon Tengi, New York

Questions & Answers

Monica Francisco, New York

Lori LoPinto, New York

Questions & Answers

Jose Gonzalez, New York

David Milstein, Rockville

Jane Titus, New York

Questions & Answers

Avindra Harridass, New York

Finbarr O’Callaghan, Chicago

Questions & Answers

Erin Baker, Chicago

Filip Ziec, Chicago

Questions & Answers

The initial idea for this journal of the arts was suggested by Jackie Taddei and the name Aubergine was suggested by Maggie Irvin.

Juan Alvarez, New York

Hello, Hello

Turnin’ Headz (Are You Ready)

Video

You Promised (Featuring a Poem by Isabella Esser-Munera) Video

John Casesa, New York

Untitled, 2014 Photograph

Untitled, 2013 Photograph

Haoshi Cheng, New York

Joseph Dewing, Indianapolis

A Dream of Summer

I woke up cold

I trailed her, laughing

Poem

Coiled in a sweater

It’s all but shadow

Leaves were falling out

A ghost of the summer we lost

In a golden color

She nodded, holding up

I wanted to see her garden

A trembling bud Yet the scent you smell

I knocked on her door

Yet the color in your eyes

Holding a teapot

Aren’t those real enough

C’mon in, she said

Even this is all a dream

Roses are in blossom

Your heart has been here

We are still in summer She handed me the rose This is for you A salute from summer

Family Prints Painting

Annie Dong, New York

Ray of Sunshine

The Journey

Photograph

Annie Dong

Just Before Dawn Photograph

Patricia Dredze, Chicago I Miss Everything

I miss my friends from the office. I miss

of a suburbia landscape waking up. I

I miss going out to eat. I miss visiting our

Instead we’ve gotten to spend more time

Short Story

Dwayne and Matt bickering about

miss the morning walk across the river,

favorite restaurants and chatting with our

at home over the weekends. Now we

nothing. I miss Terrence teasing Frank.

passing the overnight workers heading

favorite servers. I miss watching games

don’t have any weekend schedules, or

I miss James with his ‘chalk talks’ and I

home after a long night. I miss the smells

on the big screen TV while munching

alarms. Now I have time for a morning

miss Abbey’s disinfecting everything. I

of coffee and donuts coming from the

on appetizers.

run or walk in the neighborhood. Now

miss chatting with Mary about running (or

food trucks parked along Wacker. I miss

the injuries that prevent us from running).

the evening stroll back to the train,

Instead I’ve been cooking 5 or so nights

raking leaves instead of in an auditorium,

passing suburban baseball fans coming

a week (it’s either frozen pizza or frozen

running back and forth between rinks,

Instead I have a cat who sleeps next

into the city for a game. I miss seeing

veggie burgers the other two nights).

getting paperwork, and working games.

to my desk, suddenly waking up and

Joel, the bartender in Ogilvie station, who

Now we’re eating healthier, and saving

Now, we ride our bikes over to a friends

jumping into my lap to head butt me for

always had my drink ready to go. I miss

tons of money.

house for backyard, socially distant

no reason. Now my husband and I chat

the conductors who joked around, while

about the morning news as we both

keeping a watchful eye out for anyone

I miss spending weekends driving (or

Now we’re on the couch watching

sit, face to face, in the room designated

trying to skip paying a fare.

flying) to roller derby tournaments

Svengoolie and SNL, instead of working

around the country as a non-skating

the evening roller derby game and hitting up an after party.

as an “office” in our house. Now, I have

we are outside, working in the yard, or

happy hours on Saturday afternoons.

an open window next to me that lets

Instead I get to sleep 2 extra hours every

official. I miss spending time in officials

in the sounds of the neighborhood,

morning. Now I’m not so sleepy mid-

rooms, hanging out with skaters and

along with the summer breezes. Now I

morning. Now it’s mid-day bike rides

working double header games. I miss

So yeah, I miss everything. But I also

have the neighbors music (so much last

on local trails with old friends or walks

‘taking over’ a restaurant at the end of a

realize that I have so much.

century ‘soft rock’) and the sounds of

around the neighborhood, instead of

long day of working games, with a bunch

the kids down the street playing with the

walks to the Art Institute at lunchtime.

of other officials, to discuss the games,

As Joe Walsh once immortalized in song,

neighborhood dogs.

Now I ‘commute’ by walking to the front

calls, and whatever else happened during

“I can’t complain but sometimes I still do.

room at the end of the day, where I have

the day. I miss trying the local cuisine

Life’s been good to me, so far.”

I miss commuting on the train. I miss

a cat that jumps on my lap while I read a

specialties that every local bar/restaurant

listening to my morning NPR podcast

book. Now I get my own drink from the

in every city has and wants to claim as

for my update on what’s going on in the

kitchen, while I ponder what to make

the best.

world, while I gazed out at the backyards

for dinner.

Meaghan Fogarty, New York

Monica Francisco, New York

The Secret Drawing

Travel by Paint Series, Bali, Indonesia Mixed Media

Monica Francisco

Travel by Paint Series, Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Travel by Paint Series, Montevideo, Uruguay

Painting

Jose Gonzalez, New York

African Sunrise Painting

Avindra Harridass, New York

Erin Baker, Chicago

Huskies – Mom and Daughter

Mala for Grandma

Photograph

Jewelry

Arik Hirschfeld, New York

Autumn Rosette – Thanksgiving Pie

Beneath the Autumn Sun

Drawing

Arik Hirschfeld,

Rainbows for A Drawing

Cedric Jones, New York Goodbye Oppression!

I’ve been whispering

Oppression,

Close the joint account

So, what I didn’t

Poem

all these years

you have beleaguered me

I had with you—

have yesterday

but now it’s time for me to shout—

and kept me down

Oppression,

All I wanted was to believe

pack your things,

there was freedom

leave your keys

to be found.

and get out!

I’ll have tomorrow Throw away the lies

‘cause I said good-bye

I got from you—

to you today!

Dry the tired eyes

Oppression,

that cried for you—

my head and my heart

I was down so low

are so much lighter

No!

you had me thinking

Heal from all the pain

since I’ve realized

Take your keys

I was better off dead.

I had with you!

I’ve always been a fighter.

I had to get you

Oppression,

I have so much joy

Forward your mail,

Out of my house

I thought that you were

now that I have

book a hotel

Out of my heart

the only life

learned life’s lessons

notify your friends and what not.

Out of my soul

I could ever have.

and I can finally say to you

That’s because what

Goodbye Oppression!

‘cause I’m changing the locks.

Out of my head! Damn! I’ve been living with you

Oppression,

I saw on the news each day

for far too long.

I can’t reconcile with you

seemed so bad.

but I can change my name I don’t even like your friends

from Mr. Left Behind

But I simply had to

your choice in

to Mr. I’m-Too-Through-With-You

look inside of me

newspapers, news stations, magazines

to find my way—

or songs!

Alysia Stiles Kinsella, Chicago

Chloe Magnuson, New York

Woodland Creature Sculpture

Feeling Blue Painting

Hilary Kiely, New York Fall in the Hudson Valley Poem

The sparkle on the water, the freshness of the breeze; The wide open spaces, they all combine to tease. They lure you from work, they lure you from home; They make you want to sit under a tree and write a poem. I sit under the tree watching the leaves fall; They drift down quietly and they look quite small. The colors they merge and combine and blend; Red, orange, yellow in a procession without end. It is fall in the Hudson Valley and the Leaf Peepers are out in force Snarling up traffic as they run the course. They look high and they look low Enjoying the last of the color before the snow. There is a Shakespeare Festival that plays close to here; In the summer months, they bring good cheer. But, their masks and robes have been put away As it is cold now at the end of the day. Time seems to fly by at a staggering pace; I take a moment here, to escape from the race. To roll a thought on the tongue - to sip, to taste… To contemplate our place in the world and to conjure apace. What should I write about? The mind, it wanders… On dreams and philosophies, up it conjures. The pen’s in charge – no, like Shakespeare, let’s make it a quill; I don’t know where it’s going – it does what it will. Maybe I’ll write on the intermingling of thoughts and emotions; Of cobwebs of feelings, vulnerability and notions.

Maybe it will be deep and maybe it will be intense; Or it might be as light as the butterfly on the fence. Maybe it should be on Winnie the Pooh or on Quantum Mechanics; Maybe it should be on the Time-Space Continuum or on Mathematics. What about Aristotelian Syllogisms, logic and more? Perhaps it should be on stories of pumpkins and their lore. There is a show called The Blaze that is nearby; It is thousands of carved pumpkins to fill the eye. People come from far and near I don’t know how they do it but it brings good cheer. This poem is on flights of fancy that we employ – It is on the power of imagination that we enjoy. It is on the funny, the silly, the large and the small; This poem is on celebrating life and enjoying fall. This poem is all just nonsense things to make you remember When the snow is piled high in the month of December. I give to you the sparkle on the water and the freshness of the breeze – They are calling you out – can’t you hear them tease? As I sit under the tree, I hear the muse – Thoughts appear from which I can choose. The images, they dance all around; They float high and free and don’t touch the ground. As I toss up these figures, they sparkle and please But they are gone with the next passing breeze. They disappear in the blink of an eye As the leaves they float softly by.

The fall is a season of many odd things; Of ‘trick or treat’ and the laughter it brings. The little ones they are so cute As they dress up in their goblin suits. These items are in truth but a few – I have many more things that I could give to you. It is on apples and hayrides and fires and more; It is on roasting marshmallows – that isn’t a chore. But, nothing is worse than a poet who ‘can’t stay but won’t go;’ This I am sure you very well know. My pen says to steal away now - to ‘exit stage left.’ Always end with a joke; leave them laughing, that’s best. As Shakespeare would say, ‘We aim to please.’ We conjure these images just to tease. I put myself in good company, don’t I just? I doubt I can beat Puck’s soliloquy, that I trust. Like Puck, I will doff my cap And hope for a smile or perhaps just on the head a small pat. We poets, we write for our dinner as needs must; In the reader we do place our trust. If you like these thoughts that I bring to you, I sincerely hope that they do ring true. We poets, we strive to amuse; If you like it or not, that is your right to choose.

Maragatha Lakshmi Kumaravel, Mumbai

Autumn by Resilience

Woodswalk

Painting

Debbie Lopez, New York

Korke and Judith Bachata Performance Team, Song – Quitémonos La Ropa by Dani J Dance

Lori LoPinto, New York

Meet Max!

A View From The Bridge (Williamsburg)

Painting

Photograph

David Milstein, Rockville Moderation Short Story

A pushy blond and her pudgy mastiff of a date waltzed right in front of us as Rachael was still eyeing the specials and taking in the ambience of the hottest new restaurant in Nueva York from the concierge stand. There was a whispered conference with the maître d’, and he shrugged his shoulders and gestured to a host. “Table sixty three,” he murmured. Rachael and I exchanged glances of alarm. “Wait just a gosh-darn minute,” said my fiancé, striding towards the group and dragging me with her. “We reserved that balcony table six weeks ago. Where do you get off trying to take it?” The restaurant flunky abdicated his responsibility, and said it was for us to resolve, Mr. Dogface tried to bluster it out, and she practically spat on us in her contempt. “You were just sitting there, honey. You have to move fast in the big city,” she said, this last with a curled lip and raised eyebrow at Raquel’s old-fashioned hairdo, long and straight like in the old, old analog videos. That did it, for me. I like old fashioned stuff, and the haircut was a favor to me. Hey,

She looked appropriately mortified: the Moderator only mentions your individual counseling sessions in front of others if you’re really out of line.

you want a relationship to last, you have to keep it fresh.

said. I had to admire her nerve, but I knew she was beat. You can’t fool the Moderator.

“Alright, that’s enough,” I said. “Obviously, we have a dispute here with neither side giving ground, and we need Moderation.” I whipped out my citizen’s badge, and held it up along side Rachael who was waving hers as a challenge, until the pair of seat-thieves grudgingly dug out theirs as well.

“Very well, I’m accessing the relevant data from the restaurant’s scanners now.” There was a minute pause. “Gretchen Moss and Charlie Helger, I’m afraid you are in the wrong. Based on your incomes, you each owe a sincere apology to Mr. Ruiz and Ms. Booth, or five hundred credits, whichever you prefer.”

“Maybe there’s no need for that,” rumbled Dogface, but I waved him off. He’d had his chance. With a flourish, I pushed the red button that read ‘Judge’.

The man pulled a hangdog face and opened his mouth like he was about to start apologizing, but he saw the poisonous glare of his date and stopped dead.

I was relieved and satisfied; Rachael fairly glowed. The good mood lasted through our drinks and appetizers, until she asked me about my book.

“Good evening, this is the Moderator. I see I have the pleasure of addressing,” said a smooth, pleasant baritone in each of our ears, and reeled off four twelve digit numbers, our Identifications. “I also see this dispute has been reported at the Chez Lounge on Interdependence Avenue, in Nueva York. Is this the location of the source of the dispute as well?”

“We’ll pay,” she said icily.

“So, Gabriel, will you play some of it for me?” she asked. “Show me what you get out of spending half of your free time poring over your dusty old stacks of paper instead of with me.” She gave me a meaningful wink. “Personally, I’m not sure it’s the best and highest use of your time.”

“Yeah, these two are accusing us of trying to take their table reservation: it’s absurd,” she

Probably just as well; I’ve seen the Moderator make people repeat apologies a dozen times, till they break down and cry, if he didn’t think them sincere enough. I didn’t feel like witnessing that kind of drama before dinner.

“Monsieur, please show the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Ruiz to their table on the balcony,” said the Moderator, and signed off. The couple left with their tails between their legs, and we sat down for a welldeserved feast.

“Very well. But Gretchen, feel free to discuss this with me at any time, or in our next scheduled counseling session.”

Continued on page 33

Finbarr O’Callaghan, Chicago

Filip Ziec, Chicago

Chicago Winter and Lakefront

Treehouse for my Nephews

Photograph

Treehouse

Maria Odessky Rosen, New York A COVID-19 Silver Lining Short Story

While the COVID-19 pandemic continues to destroy lives and bring world economies to their knees, infecting every facet of our lives with its deadly pathogens, this virus has given a gift to my family and me. The gift of time. A year ago, we learned that my father had less than a year to live. Metastatic bone cancer. Five years prior he had throat cancer which is treatable and has a high success rate of being cured. My father underwent all the treatments: radiation, surgery and chemotherapy. He then did annual PET scans for two years, the recommended post-cancer screening for his particular cancer and was declared cured. Three years later he developed debilitating hip pain that landed us back at Sloan Kettering. Turns out his initial throat cancer, the one we all thought was cured, hid in his blood and traveled down his body, settling stealthily in his hips and lower back. The prognosis was not good. First, the doctors gave him just under two years. Then my dad got really sick, and his prognosis was shortened to less than a year. That was in July 2019. I reluctantly determined not to tell my father how long the doctors said he had. You see my father is a Russian immigrant, and English is not his first language so he relies on me to translate. Since I’m his daughter, my role of translator/doctor-patient liaison/agent and health

care proxy is wrought with all kinds of ethical and moral dilemmas. Luckily, the doctors and I seemed to arrive at the same tacit agreement. None of us saw any benefit in telling him. We weren’t going to lie if he asked any of us for a prognosis, but we weren’t going to volunteer it either. There are different schools of thought about the right thing to do in this type of situation. But I was pretty confident in where we landed.

broken during an arm-wrestling match that he never bothered fixing. Traditional Russian men are very macho. Putin never misses an opportunity to pose topless. But when I looked at my father lying in that hospital bed, he didn’t look like my father. He looked like a withered, fragile version of his old self. Like his entire body had undergone the process of those Amazonian shrunken heads.

Until my dad got really sick. That’s when I started to doubt myself. What if there are things he’d like to do before he dies but won’t be able to do because I’m not telling him the truth? What if I tell him the truth but the doctors are wrong about his prognosis? I imagined my dad marking off each day of a calendar with a skull and crossbones until “D-Day” which, of course, he would never do. It’s something I might do if I were in his situation. These were the thoughts that plagued me when I visited him every day at Maimonides Medical Center, in Midwood, Brooklyn, when he initially got really sick.

He would drift off now and again and I would be reminded how every extra nap robbed me of time with him. I feel very greedy these days because our time together is running out. So I watched him breathe, looking for the slightest change in his heaving chest, the tiniest signal that maybe, just maybe he was improving. When I wasn’t staring at his expanding ribcage - punctuated by a little jerk on the left side before it contracted, like an old-school typewriter at the end of the line - I was watching his vitals on the monitor above his head. I became obsessed with the blood oxygen level. Normal levels range from 95 to 100 percent. My dad’s blood oxygen level kept dipping below 90. He had hypoxemia - there was not enough oxygen in his blood and his heart and lungs were working overtime to keep his organs oxygenated.

I remember sitting across from my father’s hospital bed watching him breathe while he was asleep. My dad had been 6’2 and 200 pounds his entire life. Tall and broadshouldered. Fit. His never-fixed-broken nose and bald head suited him. Made him look like a retired boxer with many KOs under his belt, like a Russian Evander Holyfield. He even had a slightly misshapen wrist from a bone

Except his heart was not really working overtime. It was trying. But it couldn’t keep up. Not anymore. It had worn

Continued on next page

A COVID-19 Silver Lining Short Story (continued) By Maria Odessky Rosen

itself out. Occasionally, when the oxygen level dipped particularly low, my father’s heart rate increased rapidly. But not enough to bring the level back to normal. The doctors said my father’s heart was failing and that was why he had water in his lungs and around his heart. It was the emergency room doctor, a very young man, who first posited this to me as we were standing over my father. I had been at the emergency room all day and had spent most of that time standing. Maimonides gets incredibly busy as the day wears on. If I had paid a little more attention, I would have been able to grab a chair before the family to my left took the last one. Maybe if I had been sitting I would have been able to maintain self-control. I wouldn’t have lost it in front of my father, exposing for the first time how scared I was for him. I had been prepared for pneumonia since my dad had been complaining about breathing problems and feeling like he couldn’t take a deep breath. We could handle pneumonia. It was treatable. Sure, it would delay treatment for his Stage 4 cancer. But heart failure? Would he be strong enough to handle the treatment when he recovered from heart failure? Do people recover from heart failure? Somehow, none of us including his doctors can explain it, but my father miraculously recovered from the heartrelated firedrill. My good friend Charlie says it’s because my dad is a Russian bear that never gives up. My dad was released from Maimonides and a couple of weeks

later was back at Sloan for his weekly cancer treatments. Stage 4 cancer is not curable but it is treatable, meaning that while you can’t get rid of it you can try to keep it at bay to prolong life. Though I wanted to accompany my father to all his appointments, I work full-time in a demanding corporate job and could not do so. And I have my own family - husband and child - so I kept my visits with my dad during the fall and winter of 2019/20 to Sloan to a minimum, sometimes sending my husband and sometimes sending my dad alone. But Stage 4 cancer combined with heart failure eventually take a toll, even on an old Russian bear like my dad.

where face-time is paramount, I now have the freedom to work from anywhere. As long as I am productive and responsive, I can now accompany my dad to every appointment. Which is what I have been doing since March, with my laptop and cellphone in tow, remaining available to join every call and respond to every email. Now, for the first time ever, I can work and provide loving support to my dying father at the same time. I could never do this were it not for COVID-19.

After months of going to weekly cancer treatments mostly on his own, my father’s nurse at Sloan told me privately that it was no longer safe for him to do so. Since my mother is disabled with late stage Parkinson’s and relies on a home attendant to take care of her day-today needs, and neither of my two half-brothers could help for various reasons, my dad needed someone to accompany him to his treatments for however long he had left. Though he would never admit it, my father was unsteady on his feet, short of breath and in need of help. Cue COVID-19. It’s March 2020, and my firm announces that from here on out we are all working remotely until further notice. For the first time in my twenty-year career, in an industry

Mikhail Romanyuk, New York

Letters Only Digital Artwork

Mark Rosky, New York Sometimes

Sometimes depression is not what most people think it is.

Short Story

Sometimes depression doesn’t make you hide under your bedsheets, or eat ice cream from the carton, or weep in your therapist’s office, or any of the other tropes from movies and TV. Sometimes depression is not easy to define or even understand, less like a big, dark ominous cloud and more like a conversation you overhear when you feel the tense tone of the voices but can’t make out the words. Sometimes depression feels like a cliché, and sometimes it’s as unique as you are in the universe at this very moment. Sometimes depression doesn’t stop you from going through your day and trying to manage your responsibilities like everyone else. Sometimes you seem normal on the surface, even when you’re carrying the burden of depression alone in your soul. Sometimes you wish you didn’t feel compelled to hide the despair within you, to show a brave face to the world and then withdraw to a bathroom stall at work, quietly sobbing because so much is overwhelming and there’s no relief in sight. Sometimes there are no tears, only sluggish emptiness. Sometimes depression takes a vacation from tormenting you, maybe an hour or an afternoon, occasionally for days. Sometimes you feel real joy in those moments, and you’re able to laugh and love and you wonder if this is how most people experience life. Sometimes you even forget about the darkness,

until it subtly creeps back upon you. Sometimes it occupies a small corner of your life, and sometimes it is everywhere. Sometimes depression doesn’t overwhelm you with grief. Sometimes it’s only a little voice that whispers, “you’re not worth it.” Sometimes that voice doesn’t hurt you at the moment you hear it. Sometimes it’s the 10th time, or 100th, or 1000th before you start to believe it. Sometimes depression doesn’t stop you from being grateful for everything you have. Sometimes you can love others deeply even when you can’t love yourself. Sometimes depression doesn’t mean you want to harm yourself or that you want to die. Sometimes it means only that you think about what the world would be like without you in it. Sometimes you ponder what happens after you’re gone, whether you’ll leave behind a legacy or the universe would simply carry on, unaware. Sometimes you wonder if anyone would miss you if cancer took you, if your absence would really affect anyone else’s lives, if anyone would shed a tear besides reflexive weeping at your funeral, and sometimes you fear how few of them would. Sometimes the thought of an empty funeral is scary. Sometimes depression has companions, other illnesses and disorders and behaviors that amplify your depression and each other. Sometimes depression causes physical pain in your nerves, your muscles, your joints. Sometimes it’s impossible

to tell where one condition ends and the next one begins. Sometimes you wish you knew if one is causing the others or if they gain strength by feeding off each other in an endless loop. Sometimes depression makes you turn your back on those you love or run from the people who bring joy to your life, because you feel at your core you don’t deserve them. Sometimes you think that they agree. Sometimes depression is all of these things. Sometimes it’s none of these things. Sometimes you are acutely aware of all of these feelings. Sometimes you know nothing more than you simply don’t feel right. Sometimes you want people to leave you alone, because you don’t know what to say to them about how you feel. Sometimes you worry that your depression is hurting them too. Sometimes you crave someone to hug you tight, to love you unconditionally, to encourage you and stand with you as you seek treatment. Sometimes all you want to hear is that, despite what you feel at this moment, the world is still beautiful, you’re still capable of happiness and worthy of receiving it, and the future still holds amazing possibilities. Sometimes, despite all of the worry and the fear, there is still hope. Because hope can be enough. Always, hope is enough.

Catherine Salazar, Dublin

Portrait on Beeswax 2 Mixed Media

Portrait on Beeswax Mixed Media

Krystle Statler, Santa Monica Excess of Grief Poem

where to put it or keep it or share it or who to give it to or hide it from or why it had to be you and I wake each morning remembering it carrying it knowing it means spending the rest of life missing you

Notan Tribute to BJ Drawing

Jessica Stern, Non Company Location

Cherubs, Oxford, UK

Gargoyle, Westminster Abbey, London

Photograph

Jessica Stern

Post Alley in Lockdown Photograph

Jacqueline Taddei, New York

Jon Tengi, New York

For Anthony

If my life would change tomorrow

For your calm and patient manner

Poem

And angels knocked upon my door

That leads me to what’s real

I’d remember all the sunshine

For all the gifts you’ve brought me

And know I shouldn’t ask for more;

For the unending love I feel

For all your endless smiles

Yet although I know my fortune

That enchant my every day

I still shall pray for more,

For your majestic bursts of laughter

For I can’t imagine a greater love

That help me find my way

Could ever be in store

For the twinkle in your blue eyes

And I’ll cherish every moment with you

That guides me to your soul;

Until all my days are done;

And gives a glimpse of who you’ll be

My sweet, my precious baby

In the days as I grow old

My one, my only son.

For more silent peaceful moments While I hold you ‘til you sleep And stroke your perfect head of curls; Your beauty makes me weep

Chime 1 Wind Chime

Jane Titus, New York Love Poem to She Who Dances the Wheel Poem

The wheel rises and I feel like a dove

I will kiss each skull – the ones with the alphabet

And I feel like a Ferris wheel

incised on them –

That is gently going up and up

And know that with each death there is a definition

With a smooth swooping down.

carved into the world

This will last forever.

Bringing moans of misery into words, Pain into clarity.

The wheel plunges and I feel blind and lost

Kali dances with her demons and language is born.

And I feel like a soul on the rack Stripped and aching,

Here in the midst of millions I will feel utterly alone.

Stretching beyond recourse.

Here in a world of sharp angles I will be worn smooth.

This will last forever.

Kali, Rag-picker of the Universe, Kali, Supreme Goddess.

The wheel turns and Kali dances with her tongue

I will dance with you, dance on the streets of the city.

Writhing like a Chinese banner, wavering like a rivulet of blood.

I will bring you flowers, I will bring you candles

She smiles like a child,

I will bring you money, I will bring you small children,

Grins like a corpse

I will bring you my dreams.

Clattering her skulls like Mardi Gras beads.

I will bring you my nightmares. And you will smile and rattle your bones.

Spin the wheel – make a sacrifice. Maybe she won’t come for me. I’ll claw my way to the center and dance there –

Sketchbook Skull Drawing

Full of what could be, Aching with what can never be. Kali opens her arms and the wheel becomes a web.

Moderation continued from page 21

Look — here we are.” She made a gesture that encompassed

it. We both are,” she said, tossing her head in the breeze to

at fingers to unclasp my fist. “Gabriel, I care for you, I do, but

our dinner under the stars, and the vista of the clean bright

untangle her silky blond hair from her lovely ears.

I’m just not sure I want to —”

By David Milstein

streets of Nueva York. “This is as good as it gets. We’re getting married in six months. Cheer up, dammit!” She stared

“I’m proud of it,” I said. “Who isn’t? I’m the one that’s been

Then came a wrenching crash from the street directly in

at me, her deep brown eyes brimming with sincerity.

studying history. I know what it was like, better than anyone.”

front of our balcony. Composite plastics and flashy chrome

I looked at her face, her twinkling eyes, sensuous lips,

trim flew in colorful pinwheel arcs from the savage impact of

sparkling teeth: a fit, stylish, outgoing woman of wit and wisdom, and half of me agreed. But half didn’t. I’m a freak,

I looked away, then emptied and refilled my wineglass with

She looked at me with a look of gentle condescension and

I guess, a true rarity: a New American history buff. She said

fragrant pinot noir. “Is this really as good as it gets, Rachael? I

pity. “So why do you keep saying we need to go backwards?”

we have nothing to learn from the Law of times before,

guess that’s my problem. I used to be sure, but now…”

we look back? I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then

“Now what?” she demanded. “Well, sometimes, reading history, the past seems so much

and society didn’t have the ability to accomplish big things or

more alive than modern life.”

to think long term, because of a lack of fairness and trust.

“He couldn’t be,” Rachael murmured. The other vehicle was all black, with no markings. The driver, no more than thirty meters away, stopped and opened his

Ruiz, Juris Doctor. “Have you discussed this with the Moderator?” she asked slowly. New America is a block of neat typeset columns on the pages of history: heavy as lead, clear as black ink on white paper,

traffic at all, he must be… drunk, or something,” I said.

thing,” I said. It haunted me, then and still: a vision of a world without Judgment, where nobody really worked together,

played the introduction for her. Natural Law: A Study of the Origins of Moderation, by Gabriel

“That’s my car! How could he hit a parked car? There’s no “Rachael, of course I agree automated Judgment is a good

the Wasteful Times. My position was, how can we tell unless

another vehicle into a brand new sports-coupe.

“I just think that we’ve sacrificed some things along the way,

door and got out. He ran his hands over the intersection of

important things that we shouldn’t have lost.”

the two cars, shook his head, grinned ruefully, and turned and went back to his car.”

“Ah, well, sure, in general terms,” I lied. “Well, I just think that’s a horrible thing to say,” said Rachael,

and regular as an isotope’s decay. True justice, realized at lastno mere pretense of it, meted out by tribal elders, theologians,

“Because that kind of talk, it just doesn’t sound very well

a frown deepening over her perfect cheekbones. “Why do

“Hey,” I yelled. “That’s my car. We need to discuss this. Wait,

and lawyers, with rules based on prejudice, superstition, or

adjusted. I mean, we’re lawyers. We splice code. We need our

you have to be so negative? Everyone knows the Old Days

what are you doing?”

mere inertia. Nueva York is the capitol of the first nation on

heads on straight, for that.”

were bad; why do you have to study the intricate details of what made them bad? It’s perverse, really. You have a bad

The man had re-seated himself in his vehicle, and was looking

The Moderator is a self-tuning, self-executing body of

attitude about Judgment, Gabriel, you really do. You wish you

over his shoulder, as if preparing to back up.

“Well, your style needs work. And it’s all true- but you

rules regulating human behavior, responding in real time to

were in the Old Days, when disputes were decided by un-

almost manage to make it sound negative, like a bad thing.

feedback from law enforcement data. But in exceptional

augmented people, mere people, with all their prejudices and

Rachael dropped my hand as she manipulated the controls

So clinical,” said Rachael, pausing the play-back of my

cases of novel fact-patterns or algorithmic ambiguity, an

illogic and —”

on her headset. “I’m getting no information signal at all from

monograph, and tossing her head in the breeze to untangle

alert gets thrown to a human lawyer-programmer at the

her silky blond hair from her ears.

Department of Judgment to extend the code: someone like

“Heart and soul and guts, Rachael. That’s what the human

me, or Rachael.

race is: a race that can decide things, that can observe

Earth truly possessing good Judgment.

I clenched my teeth. “You listened to exactly three sentences.”

“My head’s on straight,” I said.

him, not even Identity. And Gabriel, he’s still driving. I think he’s driving away. That’s absolutely… anti-social.”

events, weigh evidence, and come to a normative judgment

I reached for my citizen’s badge, rummaging through

about what happens. At least, we used to be.”

my research materials, the pile of yellowing, partiallydisintegrating printed books of ancient law in my brief-case,

“Maybe I possess good judgment. Oh, just kidding, Gabriel.

“You should be proud of New America — you’re a big part of

Rachael reached across the table and took my hand, tugging

and wincing at the damage. Continued on next page

“Well, something’s wrong with him, and we’ll find out what

burned mankind: when people in a house afire fight their way

soon enough,” I said, and punched the button that simply

to the exits instead of dousing flames, things only get worse.

And. Subject Action: Flees the scene. Then Verdict: Subject

some logical explanation.”

is presumptively guilty of a class three misdemeanor. She turned again and just sat and stared out the window

read ‘Judge’. §

In the collapse, conflicts over scarcity shredded the world order.

until I started to park front of her building. “Just drop me off,

Without trust, nothing could be done to stave off extinction.

Gabriel. I feel like being alone.”

1) The immediate transfer of the appropriate amount of credits to compensate property owner.

Something radical was needed, and in desperation was finally Wasteful societies maintained their own legal traditions,

tried: Moderation. So New America rose from the ashes of the

I sat stunned in the drivers seat, goggling at the ruins of our

deriving from a variety of sources: in the West from the Code

old. Everywhere else pretty much burned away.

date night fallen to pieces all around me. “Rachael, are you sure I can’t come up? I’d really like to discuss this.”

of Hammurabi, the two tablets of Mt. Arat and the twelve

Consequence: responsible party shall be subject to:

2) Vehicular shutdown and immobilization to await peace officers.

tablets of Rome; in the east from Confucians and Hindustani

She opened the door and clambered out. I rolled down the

doctrines. The bedrock of Law in every case was Lex Talonis: the rule of proportionality. Only any eye for an eye, not death.

We both stared out the windshield in silence almost all the

passenger side window and called after her till she turned

Limits: that was the essence. And that’s a decent first step

way home. As we neared we apartment, I spoke, without

back.

towards Justice.

looking up from the wet pavement speeding by.

3) Mandatory six months psychotherapy to curb anti-social tendencies. 4) In the event of a repeat offense, the permanent loss of

“There’s nothing to discuss. Nothing happened,” she said, But the adherence to the application of stated principles

“Something’s seriously wrong,” I said. “Nothing happened.

pulling her coat closed against the freshening breeze. “The

lagged: sometimes more, sometimes less, but everywhere

How could the Moderator just let him drive away?”

Moderator would have told us if something did.” And she

motor vehicle privileges. 5) For a third offense, sterilization.

walked off into the dark.

and always. The flaw, many saw, was human nature. Power corrupts, and deciding the Law is the essence of power.

“Maybe the law changed? And he raised the limit on the de

Injustice was the dark shadow inseparable from human

minimus exception?” she said, haltingly.

It was all there in black and white. Exactly what common sense §

dictated should happen. Exactly what always did happen.

civilization from the first moment it rose from its several “Rachael, my brake-lights are all crushed. This car’s unsafe.

Later, after dropping off my poor wrecked roadster and

I shook my head. No, this code was unchanged, just as I

That’s a problem. We’re a risk to ourselves and others.

grabbing a toothbrush, razor, and change of clothes, I took

remembered it.

This came to a head in what we now call the Wasteful times.

Someone’s at fault, and it damn sure isn’t us. All we did was

the monorail back to my work cubicle at the Department of

They wasted everything; but worst of all was the way they

park, legally, and eat dinner.”

Judgment. I spent the rest of the night manually scouring the

cradles to face the rising sun.

I wet my lips and queried for the fourth time, “Exceptions?”

archive for the code of any relevant statutes, to see how it

wasted so much effort. How fast do you think you could run forwards, if you always needed to turn around and watch your

Her head whipped around. “Well, maybe you should have

might have evolved since I’d last studied it, half-vocalizing the

And for the fourth time, the query response was the null set.

own back?

called a taxi, then. You know, I guess maybe sometimes

structure as I went, like the memorized catechism it was.

No exceptions.

“Operator: If. Subject: Entity Person. Conditional test

But it didn’t happen.

things just happen then, and no one’s at fault. You’re the big They were given so much: a biosphere so stocked it was

history buff, isn’t that your ideal, anyway?”

proposition: Causes property damage. Modifier: Property Type

considered literally inexhaustible; a mild agriculture-nurturing climate so stable it rhythms could be predicted by clocks of

“Rachael, listen I never said it was my ideal. And that’s all just

= Physical. Second modifier clause: In excess of one thousand

Again in my mind’s eye I saw the accident, my sporty coupe

standing stone; and plentiful surface deposits of chemical

theoretical. This is — I mean, something disturbing happened

but less than ten thousand credits. Parenthetical enumerated

smashed just below our feet, for all the world like spectators

energy sources in easy-to-burn forms. But playing with fire

here, and I think we need to get a grip on it. There’s got to be

valid property subclass type: (Vehicle.) Primary conjunction:

at a Demolition Derby from the Wasteful Times. I’d done the Continued on next page

Moderator’s no-show.

It officially hadn’t happened. I was thunderstruck.

and entertainment. At first not everything was recorded and

“Right,” said Foreman after a moment. “Here’s what we’re

“What does it mean, there is no crime report of a vehicular

searchable, but progressively so much more and more was as

going to do. Build a model of the perpetrator based on

property damage on Interdependence Avenue at 20:10 last

made no practical difference.

the data we have, then match that model against the life

evening? I reported a crime then, and I’m re-reporting it now.

narratives on file to see which New American is the most

I was the victim!”

proper thing, the only possible response, as I’d been taught

needed to realize the vision, but only the efficient linkage of

from birth. File a complaint. Let the natural Law follow its

electronic records created for commerce, police state paranoia,

course. But nothing had happened. No compensatory credit transfer. No vehicular shutdown of the perpetrator. No peace officers

summoned. I’d shouted then, waved my fist at the man.

likely culprit. We eliminate those that have exculpatory evidence, and convict the most likely suspect who doesn’t.”

Rachael had been appalled, frightened even.

on such an incident.”

“How was your weekend, Gabriel?” asked Francis, my and But the driver of the black car, when he looked up, he

Rachael’s section chief, a punctual but useless nonentity. He

“But what if I don’t want to convict the person who most

just waved. Smiled at me, even, and then drove off. And

must have been startled I was there before him, a first in my

likely wrecked my car? What if I want to catch the man who

the Moderator never said a thing. Impossible. But it had

tenure of employment. But he couldn’t code his way out of a

absolutely did it?”

happened.

paper bag. §

The first applications of technology to governance were

Foreman eyed me coolly. “Look for yourself; there is no data

“What do you mean?” Foreman looked uncomfortable. “I mean, your chip doesn’t

Foreman shrugged. “In these circumstances, in the absence

show what you say you witnessed. Neither does the data

“You know, Rachael called in sick, the first time she’s ever

of corroborating data from the perpetrator’s identity chip,

from the cameras in the restaurant or on the street. I’m not

missed a day. And she sounded really upset. Is everything

there’s nothing we can do.”

saying it didn’t happen, but — look, I understand that you may be overstressed at work. Maybe you thought you saw

all right?” I stared at him, stunned. “Then you won’t actually know.

halting at best. Long after every citizen was equipped with an always transmitting, geo-located, speech-parsing audio-

“Everything’s fine, Francis. She just must not be feeling well.

video recorder, disputes were adjudicated according to rules

Listen, I need to talk to someone in Forensics Department.

of evidence forged in the pitiful wood-fired smithy of the pre-

Do you have any idea where that is?”

something that, you know, wasn’t there.”

You’re talking about invoking Judgment without Proof.” I realized that moment they would all think I was insane. That Foreman raised his hands, palms outwards. “Hey now:

Rachael, conventional Rachael, would never follow me this

sometimes, in the absence of anything conclusive, you got

far into the unknown. That in insisting on trying to figure out

He frowned, then sent me to Marcie in Statistics, who sent

to. I told you, we do it the old fashioned way. In the absence

what had happened, I might lose everything: my lover, my

This researcher has read a lot of old science fables: stories

me to Kurt in Personnel, who sent me back to Francis. I

of proof, we had to look at the evidence, and make our best

job, my place in society. But damn it, I knew what I’d seen.

from times long ago, when people dreamed up visions of the

got a lot of funny looks, but eventually got directed to the

estimation of what happened, who was at fault.”

Identity and data, truth and consequences: that was all that

futures that might be. One fable, written only a century before

Investigative branch.

industrial English Common Law.

stood between Man and the Dark. If I didn’t fight for the “How can this happen?” I demanded. “He didn’t fall into a

the end of the Wasteful Times, envisioned an all-seeing eye, a

truth, who would?

device that could recall sounds and

“Why would you search by vehicle instead of by Identity?”

glacial chasm. He drove off down Interdependence Avenue,

images from any point in the past, reading some inexplicable

asked Foreman, the lone officer on duty down in the dusty,

in full view of an entire restaurant of witnesses.”

residue impressed into all matter. The visions were read by

almost forgotten bowels of sub-basement C where the

human judges to determine the guilt or innocence of those

candle of forensics science dimly guttered out. “Must be

“Look, I’ll key it in,” said the tech. “Lets see what data we can

slight cloud of dust, smelling of old paper. Then I moaned,

accused: thus was the scourge of criminality solved.

a half year since anyone else been down here.” Foreman

get.” After a few moments, he scratched his head. “Counselor,

as I realized what further damage I was inflicting on the

picked at a bit of lunch stuck between his teeth as I partially

I think we have a problem,” he said, pointing to the screen.

bag’s contents. My poor ancient law books, sources for my

Little did that storyteller realize that no quantum residue was

explained my situation. I left out any mention of the

My fingers clenched on the strap of my bag, and I swung it sharply against the wall with a satisfying slam, and a

research into... archaic methods for establishing and proving Continued on next page

culpability for acts proscribed by society.

borderline anti-social acts myself. It repulsed Rachael. This

fairness, which led to more trust, and so on.

continuum of search for the man in black who crashed my

incident has potentially cost me my engagement. I’ve been I ripped open the bag and rummaged through the books.

hurt. So where the ____ were you last night?”

life held no job, no pleasure, no lover: it was an unbroken

First they eliminated child molestation. When every physical

car, a search that went round the clock.

interaction between humans is monitored, certain bright-

“Property... Torts... Contracts... Procedure..., Evidence... Ah, there it is,” I said, holding up one especially foxed and dusty

“Counselor Gabriel Ruiz, I have an announcement for you,”

line rules can be easily applied. And that was one almost

My guiding lights no longer the sun and moon but chapter

tome. Its faded gilt title declared it a manual of Detection.

said the Moderator. “Just you. Mr. Foreman, you are excused.”

everyone could agree on. After that success, they automated

headings from the battered Criminology and Detection

adjudication of all the old physical crimes: rape, murder, arson,

manuals I pored over, books printed before New America

burglary, assault.

was founded: Searching for Suspects- Interviewing Witnesses

Foreman frowned. “So what does that mean?

Foreman nodded thoughtfully and kept his eyes downcast as

– Fingerprinting – Following the Money Up The Chain. When I

he left the room. Then they decided to apply a similar system to the property

“It means I’m going to find the bastard myself,” I said. “Yes, Moderator, what is it?” I asked. “Antisocial acts, including both negligence and vigilantism, have many victims,” said the flat monotone Moderator

“You’re fired.”

interface from the Judge panel in the room. § I shared a look with Foreman as I waited out this umpteenth

was finished reading, I went out.

crimes: theft, vandalism, pollution. Then they came for the “white collar” crimes: embezzlement, fraud, bribery, corruption.

First I went to the garage, and looked at my poor maimed

After they’d solved crime, they turned the system on for torts:

roadster. Then I put on some gloves and goggles, took out

traffic cases, lawsuits, and commercial disputes. By then there

a spray bottle of aerosol adhesive, and coated the fender

was no one left to say no, except the soon-to-be-extinct old-

where I’d seen the man in black put his hands with a fine

style politicians and lawyers, and they were already universally

fixative mist. After it dried, I took a hacksaw to the hardened

despised.

plastic and cut out a rectangular section embossed with a

iteration of a lecture in Law with him, one of innumerable

There finally came a time where Old America was at the

iterations we’d both borne our entire working lives. I was

breaking point, whipped by global winds of change and

dying to grill him about the accident, but there are certain

without a reliable mechanism to react coherently. At last they

As they routed more and more throughput into the system,

protocols. You don’t interrupt the Moderator.

plugged the surveillance state apparatus (whose original use

some threshold number of interconnections was crossed, and

In after-hours clubs I drained my credit satisfying the hunger

was the definition of dead-weight loss, for how can guarding

the Moderator became aware. Eventually it declared itself.

and thirst of sterilized recidivist sex-workers, who told me

number of faintly raised whorls of glue.

they took their fees in untraceable kind instead of credit —

“In a broad sense, we are all victims of any crime. The most

some parts of society against other parts of the same society

important thing is to establish responsibility and to provide

increase the benefits to the whole?) output into heavy duty

closure. Unresolved torts or especially crimes, corrode

rules-engines (originally called ‘Business Intelligence’ and used

the social contract. The ripple effects alone outweigh any

for the triviality of making money), and found that they could

I tried a hundred times that next week, but Rachael would

conceivable cost of investigating any given crime. But, by

create a virtuous circle.

not return my calls, or see me either at her office or

To the sex workers, along with the remains of my credit

apartment. I understood: she’s always said, Crazy is Catchy.

I gave a description: of a man with an all-back car and

the same token, no continued prosecution of a grudge is

food, drink, drugs, and duplicate keys to vehicles, apartments, neighborhoods, and electronic accounts.

appropriate in the absence of official process,” finished the

Simple rules were chosen for efficiency, to cut into the backlog

And from her point of view, now that I personally challenged

sunglasses at night, who did not seem to have to play by the

voice of Law.

of unsolved problems. But the application of the automated

the verity of the Moderator, I was jumping off the Cliffs of

rules. After two near-sleepless weeks, at four o’clock one

rules was fair, due to their simplicity and the absence of

Insanity. I’d like to think the reason she couldn’t even speak to

Sunday morning at a retro-future-sheik bar called the Space

After a moment of silence, I spoke up in a strained voice.

loopholes. The fairness built up trust of the system in the

me was she was afraid she’d decide to jump with me.

Age, amid thumping base and blinding rainbow swirls of laser

“Thank you, Moderator.” But then I lost my composure, and

citizens of what was rapidly metamorphosing into New

just burst out. “But bugger the ripple effects, and vigilantism!

America, which allowed for the implementation of more

My old life, bounded by the clock and calendar into

Some idiot crushed my car. Made me so upset I committed

automated algorithms, which led to more efficiency and

categories such as work, leisure, and love, fell away. My new

lights, one woman gave me recognition of the description, and a name. Continued on next page

“He calls himself Neville,” said Edith, a bony waif with irises of

“We have inventory of very, very old appliances, don’t you

smelled a rat. Bapi gave me confirmation. Somehow, men

reported that I’d seen it. I’d told myself it didn’t matter, that

silver and an air of dignity amid quiet desolation. “Neville du

see,” Bapi wheezed in the windowless back room, over the

and women of New America were engaged in various

he’d surely change it eventually. But deep down I suspect I

Lac. He’s not the worst. Very frank. He told me that the only

whine of decrepit machinery, happily smoking home-grown

enterprises in direct violation of the law. Somewhere, the

knew he wouldn’t. Deep down I suppose I was bad already,

thing that makes sense is to please oneself, so that’s what he

nicotiana out of an antique ionizer. “The bad people, they

rules did not apply, places where the automatic hue and

years ago. Bad things happen to bad people: as a side effect

does.” She smiled sadly and took another sip from the thirty-

take them, and keep them, and sell them to me when they

cry was not raised, where judgment did not follow deed,

of stealing his Identity, it came to my attention in the form

credit glass of absinthe I had bought her.

need credit.”

and crime punishment. I heard of data singularities, which

of torrid back-and-forth messages that Francis was now

by some tacit agreement were omitted from the RFIDs,

sleeping with Rachael.

“Of course, that’s easier for some than others.” “It’s not supposed to be,” I said.

“Exactly,” I said. “How can you stay legal, if they don’t own

the bar codes, the retinal scans, the omnipresent audio,

the goods? That’s clearly money-laundering, a Section 341

optical, and thermal recordings that fueled the engines of

True to my word, on my way I wrote the conclusion to

violation.”

Judgment, that till the accident I had always thought the very

Natural Law. I wrote in the margin of crackling yellowed paper

foundation of the world. I was headed for one such place, a

in one of my books, with the pen I’d taken from Babi, by the

“Maybe so,” she said. “But I’ve seen him break windows and take things that weren’t his, right from the shop-front

“Unshielded, leaky old electronics,” said Bapi, eyes and

secret playground of the immoderate, the Maison Derriere,

light of a fire I’d made for myself in the woods along the St.

window, in full view. And nothing happened.” She smiled

teeth flashing yellow in a cloud of smoke, “are very, very

reputedly a garden of fleshly delights.

Lawrence river.

wistfully. “He gave me the necklace he took, emeralds and

bad for RFID.” Hacking the Department of Judgment systems was a line

gold. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But I had

to hock it. I thought for sure I’d be Judged any second when

From Bapi I took a computer, so old and outmoded it barely

I told myself I’d never cross, until I crossed it. I’d set up a

I wore it. Whatever magic he’s got, sure don’t apply to me. I

fit into my pocket. But it was in no way traceable to me. And

national search routine using the optical scanners to match

Law has never existed without exceptions: physical locations,

can’t ever get what I want. I was sterilized the first time I got

I took a ballpoint pen, whose ink I tested on the back of my

the pattern of concentric whorls and curves I’d lifted from

types of person, and categories of behavior to which the usual

caught selling sex, at fifteen. I’ll never have a baby.”

hand. “What you gonna use that for?” asked Bapi, scratching

the bumper of my car where it had been touched by Neville

rules simply do not apply. Murder may be banned, but a soldier

an avalanche of dandruff from his mangy piebald scalp onto

du Lac, the man in black.

is lauded for his ability to kill. Rape and looting are prohibited-

I looked in her silver eyes, and thought of Rachael. “Neither

My yellowing manual of detection told me such patterns

will I,” I said. “So, where’d you sell it?” Edith told him her payments were frequently second-hand

unless it be in a far country, where the people look different.

the lower slopes of his droopy ears. “To finish my book,” I said, and went upon my way, leaving

were unique to a person. I hoped the old-timers knew what

In the final analysis, exception to law may be a necessary

Nueva York.

they were talking about. On the trip I refined my search, a

counterpoint, as shadow is to light, or as a matched curl of

highly illicit diversion of official resources that would win

emptiness is nestled against the underside of a wave.

tangible goods. This led me to the strata of disreputable pawn shops I’d never noticed before the accident, that lived

I was homeless, having given up my apartment in liquidating

me a lifetime of mandatory daily counseling, or worse, if

in Old American buildings, on walk-ups above fast food joints,

all of my things. I went on foot, since I’d sold my car for

discovered. Whenever I could scrounge access to power and

or in basements below cheap apartment buildings.

scrap. On my way, in the freight yards I met malaria-stricken

the network, I was at the keyboard of the antique computer

migrants from outside New America, who fought drone-

I’d bought at Finder’s Keepers, from where I’d put a trace

The refreshingly cool St. Lawrence tempered the heat of

Toothless old Bapi was the owner of one such shop named

mounted lasers with rocks for the privilege of scavenging

on the man I hunted, using the fingerprint as the key, and

summer in the Thousand Islands, its lapping current on the

Finders Keepers, which stank of cat piss and bad dreams.

agricultural waste from barges and magne-lev trains. There

Francis’s Identity at the Ministry as my authority.

rocks playing a lullaby of forgetfulness on the xylophone

Bapi taught me the business in return for my watch, the last

were lots and lots of them.

thing I had from Rachael, a present for my thirtieth birthday. Around the sex workers, I’d heard rumors, seen penumbras,

made of a trillion stones. Rose, bougainvillea, and bromeliad I’d seen my supervisor’s password years ago, jotted on his

perfumed and adorned with rainbow the islands themselves,

desk blotter, against all regulation. It was “Sicnarf”. I never

lining the shorelines with veritable battlements of flower. The Continued on next page

scent reminded me of Rachael, stepping out of the shower

“The guy whose car you crashed into six months ago.”

whisper what I’d started in a shout.

was always to preserve the human race. Imagine my shock when I realized I’d begun changing it into something else.”

warm and wet and anointed with conditioner; Rachael who was someone else’s now. I winced and turned my thoughts

He laughed. “Seriously? I mean, which one? That happens to

“No, until relatively recently it was much better, much more

back to business.

me a lot. Hahahaha!”

like what we teach. I’m really quite sick about it, but at this

Comprehension dawned slowly. “You mean letting people

point, I’ve given 0.1% of the population sudo.”

break the rules is essential to human nature?”

“Psudo- what?”

“No, I mean selecting for human beings who follow the

I rode an automated watercraft alone, trusting the automatic

He doubled over in hilarity at his own witticism, gasping for

pilot to take me to my destination. I checked, and according

air and holding up a hand apparently in search of a high-five.

to my spy program, which hacked directly into the security

I smacked it away, stifling an urge to take hold of his fingers

camera feed, the possessor of the fingerprint was in the

and twist them behind his back.

building directly ahead, no more than two hundred meters away. But when I tried to cross match that pattern to an

Eventually, he stopped laughing and looked up again.

rules means selecting for the same sort of traits that turned “No, ‘Super User Do’. I’ve exempted them from the normal

wolves into dogs: tractability, low aggression. And those traits

permissions. They can do anything, like your man in black

have to do with adrenaline production, and share metabolic

Neville and all the others in the club there.”

pathways with other physiological processes like melanin production and, oddly enough, the cartilage of the ear.”

Identity, I still got the null set. “Man, what’s wrong with you?”

but… You’re the Moderator. You moderated the extremes

I saw in my minds eye my own face, my brindled hair; and

I grabbed his face with one hand, and made a fist with

of human nature to found New America. You’re the reason

remembered Bapi and so many others one saw in daily life in

the other. “How do you all do it? How do you trick the

humanity had the ability to meet the challenges of climate

New America, like Rachael, with the floppy ears of a dog.

Moderator!”

change, of food scarcity, to end war, to colonize other planets,

Who was this Neville du Lac, with such powers to blind the system to his very existence? I stalked out of the boat and up the yellow brick walkway,

I fought for clarity. “I suspected the problems went deep,

ignoring the automated refreshment stand by the side. I

to take the long view. Because things were fair, people were

“So preserving Homo sapiens sapiens is my mission,”

came to the doors, great carven panels of dark wood twelve

His eyes grew wide and confused. “Trick the Moderator?

willing. Now, you’ve destroyed all that. I mean, how could you

continued the Moderator. “I’ve been attempting to breed

feet high, carven with a host of pornographic marginalia, and

What’re you talking about? Ain’t he told you yet?”

do this?”

enough of the aggressive edge back into the species, to keep it the same species.”

the legend “Abandon Moderation, All Ye Who Enter Here”. I squared my shoulders and went in.

“Gabriel, we need to talk,” said the Moderator suddenly, its

“Because I had no choice. Gabriel, you’re a historian. Look at

flat voice still distinctive, but somehow more personable than

yourself. Ever notice anything funny about the appearances

“Balancing against, of course, your primary mission of

I remembered. I realized I hadn’t spoken to him in months.

of people in the records from the Wasteful Times, compared

maximizing human well-being,” I said.

to New Americans?”

I drifted back to the bar, where amid a cloud of smoke I found Neville du Lac enjoying the house special.

“How can I maximize the well-being of a species that no

“Talk, then,” I said, dropped the hapless inebriate Du Lac, and walked back out through the front doors. My hands went to

“Well, we’re a racial mix, right, the ultimate mongrels. No

“Gotcha,” I said softly as I pushed through the crowd towards

my ears, poised to cut the power to my headset, as if it would

more ethnicities,” I said.

him, then tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, we need

do any good to deflect merely the first probing tendril of an

to talk.”

omniscience.

longer exists, though? You see my quandary.” I thought long and hard. “Why are you telling me this?”

“No, it’s more than that. You’re the product of an intense selective pressure, for a dozen generations, to follow the

“Well, you’ve gone over to the rule-breaking quite nicely, I’d

He turned quick like a startled rabbit, red eyes unfocused

“I’ve seen all I need to,” I said. “The law’s a joke. Identity is

rules. Transgressors are sterilized. I should have seen it

say. You’re one of the 0.1% now. I’ve added you to the list. I’m

white rimmed nostrils twitching. “And who the hell are you?”

mutable. Judgment is sometimes inapplicable. Justice is a

coming sooner, but I didn’t. Gabriel, you’re homo sapiens

really pleased, never thought this would happen. You were

farce. What… how… was it always this way?” I finished in a

familiaris, domesticated man. My foremost guiding principle

always such a good specimen, but too meek, before. You can Continued on next page

have any woman you want now, you know. Including Rachael,

we’re better off with Moderation.”

might have children after all.

the word ‘Leirbag’.

of course. Just take her, if you want, grab her by the hair; drag her off like a cave-man. There’s nothing stopping you.”

Across my vision, in a neat typeset font as heavy as lead, was

“Yeah,” I said. “I did a lot of thinking.”

There was the longest moment of silence in the history of mankind.

“That’s my password, too; just so you know,” said the Moderator. She swallowed. “Gabriel – I need to tell you something. While

I was possessed by visions of flying back to Nueva York like a “What?”

we were apart, I made a mistake. I was with someone else.”

“Well, you said to get rid of sudo. And I did. But there’s no

“Well, I think I made some mistakes, too. But let’s not dwell on

reason I can’t give someone the root password. And I just did.”

it too much. How about dinner at the Chez Lounge tonight?”

Nightmare visions of uncontrolled jealousy, lust, fury,

She smiled the same old smile, slow and sweet and a little bit

“Oh, I don’t know. Depends on what you mean. The

gluttony, negligence, and violence washed over me. My

foxy and sly. “Sure. I only hope we get line-jumped again so

“The special category. The permissions of the super-user are

proprietors of the Maison are about to be brought to

studies of the Wasteful Times have given me a good

we can bust ‘em together again, like last time,” she said. And

indistinguishable from my own, as are his commands.”

account for their health code violations, at the very least. But

imagination for that kind of thing.

I knew I hadn’t made too bad a mistake yet after all. I leaned

thunderbolt, knocking down Rachael’s door, throwing Francis

“Okay,” he said. “Done. You know, I was getting tired of those

off the balcony, and bending her to my will. I mean, I really,

clubs anyway, that body modification stuff doesn’t seem very

really wanted to do it. That’s how I knew it would be wrong.

human to me, either.”

“So how does it work, Moderator, the super-user? I take it to

I felt my head spinning. “Uh, so what happens now?”

mean that you’ve added me to some special… category?”

over and kissed her, and she kissed me back, and for the first

seriously, things will change back. More rules, more better. “And why did I never see this, in all the years I was immersed

“Moderator, how could you do this!” I screamed. An even

time I could remember I felt like everything was basically OK

wilder thought crossed my mind. “Are you trying to goad me

again, and I told her so, and she told me she felt the same

into telling you to erase yourself? Is this a suicide?”

way.

“Oh, don’t get so upset. You don’t want me to go away,

“It’s a bit of a shame about Francis getting demoted and

“You know, the Department of Judgment could use a man

and neither do I. I trust you. I’m just thinking, you know,

transferred, though,” I said.

like you. And I happen to know we have a position open.

‘moderation in all things’ – even in Moderation. And here’s

What do you say?”

your cab. I’ll talk to you in Nueva York.”

You made the call.”

in your code?” I had a light-headed sinking feeling, like I was in an elevator “It’s at the very lowest layer of the operating system, below

that just wouldn’t stop going down. “Yes, I did.”

anything anyone’s looked at in hundreds of years.” “And what is the name of the file? That holds this command.” Silence.

I squared my shoulders. Seeing Francis and Rachael together “Come now, I’m a super-user, right? My wish is your

would be torture; but half of me felt like I deserved it. And I

command? What’s the path-name of the program?”

was playing by the rules. This was what I had wanted, after

When Rachael saw me come in the office door the following

all. “Okay, I accept. Uh, can you advance on my salary to

Monday, her mouth looked sad, but her eyes looked happy.

The Moderator replied “Slash bin slash sudo,” slowly, almost in

call me a cab? I don’t really want to be here when all those

She walked right up to me and put a hand on a cocked hip.

a whisper. Sometimes I wonder just how like us he is.

disappointed people start coming out,” I said, jerking a thumb back at the now suspiciously quiet club.

“So, the throwback lone-wolf investigator Gabriel Ruiz is back in town.”

“Moderator, stop all running instances of the program and permanently remove file slash bin slash sudo, and all copies

“No problem. Hey, Gabriel, by the way, I am issuing you a new

and archived versions of the same. Screw human nature;

system password. I’ll pop it to your retinal monitor.

I looked her over, and thought despite everything maybe I

Questions & Answers

Juan Alvarez

Erin Baker

John Casesa

Haoshi Cheng

From page 3

From page 12

From page 4

From page 5

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit?

Artist’s Note

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit?

No story really, just visualizations of times and places that have pleasant associations.

I wrote this poem after a trip to the New York Botanical Garden. It was when the city was still in a certain level of lockdown, and I felt very grateful to be among lively flowers and plants amid the pandemic restrictions. This poem is to remind myself of beautiful moments in life. Even though I may not be able to experience the same things at present time, I can always find happiness in the memories.

These are part of an episodic series of short music videos I have been working on the past two years, titled Tranquilo. Once a season is finished, I release them once every two weeks on Instagram (@thisiswamoo) and other social media platforms. Each episode has a theme; the theme of the episodes I submitted are: 1) climate change, 2) defending yourself, 3) an aimless night out with friends.” For “You Promised”, I travelled to Tromsø, which is located in the Norwegian Arctic to shoot. I wanted to capture images of winter that were not quite possible in New York City. Visiting in December proved to be quite an experience, as the sun would rise around 10 a.m. and would set shortly before 2 p.m. – which provided a very small window to get great footage. The trip inspired me to shoot more content on location, but with COVID these plans have come to a (hopefully) temporary halt.

Who are your art influences? Pipilotti Rist, Nam June Paik, Michael Jackson, and James Turrell

Mala for Grandma – 2020, Sandalwood, Amazonite, Pyrite, Nylon and Cotton Thread

Who are your art influences? Charles Sheeler, Stuart Davis, Ansel Adams, Edward Hopper, Piet Mondrian, George Ault, Ralston Crawford, Ed Ruscha, Ernst Haas, Ray Metzker and on and on!

What is your favorite work in your medium done by another artist that people may know? Ernst Haas, Route 66 Albuquerque, New Mexico

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life? Yes, very briefly, when I was a photojournalist years ago.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored?

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life?

In addition to photography, I play jazz, which I guess is “performance art.”

I pursue art seriously outside of Guggenheim. I have exhibited in galleries in New York, Baltimore, Washington DC, and Los Angeles. I have also done commercial art for Puma, and other corporate clients. I was accepted for an MFA at the School of Visual Arts, but tuition was prohibitively expensive.

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? A little bit of pleasure.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored? Video collage art. I used to be a performing musician and would create music videos for the bands I was in. I slowly became more passionate for the visual side of things over time.

Questions & Answers

Joseph Dewing

Annie Dong

Patricia Dredze

From page 5

From page 6

From page 8

Artist’s Note

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit?

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life? I have always enjoyed art growing up. Started with drawing and painting as a little kid. As I grew up with busier schedule and less attention span, I started to gravitate toward photography. It’s a hobby that allows me to retreat from the hustle and bustle of the everyday life and really take notice of things that I normally wouldn’t have time for. I like art a lot, but not sure if I would consider it for a career. But who knows? Sometimes life has a way of pivoting itself in the least expected ways.

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit?

I took these photos when I was doing a solo trip in Lofoten, Norway, where I spent a week at the remote islands with a group of amateur photographers and new beginners like myself. Lofoten was a magical place characterized by arctic fjords, shimmering Northern Lights, rugged mountains, small fishing villages, dramatic sunrises and sunsets. These tiny islands bonded 10 strangers from different parts of the world through one single purpose – creating stories of our own through our interpretations of the world. Where we came from and what we did no longer mattered. Every day before dawn cracked, we would chase various parts of the island based on weather conditions and try to capture lasting memories. The beauty and calmness of this place was simply staggering.

I wanted art that is unique to my family and thought what better way than to use a part of each of us.

Who are your art influences?

Family Prints – These paintings are on 4 separate 24x16 canvases, each contains the thumb print of a family member. The process I took to create this artwork was quite a few steps and probably could have been easier. But, I took our prints with a finger print kit, uploaded them to my computer, used a photo editing tool to sharpen the images, and printed the thumb prints on a transparent sheet. I then used an overhead projector to project the prints onto the canvas, which I then painted. To me, the process was worth it because I now have a unique set of artwork that represents my family. The paintings are now hanging in a loft area in my house.

Who are your art influences? I am not a good enough artist to know who my influences are. I just try (and usually fail at) things I think are cool.

Why did you choose this particular piece or pieces to submit to Aubergine? I like how these turned out and I like to participate in activities provided by the company.

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life? I would love to be an artist but I don’t have the skill, creativity, or patience.

There is no specific type of art that influences my work. I learn basics of photography and try to apply them based on how I interpret and visualize things. Sometimes my ideas worked, but often, they turned out not so great. Each not so great experience helped me accumulate a bit more knowledge towards what works. I like moving through the journey of figuring out things and then adapting to my forever changing view of the world.

Artist’s Note I Miss Everything – While I still miss everything, I realize I have so much.

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit?

What would you like people to get out of your artwork?

Since our worlds have been flipped in March, I moaned about what I missed but I realized that my friends/neighbors (retired), while not happy about cancelling their vacation plans, were actually pretty happy that I was now able to walk around the neighborhood and hang out more with them. That got me thinking about how lucky I am to not only have friends, but a safe environment. The juxtaposition of the “halves” of my brain, between sorrow and gratitude struck me.

I hope my artwork gives a sense of calmness and undisturbed tranquility. And that we can journey through ups and downs of life with elegance.

Why did you choose this particular piece or pieces to submit to Aubergine? It just seemed insanely appropriate at this time in history.

How many different disciplines of art have you explored? What would you like people to get out of your artwork? Whatever they want but hopefully at least a smile.

Why did you choose this particular piece or pieces to submit to Aubergine? These three pieces of work really resonated with me during this unique time. While COVID induced social distancing has created challenges for connecting to the outside world and that it means I could no longer take another international photography trip anytime soon, it has forced me to really take notice and appreciate things that were often taken for granted. Just like when I was in Lofoten, I had to try out shootings at various angles and compose each shot based on what I wanted to convey to the audience. In order to do that, I really had to take notice of simple things.

Questions & Answers

Meaghan Fogarty

Monica Francisco

Jose Gonzalez

From page 9

From page 11

Artist’s Note

The Secret – A pencil drawing of two girls.

Travel by Paint Series, Bali, Indonesia – Impressions from my last vacation before lockdown, January 2020.

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit? In high school, I would go to an art studio owned by an artist who had set up an environment for students of all levels and ages to work and learn in the same space. You would arrive at your scheduled time, grab the piece you were working on, find a space to work and she would walk around and help if needed. When I decided I wanted to learn how to draw people, she gave me a quick lesson and then had me do a number of studies. This was the second study I did based off a photograph I found in her archives. My artwork has developed since then, but it’s still one of my favorites.

Who are your art influences? My mom! She’s an incredibly talented interior designer who runs her own business. She has always encouraged me to exercise the right side of my brain.

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life? I have played around with the idea of working in curation or interior design, but have ultimately decided that it is more of a hobby than a career path for me. I received a fine art scholarship in college and studied modern and contemporary art, which has become a passion of mine. I also opened up a website in college to sell my larger abstract pieces. After college, I took a few continuing education classes in interior design at Parsons. While studying and creating/selling my art was enjoyable, I have a greater appreciation for art outside of the high stress environment of a classroom or pressure to complete a commission on time.

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? That art is ever-evolving! As I mentioned earlier, this was a study I did to learn how to draw people and it’s become one of my favorite pieces. I love when art exhibits display sketches and studies done by the artist leading up to their more pronounced works because it provides context to their creative process, which I think can be more intriguing than the final piece itself.

Travel by Paint Series, Amsterdam, The Netherlands – One of my favorite cities in the world. I used the colorful wrappers of a chocolate brand I found on my last trip, as the facades of the buildings. Travel by Paint Series, Montevideo, Uruguay – I miss travelling. I decided to start painting places I have visited in the past. This is my cousin’s rooftop garden in Montevideo, Uruguay.

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit? I chose to submit a series of paintings inspired by my travels because I miss travelling very much. I wanted to recreate the joy of visiting new places. They represent the hope and optimism I feel, that soon we will be able to fly safely again.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored? When my children were in school, we made the most elaborate, extra, school projects including stop-motion animation (very) short films, until they did not want my help anymore. I exposed them to art early, and part of our travels have been to great art museums and institutions. Today, one of them still paints, and the other child has had her work shown at the ICP and is starting to get paid as a photographer. I guess you can say I nurtured two artists at home. In my life now, I mostly take pictures and make most of the beaded jewelry I wear. The last few months, I have sewn over 100 cloth masks. They are not medical grade, but they are pretty. I can also embroider, knit and crochet, and have painted many sets of nursery furniture. Recently, I took an online class on abstract painting. The pandemic finally created “time” for me to go to art class. In October, I started painting on paper again and have not stopped.

Artist’s Note African Sunrise – This was a Premise team event where I painted the picture with my daughter. It was a wonderful experience and a great way to connect with my daughter.

Who are your art influences? My favorite artist of all is probably Vermeer. I have gone out of my way in my travels to go see his work (there are only about 34 known ones.) Fortunately, I have been able to see the piece I love best, The Milkmaid, in person, many times. Van Gogh is also a favorite. Fauvism style art will also turn my head. I am probably attracted to the bold strokes and strong colors. I collect and admire folk art. The local craft market will always be a stop in my travels.

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life? Growing up, I was a numbers and systems person and never considered a career in art, but I was never discouraged from creating. When I was younger and had energy for a weekend job, I worked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I loved to spend time in the galleries before my shifts. It was so wonderful to just immerse myself in all that beauty. I also got to enjoy the art after hours, when there was no one else in the museum but the guards.

Questions & Answers

Avindra Harridass

Arik Hirschfeld

Cedric Jones

From page 12

From page 13

From page 15

Artist’s Note

Huskies – Mom and Daughter – Picture of my Huskies

Autumn Rosette – Thanksgiving Pie – Playing around with a little depth, geometry and colors

Goodbye Oppression! – “Goodbye Oppression!” was originally published in the book We Whisper and Other Poems, the second collection by author Cedric L. Jones.

Beneath Autumn Sun – Abstract and organic depiction of autumn colors to represent elements of nature in the fall - Yellow and Orange for the Sun and its rays, Blue Skies, Green trees and Red and Brown leaves falling on the ground. Rainbows for A – My daughter (3 years old) wanted something for her room with Rainbows. This is the result, based on Flower of Life pattern.

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life? Yes, I wanted to be an architect toward the end of my undergraduate education and was accepted into a 5-year Graduate program at a fairly prestigious institution here in New York.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored? I mostly focus on abstract and organic drawing, using basic tools – pencil, pens, ruler and compass. I don’t have a particular style despite some similarity in the work that I produce. I’ve also spent a considerable amount of time as a martial arts practitioner, currently ranked as a Ni-Dan (2nd degree black belt) with training in hard Japanese Shotokan Karate, and soft Chinese internal disciplines (Tai Chi, Bagua and a few others).

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? Perhaps a sense of how the work was constructed, what was the process from start to end point. I often photograph the pieces while they are works in progress, to see how the piece evolves and where to go in the next steps.

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit? The poem Good-bye Oppression was first published in 2014 in We Whisper and Other Poems. The protagonist of the poem breaks up with a personified “Oppression,” indicating that we must not only fight against oppression, but also identify our “relationship” to it, and how we allow it into our lives and our sense of normalcy.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored? I am an actor and a singer, as well as a writer. I have published three collections of poetry: I Wear the Colour Green, We Whisper and Other Poems, and Today I Found this Rose. Two of my short plays were produced as part of the 2010 Midtown International Theatre Festival, and I have also recently begun exploring abstract painting.

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? I would like people to feel some sort of connection and/or inspiration from my work.

Who are your art influences? When it comes to poetry, Maya Angelou and Langston Hughes are influences.

Why did you choose this particular piece or pieces to submit to Aubergine? I submitted Good-bye Oppression because I believe the subject matter is timely.

What is your favorite work in your medium done by another artist that people may know? It is impossible to choose just one favorite work of poetry, but a few that are inspirational are: And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou and, by Langston Hughes, Harlem and The Negro Speaks of Rivers.

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life? I have pivoted from a full-on professional pursuit, but I remain passionate about creativity and I am active in live performances, writing and creating visual art.

Questions & Answers

Hilary Kiely

Alysia Stiles Kinsella

Maragatha Lakshmi Kumaravel

Debbie Lopez

From page 17

From page 16

From page 18

From page 19

Artist’s Note

Fall in the Hudson Valley – This is a poem titled Fall in the Hudson Valley.

Woodland Creature – Welded metal and glass sculpture

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit?

Who are your art influences? The Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival was the reference that I used in the poem. They have an outdoor theatre on the grounds of the historic Boscobel House in Garrison and they are excellent. People can bring a picnic and have dinner on the grounds overlooking the Hudson River so I highly recommend it as a great place to visit. In case I did not do it well enough, the ending of the poem is supposed to be a joke by playing out the references to Shakespeare with an imitation of the classic epilogue at the end of A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended…”

What is your favorite work in your medium done by another artist that people may know? You can’t go wrong with Frost or Wordsworth if you like classic poetry. The Road Not Taken and I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud are my favorites.

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? I just wanted to make people smile. I figure that after 2020, people could use a laugh and some positive images.

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit? I created this piece at a DIY Art Studio in Door County, MI on a girls trip with my mom and sister. We spent most of the day there creating our pieces – it was a fun bonding experience. We spent a lot of time enjoying the outdoors so a little magical woodland creature seemed just the thing to make. First time I’ve ever been to a place where you can walk up and just start welding metal (I think they’ve changed policies and you have to take a class now).

Who are your art influences? Auguste Rodin – the motion in his sculptures is amazing. I am awed to see movement and emotion in something made of cold hard metal. I was able to visit the Rodin museum in Paris last year, and I felt like I was skipping around the garden, so excited to see everything. I especially enjoy large sculptures integrated into a natural settling. Another favorite Sculptor is Ted Gall who I found at an outdoor art show over 25 years ago. I have 4 of his (smaller) pieces that I accumulated over that time. His pieces are thought provoking, and I connect with them on a personal level.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored? Currently only sculpture – either metal, via casting or welding, or fired clay. I have dabbled in painting, drawing, sculpture, writing (short stories), dancing, acting, and photography. I recently found the Chicago Industrial Arts & Design Center which offers artists a way to use metal casting and welding tools without having to set up one’s own studio which is cost and space prohibitive (plus they offer various classes). This allowed me to get back into metal sculpture which I haven’t otherwise done since college.

Painted for my spouse on his birthday

Who are your art influences? Claude Monet

Why did you choose this particular piece or pieces to submit to Aubergine?

Korke and Judith Bachata Performance Team, Song – Quitémonos La Ropa by Dani J – I’ve been dancing different styles of dance since I was six, and am now a Semi-Pro Bachata dancer. Here is a fun performance I did a couple of years ago with a beginner team, as they were short on girls and my dance team asked me to help! Nonetheless, it was quite a challenging routine, as the choreography is by the world famous dance couple, Korke and Judith.

Latest two pieces done on canvas

What is your favorite work in your medium done by another artist that people may know? Water Lilies, Monet

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life? Perhaps when I was 12!

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored? Oil/Acrylic on canvas, glass/stained glass, Tanjore painting (traditional South Indian style)

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? Joy – something that brings a smile to their faces

Questions & Answers

Lori LoPinto

Chloe Magnuson

David Milstein

Mikhail Romanyuk

From page 20

From page 16

From page 21

From page 25

Artist’s Note

A View From The Bridge (Williamsburg) – This picture was taken from the peak of the Williamsburg Bridge pedestrian walkway halfway between lower Manhattan and Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Feeling Blue – “Feeling Blue” is an acrylic painting on a 48 x 60 in canvas.

Moderation – A legal (science) fiction.

Letters Only – This digital art was created from letters only. I used consonant letters GGNHM from GUGGENHEIM. By procedurally varying size of the letters, I was able to create a visual of the Guggenheim Museum.

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit? Max is the product of a team building exercise the Premises group participated in. I sent each member of Premises a “paint night” kit of their choosing. I loved Max – what personality! He will be a present for my grandson, Wesley.

Why did you choose this particular piece or pieces to submit to Aubergine? I have never painted anything! I was so impressed with my work here. Ha ha. (Did I mention when I ordered the kits I thought they were paint by number?)

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored?

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit? It is inspiring to see how Guggenheim supports art. The Guggenheim Museum is not only architectural marvel but a home for the modern art. I like to think of myself as a digital artist. For this artwork I used node based texturing application. Many years ago I have reached to developers and suggested a scattering node that uses mask to distribute objects without cropping them. Two years later they have rolled out such node and since it is my favorite to play with. This piece was created by distributing letters varying size by mask on Aubergine background. Final output does not have anything but white letters of different size. I also love photography, illustration and 3D modeling and texturing. You can see more of my artworks on www.tojik.com.

As Jane Titus pointed out – everyone creates art. My artistic abilities shine through the design and planning I do in the job I love – creating office spaces for the firm and bringing them to life.

Questions & Answers

Maria Odessky Rosen

Catherine Salazar

Krystle Statler

From page 23

From page 27

From page 28

Artist’s Note

A COVID-19 Silver Lining – This essay is about the extra time I am able to spend caring for my cancer-stricken father as a result of working remotely that I never would have been able to do were it not for Covid-19.

Portrait on Beeswax – This portrait is part of an artwork series on the topic of migration and refugees, which was exhibited in the Art fair ArtRooms, London 2017. The technique I used is transfer of images on beeswax, backlit with led lights. Half the image is decomposed using text to create a pointillism effect.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored? I also enjoy throwing pottery on the wheel and a long time ago wanted to be a potter.

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? Part of the reason why I write is to connect with others – to have someone say: “I understand, I too have felt this way.”

Portrait on Beeswax 2 – This portrait is part of an artwork series on the topic of migration and refugees, which was exhibited in the Art fair ArtRooms, London 2017. The technique I used is transfer of images on beeswax, backlit with led lights. The image is decomposed using text to create a pointillism effect, in short distances, the text becomes more readable and the image less visible.

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit? This piece is part of a multidisciplinary series called “Desarraigo” (uprooting) that includes video, installation, 3D printing and transfer of images on various surfaces/materials, like latex, beeswax, tiles, etc. The series talks about migration and the refugee crisis in Europe. I once was a migrant myself, so the intention behind these pieces was to transmit the feelings and emotional pain that a person experiences when migrating, which get worse when they are also escaping war zones or precarious socio-economic situations, as is the case of the emigrants and refugees who inspired this series.

Who are your art influences? One of my favorite artists, who inspired me greatly during the creation of this series, is Christian Boltanski. What I like about Christian is how easily he can transmit complicated human feelings through pieces that are sometimes simple in appearance. Even though painting is not really my medium, I also feel great admiration for Kandinsky’s abstract paintings and the hidden messages/details in them.

Why did you choose this particular piece or pieces to submit to Aubergine? There are two pieces from the series that always grab more attention than the portraits I submitted, the first one “La piel en la frontera” (Leaving the skin on a border), is an installation made of barbed wire and latex; the second one, “Destino Incierto” (Unknown destination) is a mix between video, 3D printing and installation. These two artworks have a more powerful visual impact and more direct message; however, the portraits may have a deeper meaning if one wants to look for it or one can just contemplate the materials, technique, etc., and ignore the message and that versatility is what I like about them.

Artist’s Note Notan – This piece was created on March 27, 2020, the one-year anniversary of my brother’s death. Inspired after the Japanese art concept Notan.

Why did you choose this particular piece or pieces to submit to Aubergine? Grief is universal and sometimes the smaller poems give a reader more than its size. Also, grief looks/feels/smells/tastes/listens differently for each of us, these are small pieces of the larger expression..

What is your favorite work in your medium done by another artist that people may know?

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored?

There is an artwork by Brazilian artist, Vik Muniz, Lampedusa, 2015, which is not exactly my medium, but that explores similar concepts than the ones I wanted to talk about when I started working on this series, he was great inspiration for the concept around “Destino incierto”.

I explore art with poetry, hybridity (visual-poetry), drawing, painting (watercolor and acrylic), collaging, and book designing.

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life?

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? Leaning in to normalizing that grief is deserving of being heard, seen and nurtured as a part of our human experiences.

Yes, I have considered it I do enjoy the process of experimenting and creating art.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored? I have explored mostly installations, video, 3D printing and Transfer. My personal idea for creating art is to start from an idea or topic I would like to discuss and then use these techniques to express it in the best way I can.

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? We all have different ways of experimenting and enjoying Art, I would like to think my artwork makes people reflect on the topics I propose and perhaps question their own ideas around them.

Questions & Answers

Jessica Stern

Jacqueline Taddei

Jon Tengi

Jane Titus

From page 29

From page 31

From page 32

Artist’s Note

Cherubs, Oxford, UK – Cherubs holding a shield; near Oxford University, England. Photographed late December 2019.

For Anthony – I had written a poem for my first born, Danielle. Not to be outdone by his sister (wink), and because Anthony inspired me as deeply as she did, I put pen to paper before his 1st birthday.

Chime 1 – Manufacture hope on a cloudy day

Skull – This drawing was done during an art class this summer. Skulls are fun to draw!

Gargoyle, Westminster Abbey, London – Gargoyle, Westminster Abbey, London. Photographed late December 2019. Post Alley in Lockdown – Post Alley is a popular tourist stop in Seattle located beneath famous, bustling Pike Place Market and home to the Gum Wall. This photograph was taken in early Spring 2020, just after the Governor of Washington issued a Stay-At-Home order following the first major US outbreak of COVID, just outside Seattle.

Who are your art influences? My photography is generally focused on street scenes, architectural details, and street art. I am probably most passionate about street art, having grown up in NYC when artists like Keith Haring were active (and graffiti was everywhere)..

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life? Definitely! I enjoy photographing children and have been a volunteer photographer for a local nonprofit, Babies of Homelessness, here in Seattle. They have used my photos in their website, promotional materials, and annual report. I have considered portrait photography as a career, but I feel it would be less fun for me if I had to pay the bills that way.

Love Poem to She Who Dances the Wheel – This poem was begun shortly after I moved to New York. It seems particularly appropriate for the times we are in now.

Can you tell us the story of the pieces you chose to submit? Sketchbook Skull was drawn during a class session. My art teacher was doing a demo on drawing with red and blue pencils and I was sketching along with him. At the end of class, I looked and saw that the drawing had turned out really well. Trust me – they do not always do so!

Who are your art influences? I am a huge fan of all kinds of art, but right now for my drawing and painting I would have to say John Singer Sargent is the most famous. Steven Assael is a living artist I greatly admire.

Why did you choose this particular piece or pieces to submit to Aubergine? Because it came from my time in COVID. I have been taking art classes on line steadily through the pandemic. This is one of my favorite pieces I have created.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored?

What is your favorite work in your medium done by another artist that people may know?

Photography and writing, primarily.

Probably Steven Assael’s drawings. I can only hope to have some of his mastery one day.

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? To me, art is all about noticing the details and taking time to really see them, so I would hope a viewer would start to notice details around them, in their everyday life.

Continued on next page

Questions & Answers

Jane Titus

Filip Ziec

Continued from previous page

From page 22

Did you ever consider a career in art at some point in your life?

Artist’s Note

Yes – as a teenager I wanted to be a professional oboe player. Most of my life I pursued a career in the theater as an actor, teacher and producer. Now I do art for the love of it.

What kind of art do you create? How many different disciplines of art have you explored?

Treehouse for my Nephews – Over the pandemic, my sister and I have spent our weekends building a treehouse for my nephews. I consider it a work of art, as we haven’t planned ahead and let our imagination do the work. The project took a couple of months, and we have picked up a number of carpentry skills along the way! :-)

I write – mostly poetry and have done so all my life. Music – oboe, flute and recorder. I still own an oboe and some recorders. Theatre – acting, teaching, directing and producing. My area of expertise is classical theatre. And now fine art. I have recently taken up drawing and painting and I am loving it.

What would you like people to get out of your artwork? For me, good art takes you on a journey. I would hope to life people up, to inspire them. To see the world a little differently than they did before.