Summer 2018: a note to you,
T
his issue is about nostalgia. The concept of nostalgia is an interesting one, this longing for a past time or memory. What’s fascinating to me is how when we recall a memory, we change it slightly, so each time we think of it again it is slightly different than the last. These alterations aren’t necessarily a conscious change but rather are influenced by subconscious factors of our present. Regardless, our memories change each time we recall them, and it makes me consider what I’m constantly nostalgic about. Am I nostalgic about that childhood memory or a memory that I’ve now idealized after countless recollections? Nostalgia creates a space to grapple with our pasts in a seemingly safe way. The artists featured in this issue engage with nostalgia in various ways, many of them even just through their choice of medium. I hope that their stories allow you to reflect on your own story, your memories, and how nostalgia can act as a vessel to know yourself more deeply. Always,
Taylor Seamans
founder / editor-in-chief instagram: @inbtwnmag
what page is ..? 07
In Rhythm
08
María Bernad
16
Liv and Dom
22
Flipbook
28
“On Nostalgia”
30
Submissions
34
Bernice Mulenga
44
Artist Insight
48
“90’s Style”
50
Tak Kamihagi
56
“Memory of Home”
A special thank you to everyone who supports this magazine. Whether you have submitted work, skimmed through an issue, or read each page, we’re thankful to have you as a part of our community. Like the title says, we’re inbtwn where we started and where we hope to be, and your support is helping us get there.
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THE TEAM
ON THE COVER
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
MARÍA BERNAD
TAYLOR SEAMANS WRITERS
María is a Madrid based creative director and stylist. Her affinity for color stands out in her work, creating palettes of tight harmonies. Aside from
RENNIE SVIRNOVSKIY
creative directing and styling, she curates a vintage collection called Les
JESSICA BROCK
house all the time, María developed an eye for the subtleties of fabric
MAXINE FLASHER-DUZGUNES
Fleurs Studio. Growing up with her grandma sewing clothes around the
JOSUE ROMERO
and form.
ARTISTS
JENNIFER LANGEN ELLIS D
AGNES RICART
CONTACT US
PHOTOGRAPHERS
ZORA KIDRON
CONTRIBUTORS MARÍA BERNAD
LIV AND DOM CAVE-SUTHERLAND BERNICE MULENGA TAK KAMIHAGI
LUCILLA BELLINI
JASMINE TAFOYA
NAMRATA NIRMAL
@inbtwnmag
SUBMISSION INQUIRIES info@inbtwnmag.com
ADVERTISING INQUIRIES
advertising@inbtwnmag.com WEBSITE
www.inbtwnmag.com
ANDREA PANALIGAN JOCELYN SEAMANS TIKVA LANTIGUA HAYLEE ANNE
MAGGIE WILKINSON CAITLYN CONVILLE
GARRETT SEAMANS JULIA MORA
Front Cover: courtesy of María Bernad
Back Cover: courtesy of Bernice Mulenga
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in rhythm
Ribs // Lorde Gold // Dream Koala Wendy // Richie Woods Call It Fate, Call It Karma // The Strokes Zebra // Beach House Good Guy // Frank Ocean 1999 // Maxwell Young IMY // Juto Moon River // Frank Ocean WASTE // BROCKHAMPTON Isobel // Phoebe Green im closing my eyes (feat. shiloh) // potsu Sex (Ryan Hemsworth Remix) // The 1975
music Selection: Garrett Seamans
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María Bernad written by Rennie Svirnovskiy photos courtesy of María Bernad and Zora Kidron
María Bernad’s work as a creative director draws on her lifelong exposure to color, texture, and fabrics. While only 23-years old, she already has established relations with top fashion brands including Chanel and Dior. With her own love for vintage aesthetics, she has launched her own vintage collection and store, Les Fleurs Studio.
The colors are unusual. They’re sort of steeped in the sun, like the aged buildings in the part of the south of Spain María Bernad comes from. The aesthetic is a faded, as if the white balance is caught on something off-white on purpose. That sticky shade of green plucks up (the one that’s somewhere between spinach and avocado), and it works elegantly, off kilter as it is. Maybe she picked up the style bustling at the feet of her seamstress grandmother as a child, wrapped up in fabrics of all different kinds and outgrowing them to be inspired by the colors of the art she began to seek out as she grew older – those of impressionist paintings, surrealist works and the abstract pieces she dabbled in. “There aren’t hard lines, but you can see things within the painting,” Bernad said we met at the Hotel Santo Mauro in Madrid, in a woven dress meant for a filming after our interview. “You can interpret many things from a single painting.” Or not quite outgrowing them. Bernad says her favorite clothes are her grandmother’s– fitting for someone who, at just 23 years old, heads a budding fashion brand called Les Fleurs out of Madrid that trades in vintage clothing.
“You can call me nostalgic because I’m always reading old books, watching old films, wearing old clothes and searching for old furniture,” Bernad said. “Les Fleurs started with nostalgia.” Bernad started the brand with her mother, operating under the longing that regularly hit when the two visited Brocantes [a French vintage market] when in France to see her dad’s family. “It’s about nostalgia, always,” Bernad said. Vintage, that is. And good taste. When she’s seeking out pieces to showcase in her art, Bernad says she looks for: “First, the quality, because it’s very different to buy a polyester shirt or a cotton shirt or a linen shirt.” “Then, I’m also always looking for color, too.” “After that, I look for the design with the right aesthetic. I’m always looking for nineteenth century things because they’re very soft and feminine, but also a bit masculine at the same inbtwn. — 9
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time because oftentimes they’re big clothes.” She loves that especially, the big shirts and big jackets. “I think it’s the power of being a girl and a man at the same time,” Bernad said. “To be comfortable with your clothes.” She loves to find the new in the old, too: “When I see a bag that you can’t find anywhere else, my heart burns. It’s so exciting. I’m like a vintage hunter.” Recently, Bernad did a campaign for the leather brand Malababa and eagerly highlighted their colorful and geometric products. “I was in love with the colors and how they work with leather, even leather earrings,” Bernad said. “They made me think of cubism and abstract art.” She put together a mood board, and using what she calls her “color photographic memory,” planned in her head the perfect contrasts that emerged in the campaign, down to the models’ dynamic poses that matched the curvature of the furniture. “I saw the furniture, and I said, ‘Okay, I want the girls to do the same,’” Bernad said. “And the girl was like, ‘What?’ And I was like, ‘Yeah, yeah, do this.’” She’s also just done a video project to promote a Dior perfume. “They said, ‘You have to think about what love is to you,’” Bernad said. “I’m very passionate and intense when it comes to love. I was always interested in the art piece by Rene Magritte. ‘The Lovers.’ They are kissing with fabric over their heads. I used this as a reference, then built around that.” As creative director of the shoot, Bernad got to experiment with audio – would she use music? Vacuous silence? “For this video, there were times where I didn’t want audio or didn’t want music,” she said. “So my friends suggested putting a poem in the background instead, and we did that.” Right now, Bernad is in the process of developing a totally-her-own, totally original fashion collection. Her daily wear looks like this: “I love to wear black suit pants and a big suit jacket with shoulder pads and gold earrings and maybe platform sandals. I like to be comfortable at the same time, so always big stuff.”
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“You can call me nostalgic because I’m always reading old books, watching old films, wearing old clothes, and searching for old furniture. I don’t know if I’m from this age but maybe from the nineteenth century.”
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Q: Tell me about yourselves: How old are you? Where are you from/based now? Anything else you’d like to share?
master, Chris Bramble, we are sort of self taught. We still have a lot to learn!
Liv: We’re twin sisters, Liv and Dominique Cave-Sutherland, from the UK who work together under the name ‘Liv & Dom’. We were born and bred in England with half Jamaican ancestry. We’re both 24 years old (of course as we were born on the same day, 20 minutes apart!).
Q: Your pieces are centered around the female body and adapt it in a playful yet delicate way. For example, the placement of the candles in your candle holders or the incense in your incense holders draws attention to parts of the female body that are often censored or “taboo” even. I love that. Can you talk about why you design your pieces from this angle? Is it a statement?
Q: How did you get into ceramics/painting? Did you study this in school or is it self-taught? Liv: We have created and painted since we were children. Of course most children express themselves artistically in some ways, but I think we took it a bit further, taking it upon ourselves to do month long self-initiated projects together at home involving sculpting in polymer clay. We did all the art subjects we could at school, and then at university we both studied illustration, which we chose so we had the freedom to work in many mediums. At university in 2014 and 2015, we were sculpting, but we still didn’t work in ceramics. We actually didn’t work in ceramics until we did a 6-week beginners class in 2017, so we are actually very new to it. Other than those 6 lessons and the help we get from very helpful pottery 16 — (nostalgia)
Liv: It actually came about from the first incense holder that was a man. We were literally just playing about with the body without thinking of any kind of social or political statement. It was just a nude body and we were just having fun with it! After a few months of making the nude man incense holder, the nude lady came about and it turned out so popular we based our entire brand around it. Everyone kept seeing these messages and statements in the pieces and having very strong reactions to them, so we just embraced it. Now, we like to think about how our pieces can promote body positivity and challenge the objectification of women. So, it wasn’t something we intentionally set out to do in all honesty. Although we do care a lot about these issues, especially now, we aren’t very serious with our art generally.
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Q: The female body has historically been used as a muse, but in a way that gets sexualized— often hyper-sexualized. What do you want your pieces to say about the female body? Liv: To us our pieces are just hanging out, having a relaxed time without a care for who sees or judges their bare bits and hairy pits, etc.! So, I suppose in a way they are challenging this sexualization. We want them to say, “Why do you have to really say anything about them, they’re just existing unapologetically, let them be nude!” Q: What is your creative process like? How do you come up with all of your variations of products? Do you design together or do you design individually then share? Liv: It really depends on what we’re doing. It can vary. Dom came up with the incense holders, and I made the first candle holders and candlesticks and magnets. Some things like our brooches we both claim to have come up with— honestly the line between our minds and creativity gets blurred sometimes, and we forget who did what. I take care of the 2D side of our practice, design commissions, and our prints which I will do but with advice and suggestions from Dom. Dom focuses nearly all her attention on the incense holders and comes up with new variations for those. The design process is fairly quick, sometimes an idea will go from our minds to clay in a couple of hours without much planning. For some new pieces, especially 2D drawing pieces we get some initial sketches and planning down. Adding variations to the incense holders is as simple as one of us saying something like wouldn’t it be cool if one had a hat? Then, Dom just pops one on her next piece! Pose variations we find inspiration for all over the place, and sometimes we get into different poses ourselves to figure out new ones.
Q: Where do you draw inspiration from? Dom: The usual suspects, a lot of Picasso and Matisse. I feel like a lot of artists draw inspiration heavily from those guys. I’ve been really into large slightly abstract nude sculptures since visiting a sculpture garden in Surrey. I think that’s something that will influence our work going forward — more natural colors/textures — larger pieces. We also get inspired by knick-knacks we find in charity shops by relatively unknown artists. Obviously we’re inspired every day by the awesome people in our creative community. It’s hard not to be, seeing so much amazing work being produced constantly, and it being so easily accessible on Instagram. Q: You seem to have lots of demand for your products— they seem to sell out so quickly after your shop is updated. How do you keep up with demand? Do you ever plan on expanding your team beyond the two of you? Dom: Things like incense holders and our new dishes sell out extremely quickly and to be honest we don’t really successfully ‘keep up’ with the demand. It’s something we’ve always struggled with. There’s always more people that want them than we can physically make in one month. The shapes of the figures mean that using molds/casting is difficult. We tried recently, and the result ended up taking the same amount of time to produce as hand building. So, I sculpt them all by hand which obviously means there’s a limit to our monthly output, as well as there being the limitations of only being able to fire what we can carry to the kiln we use, which is quite far from our house. Our smaller products like the fridge magnets do have these “cookie-cutter like” stencils to speed up production, but the hand glazing still takes a long time. Very soon I think we’ll either have a large shift in our methods of production and/
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or get some other hands involved in the making of our products. Q: Who are you designing for when you create your products: for women, for men, for everyone, for yourselves? Dom: When we first started, I guess we had a target market in mind, mainly women, in their 20s and 30s, the kind of people who buy little ornaments and trinkets. I remember sitting down with Liv during the planning phase of ‘Liv & Dom’ discussing this. Some of the first people to buy our products were men though, so you never know when you design a product who might respond to it. For example, it was never really our intention for our products to connect so much with feminists. That just happened naturally because of the subject matter I suppose. These days, because we started out making products that we would never really buy ourselves, we do tend to design things that we like, and then hope everyone else likes them too! It’s quite a self indulgent thing to do, but it’s working for us and it keeps work interesting. Q: You’ve begun to translate your designs for other companies. For example, the towels you designed for Slow Down Studio. Do you see yourselves moving into this space (designing for other companies)? Dom: Yeah we love doing collaborations. Often they’re more exciting and satisfying for us than producing new products ourselves (not just because the bulk of the production is taken care of by someone else for once!) That being said, I don’t think we would ever want to do it exclusively. We love our little brand and aren’t quite ready to give up having complete creative control. Q: Any new products coming out soon? Liv: We’ve had a couple of new products in the pipeline for ages. Our nude candlestick and fruit dishes we’ve had prototypes of for a while, but we’re actually going to be selling them properly this month. Also, we have made three styles of earrings that will be coming out very soon! Large scale original paintings and a t-shirt collaboration is also something we’re working on.
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illustration by Jennifer Langen written by Lucilla Bellini
Lucilla Bellini // Bonjour Summer Lucilla Bellini is an Italian born photographer, collage artist, and art-director. She graduated in Visual Anthropology and Cinema in Florence. She specialized in fashion photography, focusing on the female portrait in a poetic, emotional and strongly cinematic manner. She has travelled through Europe and Asia and lived in Italy, France and Spain, acquiring an eclectic and multicultural vision of the world that is reflected in her way of telling stories through any medium of photography: analog, instant or digital. Her work is characterized by a strong imaginative component and sophisticated use of color. She doesn’t just describe things in a plain way but instead with altered colors and doubled images. She drives reality to be open to different interpretations. As a portrait photographer, her style is very natural, and she focuses her interest on atmospheric elements such as air, water, wind and daylight— playing with her subjects to hold onto a moment or a memory forever. Her work examines the fragility and transience of beauty. She currently lives between Florence, Italy and Tenerife, Spain. This series, “Bonjour Summer,” comes from the idea of portraying two friends, who have known each other for a long time, in a natural way to celebrate their friendship. It also considers the beauty of friendship in general, the confidence and the intimate bond that women build with each other.
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PHOTOGRAPHY LUCILLA BELLINI MODELS GARA SÁNCHEZ KIARA OLIVERA STYLING DICKY MORGAN SHOP LOCATION TENERIFE, SPAIN
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ON NOSTALGIA written by Josue Romero illustration by Agnes Ricart
Nostalgia comes when our mind’s eye strays to forgotten spaces. It could be a favorite book series, a beloved video game, or a first road trip. It might be as specific as the arroz con pollo (insert your favorite home cooked meal here) that grandma made, or as vague as ‘those fun times in high school,’ but it’s always there in some form or other, waiting to be conjured at a moment’s notice. It doesn’t take much. The mention of a name, the waft of a certain scent, a small tangent in the conversation is all it takes to spark the memory. And then the emotions swell, the goosebumps rise, and suddenly you’re in that time again, rejoicing in how great things were. So what are we to do with all that nostalgia? How are we to handle all those fond memories? Might they be taken as a tool by which to measure our present? Might reminiscence help us appreciate the good in our lives? Should we ignore it altogether? There is never a right answer. The thing is, nostalgia is only possible in retrospect, when the moment has passed, when something is only accessible through the imprinted neurons of our memories. That first kiss, your first flight, your time spent with a group of friends. Nostalgic longing can lead you to chase a high that is just irreproducible. Those friends are off living their lives. Everybody’s got their own responsibilities, and finding the time to hang out like you used to isn’t very reasonable. Consequently, it is very possible that too much nostalgia can be blinding, constrictive even. If you’re not too careful, the past could easily become a frame for the present, acting as a constant point of contrast to your current state of life. I would argue that that’s no way to live. It seems miserable to put so much weight on the past, it being something that’s entirely out of your control, even if it boasts beautiful memories. To quote one of the most nostalgic movies of my childhood (and of many others, I know), Edna Mode from The Incredibles: “...never look back darling, it distracts from the now.” This was in re-
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sponse to discussing her previous work, which she could easily cherish and be proud of if she chose to. Instead, she looks ahead. Nostalgia isn’t necessarily this bleak though. It is often lighthearted and warm, a short reprieve from the constancy of present life to a pleasant space in one’s head. We’re taken back to a place or a thing that we had left completely unattended: old friends, the forgotten hallways, trails, and back roads of our past. That remembrance can be truly rejuvenating. It might be all we need to jumpstart us out of a lull or bad spot. Those past moments mark a time of innocence and joy, something that can help overcome the hardships of the today. And if we dig deeply, we might find nuggets of truth that can give insight into how to approach our present and future. The foundations of our identity may very well lie in those moments. We should heed the calling of our grandparents’ cooking as a sign of the value that we give to a carefully and lovingly prepared meal; we should give credit to our favorite superhero as embodying the ideals that we strive for. In short, the past that lives in our head can be a tool to understand our own values, and a guide to finding more of what we love. The key difference is that it need not become a regular reference point. The value of nostalgia is that it’s sudden and unexpected. It is usually a short burst of acknowledgement of something long past. We can siphon it for its significance in our psyche, but we don’t need to embed it in our waking consciousness. We might approach nostalgia as a careful balance, between the past, the present and even the future. While day-to-day our memory may not hold onto some of our most inviting memories, nostalgia will be there to catch all the ones that do slip away.
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inbtwn. community a p l a c e f o r y o u t o s h a r e a b i t o f y o u r s t o r y.
Jasmine Tafoya // @jasminetafoyaphoto Andrea Panaligan // @nahndrea
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Jocelyn Seamans // circa 1972
Food, and consumption, comes up again and again when I’m making and when I’m looking. Nostalgic food, comfort food, American food, Dominican food, things that aren’t even food but you could call comfort food; it’s a vital tie to cultures we leave behind, we yearn for, we share, we expand on. It involves our most memory-filled senses: smell and taste, sometimes touch. The smell and taste are intertwined, and they remind us of different times in our lives. I don’t make food, but I do make reminders of the kinds of food and places that transport me, and I hope you too, to other times, past, present, heck, even future. Shapes, motions, colors that remind us of gut reactions and intuition, childhood, community, problematic things that surround the food and culture we consume, and ways to come together through the things we choose to fill our lives with. Print and pattern can hold a lot. But let’s just enjoy. Tikva Lantigua // @freshapricoteditions
Left: Baptism, film scan Right: Skin Shed, film scan Haylee Anne is an interdisciplinary artist, writer, and enthusiastic member of Living Melody collective. A BFA graduate from Montclair State University, her work has shown in venues such as the Carriage House Gabarron Foundation, The Bishop Gallery, Soho20 Gallery, and across the planet in Savannah, Chicago, Washington D.C., Madrid, and Nice. In 2013 she was awarded the VSA Excellence of Artistry Award by the Smithsonian and the Kennedy Center. She has worked with the Georgia Council on Developmental Disabilities, Plywood People, and Deer Bear Wolf. Haylee Anne // @hayleekitties
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raw nectar by Maggie Wilkinson // @imnotactuallymaggie we spin the thread ourselves here spools & spools & spools & spools of girls pink, mahogany, ripe to the touch our skin peels back from bodies that have been touched so many times we do not know if they are ours anymore we are bleeding, but the ones we love will suckle the juice from strawberries we are bleeding, & you are hungry for something other than hope we are bleeding, but if our suffering will satiate your appetite we will never stop something in the air has stained us with its pollen something in the air has replaced our lips with lemon drops & here we are on the high side of the bed everything warm & ready for the taking everything soft & young & numb & we lost any feeling by the third time we lost any sense of self a long time ago but at least we held tightly to our unity at least when it stings we all get burnt purple and pulsing, forever but most of all, when one of us breaks when one of us begins to cry we can huddle around her we can form a barrier we can hide her from view we can be the most important thing we can make sure you do not see her weep we do not want you to think we care the insides of our cheeks are raw from all the words we keep in & you do not mind as long as you can kiss them as long as we look pretty enough to be a fistful as long as we are enough to send you off the deep end and never bring you back to the surface
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I used to dream of getting lost forever on an endless night road.
You, of sky blue soul, Mythologize everythingAll these years, of dreams.
Collages and haikus by Emma Walkiewicz // @pinkrabbitfootdiary
Mopping Memory Lane by Caitlyn Conville // @cat_lyn99 Not everyone is so lucky to work in a place where you can point to a certain garbage bin and excitedly proclaim, “That’s where I threw up!” Then turn the corner and point to another bin: “That’s also where I threw up!” Working as a per diem custodian at my old high school has its perks: I get paid $13/hour, I get exercise as I relocate furniture and most importantly, I get to relive some of my most precious memories… …Like the time someone sprayed Liquid Ass in the hallway and I set my own personal record for longest stretch of holding my breath before the horrid stench wormed its way into my nostrils anyway and I tossed my cookies in the trash. Luckily for my dignity, mine wasn’t the only stomach who lost that battle that day. Or that time I distributed lollipops to my classmates on a particularly despondent day while our teacher was distracted, and when she finally turned around because we were all suspiciously quiet with candy stuffed in our mouths, nobody ratted me out. For the first time in the 11 years that I had known those kids, they didn’t disappoint me. Different classrooms evoke different sentiments. For example, I’ll walk into my old English classroom and smile as I fondly recall the teacher who can only be described as “the chillest man in the world.” His unique anecdotes about living in Samoa and discovering dead bodies, (not at the same time), and his perpetually optimistic outlook on life made every one of his classes entertaining. On the other hand, just a peek into the chemistry lab sends shivers down my test tubes. Of course, there was more to high school than
just classes that gave me headaches so bad they made me nauseous. Perhaps the only reason I survived those tumultuous four years at all was because of the fantastic, funny, and free-spirited girls that I was fortunate enough to call my friends. Always just a text, snap, or “Mrs. X says she needs to talk to her for a minute” away, those girls were my lifeline. We would sit at that lunch table and assign codenames to the boys we liked, or play card games with rules that no one else understood. Now I’m cleaning the locker room where we hid from the coaches to escape running the mile after vomiting the one time I forced myself to complete all four laps (my friends were proud, my coach was not). Now I’m vacuuming the floor that we fell on laughing, a stupid viral video playing on the screen of the ancient school computer. Now I’m painting the corridor where our Indian girlfriend tried to teach us a cultural dance, but we kept stumbling into walls and laughing while passersby threw ugly glances in our direction. Now is different from then in many ways. For starters, I’m walking the halls as an employee rather than a student. A couple of the girls and I have grown distant. But some have stuck around, and for them, I am grateful. Whether we’re screaming along to hits of the 2000s or having a water balloon fight in someone’s backyard, whatever we are doing and wherever we end up, the moments I shared with those girls will always reign supreme over all of my high school memories. Also, I want to thank them for taking me to the nurse after all those occasions that I puked.
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Bernice Mulenga Q: Could you introduce yourself briefly? Bernice: My name is Bernice Mulenga. I’m a 21-year old queer woman from London, England. I’m a photographer, artist, and designer. I’m kind of like a multi-disciplinary artist, and I like to be able to create through different mediums. I currently focus on my photography which is through film. I didn’t realize that you create work in so many mediums since you primarily post photo stuff. Bernice: Yeah, well I don’t really share the other stuff, to be honest. Q: When did your exposure to all these mediums start? Did you always know you wanted to pursue art? Bernice: When I was in primary school, I was always interested in art. So, I was always making stuff, making little objects for my toys, or drawing. Then, when I went into secondary school, we had to do art and design up until when you start picking which things you want to focus on for your GCCs. I picked Fine Art, Media Studies, and Fashion Design. I continued that on through school, but at a certain point I didn’t want to do Fine Art anymore. I was kind of discouraged because of teachers. They would be like, “This needs to be neat, and this needs to be like this,” but I didn’t want it like that. I wanted to use “this” color because it means “this” to me. So, it was a lot of back and forth. But, I had one teacher from a fashion course who was really supportive of me fixing all my mediums, and that encouraged me to continue it. When I got to college, the fashion course was filled up, so I had to pick art. I hated it, I felt like I couldn’t fully create. It’s interesting you mention your teachers were so rigid on how you could express yourself through your work. I’ve heard that before from other artists as well a few times— that their professors were the most restricting on their style.
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“I’m documenting people who are older than me, people who are younger than me, people who are my age. The thing I like about my work is that it’s not limited to an age.” Yeah, it’s interesting you know. I’ve had teachers who’ve reached out to me more recently saying, “Wow, you know, I didn’t know you had this in you.” And I’m like, “What? You really discouraged me when I was there.” You know, I think it’s when you start doing things that seem “worthy”, that’s when they appreciate it. It’s quite strange, but that’s life I guess. I feel like we need more teachers that will encourage different artists’ different styles. I know they have to teach a curriculum but still. It was always like, “There’s no rules, do what you want” but then they’d put rules on it. It was always very confusing and contradicting. Q: So, when did photography come into the picture? Bernice: I think I did photography for a year in college, but I didn’t like the teacher. We had to shoot digital, and the prompts were boring to me. We had to respond to a lot of other artists’ work. It wasn’t really fueling me. Then, I did an art foundation with a focus in fashion. It allowed me to do everything that I wanted to [creatively]. When I was doing my foundation, I met a friend who was shooting on film. I started to get into it. My mom was always into film so we have loads of pictures, but sadly she doesn’t have any of her cameras. I used to look on Ebay for cameras, and I was like, “Okay, I’m broke now, but when I start working I’ll buy myself something.” So, I started working and a friend said, “Just buy one, and play around with it.” That’s the best part of shooting with film. I started playing around with it— just documenting everything around me really. When I started to share it on Instagram, I started using the tag “#friendsonfilm” because it was literally just me shooting a lot of my friends or moments where I was with friends. In a lot of my old pictures, there weren’t people in my photo— it might just be a space or moment. But on that roll, I was with friends. It was about candids, the behind-thescenes of life. That was 2015, and it has
just kind of grown since then. Q: Your work still carries that candid theme of documentation, but it also simultaneously addresses larger themes of race, sexuality, and coming of age. Have you always felt a desire to use your art as a platform to speak on these topics? Bernice: During media studies, we had theories where we’d look at why set things in society exist. I really liked that because I could think and talk about a lot of things. It was nice to be in a space where the teacher really encouraged discussion like this. Outside of school, I started to become more into different communities and started shooting queer club nights but in the same style that I’d do when I was doing my everyday pictures. It became something I really needed. Even when I started getting pictures developed, I was like, “How come I don’t see pictures like this?” People have really supported it, and it’s grown from there. I say I do documentary-style photography. Q: How do you decide on the subjects within your photos? Bernice: I have a few different parts of my photography. There are certain parts where I very much shoot my communities, so the queer club nights are some of those. It’s about capturing events or moments we have together but from the queer eye, if that makes sense. People have become more into it, and I feel like there’s a need to document that community. In terms of our history, if you look for LGBTQ photography, there’s not much. If there is, it’s sometimes just a lot of white people. There’s not a lot of black or brown people in photographs from past times. I was looking at this book that was supposed to be about same-sex couples, and it was all just white, gay men and then one black couple of two women. It didn’t have other black or brown people. So, in years to come, I want people to see what queer people were doing
in 2018, what was going on in London or wherever I travel to. I feel like I’m definitely shooting more people because it’s becoming more personal. With “#friendsonfilm” I might not always shoot their face but I’m still shooting parts of them. I like taking photos of details of a person—what makes them who they are. When it comes to my night photography, some of them are friends and some aren’t. It’s not always obvious that I don’t know some of the people well, but I think that comes down to you as the photographer and how you make people feel comfortable in a space—especially when that place is private. At queer nights, it’s a space just for queer people, and you want to make people feel comfortable. Q: How does the concept of comfortability play into the final image? Bernice: I think by making people comfortable, you break down that boundary. You can tell when someone is comfortable in an image and when the subject and photographer don’t have a connection. Sometimes, I’ll just be talking to somebody—not even about photography or anything—and we’ll have a little bonding moment. Then, people let their guard down, and I’ll ask if I can take their portrait. I always ask because I think it’s important to get consent. Even before I post it, I always ask. I think it’s important, especially in a time where some people don’t accept queerness or LGBT folk. You don’t want to out anybody. You don’t want to make anybody’s life any harder. Communication is really important, and having that communication between you and your subject allows them to be more comfortable and more vulnerable with you. I think that’s why I’m able to shoot not just my friends. That being said, I like to believe that people who might’ve began as strangers become a friend whether it’s just for that moment when I took the picture, friends just for the night, or friends every time I see them. Q: Is there anything conscious that you inbtwn. — 37
think about when you’re talking to or interacting with people to make them feel comfortable, or do you just have a natural read? Bernice: When it comes to shooting the candid stuff, before I look in my camera lens, I look through my own pair of eyes. Sometimes, I’ll be out on the dance floor dancing, too. I don’t have to be playing the scary photographer role where I just walk up to people and ask to take their photo. I dance around, and I ask people if they’re having a good time. I’m typically shooting at BBZ [pronounced babes] or PXSSY Palace, and they encourage both safe places and brave places. By working and representing them, it’s important for me to enforce that policy of consent, or just making sure people are okay and aware. Sometimes, I’ll just see somebody by themselves. I’ll go up to them and introduce myself and say I shoot for BBZ. That can make them feel more relaxed to feel like they’re talking to someone who comes there a lot. You just talk to them, like you would with anyone else, and make them feel welcome.
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In terms of making people comfortable, it depends on the scene. For example, if it’s a club night, some people are shy. I find that I’m pretty good at talking to shy people because my sister and some of my friends are quite shy, so I feel like I know their language and how to read their body language. When I do studio sessions, that’s very personal and intimate. It’s you, the subject, and the lens. It’s good to always affirm what the outcome of the shoot is. It’s also important to take into consideration what the subject might be feeling. Q: You mentioned that you see your work as a documentation of the LGBTQ+ community. Do you see your work as a documentation to be looked back on in the future or as a documentation to engage with in the present? Bernice: At first, I thought only about the now. As it has grown and more people are seeing my work, I’m getting people telling me that this is going to go down in history, that people will look back at this in the future. I like that it can be a documenta-
tion of both [the present and something to be looked back on]. It means my photography is still going to be looked back at in years to come. But, I feel like it’s so important to acknowledge it now. It’s good because when I was younger—when we were all younger— we didn’t see images like this. We didn’t know people like us existed. Now, I’m documenting people who are older than me, people who are younger than me, people who are my age. The thing I like about my work is that it’s not limited to an age. Someone has told me, “I can relate to your work,” regardless of if it’s someone who is older or younger. I do believe that in years to come it will be great for people to look back on my work but that it’s just as important now. Social media has been really helpful in spreading my work digitally, to allow it to be a “now” documentation. Q: Aside form digital, have you considered doing prints? Bernice: Yes, I think it’s really important to print [photos] out and have them be physical rather than just digital. It’s different
to see it when it’s in your hand versus on the screen. It makes it that much more real. Q: I agree that having a photograph as a print is such a different experience. Just the tangibility of it makes you engage differently with the subject. Have you done any gallery exhibitions? Or do you have plans to do any? Bernice: That’s actually the one thing I said to myself last year— that I want to have more prints in the real world. It took me a while to even start sharing my work online. I used to have a little Tumblr and would just share it there, and then I started sharing on Instagram. Since deciding I wanted to be more physical, I’ve been in a few magazines but it hasn’t been about “#friendsonfilm”. It was commissioned work which was still great, but I decided I wanted to do more interviews to talk about my work. I think it’s important to be able to talk about yourself as an artist and your work. Shooting for BBZ has been a start to being more physical. Essentially, BBZ is an
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art exhibition and turn-up. So, there’s a DJ but there’s also art displayed. I exhibited some of my shots from there during one of their events. It was great to see because a lot of people in my pictures were at the party. I got to talk to people about my work, and I like how people interpret it differently. I like how there’s no right or wrong way. It’s whatever you see, and that’s what it is. I like that. I’m trying to work on a solo exhibition, but I’m not trying to rush it. I just want to keep documenting for a while, to be honest. I could be interested in some group shows. I don’t want to be in a show just for the sake of being in a show though. I’ve just exhibited my work in this community space which was neat because the space is supposed to be for LGBTQ+ people, so I felt like it would be great to have that represented in a space as well. There’s one collaborative show that I have kind of coming up. I’m working with a friend who does fine art painting, and she’s basically using my photography as an inspiration for her paintings. Do you have specific artists who inspire you? Liz Johnson Artur is one of my favorite favorite favorites. She basically documents black people, people from Africa or Caribbean descent. She’s half Russian and half Ghanian. She documents them in Russia and other places, but the way she does it is so effortless. It’s important because she’s a female photographer, and I feel like people don’t talk enough about female film photographers. I feel the conversation is maledominated, and people act like there weren’t female photographers in that time. Also, sometimes male photographers can just sexualize the subject— especially if there’s a woman in the picture. So, Liz is one of my favorite favorites. I’d love to assist her on a project or even just pick her brain. Another photographer I love is Jamel Shabazz. He documented a lot of the 80’s and 90’s era. To see how life was then versus how life was now is really neat. His photos are about ordinary people in their life. With him, it’s funny because when he shot a lot of the people in his photos, they were just ordinary. But then, they ended up being really big musicians or whatever. It’s nice to see pictures of them when they were younger in their family homes. I like how he has that mixture. Outside of photographers, I also like Cecile Emeke. She does short films. She did a very tongue-in-cheek, witty film about best friends in London. The fact that it was based in London and had two black girls made it more relatable for me. She also does a series called “Strolling” where she talks with people from across Gainsborough. They basically walk and just have a conversation. That reminds me a lot of my own work. Because the moments [in the photos] are connecting before or after conversations around many different things: politics, race, sexuality. I think it’s important and that it’s what connects a lot of us as people. Where do you see your work progressing? I feel like my work is branching. Even with #friendsonfilm, I want to get into making it into a short documentary. I want it to be the same style as the photos but for it to include the conversations. It’s more about my subjects now, and I’m trying to find a way to document that. That’s something I’m trying to get into with basically no videography skills. inbtwn. — 41
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ARTIST INSIGHT J U LIA
M O RA
I like to capture moments. I like to go back and relive them. I usually find myself photographing the same things, the same people and the same parts of my friends’ bodies. It kind of guides me to a reflection of how I create. I like to experiment with formats; I’ve been doing analog photography since 2016 which has helped me gain more and more confidence on how I take pictures in other formats. As someone born in 1995, I grew up along the change that led us to the Digital Era we live in. Film photography brings me to when I was a child and even to a period I didn’t live in, which makes me feel like I am handling an ancient object or something like that whenever I take photos. In the end, I like the tangible feeling of negatives, the sound of the camera, the care you must have with all the elements involved in analog photography.
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90’s Style: 5 Indie Brands to Know About written by Jessica Brock
It seems fitting that this article was written on a Thursday, as I cannot help but feel that the culture of the “thursday throwback” has influenced today, that even photos from parties last weekend will somehow make their way to the top of one’s Instagram feed. The term “retro” can be used to describe old chairs at a vintage shop to clothing thrifted from your nearest Goodwill. Instagram has taken over the use of retro-style, and as of late 90’s- style clothing has resurged in forms of larger labels like Dior’s iconic saddle bag and the Balenciaga Triple S sneaker. As common as carefully- coordinated Instagrammable outfits may seem, there are many lesser-known brands that should be on your radar for the perfect 90’s-inspired look. A favorite Instagram brand of mine is by FAR, a Bulgarian shoe collective label most popular for its tonal nude mules and vibrant slingback sandals. Worn commonly by Instagram style bloggers and influencers alike, this upscale brand has had a fantastic year as it’s grown in popularity among these crowds. With 90’s style icons commonly seen pairing their footwear with band shirts or slip dresses, all you need to coordinate these looks are brightly colored sling back shoes styled with a midi dress or ripped boyfriend jeans. To find inspiration for a summer-to-fall outfit, you’ll find all your essentials at New York label ArticleAnd, whose popular midi dresses and printed trousers add pops of color to any Instagram feed. To keep in mind the weather changes during the colder fall and winter months, look to layer your dress with a leather jacket or contrasting white turtleneck and punk-style motor boots. Shop 90’s-inspired silhouettes and popular Japanese wooden picnic bags at this online store. For an array of stunning jewelry, look out for Slate and Stone Jewelry, a California-based jewelry line that features stone detailing and elegant asymmetrical earrings. As creator Sophie Silverstein expresses, her “inspiration is in observation,” as a California native. The 90’s were an era in which stackable bangles and chains were hugely popular, especially in the punk scene. This line channels a softer perspective to the ever- reflective industry. A smaller, emerging brand is Korean label VEM.VER. Their latest resort 2018 collection featured an array of striped one-piece jumpsuits, to graphic tees and wrap skirts. Complete any of these looks with white sneakers and blush-colored lip gloss, to look all that and a bag of chips. Vacation this summer in any of these pieces, and you’ll look and feel wonderfully nostalgic. For a perfect edition to your summer accessories, there’s Crap Eyewear, a Los Angeles-based sunglass company, dedicated to serving you shaded looks for an affordable price. From clout goggles to heart-shaped frames, there’s something for everyone. For the 90’s girl in all of us, wear these iconic shades with a denim bucket hat and gold hoop earrings for an ode to summer. Keep these pieces in mind as you shop around for transitional summer to fall 90’s-inspired outfits, and you will be ready to hit the upcoming seasons filled with style.
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photo from by FAR website
photo from Slate and Stone Jewelry website
photo from ArticleAnd twitter
photo from Crap Eyewear website
photo from VEM.VER website
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TAK KAMIHAGI Q: Tell me a little bit about yourself. Tak: Well, my name is Tak. I’m a 23-year old videographer and photographer living in Costa Mesa, California. I originally grew up in a small town called Villa Park but recently moved to Costa Mesa about 2 or 3 years ago. Villa Park and Costa Mesa are pretty close to each other, but it’s been really nice moving out here since I’m a lot closer to the beach. I’m always hanging out in Laguna and the surrounding beaches almost every day when I’m home. Q: How’d you get into photography and videography? Did you do it as a kid at all? Tak: I always dabbled around with cameras but bought my first real camera right when I turned 20. So, I’ve actually been doing this for about 3 years now. Growing up I’d always ride BMX bikes and was always the one getting filmed. But once in awhile I would take the camera and film my friends doing tricks and all that. So I guess I first kind of got a feel for filming through BMX. Those BMX videos are heavily influenced by music, and I was always thinking of what songs we could use for the videos we were making at the time. I would later start picturing visuals that would go well with the music that weren’t BMX related. Later on, I was like, “Man, maybe I
should get my own camera and start posting my own stuff.” That’s kind of how it all started. I’d be really in my head just listening to the deepest music by my self and picturing the craziest visuals to go with them. I really wanted to just show people what was going on in my head. Q: Were you involved with the video edits at all growing up? Tak: No, I wasn’t. I never edited anything. I was just the helping hand if someone needed to film an extra angle or something. Q: Crazy, so photography and videography is pretty new for you then? Tak: I would say so yeah. But, I feel like mentally I’ve always been taking photos and videos in my mind. I’d be listening to music and picture all these things that would go with the music. So, I haven’t been taking videos and photos for too long, but at the same time I feel like I have. I felt like I had a really good idea of what I wanted to capture even before I picked up a camera. Q: Do you feel like it’s hard to translate what you have in inbtwn. — 51
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your mind to what you see through the lens? Tak: Ooo, that’s such a beautiful question haha. Sometimes it is because it’s hard to capture those moments on video or create those moments where you can truly show it all. Music is a big part of the creative process. Listening to music, a lot of times I’ll feel things, and then I’ll see things. It’s usually always a feeling that I want to be able to show in a visual way. It’s weird— you can kind of go in all of these different directions. How easy it is can just depend on how creative I’m feeling that day. For the most part though, I feel like it’s been somewhat achievable to show people what’s going on in my head, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to fully show what goes on in my head. Q: Describe your editing style in a few words. Tak: It’s tough because I’m always changing, the work I did a few months ago is something I would never picture myself doing again. I’m not even really sure how I would call my style. I know it sounds cliché, saying, “Oh, I don’t wanna be labeled.” But to be honest, I love doing everything— cinematic videos, homemade videos on a VHS camera. I guess the best way to describe [my style] would be experimental, but I don’t know. Q: You layer clips, mix DSLR footage with super8, etc. There’s a lot going on, but it comes together really beautifully and well-choreographed. What is your creative process like when you’re editing stuff? Tak: I remember when I was in high school, I took Photoshop for a year. I would do a lot of stuff with overlays. Adding pictures over each other and adding effects could do so much with such little work. So, I took that over to the videos I made and thought it was cool to add film burns and other glitches over videos. I just started to expand from there and experiment and overlay all different kinds of things. Q: You shoot a good amount of stuff on VHS, super8, or lenses from the 70’s. How does that tie in with the theme of nostalgia? Tak: Yeah, I absolutely love shooting on film. With the Whethan projects I do, it’s entirely shot on film or mini DV tapes now which I think is really special. I’m obsessed with the look of film and the creative process behind it. When you shoot videos on film, it’s such a long process. It feels like you’re making art rather than creating content and the end result is a piece of work that actually means something to you. I really care about the videos I work on and want to make sure I can look back on each one with a smile on my face. Old projects you shot on film give it that extra feel of the past that I’m obsessed with. Q: Where do you find all your old lenses and camera stuff? Tak: I use to dig through so many thrift stores to find old cameras and have no luck haha. I later found out that Ebay has literally everything you could imagine so I’ve been buying a lot of my stuff from there.
Q: A little off-topic, but you have some following on Youtube of you filming your experiences sneaking into music festivals. What’s that like? Tak: A week after I bought my first camera, me and my 3 friends snuck into Beyond Wonderland. At first, I didn’t want to go because I had just gotten my camera a week ago, but I decided to take the risk and go. We ended up sneaking in and filming the entire experience. I made a video from that entire day. We later snuck into Coachella, EDC, and Hard Summer and made videos of all of those festivals too. If I never decided to sneak into that first festival, I would have never gotten the opportunities to do what I’m doing now, so I’m glad I decided to take that risk because it snowballed into everything I’m doing now. I think about it from time to time and just trip out on how much that small decision affected my entire life. Q: How’d you start shooting with Whethan? Tak: Whethan was basically one of the first jobs I had. From those festival videos, Whethan’s manager, Dan Awad found me. He immediately tweeted at me after watching my videos so I messaged him, and he said he loved my work and wanted me to be a part of his team. I honestly owe him so much. He’s done so much for me and has had my back from the very beginning. My first year of working as a videographer, he put me on the best jobs and even got me on a 2-month bus tour with Whethan that absolutely changed my life. Q: Is your career what you expected when you picked up a camera? Tak: Absolutely not haha. I went from being broke sleeping in my car sneaking into festivals to being on a bus tour in a couple months. Growing up I had always done what felt right in my heart. And that’s exactly what I did when I picked up my first camera. Staying true to myself and doing what I genuinely loved naturally lead me to be able to do what I love for a living. Q: Where do you see yourself 5 years from now? Tak: I definitely see myself still working in music. I’ll always be involved in music somehow I think, but I’m thinking I’d like to get into music videos a lot more. I want to film a lot of nature too. I fantasize running away and car camping in Yellowstone filming all the beautiful scenery way too often haha. Other than that, I’m just going to keep pushing my self in all different aspects of photography and videography. I have a few solid plans for the future, but I don’t want to tell anyone about them yet. Q: What do you hope people take away from your work? Tak: If I can affect anyone in a positive way through my work even in the smallest way, then that’s good enough for me. I just want to show people how I see the world, and if I can inspire people by doing what I love then I’ll be happy.
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“When you film videos on a VHS camera or super8 or take photos on film, it’s such a long process. It feels like you’re making art rather than creating content.”
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memory of home a series by Maxine Flasher-Duzgunes illustration by Ellis D
Inpassing A home is a place of unpredictable whimsy—you can’t determine whether it makes your tears dry or dampen, you cannot leave or return because the world outside assumes neither a forward nor backward pull. When you actually leave, that is, you’re told to leave by a bell schedule; you reposition home inside an airplane overhead bin, and then a metro-card, and then a telephone. Wherever it’s reachable, you keep it there until it finds host in the convenience of your walk-in closet New York apartment. But when any distance divides you and home, regardless of whether you replace it with your new life, it becomes less of something locatable on a map, and more so of something locatable on the surface of a memory. As you complete various tasks in your new life—acquire new items, meet new acquaintances, pay new bills—your home etches itself deeper into the memory (after, of course, it has transcended its physical location on a map). You like unfolding this home after late
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night rehearsals. You’re talking to dad on the telephone, and his voice unfolds in your head. You locate him as being in the bedroom, in front of the bay window (although it really doesn’t face the bay), in your two-story shingled house in California. But his voice travels so many miles, you remember the delay—when you’d hold two phones beside one another and watch the invisible signals shoot up to space and back down to hear the sonic mirroring of just that one voice. The delay in seconds, the delay between your bedtime and his dinner, makes his voice more like mail than dialogue. A voice? Or a voicemail? With mail you can always read at another time, listen at another time, as if it is really convenience that rules your new life. You retain the home as a memory, but it no longer unfolds as easily as it did when you walked down SFO gate B32 towards the runway. Once you’ve landed on the other side, the distance stiffens like muscles that haven’t danced in weeks.
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The distance crystallizes and becomes another artifact in your list of introductions at school: where are you from? I’m from California. North or south? North. Where in the north? San Francisco. Where in San Francisco? The Bay Area. What town? Homestead Valley. Etc. etc. etc. The phenomenon of location could often be compared to Russian dolls, one narrowed down existence inhabiting the next. And certainly if some very persistent student narrowed you down to only you, you’d have to turn yourself inside out until you were back in New York and would have to start another intense round of questioning. The longer you make your new life seem like a home, the more times you convince yourself, I’m going home, when really you’re entering a stuffy dormitory with stairwells reeking marijuana and shower drains expelling cockroaches every other week. You call it home because the term is all that’s available, because it makes you understand the duties of adulthood before you possess the money of an adult, because you know you’ll always return to your real home until you’re old enough to reposition it to your sandals’ location, and not the California bedrock. But you are young and not a skilled cartographer. Maps are documents you’ve been comfortable with reading, not re-designing (although your brother quite enjoyed the craft). Perhaps when you re-design, it signals the end of your youth; you’re reconsidering your own return address because apparently you’ve grown out of your old one. You’d think that you’d be happy just reading maps, but in this life, you cannot call yourself a poet. For even though a poet grows up reading, they do not re-design or reposition the world around themselves in an afterthought of their youth. Rather, they create a new life without relocating home. After all its paint jobs, the front door still sounds the same when knocked on, the blinds still rattle in your bedroom when you pull them at dawn, the refrigerator still beeps after closing it the first time. A poet writes of the world surrounding them, not of them surrounding the world, because re-creating a home that’s already been created requires that a new memory submerge the old. You cut airport security lines so you won’t be the passenger who’ll never depart. You consume the inside of an airplane security manual, the letters whirring behind you like schools of tuna, hoping it will only be you who
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goes forward. It’s only you who goes forward because you despise any past or passing or passed that ties your limbs to a place of inescapable memory. A home. It’s a post-traumatic place perhaps, or a hotspot that replays what has gone on in your old life, and erupts in your new life as an irreversible melancholy. It’s here in this plane where your cheeks shrivel in an everlasting state of dampness, and all your thoughts return to that home where the thoughts originated. But these thoughts are unsafe. Is that why I left? You think to yourself. To be missed? To miss? In French when you miss someone, you must say they miss you. “Elle me manque” means “I miss her,” but grammatically formed it’s “she misses me”—as if in reciprocating the missing you’ve also become missed. But missing? Am I missing once I leave a place? If I’ve passed it, has it left me? If I’ve left it, has it passed through me? By me? In me? A place of past is accessible inside anyone, but why in you does it have to be found in the ducts at the corners of your eyes? Your skin cracks on the plane, like there are suddenly gashes of sediment on the ten-mile strips of coastline you used to hike. You didn’t used to chip like this, into marble strips, and rips at the seams of the shore, but in your rush out the door, you became a home, a New Yorker shedding its California roots. Every voice from Homestead takes days to be unsealed from the envelope—and even more days when you buy a microwave for your new life, a vacuum, a set of hangers. But you cannot chip away what you had as mindlessly as your colleagues, who return to their new lives weeks early just to fill them with shot glasses and drag. You prefer not to lose any objects, so you refrain from bringing them to your new life: you take no photographs, no meaningful brooches or charms, not even your aunt’s 90s hand-me-downs. But it’s really only the memory that chips away, or perhaps the memory that chips you. For a home is an infinite place of the departing and the departed, the returning and the returned, the ones missing and the ones missed, the ones passing and the ones passed. You ground yourself in what remains in between an exit and an entrance, a dis-remembrance and a remembrance, and surely you will never be able to make a distinction between your old life and your new one.
Memory of Home I don’t have an eternal memory Nor can I capture one wave After it’s succeeded by another But I do have a timer that Rings to my thoughts Over coffee Over the phone Over the time It takes to go home. Home, is love, is home, is love. I don’t have a heart that beats with Neighboring hearts But one that beats With itself For itself By itself. I do have a house in shaded wood That covers my consciousness And dissolves this urban uncanniness The me I find reading On every train On every stop Just being so utterly quiet And piling up thoughts like waves Before remembering it’s not me.
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AS ALWAYS,
THANK YOU.