POCKET QRTiNE

POCKET - QRTiNE

celebrating stories of the world: sharing creativity and challenges. we are living our own truth.

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Cover photo credit: Karshik Raye

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Building community. Building bonds.

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thoughts from enrica What is this, you must be wondering? This is nothing more than a little pocket - a place where you collect things you want to keep for later. This is a hiccup within weeks of uncertainty and crippling anxiety about the future. This is a parenthesis from your social media binge. This is nothing more than a simple zine packed with creative makings and a reminder that ‘feeling’ is ok. No pretenses or commercial value. Think of it as a hug in these weeks of social distancing.

Hi! I am Enrica and I am the editor and creative director of this zine. Nice to meet you.

Like most of the world, in these weeks I am finding myself in a position of uncertainty. I live away from my family, I am starting a new job (perfect timing, right?), my mind is split across an ocean, most of my best friends are scattered around the world and I feel so detached from reality. I miss hugs, kisses, physical touch.

The world is shifting at a pace that is difficult to keep up with, but I believe that stories and art need to continue to be shared, perhaps more than ever, and I am optimistic that this is one way to do it.

I decided to put this zine together to share stories about the world — to celebrate the diversity and richness of this pain. It could be worse, sure, but it is also ok to own what you are feeling.

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In these pages you will find very different creative expressions of the same discomfort we are all feeling. Do not compare yours with others. These are hard weeks. Let's be kind.

Immerse yourself in small poems, lean into pain with a piece about unplugging, learn about what social distancing means to the people of Kalaupapa in Hawaii, stop to think about what these weeks mean to homeless men and women around the world with a photo-essay from Milan, enjoy the quietness of photography about slowing down, and dive into the beautifully energizing illustrations from painters, graphic designers and... neuroscientists!

I'd like to say a huge thank you, grazie, merci, gracias, to all the creatives that sent work. This project was put together in one week, but it was a great ride, guys! Thank you. ­— Check the last pages to see where our contributors come from: 4 continents, 11 countries, 20+ cities.

Working on this zine has inspired me and renewed my love for art and creativity. I am grateful to be surrounded with people who are courageous, honest and kind. We are building community and building bonds. Let's look for the best in each other. baci, enrica.

Milan, February 2020, Enrica

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Contents 8 Pulling the plug | Marta Catalano

12 Journal Entry | Allie Folino

16 Series I,II,III,IV | Alma Ouweneel 26 Poems | Enrica Barberis

32 I see you: Portraits and Sketches | Tehanee Bardolia 38 Poem | Ali Grace Hanna

40 The Other Side | Elena Franceschini 46 Pensieri alla Luna | Giulia Trapasso 48 Poems | Felicity Helfand

50 Photography | Andrea Faragli

52 Findings: A Restless Benediction | Katie Ward 54 Slowing down: Life is a Race | Karshik Raye 66 Dates | Vladimir Nahitchevansky

70 Illustration | Emma Louise Holt

74 Feeling Out of Place | Eleonora Papotto 76 Kalaupapa | Mike Antonio Kalmeta

82 In Darkness, Sparks of Light | Chris Davies 84 Photography | Evan Fishburn

88 Spring knew nothing | Enrica Barberis

89 Spring still knew nothing | Allie Folino

90 August in Paris | Brittany Gibson 92 Miami Things | Greem Pi 94 Collages | Pinanki Shah 98 Art | Devon Victoria

102 Contributors

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Marta Catalano Pulling the plug

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Lately I have been living my life stretched across wires, tending to broken links. I realized I have been surrounding myself with relationships that feel more like plug-ins and words fired like hashtags and filters. My life felt hyperconnected, every aspect of it overflowing into a screen and back at me in a multitude of versions that I recognised as foreign, and at the same time as my own. This constant thirst for connection left me drained and made me long for a final, cathartic pull of the plug; only that I didn't know where the plug was, and what it would feel to actually detach from its source. Who would I be without my lit up wires? What would pulling the plug add up to? What would my life be without the constant churning of words, images, sounds, layers upon layers of stimuli and stories half absorbed half listened to?

Something needed to shift, so that I could carve space for things to move and grow. So, in the hyper-connectedness, in this fear of pulling the plug, I leaned into loss, which might sound counter-intuitive, anachronistic even. I leaned into loss as something inevitable and not yet fully explored.

I tried to learn the rules of this game, feeling a loser and a winner each time simultaneously as the clichÊ rang true yet again: among losses there are gains, even if you don’t know what they are, even when you think that the only things you are gaining are tears, sleepless nights and a heart that beats so fast it might have already taken off and landed in another universe.

Twice. Or maybe countless times.

The gains that resulted for my losses were surprisingly small and infinitely simple, and kept on multiplying. I 'lost' my headphones during my walks and I gained the weight of my thoughts. When the latter were too loud, I couldn't press a button to turn the volume down, turn them off, skip them, forward them so fast all I could hear was a distant hum. But I also gained a deeper understanding of my thoughts, what they are, and how they unravel.

I gained the ability to blend my thoughts with other things, like the occasional

car honking or the children running around, laughing and screaming. I gained what started to feel like a slow awakening. Scary at times, surprising because it was so vivid and had no limits, not the ones confined by the inches of my screen or the word count on the tab. It was endless, frighteningly so at times.

There is no denying: In many ways it was deeply uncomfortable.

I guess it's because I am used to curling and scrunching my pain, to folding it carefully over and over, to taming it in written words and filing it somewhere, so that I never have to look back at it again. Checked, done, for the day, for life. The thing is that I am not used to letting the pain roam free while my wires are disconnected, while I am not looking at and soaking someone else's pain so much that it becomes mine and I don't have to feel my own. Still, I pulled the plug.

Now I get to spend a lot of time with my pain. I made it my companion in a way that was uncomfortable and foreign to me. It now runs free with other wild beasts, with fear, regret, hesitation and all the other comrades of this motley crew.

My thoughts gained substance, so that they were not just some careless accessory. I began to see them for what they are, and attempt to meaningfully engage and disengage with them. I started to see what a tricky place the brain can be, all the tricks and jokes it pulls on you, how it can make you feel so far from reality, so far from what you need. Learning all of this made it clear to me that a life of presence and self-awareness is not a simple one, yet one that is much richer and meaningful. I am having to unlearn processes I had lived by for so long. I am having to reinvent, discard, accept more than I thought I could stand. All because I had dared to pull the plug.

So, yeah, I did it. I finally did it. I pulled the plug, at least for a while, at least to see how it felt like to live life with less filters, with less wires around my wrists, hips, eyes, thighs, ankles and feet. And to come to terms with my losses and gains, to let them flow in and out like waves.

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Milan, Easter 2020, Enrica

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Allie Folino

Journal Entry

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April 11, 2020 As we all sit in our homes, this earth continues to spin on, almost as if it doesn’t need us.

Mother Nature has put us inside, locked the door and swallowed the key. Confusion, fear and anxiety swirl around us - yet she continues to remind us that it is her we stand on, and we are not in charge.

Maybe one day, when we all crawl out from our homes on our knees, we will be encouraged to tread more lightly. We will remember that she is not ours to exploit - she belongs and cares for so much more life around us - and we are merely guests. We will remember that we are here because of her divinity.

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Alma Ouweneel

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On the work: Three short photography series; one inside, two outside.

Each captures a different emotion or mental state evoked by the circumstances we find ourselves in: stillness, estrangement and rediscovery.

I especially found myself struck by the similarities and stark contrasts between the inside and outside, finding coldness, isolation and warmth in both, as we do in ourselves in times of distress.

I tried to capture this recognition of our inner states in our limited surroundings.

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I.

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II.

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* disclaimer: in the country the photos are taken it is allowed to go on walks *

III.

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IV.

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Enrica Barberis

you used to feel lonely in a crowd

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what does that make u now?

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I have changed my name so often and with me my identity an old woman

she died, making no space for life again – from within the ribs the little shadow of a girl breathed out it was my chance to speak to myself come to terms, mould her give her air time. lend her my name figure out a language

for, nationality does not make identity all the boys are waving now all those you were uninterested in

they wanted to be loved simply for what it’s worth it was hard to love you and you had to try.

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for someone who never wears sunglasses, you like to know that you could we long for distractions so we sip coffee burning the top of our mouths to feel something other than emptiness the warmth travels down our bodies to collect in the lower uterus which gives us nothing to make solutions from everything has stopped around us except for our brains we line up outside supermarkets longing for more —

you see, I feel like I could talk to you forever I want to but also sit in a room and not talk at all share the distance between our bodies no metric system between our minds worlds away pelvic bones moving

— even so slightly — but instead games are played, and the dance we too much eagerness can destroy sex

engage in is careful

to want and be wanted is textbook perfect such a contrast un available

w/ phones that don’t do international

loss of communication comes like ginger; complimentary.

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broken rings around quick fingers we were banging on doors hardly closed making fools turn in their chairs we wanted to be slow men walking tired dogs that day felt like prey but I was not the girl you were taking home. we lost phone calls because we were dancing it was exhilarant

it felt like elastic bands on fingertips what a lie. we stayed out for hours and it finished at turnstiles I’m young and got lost in the rhythm of me for you and I are more than sexual, we are all about goodbyes.

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lost fingertips on dirty windows make you pause I look inward and start feeling the cold air between my toes slightly curved – like dreams. lonely dreams. the way mothers stretch their lips just before a scream makes you feel fear for your future. for clarity. hair is supposed to grow back and money is spent bettering things you never cared about yourself time is wasted trying to justify yourself – make your identity understood make it unthreatening when did we start asking so many questions but avoiding answers when did we starting needing help for everything, like peanuts either one at a time, or a handful shoved at once so I sit in wide rooms listening to Leonard Cohen softly speaking words I have no ability to hear it calms me in the unnerving way a text message from a poet does. across oceans we travel although blindly and in vain

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Tehanee Bardolia

I see you: portraits & sketches

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life stops and we finally see everything

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Ali Grace Hanna

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an arduous game of hide and seek almost caught you there perhaps you’re behind the blue curtains

I thought I found you

when I dusted off those strings

must you ruin everything for me

I can hardly bear to hold the sand in my hands as it so blatantly slips between my fingers now and there you were

between the stitches I tried to catch you with every stitch you ran away maybe over there no over there

among the planted seeds in the hot soil

but oh look there they go they are growing and blooming

and now look what you’ve done the sprouts have gone

surrendered to the harvest my stomach turns

I taste the sweet fruit

as the juice dribbled down my chin a realization breezed through the cracked window there was no game

you did not try to deceive me

when you tapped on my shoulder you were only trying to tell me to call off the search

and whispering affirmations that you are on my side, Time

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the other side Elena Franceschini

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These weeks of unprecedented fear and anxiety have made us so concentrated on ourselves and the discomfort we are feeling, that we forget that some people are having to deal with worse conditions than us.

I am talking about "displaced people": those who don't have the comfort of a house or a job to fill their days. Or the few coins they used to be able to put together for food. Social distancing is a real problem for them.

What about the most vulnerable ones in our societies? What about the "others" ?

These pictures are from an old project, but more than ever, they are important now.

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Giulia Trapasso

Pensieri alla Luna

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Nel silenzio della notte, con la sua aria frizzante e il chiarore delle stelle, mi ritrovo da sola sul balcone di casa a sognare il domani vegliando sulla mia città addormentata.

Mi tiene compagnia solo la Luna, così bella e alta nel cielo.

Il suo silenzio sembra interrogarmi sul senso dei miei passi, sulle scelte che compio.

Dove sto andando? Che cosa cerco?

Quali sono i desideri che accendono di vita il mio cuore?

La tua bellezza, cara Luna, suscita nell’uomo domande che attraversano i secoli.

A chi dedichi così tanto splendore?

A chi rivolgi un amore così grande?

Il tuo volto mi rivela tutta la piccolezza e la profonda fragilità che ci unisce in un abbraccio di speranza.

Così alzo gli occhi e ti guardo, cerco in te la risposta alle mie troppe domande, e il mio cuore si spalanca all’immensità dell’Eterno Amore.

Amo la domenica e i pranzi dalla nonna, la buona cucina e il bis di lasagne.

Amo l’allegria e la voglia di stare insieme, i sorrisi e i baci sulla fronte.

Amo soprattutto la mia famiglia perché mi insegna ogni giorno che la vera essenza della vita è racchiusa nelle piccole cose.

Arriverà il giorno in cui ci sveglieremo da questo incubo di morte.

La paura non dominerà più sui nostri giorni e la solitudine che abbiamo sperimentato avrà solo moltiplicato la gioia che proveremo nel rivederci.

Ci saranno sorrisi e lacrime di felicità sui volti di tutti.

Le famiglie si riuniranno e gli amanti si potranno riabbracciare con tenerezza e rinnovata passione. Si confonderanno l’uno con l’altro.

Splenderà ancora il sole e il cielo sopra le nostre teste ci sembrerà una bellissima vittoria.

Il più piccolo gesto non ci apparirà più scontato, ma anzi pieno di vita, e i nostri sogni torneranno ad alimentare il battito del nostro cuore.

In the silence of the night, with its sparkling air and the glow of the stars, I find myself alone on the balcony of my home, dreaming of tomorrow, watching over the sleeping city.

Only the moon keeps me company, so beautiful and high in the sky.

Its silence seems to question me on the intention of my steps, on the choices I make.

Where am I going? What am I looking for?

What are the desires that light my heart with life?

Your beauty, dear Moon, evokes questions that span the centuries.

To whom do you dedicate so much splendor?

To whom do you turn such great love?

Your face reveals to me all the smallness and profound fragility that unites us in an embrace of hope.

So I look up and look at you, I look inside of you the answer to my too many questions, and my heart opens wide to the immensity of the Eternal Love.

I love Sunday and lunches at my grandmother’s, tasty food and double portions of lasagna.

I love the joy that comes when together, to willingness to, smiles and kisses on the forehead.

I especially love my family because it teaches me day after day that the true essence of life is in the small things.

The day will come when we will wake up from this nightmare of death.

Fear will no longer dominate our days, and the loneliness we have felt will only extend the joy we will feel in seeing each other again.

There will be smiles and tears of happiness on everyone's faces.

Families will gather, and lovers will embrace each other with tenderness and renewed passion. They will blend each other.

The sun will still shine and the sky above our heads will look like a beautiful victory.

The smallest gesture will no longer seem obvious to us, but rather full of life, and our dreams will return to fuel the beating of our heart.

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Felicity Helfand

[The leaves changed to red and gold]

The leaves changed to red and gold air apple-crisp and clear When the day is sun-dipped cold I hear winter drawing near The leaves melted gold to black unnoticed all the while by an unseen vortex, insidiously bright, and promises it didn’t apply Leaves remained barren and cracked while my world lurched towards an abyss Crisis lurked in all-sight so we rushed indoors to meet it The leaves have started blooming green, birds a welcome song Signs of Holocene days beyond this wretched thrall Sweet peas in shades of blush and dusk, poppies riotously bold Comforts swathed in luxury while cocooned at home The petal-fall rains have given way, the leaves a verdant force I’ll hold spring-glimpses in my heart until free to venture forth

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Found Poem: Rachel Carson, The Sea Around Us

One day the younger days of Earth reached their greatest grandeur, written by the history of the Earth’s tides.

No doubt it would be said some observer of the universe slowly grew feebler less imposing until they ceased to be

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Andrea Faragli

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Findings: A Restless Benediction

Katie Ward

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The average melody of unidentified birds chirping, especially in the hour of dusk that resembles the fading embers of a campfire that begins to paint a sudden stillness in the world, always transports me to the front drive way of Athens, TX; my grandparents home; the one home I only can claim. Recently, we’ve yearned harder for physical touch; we fill our bellies with voluptuous laughter; the tight spaces we’ve relocated into begin to satisfy our desires for a hug. It’s the little findings.

Movies, tv - five of us crammed in one house - mundaneness of daily living suddenly sounds interesting so me; reverberation of ones tone; shuffling of sheets as we sleep until 11:30 and continue calling it morning well past 4; clinks of glasses as ruffles of papers are passed across the table - it’s the little discoveries that allow time to pass alongside our grief. I haven’t, yet, reached the mark of depletion or maybe it’s the deletion of myself while still unraveling under some sort of discomfort inside this all.

When a person had previously spent the last year so swallowed inside the confinement of ones own depressive mind, surely they can find their way back? Though it’s never fully erased; one foot always remains snuggled back. Maybe it’s because you’re afraid to really feel the safety of contentment again?

Or maybe it’s to allow yourself to always remember - recognize the defeat of where you once let yourself run to, where you became such a shadow within your own body that you see how bittersweet the opalescent

of days interchanging daily and know it’s ok to hold your breath a little longer some nights.

The days that are so lazy or slow or thrilling or melancholic or full of rage; there will always be a flame of once-was, but it’s the fire of what is and can be and will be that now confines you to living presently. “Admiration is love without expectation, and I’d be psychotic to expect,” Jenny Slate spellboundingly narrates into my ears while my skin becomes blushed by the sun and I lose myself or try to release my attention from a nagging anxiety and leap outward to another realm of time, another person if I’m honest.. I feel crazy (most times) in my ever expanding imagination of optimism, but I’d feel ever more chaotic if I didn’t find a silver lining in most chaos. So, I wake most mornings by not greeting the expansive abyss of flames sparking in all of this unknowingness, but instead, I find my stability. I graze through the house admiring the love the encapsulates the shelter I’m inhabiting and feel young again; you know because they talk of and I’m certain that something exciting, a routinely burn of normalcy of life is just ahead.

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slowing down when life is a race

Karshik Raye 54

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Life can be a race...

We all know it. We’ve all felt it. And we’ve all fallen prey to it. why don’t we even pace? the thrill and excitement of our fast lives is in the moving... running... chasing!

In a blink of an eye, a fraction of a second, we all try to make it up the echelon. We live fast but don't realize that to make things last we’ll have delay the prize.

Slow down.

Catch your breath.

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Put down that crown.

And linger your own death.

Why slow down, would you ask me?

Slowing down is an opportunity. A chance to discover ourselves - a time for introspection, deep thoughts and new perspectives. Slowing down is a gift.

A present that allows us to live in the moment - a time to enjoy the little things in life. Slowing down is the other side of the equation that keeps everything in balanced motion.

Black and white. High and low.

Life can be bright if you live fast and slow.

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Vladimir Nahitchevansky DAYS

3/8 “it is for all of you they take our water

the last desert waters” rare colors this afternoon

—tho condescending people have their place (you really do)

you think of pigs and water.

moving smartly

Jon outside looks like an old-fox in his bath

Florida still splashing in his face

3/10 patch of grass in all this snow “Hi” it’s polite to step outside pull direct from the— (anytime) don’t break eye contact don’t hesitate to ask Ida’s home somehow it’s obvious an idea all the time seldom

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but same seldom enjoyed

3/13

feed content feed content feed content grey beef (unwilling singular) certain scenes happen silver is the radio and wet is the road feed content feed content

3/11 and thinking of sex w/ men and women and thinking abt fucking my friends mostly the men islands fail in their relevance on them cinders smolder

(houses smolder) windows of Kingston maybe one of you will read this and imagine fucking too

feed content

we’d lament

another weekend w/out sun

but I’m finding myself knocked down is a good look

the naked rose sheet

the euphemism rings true feed content a simple bliss implies

how

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3/14

may there be an inclusion of conditions all my thoughts angulate to it all my darkening forests my reasons nude LEFTY: “the lake settled in.”

DARK FOREST: “soon my mood will be all over it.”

LEFTY: “the pond looks sick!”

POND: “I’m not sick, I only happened long ago.”

LEFTY: “take this charcoal and rub it on your feet.”

DARK FOREST: “I’ve played this music before.”

POND: “I’m not sick!”

DARK FOREST: “Perhaps we can ask lake what she thinks?”

LAKE: “it is meaningful to be photographed.”

LEFTY: “the sun is hot.”

POND: “and so much of me is now in the air.”

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3/16 a badly constructed dock juts out in the ice, grounds for its stability, by way of existence, or in fact longevity. three winters, two summers, and now sinks with each tide. it rarely keeps one’s shoes dry. in the mountain, a washed out blueness like rough paper rubbed with rough stone. the ice shored against the banks of the river by passing barges: Finland via Yokohama via New York—,breaking apart in what useful measurements the light can hit, but at least in this iteration, the ice satisfies the photograph, doubles the legibility of this text, and comes dated as JANUARY 25 2016. In the picture, shoes wet, at the end of the dock, Nina and the scene skating across the water, a duckling-yellow, if just her exit.

for my sisters

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Emma Louise Holt

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feeling out of place

Eleonora Papotto

These almost two months spent at home reminded me of a few years ago. I was a child, I was at home, and I felt the same feeling of helplessness. It was because in my whole life I have always been out of place. Sometimes too ‘old’ to go out and play with my friends.

Sometimes ‘not beautiful enough’ to have a walk with the other girls. Sometimes ‘too sad’ to go to that party or ‘too intellectual’ to be with the others of my age. Back then, I felt like a prisoner of my own thoughts, as now I feel like a prisoner from an external cause. Does it really matter the reason why we feel like prisoners? Because, in the end, we cannot escape from it. When I grew up, I realized that the fears I hated so much as a child, were way better than my adolescence ones. Actually, many times, when we live the moment, we mainly notice the negative attitudes we have, but as long as the moment passes, these negative attitudes become blurred and we only remember the positive ones. It has happened with my childhood memories, and I believe it is happening with

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people’s memories of life before quarantine. I keep reading Instagram posts regarding how much people want to go back to their life, as if they truly enjoyed it. Don't you remember all the times you complained about going to work, being tired, not having time for yourself, not sleeping enough, dressing up for that birthday, meeting your family members when you had to go out with your friends, wanting to read that specific book and so on? Don’t you remember all the times you wanted to change something of your life, but you never had the courage to do so? We were not as free as we think we were. Of course, we were more free than now, but please, do not let this quarantine mess with your feelings. Do not forget that even before quarantine we were prisoners. Maybe of our minds, fears, work, life-style, or society. This pandemic is bad, it takes away from us many things we love. This is also a reminder that we should not go back to who we were before. We should become someone new. We should give a different meaning to the word ‘freedom’. It must not

be read in any philosophical way. It just means that, when the pandemic will be over, I won’t lose time on things I do not appreciate anymore. I do not want to be free of going around but stuck again in my fear of not being enough for the society. I want a complete and full feeling of freedom.

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Michael Antonio Kalmeta

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Kalaupapa

For many of us “social distancing� is the new buzz term of 2020.

However, I learned this phenomenon fairly well when I was 16 and set off on a volunteer trip to Kalaupapa.

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For many of us “social distancing” is the new buzz term of 2020. However, I learned this phenomenon fairly well when I was 16 and set off on a volunteer trip to Kalaupapa.

Kalaupapa, a tiny settlement on the island of Moloka’i, is the most isolated place I have ever visited in the world. In order to arrive, we had to take an hour-long ferry journey from my island of Maui to the main port of Moloka’i. Then, we drove to the other side of the island and started our descent down the tallest sea cliffs in the world. The hike included 26 switchbacks and the total descent was more than 600 m.

When we arrived at the bottom, we were greeted by a petite peninsula. Small shacks dotted the main settlement but did

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not even come close to overtaking the plethora of greenery and foliage which stole the show.

By now you may be wondering, why is this place so isolated from the rest of the world? The truth stems back to the 19th century when leprosy ravaged the Hawaiian islands. In the 1860s, anyone in the Hawaiian Kingdom who was found to show symptoms of leprosy was removed from their house and escorted onto a ship. These ships would then sail through the Hawaiian island chain and halt near the shores of Kalaupapa.

Once the peninsula was in sight, lepers were forced to jump off the ships and swim to shore. The waters were rough and only the fittest survived. However, even when survivors made it to

shore, there was no organized society and a high rate of violent crime. Given the fact that on one side of the peninsula lay the rough ocean and on the other the tallest sea cliffs in the world, there was no plausible way to escape this nightmare.

As time went on, outsiders such as Saints Damien and Marianne heard about this story and dedicated their lives to helping the people of Kalaupapa form their society. In fact, they even contracted leprosy themselves and died for their cause.

After a cure for leprosy was found, in 1969, residents were afforded the option to either stay in Kalaupapa or leave with a generous annual stipend. Many chose to stay, and a few still

live there until this day. They coach volleyball games with the healthcare workers, attend small church ceremonies, and saunter down the empty beaches by their homes.

This story, in many ways, parallels the current state we are now going through as a society. The isolation of Kalaupapa was caused by a disease: leprosy. Due to this, draconian measures were taken to isolate those infected. Even though at first the results were disastrous, the residents learned to appreciate their new surroundings. They found new meaning in life by embracing the natural beauty around them and living in harmony with it. At the end of the day, when the gates opened to the world, many did not want to return. They grew accustomed and even content with their new lives. They could never go back to how things were before.

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Chris Davies

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IN DARKNESS, LITTLE SPARKS SHINE BRIGHTER

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Evan Fishburn “In only a short time, the crisis of coronavirus has enveloped every part of our lives and our communities. It continues to test our strength, our resilience, our patience, our resources, and our creativity, forcing us to re-evaluate who and what is most important to us, pressuring new leaders to emerge around the world.�

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Italy, March 2020, Enrica the days all looked the same

But spring knew nothing the city closed on a Tuesday in February messages were sent from other corners of the world media painted the picture of my home as something to watch out for we were denied access to airplanes borders closed the water pushed all thoughts down I started wearing short pyjamas around the house cleaning the floor more I tried yoga, Zumba and handstands long days move fast

distance kept

The sun started staying out longer

and then it was March 11th skies were colored pink and blue through the half-open windows we saw the army guard exits there is no more room for everyone in hospitals I shared meals with my six housemates we drank a lot there was no physical attraction we never left the house days were all the same some learned a new language some napped some came to terms with ignorance others left their boyfriends to love someone through tinder

we slept together even though

the economy went downhill But spring did not know we opened windows and sang with the other buildings on the street we are all together, defeated like brothers hearing about a rape Despite the fear Despite pain because spring knew nothing we learnt the force of life.

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New York, April 2020, Allie

the days all looked the same And still, spring knew nothing New York closed on a Thursday the government shuttered the Big Apple was now rotting on the ground “I can’t believe this is happening to us” they said, as though the western world granted us some sort of immunity - perhaps, the antidote.

I started cleaning the apartment more as it allowed me to have some thin veil of control I tried cooking, painting the walls and meditating. long days move fast

The sun started staying out longer

and then it was April 15th streets, sidewalks and grocery store isles, once bustling, were empty through half-open windows we heard cheers at 7pm every day - but doctors were panicked because there is no more room for everyone in hospitals

I shared meals with my love we drank we talked and laughed. we danced in silly socks we never left the house days were all the same we put our heads down and worked we took a stroll in the park — faces covered while keeping distance we came to terms with nature and the power of ignorance the economy went downhill But spring did not know.

Those sick begged and pleaded for people to pay attention we are all together defeated like brothers hearing about a rape.

Through it all spring still knew nothing and we learned the force of life.

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Brittany Gibson

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August in Paris

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cl l e l e e

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Greem Pi Miami Things

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Miami things... GREEM PI 2018

Pinanki Shah Collages

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Devon Victoria

Dr. Giampiero Giron came out of retirement at 85 years old to help fight coronavirus in Italy.

Every time I see people being stupid and start to lose my faith in humanity, I hear stories like this about unimaginably brave health workers and know we are ok. All essential workers are real life heroes and deserve so much more

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These are two family members. I have been thinking about them and the rest of my family, as they are older. Of course I miss them and feel nostalgic.

bad your would never feel good. Hence deep pain is the key to pure joy. Appreciate the range of emotions you are able to feel. Either direction is good.

But I also know how good it will feel once we all feel better. Without feeling

Feeling is good.

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Contributors My favorite page! Look how cool these people are —

Enrica Barberis is a designer and poet, and an overall print nerd. She was born in Italy, but lived in many countries growing up. She loves reading, visiting art shows, boys with curly hair, and drinking negronis. She works as a freelance translator for an Italian publishing house, a full time writer at a creative communication agency, a gelato maker, a book designer, a pizza model (don’t ask), a part-time artist, and an editor for a magazine. She has published poems in a couple magazines and websites and has showcased art in exhibitions in Italy and England. New York city is her happy place. She lives in Milan, Italy.

Tehanee Bardolia is a lawyer and artist.

Born in Zimbabwe, she migrated to Australia when she was ten. She has dabbled in book selling, retail, and selling ice cream. She loves reading, painting, drawing, travelling, visiting art galleries and Sri Lankan hoppers. Her pet peeve is being asked ‘where are you from’. She can’t resist a good yoga session and a French earl grey tea with a dash of milk. She is very passionate about asylum seeker and refugee rights, and hopes to use her legal and creative experiences to have a meaningful impact on those in need. She is currently based in Melbourne, Australia.

Marta Catalano is a lover of words and stories. Born in sunny Sicily, she has been living in the UK where she studied and now works. Passionate about the environment and conscious living, she tries her best to land softly on the earth. She loves long runs, reading, and soaking up the sun. The ocean is her home. She always has the best recommendations when it comes to books and podcasts, and knows the best place in town for the best vegan food and wild spots. She works in a publishing house in London.

Chris Davies is a user experience designer based in Cambridge, UK, working with medical products and services. As well as the apps and websites he creates during the day, Chris is obsessed with graphic design, print, typography, and anything else which represents purposeful creative flair. Outside of lockdown, you can usually find him in a local coffee shop, pub, gelato establishment, or at a race track fascinated by cars going around in circles.

Andrea Faragli comes from the place we all want to be, Tuscany, surrounded by gorgeous landscapes and hills. Born in Cortona, he now lives in Milan where he works as a financial auditer. Like any Italian he loves soccer, which he plays in his free time, and drinking with friends after a day of work. He is also passionate about TV series and cinema, and is an expert in cryptocurrency, which he wrote his thesis on. He lived in Cordoba and can speak a little Spanish.. but ask him more after a couple drinks! Right now he is quarantining with his family and enjoying some nonnacooked goodies.

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Evan Fishburn is a writer and photographer.

Originally from Boise, Idaho, he now lives in New York where he works for publishing houses. Passionate about fashion, art and photography, Evan loves reading and in his free time knits hats.

Allie Folino is an art director, illustrator and artist based in New York City. Born in the Midwest, she graduated from the University of Wisconsin before making her way out to New York to work in the publishing sphere.

With a deep interest in activist-focused art, Allie strives to foster inclusive spaces through design and illustration, and create work centered around women’s justice and representation. She loves red wine, dancing with friends, and drawing in public spaces.

When the world isn’t on lockdown, you will inevitably find her exploring coffee shops and used bookstores, or staring at dogs in public places. Her most creative hour is 11pm.

Elena Franceschini is an art director and graphic designer. Born and raised in Reggio Emilia, Italy, she has always been interested in the world of communication, advertising and graphic design but also in art and less conventional forms of communication. She lives in Milan, a city which has allowed her to exalt and develop her passion. “A touch of creativity in my daily life never fails” is her motto. She likes to judge a book by its cover, likes to fly (literally!), travel, eat, jump, sing out loud in the crowd at concerts. She loves getting lost and finding herself constantly: "insanely ordinary” is what she is.

Brittany Gibson is a writer and photographer.

Born in England and raised in New York and New Jersey, she now lives in Washington, D.C., where she works as reporter for The American Prospect. She loves traveling — particularly to Paris, arguably the best place in the world to be a student of life, to learn, to love, and to drink excellent wine. She photographs with a Nikon digital camera, a Fujica ST 801, and disposable cameras (whenever she can find them).

Ali Grace Hanna is a book hoarder, history nerd, and loyal patron of her local Thai restaurant. Originally from Maui, Hawaii, she now lives and works in New York City as an art research assistant. When she’s not working in the library, she can be found browsing in bookshops downtown, making playlists, spending money on clothes she doesn’t need, or moshing around at an impromptu dance party with friends. She also really does enjoy long walks on the beach.

Felicity Helfand is a freelance writer and editor in Los Angeles, CA. She currently works at Broadsided Press and can never resist a good murder mystery. In the future she wants to write her own and work as an editor for a publishing house (and travel the world - not necessarily in that order).

Emma Louise Holt is an illustrator and great cappuccino maker. She grew up in the beautiful little seaside town of Sheringham in Norfolk and now is living in Cambridge. She has a big love of a well brewed English breakfast tea, avo on toast and spending quality time with friends.

She is staying sane in these times by losing in Zoom pub quizzes, drawing and, occasionally, dancing in her room.

Mike Antonio Kalmeta is a language freak, runner, and avid traveller. Born in New York and raised in Hawaii, he is currently finishing his masters degree in International Relations at the University of Bologna. When he’s not busy writing his thesis, he’s teaching English to students from all around the world, writing articles about his adventures abroad, and swiping away on Tinder Passport to practice his foreign language skills. If you ever need to find him, he’ll probably be on a beach in Brazil sipping a caipirinha.

Vladimir Nahitchevansky lives and works in Kingston, New York.

Alma Ouweneel is a neuroscientist, (aspiring) illustrator and photographer, and is currently residing in the Netherlands while attempting to write her thesis. She is an incredible dancer, has a knack for finding hidden treasures at vintage markets and dreams of one day combining her passion for the arts with science. Other than that - she's always starting random new projects and loves to connect with other creatives, so feel free to give her a shout to brainstorm about potential collaborations or just have a chat.

Eleonora Papotto is a writer and a poet.

She lives in Rome, and currently is a community fellow at The Tempest. In her free time she enjoys reading books and writing. She has published several poems in three books with other authors, and is now busy working on her personal website.

learning about cultures, and telling people about how unique his name is. In his free time, he works on a series of travel vlogs, listens to music and engages in creative pursuits. His hidden talent is being able to recognise faces and sounds.

Pinanki Shah is currently living in a beach town in India called Auroville and is working in a small fashion house. In her free time, she loves to read old magazines and make collages out of them. Due to the lockdown, she is exploring ingredients and cooking different cuisines and also finally has time to pet dogs. When the world is back on track, which it will be soon, she would like to continue living a conscious lifestyle.

Meanwhile, she hopes everybody is able to find their silver lining in this meltdown.

Giulia Trapasso is a writer and social media manager. She is a daydreamer and constantly on the lookout for beauty. She was born in Milan, which she loves with all her heart. Although never living anywhere else, she has still managed to leave pieces of her heart scattered around the world during her many adventures. She works as a social media manager in an creative agency, loves spending time with his friends, dancing and devouring books with the warmth of the setting sun on her face. She finds poetry in a dish of lasagna and a glass of red wine; her Achilles' heel are desserts, especially the chocolate ones!

Devon Victoria is a (starving) artist, videographer, and photographer based between Philadelphia, USA and Rome, Italy.

She hopes you're doing well. Connect with her on instagram @devon.victoria.7 for more projects and adventures!

Katie Ward lives in New York City within all the cramped spaces and too unfamiliar faces, but still manages to find a park of ones own to write, read or sunbathe. Really, she is just a self that goes on changing that goes on living maddeningly as herself.

Greem Pi is a French photographer. Born in Les Lilas, he currently lives in St-Ouen, in the shadow of the City of Lights. He makes short films oscillating between fiction and experimental, and practices painting and music. These photos were taken during a trip to the United States in 2018.

Karshik Raye is not your typical islander.

Born and bred in Mauritius (Yes - your dream holiday destination), he caught the first big wave and ended up in London 6 years ago, where he is now based and is working in finance. He is passionate about technology, business, entrepreneurship, design and good aesthetics. A polygot, he enjoys picking up new languages,

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We come from:

10 countries:

20+ Cities/States/Regions:

Australia

Amsterdam

Brazil

Auroville, India

England

Boston

France

Cambridge

Holland

Chicago

India

Houston

Italy

Idaho

Mauritius

London

Poland

Manchester

Thailand

Maui, Hawaii

United States

Melbourne Milan New Jesey New York Palermo, Sicily Paris Rome Turin Tuscany Washington DC Wisconsin

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Quando vedi una cosa bella, prendila.

Non chiedere il permesso e non sentirti in colpa.

Le cose belle diminuiscono quando chiudi gli occhi, o il cuore.

Lascia stare la mente. Guarda quello che trovi intorno a te con la pancia: insegui i profumi, mastica le scoperte, ascolta le domande e … tocca. Avvicinati a quello che pensi valga la pena. e prendila. acchiappala.

Non c’è tatto dopo la morte quindi tocca, parla, annusa.

C’è sempre tempo poi a lasciare andare, ma non lo puoi sapere finchè non prendi quello che ti sembra bello e te lo studi.

Cerca. Guarda. Lasciati sorprendere.

Non ci sono rimpianti.

When you see something beautiful, take it.

Don't ask for permission and don't feel guilty.

The beautiful things decrease when you close your eyes, or your heart.

Forget about the brain. Look at the things surrounding you with your gut: follow smells, chew on discoveries, listen to questions and … touch. Get close to what you think is worth it. and take it. sweep it up. there is no touch after death so reach, talk, smell.

There is always time to let it go later, but you won't know it until you take what you find beautiful and you study it.

Scout. Look. Allow wonder.

No regrets.

— enrica.

POCKET QRTiNE April 2020

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