ONLYCHILD MAGAZINE DEBUT ISSUE (#1)

ON LYCH ILD 2020 / Issue Nยบ1

Beauty & Decay

by Iness Rychlik

ARTISTS FEATURED Alana Tyler Ben Kist Estelle Magnin George L Stein Hoang Quynh Nguyen Huizi Miao Ike Essilfie-Obeng Iness Rychlik Isaac Hurtz Jacqueline Viola Moulton James King Johnnie Yu Karpos Deng Katy Strange Kirk Griffith Lili Philippe Sydney Gouamba Ray Christopher Slagle Richard Blair Victoria Wettmarshausen

Front Cover: Photographer & Model // Iness Rychlik

ONLYCHILD 2020 / Issue Nยบ1 Editor-In-Chief ~ Johnnie Yu

www.onlychildmag.com Address: somewhere in new york Instagram: @onlychildmag Email: mag@johnnieyu.com

pls apply basic (and up-to-date) common-sense and when considering copying and distributing this publication without written permission. thx.

Butterfly Shells Artist // Ray Christopher Slagle

I’m sitting here now, writing this “letter from the editor,” 156 pages later, and words have begun to fail me. I’ve read, even proof-read, countless numbers of these and yet, I struggle to write just one of my own. I guess I’ll just ramble, like I usually do, until I run out of space.

To this day, I still have no idea what to expect when I begin soliciting submissions for each issue of each publication I’ve worked on. Maybe it comes down to a sort of destiny that each one of these artists came across this unknown publication in its incubation stage. Some how they, or you, decide to set aside a couple of seconds, perhaps minutes, or perhaps hours, to compile a submission going into the hands of me, a complete stranger across the internet, in blind trust that something amazing will come out of this union between us.

The concept for Onlychild Magazine began almost just as an inside joke. My best friend and I have always joked around that because we’re the only children in our families, we never had a benchmark for what “normal” is in any social situation. So the only child is always the weird one at school. I suppose I set out just wanting to showcase that kind of chaotic energy that we turn to art, resulting in the weirdness and the diversity that defines our generation, and curate works of art that defy the normal beauty standards.

I suppose this magazine speaks for itself, and you are the best judge of whether I, or we, have succeeded in our original vision. Regardless of whether you enjoy this issue, or whether you’ve even read this longwinded ramble, I thank every one of you for coming across this little publication.

JOHNNIE RUNZHONG YU Editor In Chief

all these quotes and poems about how “things are just meant to be”, or “all the fishes in the sea” fail to account for the fact that: i don’t weigh every one or every thing equally, and i’d take one of you over a million of everything in this universe without hesitation.

Photography // George L. Stein Poetry // Karpos Deng

1

NUMBER

I S S U E

35mm SF Bay Area

98

Shades of Light

114

Is This Camp?

124

Validate Me

132

Unchecked Growth

140

Dark Soul Shimmer

148

And Somewhere the Grass Screams While Somewhere the Grass Screams

12

22

32

52

62

74

82

by Johnnie Yu

by Katy Strange

by Huizi Miao

by Kirk Griffith

On This Page I am Free

Shadow Suite

84

by Ray Christopher Slagle

by Alana Tyler

83

by Ben Kist

by Richard Blair

by James King

The Body Leaves Behind a Rorschach 86

by Jacqueline Viola Moulton

90

Resolution

by Philippe Sydney Gouamba

The Faces of Lili

by Lili

Beauty and Decay

Pushing Boarders

Venice Beach Style

Vienna Funhouse

Mannequin Challenge

by Iness Rychlik

by Hoang Quynh Nguyen

by Isaac Hertz

by Victoria Wettmarshausen

by George L Stein

I am out of words to describe how thankful I am for all eighteen of you that submitted works to be featured in this debut issue. Here’s to many more in the future.

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35mm SF Bay Area Photographer: BEN KIST @benkistphoto

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Shades

of

Artist: RAY CHRISTOPHER SLAGLE

Light

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IS THIS CAMP? Photographer: JOHNNIE YU @johnnie.yu Assistant & Behind the Scene Photography: RUOBING (SNOW) YANG

@ruobingsnow Model: AGATA SUDUIKO @agatasuduiko Location: PARIS, FRANCE

I still remember the first things that came to mind when my photography professor proposed a “DIY fashion accessory” assignment while I was studying abroad in Paris. Safety pins and paper clip earrings fit that description and won’t require much effort. Tony wasn’t too far off from my train of thought, and I clearly remember the shit we gave him when he vocalized his thoughts on making a macaroni necklace. But after attending a fashion week event in person and seeing some of these outfits that can only be described as “camp,” I wonder if all we lacked was status in the fashion world, and more balls than what we had combined.

The Paris Fashion Week for F/W 2020 was my first high fashion experience, and a week of attending the Men’s shows and afterparties really had me thinking. Of what, I’m not certain yet, and this essay is also on part an attempt to organize and articulate those thoughts. Fashion wasn’t always “camp” - a quick Google search of fashion from the late 1900s would prove that. I would argue that camp fashion is so prevalent today on part due to the rise of the LGBT rights movement, which the term “camp” had somewhat been inseparable from, although I’m not sure how historically accurate this statement is. Susan Sontag’s “Notes on Camp” would perhaps provide a more literal definition of the word; but I think we had enough of that after the 2019 Met Gala. I’m more interested about “Camp” being taken out of context, because a nagging “shower thought” I had all along was what if camp fashion is one of those things like alcohol, where no one actually understands it, but we grow to accept an ability to enjoy it as some form of social capital? Since it relies so much on mutual reassurance, what if we take an influencer’s fanbase away and no one is around to reinforce their bold fashion decisions?

Held in the most discreet of all locations I had the honor to visit this year, Angus Chiang and his team chose a high school gymnasium. It was accessible after four flights of stairs down from ground level, only after passing through the security gate of the school’s back entrance. Needless to say, it was designed to be secretive to the point where people had trouble finding the show at first. Guests dressed in all sorts of well-thoughtout costumes paced the four corners of the school, looking for a sign indicating a fashion show entrance.

Groups of influencers with lit cigarettes sheepishly inched away from high school children as the school bell sounded. Parents threw disapproving glares at the unfamiliar faces. It was awkward, to say the least.

The show was phenomenal, there is no doubt about that. The readyto-wear collections are always more for “everyday” wear and can be appreciated by commoners like myself; couture is weirder. What triggered a thought experiment was when my friend replied to an Instagram story saying, “I could do that,” normally an ignorant comment to be responded with “but you didn’t!” But she was referring to the simple red photography backdrops set up on the runway before the press stand. Yeah, I guess I could do that too.

Interestingly, Angus Chiang and his art director chose to present the clothes on models wearing red, blue, and green morph suits to go with his computer and technology theme. I hypothesize that the purpose was to not distract the audience with the beautiful models, rather, focus on the clothing. But I could do that too.

What would the tourists and people of Paris think if I bring the runway to the city?

-J

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I PRESENT YOU WITH

ANGUS CHIANG F/W 2020

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IS THIS CAM

MP?

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Validate Photographer: KATY STRANGE @katy.strange

Me

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i have been doing self portraits for 12,5 years. never did i think aesthetics go before concept. and never did i think my intention was to create art and get validation from it. this is now: infuencers in their early/mid twenties who dominate the world of instagram by posting daily selfes. asking their followers on what to post, on what to write. basically asking them on how to present themselves. and, as a 30-something year old, i should care less. but sadly, i feel the need to keep up with this scene. i want in. i want to get my validation. i want the attention in order to see myself.

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Unchecked Growth Photographer: HUIZI MIAO @haileemiale Location: LINZHI, TIBET

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Dark Soul Shimmer Photographer: KIRK GRIFFITH @kirk_g_photo Model: LACYLYNN ATKINS @bullymomma404 Photo Crystal: FUTURE EYES @futureeyes

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And Somewhere, The Grass Screams While Somewhere The Grass Screams Poet: ALANA MONÉT TYLER-HAMMLER @iikyotoii @enjoy.me.in.person

And the tree Surrounded by a thousand oaks Probably residing in Thousand Oaks In a place where the grass is green In a place where the grass is Falls where it is Exactly where it is as it is Exactly the way it leaned Exactly the way it had always leaned So focused on the way it leaned So focused finally on something Something not so complicated Like reluctant morning ritual So focused it had no care to be that one it takes to know one Because it takes one to know one, you know.

And the grass it has fallen on the smell of freshly mown lawn maybe, slightly greener. [But like, who’s to say whether greener is the shade or the tint, no one ever specified] The grass The grass it has fallen on screams like freshly mown lawn And it’s bodiless roots send *one *last invitation cross-forest To either be fed these nutrients offered in finality, or come watch it.

-That is all.

On This Page I Am Free Poet: RACHEL BLAIR

Ick, stick Seep into soil, chewin’ on orange rinds I am growing illegally on the back porch Naked and free against the sun Soil hides underneath my toenails Watch me squirm, nosy you My hair is long with knots for a matted mane A weed between these capitalist cracks Stamp me down till I’m a crook’d spider Throw me out, rotted And rotten!

Cleanse me, my scorched Momma While you lay burning and ashen Bones broke in the compost pile With the seeds ’n pits ’n stems

SHADOW

SUITE

Poet: JAMES KING @jamn_king

3:29 AM My head spins wildly about Catching black blanketed-ness on the rims of my glasses In the loveless dark-Where is the sleep gun?

TENEBRAE Black to black.

We wake to the sound of alarums Announcing fireless smoke: Scree‌ scree...

There’s a nervous wobble in the spinning black Atop the unlit stair.

Cells in a tangle, The body dangling over the precipice Unguided by sightless eyes or hands Groping the shapely dark, Fearing downed limbs; Tenebrae, at a distance.

This human panic, this is real.

This is a reminder: The worst casualty would not be the coffee-pot.

A SMATTERING OF POLTERGEISTS A light In the upper third-floor window Flickers into moaning dark. The ecstatic dance of Shades, tossing pillows at the glass-Square yellow pane-Breaking lamps and bedposts with raucous love-making.

Lifemaking, from the dead. For what phantasmal baby is birthed From the union of disembodied souls-Orgasmic, ectoplasmic-- a spirit of you, maybe?

Or a tepid will-o-the-wisp, plugged with quiet fury, Pitching herself from the highest gable?

The Body Leaves Behind a Rorschach Poet: JACQUELINE VIOLA MOULTON @jacquelineviola I stain the sheets which are / were white.

The body leaves behind a Rorschach— departing itself through shards and streaks and lumps and discarded materiality.

The body leaves behind a Rorschach.

I leave many times. I stain many sheets.

The red edges crystalize, alkalize—crafting a spectral shape.

We salt the potatoes.

Get through the winter.

The body marks its own time.

How long have we been here?

The body leaves behind a Rorschach— for us to read in the morning.

I shake the trees. You question the dogs.

I scour for cures. We take turns being the lookout.

The rocks haven’t spoken in years. Lonely.

Them or us? (both).

Looking for water, I crack the boulder. My skull rings but pours out only ash. ash. ash.

The body leaves behind a Rorschach.

You read the cards.

I stain the sheets.

While you argue with the gods, I slip out the back door.

Hermann Rorschach, creator of the Rorschach inkblot psychological test, had about 15 cards which he regularly used—cards which he painstakingly painted. But his publishers could/would only print 10 & so he changed the philosophy, the art, the work to be only 10 cards. Like all artists, Hermann meets the limit of ink—the limits of what is published & what is not. The poet bows to the accountant. What to print, what to not. Not worth it—to spill that much ink.

Take my blood instead.

Ink spills and decides the victor.

How much ink will sell?

Most poems do not get published.

The ink? Not worth the cost.

Hermann works on his Rorschach test until he dies.

Ink: more costly than blood.

More valuable.

The ink won’t sell. Take my blood, here. here. here. here.

Because I love you, I bleed on the sheets.

Because I leave you, I spill the ink.

The body leaves behind a Rorschach.

All that spilled ink, all that spoiled blood,

What do you see? I ask.

We lean in to look.

We both fall in.

You see: a bat, a clash, the height of desire, a name etched in bone, a ghost dancing, the bank teller who flirts with you finally fucking you, grates, light falling on a hip. a doberman pinscher. an eagle. two hips, actually. a rat. a possum. raccoon. wolf. fur. teeth—animal. animal. animal. animal I see: an exit

I salt the liver. (my own).

You ask how I am and I say fine. Turn on my side. Eat through every dream.

Bleed through the sheets. Silently.

The ghost in the rib cage knocks.

Makes a mess. Spills the ink.

In the morning, you read the images.

I can only tell you secrets while I sleep. And when I wake—I prepare to leave.

I twist and twist and twist in sheet until I am properly shrouded for burial.

The animal is readied. I make peace with the hair that grows.

Under my breath I hear a growl.

The water’s edge calls to me.

The water’s edge calls to me.

Dark and Red mar the sheets around which I am wrapped like a fur. a fur. a shroud. a shroud.

Becoming animal, I approach the water’s edge.

Blood drips between my toes.

Spilling all the ink, I enter the red, the salt —the belly of the wolf.

Before long, the entire body will dissolve at the edges, staining the white ghost sheet of the earth.

Read the cards I leave behind, What do you see?

Rub me down with dirt.

Turn me to ash.

Send me out to sea.

For I, I am no longer there.

The body leaves behind a Rorschach— teaching you love the hard way.

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Artist: PHILIPPE SYDNEY GOUAMBA @sydneygouamba

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The Faces of Lili Model: LILI @thelavenderlili Photographer: HEATHER DYER @1heath2

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28

Images

Photographer: IKE ESSILFIE-OBENG @_________wut

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Beauty and Decay Photographer & Model: INESS RYCHLIK @inessrychlik

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Pushing

Boarders

Photographer: HOANG QUYNH NGUYEN

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Venice Beach Style Photographer: ISAAC HERTZ

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Vienna

Funhouse

Photographer: VICTORIA WETTMARSHAUSEN @art_from_nowhere_

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Mannequin Photographer: GEORGE L STEIN Location: NEW YORK & HOBOKEN

Challenge

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perhaps, the idea is that we are all here to kill time in hopes that one of us succeeds, before time kills us. and if that is true, then quite literally, there is no point in life, we’re just here to kill some time.

- karpos d.