Issue number one
Pussy Palace Zine
We’re gratef of work that 48 hour zine c natural worl that is both ub felt a distinct I permit myself able to reflect are oracles in the lady bug t
and so too the secrets they animate in luckily it is everywhere. The water an the sun and moon that never fail to gree for us to come home to in worship and
This project was ushered in at a tim result of covid-19. Though circumstanc our lives had been restructured and creative invitation to call one another entanglement with forces of magick o to create in dialogue with the natural within a 48 hour window. Mediums both was one of creation without refinem The result of this open call is inspir urban sprawl amidst a pandemic to sim appropriate to be releasing this now as when the project began. There is both are catalogued in the print version th contributors for taking the time to explo write to us with any questions or feedba the magick that exists in ou
Dearest readers and contributors, ful you made it here and we’re excited to share the myriad t came out of this project. What follows is the result of a challenge prompting a dialogue between creator and the ld with the aim of witnessing ourselves� through a mirror biquitous and cleverly minuet in its refinement. I’ve always t sensitivity to the so-called natural world and the deeper f to explore and create in echo with it the more palpably I’m t on my own being with a sense of majesty and intrigue. There n the shapeshifting nuance of cloud, meaningful gesture in that greets us, orchestral intensity in the whistling leaves
n their spinal rot come fall. I crave the poetry in nature and nd air within us, the lineage of our webbed fingers and toes, et us. The majesty that ebbs under our noses is always there d inquiry and we invited this inquiry to be shared within our networks.
me when we were all negotiating global quarantine as a ces varied greatly what’s certain is the architecture of all condensed seemingly overnight. We wanted to contribute a r back to ourselves despite our circumstances and invite an outside our personal internal realms. The assignment was l world with curiosity and experimentation to be carried out familiar and foreign were encouraged but the main intention ment where curiosity and play could more easily flourish. ring and varies greatly from naming the dissonance of the mply finding time to sink into ones garden. It seems strangely we are freshly back in lockdown here in Germany as we were a print and web iteration of the zine. Sound and video work hough can only be viewed in full online. Thank you to all the ore and share with us. We wish you happy viewing and please ack about the work and project. Wishing you all the access to ur daily lives amidst everything else. Big big love.
thro na ourse reve
ough ature elves ealed
Hello, my name is Tia Murr, Murr, I am a Lebanese documentary filmmaker based in London. For the purpose of the project I wanted to make a video because that is how I feel I communicate best. I ended up writing a “poem” and I felt very vulnerable doing it because I was never thought how to do it or what doesn’t sound cheesy and expected. By exposing my thought process and documenting it, I realized that this would probably be the most natural thing to do for me in the context of the prompt. So, here it goes. Prompt: **Through Nature Ourselves Revealed** Suggestions: Find a mirror of yourself in something. We suggest dedication of time to sit with your subject/object/concept without analysis or conventional judgments. Just be with what makes you curious, what is holding your attention in the realm of the natural, and then when you feel ready to enter into a dialogue with it, approach with tenderness to the process and a sense of discovery. *Starts Project* - *googles nature* *Writes down her thoughts and tries to make it rhyme for the purpose of the project* I stumbled upon words on Nature and its definitions: Like products of the earth as opposed to humans and their creations We have created language and then concepts of dichotomy We wanted to gain control but made nature our enemy The leaves have moved slowly to the rhythm of the breeze Far before I’ve learned to dance underneath those trees The rivers have never stopped flowing in a million years And it is on nature that I projected my fears In those absurd times I asked nature to help me Called up my friend whom I’ve leaned on countlessly She said, you are the atom, the leaf, the tree What I know you know, can’t you see? *sends it while cringing* The End.
collage by Niamh McCarthy
text by Elena Horgan
Leaning against a stonewall, the young girls in their tartan school skirts and crinkled shirts watched intently, masters of multi-tasking as they scooped long tangled forkfuls of spicy noodles from Manley’s into their greasy mouths. Each one brazenly staring ahead whilst contributing to their running narrative of natter and juvenile judgement. ‘Would’ya look at the state of her, she literally only wears those ripped jeans afreckled one said. ‘My Dad says she’s always been a mad hippy weirdo,’ replied another as she noisily sucked up a particularly long strand of noodle somehow managing to get sauce in her eye. The third girl stared ahead munching on a soggy cashew nut, cocking her head to the left as a sun beam redirected through the canopy of leaves ahead settling on her face momentarily. She let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I don’t get why we have to watch her on our lunch break like every day, I feel sorry for her. It’s not her fault she’s alone and crazy, and I like her ripped jeans. I mean like, I want a pair of ripped jeans but Mam says ya can get sunburn through the holes which would look weird.’ ‘I thought you found our last visit to Scary Saoirse’s “thrilling”, Cait?’ Sorcha gloated as she flicked a mushroom from her noodles on to the ground.
video work by Helen
Lamb
The wooden axe fells the tree Like patricide Grass gives way to asphalt Like a scar Smoke plumes into the atmosphere Like sickness
Is watered by An innocent man A man finding beauty In the hate of this world
—————————— The Porcelain Hen does not hate. ——————————
text and illustration by Owen de Forge and Niall Donnelly
And somewhere a flower grows Through a crack in a cell
collage by Clarisse Tenreiro
I live more than 2km from a body of water to lie in Trapped in the city centre I don’t feel like ‘nature’ is all too close to me these days, and I yearn for the ocean and the sea and the lakes most of all. But my laptop gives me fake natural sounds and synths named after water and plants, something to lie in and pull me in a different way. The computer music is full of noises like ‘digital rain drops’ and ‘fig leaf’ and ‘rain clouds’, ‘sea of tranquility’ and ‘sea of glass’ - the visuals are old bits of footage I found on my laptop that my friends filmed over times past in spaces I can’t quite reach at the moment, in body or in mind. I wish it would rain! And I would feel it all on my skin! video art and text by Anna Heisterkamp edit by PP
text and images by
Max Kutschenreuter
A small oasis in the middle of a desert glistens on the horizon. I blindly crossed this wasteland in search for a remedy, my skin has been drying up like a creeping dune. I’m parched from my journey and the cool water calls for me. The night has cooled off the scorch of the sun, but the air is still pregnant with its heat. It smells dry here, and sweet, and of gold. In an opening in the bordering date palms I enter the pond, not caring for my dusty kaftan. I bathe myself, and I drink the moon reflected in the waters, with every gulp it fills up again. This is when I noticed the red blooded tent on the opposite side of the pond. I lessened my thirst, and as every sip cleared my mind of the heat it also filled me with more confusion. I wasn’t actually sure where I was, the oasis shouldn’t have been here. I waded through the pond towards the other bank intending to go to the tent, and as I approached it, the tent flap opened before I could even touch it. My clothing had already dried up before I even reached it. A little dark haired man came through the flap and beckoned me in. “Come in! The tea is already way too cold” he said with a rush in his voice, and waving his hands. I hesitantly entered the tent that looked like a pomegranate to arrive in its heart. A lush jungle. In its center there was an ancient kettle cooking water, the air was humid. There were two red ornate pillows on each side, 2 cups, and all this laid on a floor full of maps. The maps depicted seas, streets, continents, countries, the night’s sky, and even specs of dusts. All around stood plants; big, small, mossy greens, dark red, with yellowing flowers. They were lush, or bald, dying or growing; it didn’t seem to matter however. They were all bearing witness to an important event. The man quickly walked towards one of the pillows and pointed towards the other for me to sit on. I cautiously made my way towards it, afraid to knock anything over. I felt like breaking anything here would result in my demise. I sat down and I asked.
I took the cup from his hands, and started to sip and let the bitter taste colonize my mouth. His eyes didn’t let go of me. “Your skin, it is as the outside of this oasis. It is drying up. It is the way of things, I’ve mapped them. In the garden lives a being. They are called Esq, and they have the answers. I can help you find them.” He looked at my arm as he was talking, then he grabbed my wrist and rolled up my white sleeve to the elbow. It showed a red blotchy dry patch of my skin. Its visibility itched me, I am ashamed, but too afraid to break free. Instead I took another sip of the tea, it was indeed cooling fast. The skittish man looked at me and continued in a rushed tone, as if our time was limited. “Your skin is the map, don’t you understand? I’ll only say this once. Equate the deserts of your body to the constellations in the sky, find your way through them to go within. You’ll find Them through there and you’ll arrive in the garden” I am standing outside staring at the night’s sky. The words hang as a haze around my head. The moon is signaling me to undress and lay myself down. I am staring at the stars, and at my skin, and at the moon. The light is tickling my skin and unraveling my seams. I am trying to puzzle myself into the vastness of the above, to find my place. I am stretching myself out, cutting myself up, and I am fitting the pieces into place. I slowly am forming the fundamentals out of myself and the heavens. Is seeing it the same as finding it? The same as being there? My eyes open softly again, they take a fresh breath of air. I don’t see Esq but They are here. The place I’ve arrived in constantly shifts, breaking down, building up. It constantly dies and is reborn. Colors breathe in my direction to retreat quickly when I give it my attention. The world is bold and shy at the same time. I’m amazed at all the dualities equally being present here, but I accept them. It is hard to focus on anything because every time I tried to zoom in, the perspective shifts, and it disappears out of focus again. I decided to close my eyes and the world clears up, becomes screamingly calm through all other senses. Esq is around me, observing my skin. I see my skin. They knew why I am here. I see the earth’s crust. They show me Spain, or a southern border of the Sahara. I see waves of sand drowning people in thirst. I see plants blooming too early and birds lying on the field, still. I see a huge butterfly slowly shrinking in size till it is nothing but a flying dot. I am in fields of green, deserts too, nothing lives here but metal. My cortisone is killing everything signaling a necessary change. The ground is tired. It is plowed and sown. Every time it tiredly tries to say it can’t, no more, it is fertilized, bringing forth more crops. Keep it going without respite, plow your skin the way you plow your land and it’ll dry up and turn to dust. My body is reacting to change it is too slow to adapt to, it is reacting to the earth who is reacting to me and my kin. Drain the soil, tire, rest, lie down and let healing in, in the form of bugs, worms, bees, birds, mammals, anything but metal. Become a garden yourself again, stop reacting. Stop causing a reaction. Be in and not outside of it. Be part of it and not apart of it. suddenly I fall and everything disappears. I’m back. Gazing at my skin, I feel both extremely big, and extremely small. My body has been in full revolt ever since, which makes sense now. We all should be in full revolt, and my body is just doing, its part.
text and art by Tangerine Shadow [view full piece online]
text and image by Aoife Clarke
video work by Evelyne De Weerdt
quilt by Angele Smeeth
painting by Paco Lauffer
collage by Cyber Neutral
illustration by Andrina Learmonth
01
video art by Trank edit by PP
text and image by Emer Brenann
text by Kelsey Lee
How sweet The soft sound Unfurled fabric makes
text and illustration by Owen de Forge and Niall Donnelly
Draped over a No Trespassing sign.
___ If porcelain could blush. ___
video work by Emil Gรถthberg
artwork by Kelsey Overbey
video work by Holly Jone
es
text by Aoife Moiselle - editing by PP
image by Dani Preston
video work by Lina
image by Emilio Daudet
poem by Mikayla Lambert edited by PP
clouds release their weight water caresses the earth falling ancestors nourishing ground coating petals clearing air falling ancestors i remember their smell from before i came to this body the smell of time washing away falling ancestors in a droplet we remember history is now
Anemochory
illustration by Jesse Wilcox
poem by Sarah Davin Murphy edited by PP
collage by Anneka Scholtz Two years. Two beautiful years to the eyes of an outsider but, like any relationship, we had our struggles. They just didn’t seem to matter enough to openly discuss them, or did they? Maybe talking about them scared us; we feared that opening the door to the conversation of “how and why we didn’t work” would lead us to break up. You know, we tried to talk about it and each and every time we would, we’d end up asking the other whether we were ready to let go. I think we were but didn’t have the balls to actually pursue that thought; we were stuck in this vicious circle that was consuming us at every turn – and fuck if it consumed me. I loved him, I loved him more than I have ever thought I’d be able to love someone, which I believed was impossible for me and yet, I did. I loved him so much it broke me, I broke him, I broke us, the way a mirror shatters in way too many pieces to be worth gluing back together. How did everything fall apart, you may ask? Well, it’s a tale as old as time as it is a sin in the bible: I cheated on him. Worst of all, I cheated on the very foundation
I don’t really remember when it all started, it’s not really something you plan and it’s not really something you want until you realize that it’s an option. It’s recommended that you don’t actually choose that path but opt for something a bit more respectful for the both of you. However, what matters is that I did it, I made it happen. I guess, if I’m allowed to havve my say in it, I’d tell you that he was and still is a wonderful guy but he had his flaws, flaws that forced me to change who I was and it’s my fault that I let that happen. I have lost pieces of me during this relationship and nostalgia is a terrible disease because it feeds your desires and you lose control over yourself. I missed the “me” that I was before him and I saw a chance to get that back when I met another man, that’s why I did what I did. We broke up and we haven’t spoken since. It was still winter then and as I processed the issues affecting me and my judgement and the reasons why I decided to betray him,
the leaves on the trees and the flowers outside my window started blooming again, life started resurfacing. I, too, am being given a chance to restart, he is as well and that comforts me. I hope that time will allow me to find the pieces of “me” that I left behind and rebuild the person I used to be and, why not, maybe with some additional upgrades on how not to make the same mistakes from the past; that would be more than appreciated. Humans are fragile creatures. We begin our lives as complete beings, and we get bruised and chipped as life goes by. Sometimes we do the damage ourselves and sometimes we are damaged by others but in the end we all die broken, even just a little bit if we’re lucky enough. All we can do is hope to find and glue back some of the pieces left behind, although we’ll still have cracks showing. A scarred heart is one that has lived, suffered, and found the strength to heal itself. That is what, I believe, makes our fragility the most beautiful quality we have.
words by Millenial Bespoke
el día en que me converí en una y respir é de esperando que mis piernas aún sepan c muchas horas de im las mismas una y otra vez y las voces (\ RRRRRRetumbando
cómo me estoy se
llena de agua fresca aa a una vez recostada en el cielo me propongo de inicio me pongo nerviosa, que soy una planta y mis hojas emp
todo el día fui consciente de tener una espalda
la planta más bonit/liger/fresc/des
espectacular despampana y me puse a recordar los momentos en los que h
en que he sido pá en que el fuego me habita, pero no siempre quem a
sie
because maybe if I am a plant or a cloud or the escape being a huma
image and text by pp pp
image by J bishop
a planta después en el cielo 10 a 23 sentada en una silla caminar cuando me levante mágenes im g ́ enes im g ́ ns \\\\) y los pájaros róboticos o ppp!! mis ojos tienen sed también mi (v)oca o es que no lo noté antes!!!! ecando por fin me detengo al atardecer a floto hasta la azotea y ahí ser una planta y dejarme ir , casi caigo en la ansiedad y piezan a bailar wzwzwwwz recuerdo a por el dolor de pronto fue porque sentía una energía aliviándolo spreocupad//AAAA sobre esta azotea ante increíble sorprendente he sido planta, floreciendo, creciendo y oxigenando mi mi mi espacio/casa/energía ájaro y nube y agua y tierra ma y quiero volver porque el ahogo me alcanza siempre ENERGÍA V ITAL empre sólo por ella gracias and I wonder e wind and the water I can an which sometimes sucks
Nature is science but not always predictable. Nature is real, yet incredible. Nature is sweet, though scary. Nature is tender and Nature is power. Nature is love but Nature can be rough. Still, Nature is lust, desire, growth and death. Nature is big, Nature is small. … Get it? … Nature is you him her it. Nature is them but also us. So nature.. is all of us! I am nature, that table is nature, those flowers are nature, that cow is nature, these clothes yep, still nature. … Now get it? … Nature is everything, everything is nature
text by anon illustration by Ronald Chang
And only through nature , can ourselves be revealed.
drawing by Taylor Drury illustration by Tamรกs Szilรกgyi
artwork and text by Robin Dreger
“I haven’t been to the sea in years. Spent too much of my life a few miles away - too far to walk, too young to drive - where I’d spend days on end staring out of double glazing at the distant sparkles of sunshine on the water. I could have told the time by them. I knew more local locals were running and kissing and hiding cheap bottles of red wine down there, down by the sea. It seemed like a lawless stretch of nothing but hope to me. It’s been years again since then. I moved away, I moved inside. No more dreams of sand wrapping around my sinking steps, legs feeling light as air as they release with a happy trudge from the weight of worn down shells, stones, and bones.
Maybe, if I get up early enough so that the sun is still idling at my kitchen table, I’ll feel its warmth on my grey skin. I might even step outside the back door and feel the dull breeze catch my cheek and just think of how the crisp, salty air could have spurred on many a bad decision. I’m afraid I’m a little beyond a seaside coming of age now. It seems I got the kind mostly spent alone, where you learn from over-remembering what little has gotten to happen by chance. Every so often I toy with the idea of fine silver necklaces with shell pendants to remind me of my first desires and imagined opportunities. But then I think it would be better to leave it in stock for someone who really did live that life. Years keep hurtling along like that and somewhere along the line I learned to drive. The sand and the sea closed then but I’m happy for those who find it is a home - in radius, in routine, or in heart.”
Blossoming It’s been said that we are creatures of habit from foragers to scavengers we search for patterns pulsing rhythms a so called perfect balance we are the biomimickers peering into the golden spiral we attempt to replicate natures ancient crafters who work in nanoseconds though our systems try to separate we portray ourselves as god like creatures except ecosystems hold all divine those ethereal delights a portal into the formless that is ever so intricate transformation ways of healing golden light pure ecstasy endless metamorphosis they own the copyright
ar
rtwork by Rosana Pereira
our unconscious breathes out a long heavy sigh of relief when outside in a moment of succulent silence my roots begin shooting guide me along sphagnum trails to a place of solitude and security where the inner buzzing bee inside my brain holds still for a moment oozing nectary satisfaction under my cherry blossom tree to join in with the sway twisting in and out dancing waterdrops along leaf veins my limbs curls around yours rugged wooden skin brushes soft pink flesh together we hold on and sway pulsing and growing rooted and strong my vision endlessly rose tinted hearts petals spread breath slows and deepens nourished by the fungal networks under every path we tread poem by Chrissy Bell
image
alexie
es by
hagon
Poem by Chrissy Bell
My plant curls its leaves sky high Like she’s stretching early in the morning But there’s no sound of yawning and its night when this occurs So I ask myself Maybe she’s nocturnal Or guarding me while I sleep Or maybe She’s sending me succulent dreams From her veins into mine Like sweet nectar from flower to bee As air bubbles pop out of my mouth And water flows through her seams Together we synthesize Supplying a break in my conscious stream Please feed me sweet alternate realities While sleep builds in corners of my eyes And I hum melancholy lullabies my doodles are based on pictu
moments this spring and app centre is my silhouette loo revealing the bri
text and artwork by Myrthe Muller
ures and memories i have from precious preciation for nature in general. in the oking through a window, into nature, ighter on the outside of me.
Poem by May G N
video work by Kaitlyn Smeeth
Mycelium
Mycelium is the fa What is Mycelium? tight network of st-growing, vegetative part of harvesting, trainterconnected filamentous cell of fungi. It consists a own growth and nsforming, and re-distributin s. Mycelium is capable g for the larger eco system. It’s the wnutrients, both for its orld wide web th underneath our fe It allows individu at’s et. als who may be widely separated each other out. to communicate and help Ho
w can we learn from Myc elium? Using the power of the in community of wonderful ternet and social media to simply connect a Mycelium in our case is abeings who share a common love for our planet . bout planting creative seed s ev sh er a yw ri ng our skills, ideas, music, here we go, Mycelium p h o to s, a rt , projects, etc. with his ow is a collaboration best for a n set of skills, p for personal and big middlesustainable planet assions, perspectiv collective growth. es, resourc and health Each finger to e e v y s for a speci ery giant corp evolution of o to dvo our fic commu oration tha ur species n t i ty to exist has ruined and a Mycelium teach ( whatever i t may be)th. e chance connect with ou es us to connect. To here and now, r own full capacity, to be wipe our slate blet go of our conditionings, arises without julank to welcome whatever dgment. Let’s le arn from nature.
text by JP Sfeir
collage by Miriam Ajami border edit by PP
J’étais l’hiver comme un enduit sur les branches d’un grand arbre qui dormait derrière chez moi et dans les rêves de ceux qui se souviennent. Puis j’ai fondu j’ai grandi j’ai coulé, mouillé l’écorce liquéfié les messages les murmures que portent vent vague nuage et soleil. J’ai brisé mon corps je l’ai pris la lumière la transformation. J’éclos comme une fleur que l’on avait oubliée ou une excuse que l’on attendait espérait je suis au bout de chaque petite branche de chaque petite branche. Les gens disent que je suis sage comme un grand arbre comme un baobab. Ils ne savent pas pour les sphères verdâtres minuscule ni pour l’hiver ni pour le courage. Je suis jaune je suis verte juste assez pour attirer l’œil. Ils ont espoir ou bien peur surtout qu’un autre manteau blanc m’est imposé il me recouvre me fait disparaitre puis je ne suis plus jaune je ne suis plus verte. Jusqu’à ce qu’on rayon m’épargne je suis nue maintenant encore le courage. Il y a longtemps que j’ai renoncé à la pudeur. Je suis j’étais enfin je ne peux pas être car il faudrait s’arrêter se figer et puis je n’arrêterai jamais d’être de me transformer constamment sans arrêt. Le vent me souffle au visage soleil couchant rêves anticipés déjà le miroir trahit et je suis autre. text by Laurie Sevigny-Couture
to see the full works and non-print works such as videos and recordings please visit our website * http://pussypalace-zine.hotglue.me * for further questions or comments, you can contact us at **pussxypalaceprod@gmail.com **
collage by Miriam Ajami
Edited by Elena Horgan, Michelle Shuman, Pauline Discherl and Kaitlyn Smeeth
Edited by Elena Horgan, Michelle Shuman, Pauline Discherl and Kaitlyn Smeeth
Edited by Elena Horgan, Michelle Shuman, Pauline Discherl and Kaitlyn Smeeth
Edited by Elena Horgan, Michelle Shuman, Pauline Discherl and Kaitlyn Smeeth
collage by Miriam Ajami