Look-Look Magazine Issue 2 by DeeDee Gordon

NETALIE GVIRTZ, 24, TEL AVIV, ISRAEL

Second Time Around We’re like a bunch of ninety-pound weaklings who’ve started going to the gym only we haven’t been going long enough to boast of Mr. Universe-like physiques. What, that needs explaining? It’s like this. We’re thankful our debut issue is behind us. We’re not so worried anymore about getting sand kicked in our faces. Well, most of the time. We know this playground is very large and the occupants can be quite scary. But we’re feeling pretty good about us, about you, about us and you. If you missed us the first time around, we are here to celebrate the culture of youth. We are a by-the-people-for-the-people kind of magazine—the people whose writings, photos and art appear on these pages are its intended audience. You shoot it, you look at it. You write it, you read it. It’s yours. We are simply here to facilitate. Look-Look is a company devoted to getting the ideas of young people heard by the influence peddlers of the world. This magazine is our way of letting you expose yourself in a way that won’t get you arrested or make it necessary for you to report your change of address to the government. We are proud to bring you Issue 02 of the first magazine devoted to the inside of the outsiders’ minds. We couldn’t do it without you.

Don’t fear the reaper. Look-Look.

LOOK-LOOK CONTRIBUTORS

YOU: THE PHOTOGRAPHERS, WRITERS, AND ARTISTS.

EMILIANO ORTIZ, 15 New York, NY

S. DAVIDSON, 19 Toronto, Canada

MILES TOKUNOW, 15 Los Angeles, CA

JOCELYN STEWART, 25 Eureka, CA

NETALIE GVIRTZ, 24 Tel Aviv, Israel

JACK DAKIN, 26 New York, NY

MARINA MICHELSON, 17 Los Angeles, CA

SHANE DEEGAN, 27 London, England

MATT GRIFFITHS, 21 Applecross, Australia

CHRISTINA CINTRON, 17 Detroit, MI

TAN TIAN XIANG MATTHEW

MARIA ANGHEL, 18 Burbank, CA

RJ SHAUGHNESSY, 24 Ft. Lauderdale, FL

RACHEL CHANDLER, 16 Los Angeles, CA

CLAIRE GRIFFITHS, 21 London, England

NICK DARNSTAEDTER, 15 Los Angeles, CA

SANNA SVANBERG, 22 Dalen, Sweden

MIKE TWOHIG, 24 North Chili, NY

DAMON AGAPIOU, 24 Van Nuys, CA

STIJN HUWELS, 25 Veltem-Beisem, Belgium

MALACHY WOLOHAN, 24 Cardiff, Wales

So, what’s in it for us? The net profits from the sale and sponsorship of Look-Look Magazine goes to the advancement of young people in the arts. We created the Look-Look Arts Foundation to give grants to young people to help them get to the next level in their artistic endeavors. From simple needs like film and processing to bigger things like scholarship funding, we intend to give away the farm, so to speak, and we intend to give it to those to whom it will make a big difference. We publish your work the same way you send it to us—without regard for the explicit nature of the content—no censors around here. So, please keep sending it like you see it. And in answer to the question, we get to make the f-ing coolest magazine we could ever imagine.

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MICHAEL TSAY, 27 San Gabriel, CA

ALICIA ROSELLO GENE, 19 Barcelona, Spain

DANIEL FLORES, 17 Los Angeles, CA

SARAH RICH, 23 Oakland, CA

RICHARD GIMBEL II, 24 Phoenix, AZ

TIMOTHY MINERD, 18 San Antonio, TX

KRISTIN HUFFAKER, 21 Midwest City, OK

MICHAEL STINGONE, 30 Jamaica, NY

DAVID DREIMANN, 23 Camberwell, Australia

ANTHONY BLASKO, 23 Columbus, OH

U+A FURAKAWA, 23 Tokyo, Japan

DANNY CHRISTOPHER, 27 Toronto, Canada

LUCIA ASTUY, 21 Aviles, Spain

HERA LEVINTANER, 17 Encino, CA

ALEX BURKAT, 18 Ambler, PA

DEVINITY DAVIS, 17 Portland, OR

MARIAN GARRIDO HERROJO 19, Aviles, Spain

BEN REYER, 18 Santa Monica, CA

MATTHEW DUFFETT, 21 Bryn Mawr, PA

BARNEY PATTERSON, 16 Los Angeles, CA

POPPIE VAN HERWERDEN 17, Pacific Palisades, CA

ALLISON BEAMAN, 22 Athens, GA

KATY HORAN, 24 Brooklyn, NY

HAILEY PARRY, 16 Signal Mountain, TN

Contributors not pictured: Melalicia Washington, 15, Indianola, MS; Louie Eisner, 15, Los Angeles, CA; Lacy Billingsley, 24, Aubrey, TX; Gia Coppola, 17, Los Angeles, CA; Monique Del Rio, 23, Montebello, CA

School of Visual Arts "Summer of Art" Residency Program 2004 Are you interested in spending your summer learning from some of the best photography professors in the world? Well, we’re going to hook you up. The Look-Look Arts Foundation has created 12 exclusive residency fellowships for young artists at the prestigious School of Visual Arts in New York City for three weeks in the summer of 2004. Six of these residencies will be completely free of charge to be awarded as Look-Look grants. You'll be hearing lectures from great photographers, going to galleries and museums, learning technical skills and working on projects that express your creative vision. To get the ball rolling, logon to look-lookmagazine.com and fill out an application. Please note: because the residencies start in the summer, you will need to fill out your application by the end of April (check the site for exact dates). Created and Published by: DeeDee Gordon and Sharon Lee, Creative Directors: Lisa Eisner and Román Alonso of Greybull Press, Editor: Cat Doran, Associate Editor: Lauren Edson, Senior Designer: Anna Agapiou, Distribution: Erin Robin, Public Relations: Company Agenda, Exhibition Curator: Aaron Rose, Look-Look Crew: Nancy Callahan, Anton Dembowski, Heather Dodge, Amanda Enterante, Sigalle Feig, Shayne Globerson, Jill Kaufman, Beth Lemkin, Brandie Mellen, Liana Morgado, Marc Precilla, Jodie Snyder, Look-Look Interns: Marina Michelson, Monique Del Rio; Cover Art: RJ Shaughnessy, 24, Ft. Lauderdale, FL

Printed in Canada

ÂŠ 2004 Look-Look Inc. All worldwide rights reserved.

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LOOKI NSI DELOOK

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, Etc. Rants, ra ves, and letters Mixed M essages Drawing s by Nic k Damon Agapiou Darnstaedter, M , and M 6 att Griffi aria Anghel, B Out and arney P ths About atterson , Coming of Age in 8 Tokyo b y U+A F How To urakawa Be a Fre edom F ighter by Richard Word U Gimbel p (Poetr 14 II, Illustr y) ated by It’s Weir Mike Tw db ohig Selma b y Allison Beam an y Sarah 18 Rich The Sab bath Ch ronicles Curious by Mich ly Nude ael Sting Trash by Summe on Poppie r on We van Herw e ekapog Where I’ b erden y m From Sarah R by Mela ich 22 licia Wa Smells shington Like… Photos by RJ S haughne ssy insp Posses ired by L sed arry Cla rk Rodeo Q ueening and Scra pbookin Mind’s g - one Eye 28 girl’s ob sessions Hello, C b y olu Lacy Bil lingsley by Antho mbus: a family album 34 ny Blask text and o photos Word U p (Pros e) The Wh ite 40 The Fan Ranger by Alex B by Kristi n Huffak urkat A Touch er y Subjec tb Gender and Sex y Timothy Mine rd by Devin A Rush ity Davis of Blood to the H 48 e ad by M Anti-Ce atthew D nterfold uffett Taylor P ersh: an antidote to Playb Open P oy ages Collages by Jack Dakin People I Like 56 The Kid Stays in th characte r design e Pixar: an interv er Jason 57 iew with Deamer Open P by Dam ages on Agap iou Drawing s by Katy Horan 62 Photo G eograph ic Photogra phs by J o Alicia R osello G celyn Stewart, D ene, Ma 66 Rachel rian Garr anny Christoph Chandle er, Tan T id r, o Herrojo M Christina iles Toku ia n ,H Xiang M Cintron, atthew, Emiliano now, Gia Coppo ailey Parry, Ben 70 la, Louie R Ortiz, D avid Dre Eisner, C eyer, imann, M laire Gri ichael Ts ffiths, ay STIJN HUWELS, 25, VELTEMBEISEM, BELGIUM

MAILBOX ETC To Whom It May Concern: Sandwiched between Blind Spot and Prefix Photo, your publication easily caught my eye. Not only did I spend a good amount of time pissing off the French Canadian newsstand attendant, but I also put hand to pocket and withdrew the money that I had put away to buy a ticket for Lost in Translation. I figured I can rent Lost in Translation some other time, but this mag might never make it back to Canada. Best of Luck, Byron Barrett Vancouver, BC

Kevin Kidd Boston, MA Please go to our website, www.look-lookmagazine.com, for a list of store locations.

Look-Look, My name is Liz and I’m 17. I’m really glad I found your magazine. In a superficial Britney Spears world, mainstream isn’t always an option. There is more to youth culture than pink nail polish or a date for the prom. That’s why I thank you guys for creating this. For showing youth culture for what it really is by the people who make it. Showing that there’s a lot of us and with all the bullshit out there, once in a while, comes a bit of truth. Always, Liz Hensley Tustin, CA Dear Look-Look Magazine, The first thing that I saw on your website was a rule banning those under 14. It’s sort of contradictory, don’t you think, that a teen cannot enter a teen magazine and have a chance at getting in? If you’re going to have a high school and up magazine, then make it so. But don’t make it a teen magazine if 13year-olds cannot enter. Yours, Miranda Larsen I drive a VW and own an Apple G5. I think I need to read your magazine, as you seem to be the barometer of what is cool for my age group. I am 20. So I would like to read a copy. Where can I pick one up?

Hello. I picked up a copy of your magazine the other day--and I’m so happy to have found it. The poor thing is now worn and weathered after a week on my coffee table. Everyone who has stepped into my apartment has read the magazine from cover to cover. No other magazine I’ve owned has ever received that much love. So I think you’re on to something wonderful... Leigh I came across your magazine in a mall. Thank you, Jake Barrick

POPPIE VAN HERWERDEN, 17, PACIFIC PALISADES, CA 6

Dear Look-Look, I have just discovered your magazine and must say you are doing an excellent job in providing young artists with a platform to express themselves. An opportunity that is hard to find. So thank you for that. Jessica Brooklyn, NY Ok, Look-Look. I’m a little pissed about your first issue. After a long search the other day at one of my local magazine stands for a digital photography mag that would help out the newbie/amateur, and not try to sell me a camera or accessories on every other page, I gave up. I then turned the corner to where they keep the High Times & Cannabis Culture magazines and I stumbled upon Look-Look Issue 1. F a n - f r e a k i n tastic…Sold! I plunked down my approx. $9 Canadian and returned home happy with my purchase. I flipped through the anthology of young talent and I was quite pleased and very interested in contributing to this fine work. Just as I was getting set to email Mr./Mrs. Info…I came to the end of the magazine and the rules by which one must comply in order to contribute. Do not pass go…You see, I am in fact 31 about to turn 32 in March, but I do consider myself a “young photographer” and amateur in every sense of the word. I would very much like to contribute to your magazine, perhaps you can draw up an “Old Guy Clause” or maybe put it to a vote among readership, a poll if you will. Include my pics and let the young artists decide if I merit. By the way, awesome job on your first issue. Enjoy the ride. Abe Frohman

BARNEY PATTERSON, 16, LOS ANGELES, CA

MIXED MESSAGES ANYTHING GOES

NICK DARNSTAEDTER, 15, LOS ANGELES, CA

MARIA ANGHEL, 18, BURBANK, CA 10

BARNEY PATTERSON, 16, LOS ANGELES, CA

DAMON AGAPIOU, 24, VAN NUYS, CA

MATT GRIFFITHS, 21, APPLECROSS, AUSTRALIA 13

OUT AND ABOUT COMING OF AGE IN TOKYO

YUTA FURAKAWA, 23, TOKYO, JAPAN 14

RICHARD GIMBEL II, 24, PHOENIX, AZ 20

MIKE TWOHIG, 24, NORTH CHILI, NY 21

WORD UP

POETRY

It’s Weird

By Allison Beaman, 22, Athens, GA

It’s weird when you can’t get a lid off of something even though YOU’RE the person who put it on there in the first place. It’s weird when old friends call you and tell you that big things happened to them even though you still remember when they had one eyebrow. It’s weird when you wake up in the morning and you look like such shit even though when you fell asleep the night before you looked fucking great. It’s weird when you hear yourself say things and you think, ”No fucking way I’d say something like that.” It’s weird when you hear what people said about you when you weren’t around. It’s still freaking me out about the lid. Selma

d, CA

By Sarah Rich, 23, Oaklan

She loves her hair,

its liquid drift

wears it like a satin

curtain,

eek beneath.

her china teacup ch 22

When I was six, My favorite band was Black Sabbath. Snap would blast “Volume 4” every day after school In the dormitory style room we shared With my other brother Billy Billy never had to worry much about doing homework, So he usually just hung around seemingly Without worry: He was the smartest in his class. I however needed to forget my books, Or just lose my book bag Consciously, or otherwise, So I could sit behind my desk, Stare at the blank wall in front of me And listen without distraction. One glaringly sunny day Snap and Billy Came to pick me up after school, And as usual, I was nowhere to be found. When they finally tracked me down In the back of the cafeteria, I was being reprimanded by my first grade teacher, Ms. Turkell: She yelled a lot. On the walk home, Carefully following in the shadows Of my good friend Randy Saa, Trying not to step on any cracks in the sidewalk, My book bag slowly fell off my shoulders Until it was scraping down Against the sidewalk. Snap made a bet with Billy That my bag would drop completely Off my back, Without me noticing it; I would just keep on walking down the street. As a consequence, Billy had to retrieve it. “Into The Void” has always been My favorite Sabbath song. When I was fifteen, Me and Richie would jam on it after school In the basement, Which served as a multi-purpose sport/music complex That Snap dubbed the Sub-Dome. We used it as a rehearsal space and a venue

For our imaginary shows. I named our band Stygian Thirst. Richie never really caught on to it. I would forget about dentist’s appointments, And calling the pretty girls I knew on the phone, Consciously, or otherwise, So I could sit behind my drum set, Stare at the blank wall in front of me And play without distraction. I give much thanks to my brother Snap, For turning me on to Black Sabbath, Consciously or otherwise, And to Richie, because even though He was only twelve years old at the time, He played those Sabbath tunes Better than anyone I’ve ever met. By Michael Stingone, 30, Jamaica, NY

The Sabbath Chronicles

ILLUSTRATION BY DANIEL FLORES, 17, LOS ANGELES, 23

POPPIE VAN HERWERDEN, 17, PACIFIC PALISADES, CA

Summer on Weekapog !"#$%&%'#()*'+,-+#.%/0%12+#34

That first night we ran barefoot to the beach along the boardwalks You wore a yellow jersey the kind with the little jumping horse We met your new friends there You were all brown from your island romping The breath of the waves pushed at me their thick vapor of night chatter We sat in the sand, lined up, facing the water A cigarette came down the line and you placed it in my palm without looking up We pulled on the embers, sugared lips dampening the paper The clouds we made stung One of the golden boys leaned close the cherubic one, blond and chiseled like the sculpture of a renaissance pedophile His name was Cabot. A horse jumped across his heart, too, against a candy pink cotton His eyes reflected the ocean in its daylight guise We said nothing On his breath escaped the old man of his distant future A smoky ghost too elusive for confrontation Walking back I stubbed my toe on a loose board You giggled for our audience of New England children We left them in a shadow Creeping secretly back into the borrowed house hours past permission You jammed your finger on the window frame I made no sound

PHOTO BY MICHAEL TSAY, 27, SAN GABRIEL, CA 26

By Melalicia Washington, 15, Indianola, MS

SMELLS LIKE... PHOTOGRAPHS UNDER THE INFLUENCE

LARRY CLARK

PHOTOS BY RJ SHAUGHNESSY, 24, FT. LAUDERDALE, FL

POSSESSED INSIDE MY LIFE: ONE PERSON’S SCRAPBOOK

LACY BILLINGSLEY, 24, AUBREY, TX

M I ND ’ S EYE PHOTOJOURNALISM

ANTHONY BLASKO, 23, NORTH HOLLYWOOD, CA

HELLO, COLUMBUS BY ANTHONY BLASKO, 23, COLUMBUS, OH

These photos are all of my family in Columbus, Ohio. As odd as it sounds, I’m not sure why I take pictures of my family. I’m just trying to be really honest and document people in Ohio. A lot of people have stereotypes or ideas of what people in Ohio are like—they ride around on cows and everyone has a chicken, but that’s not what it’s like. I’m just showing more of the day-to-day sort of thing. My family is pretty much just average. Nothing too exciting is going on.

But you

know, people do sit on couches or hang out in kitchens. There are all these unexciting things that fill up everyone’s day. There’s been a lot of hardship in my family in the past few years. And it’s almost like they’re bored in their lives. They’re just tired. They’re exhausted. Especially my Grandma. She’s just sort of sick of it. Two husbands had heart attacks on her with no notice and there have been other family problems.

After a while,

how much can you take? I’m finding out where I’m from and the history of my family just by talking to them when I’m shooting. I used to go over and just hang out with them, but now I take my camera and photograph what we would be doing anyway. I call and ask if I can shoot some pictures. I don’t have any ideas about what’s going to happen. I just go over and feel out what’s going on and then I follow them around and shoot. Sometimes I feel a little guilty taking their pictures. I mean, I know I’m not exploiting them but sometimes I feel bad. I felt like an asshole after I took the one of my Grandma crying. Maybe it’s because I don’t live there anymore. Maybe I feel like I’ve lost my privileges. Like I’m not an insider anymore.

WORD UP

PROSE

THE WHITE RANGER By Alex Burkat, 18, Ambler, PA

erally wiping me out of their memory. The night progresses, but the minds of the customers do not. The later it gets, the weirder the loners get. See Subject A, Quiet Dude:

Sunday, December 14th, 2003 I tend to freak out my fellow co-workers. Even though I am one of the only white people working at my job, my fellow black co-workers concluded that my odd tendencies are not a Caucasian cultural difference, but just the fact that I’m strange. Perhaps that’s why I’m known as the White Ranger at work, which is in reference to the Power Ranger. This is a fitting role because of my karate abilities I demonstrate when bored, and my obvious lighter skin pigmentation. Between 5:00-6:00, we have the annoying Brady Bunch families all seeing the latest movie with a talking bear. My gears begin to shift around 7:00-9:00 as other teenagers arrive. When there is an attractive young lady in my line, I usually write my name and number on a napkin and give it to her, hoping for her to contact her not-so-secret admirer after work. Originally it was quite shady when I wrote my number in front of them, but I’ve mastered the art and make a stack before the night begins. I’ve had some awkward moments, especially when the attractive one did not order any food, yet I insist on offering her the napkin, while her friend is in dire need of one. Other times they immediately wipe their mouth with it—quite the ego damager; they are lit48

Me: Hi, may I help you? Quiet Dude: yeeschmallpopcone. Me: Excuse me? Quiet Dude: SCHMALL POPCONE, DAG! Then at about 10:00, the slowest half hour of my life, the real freaks come out. I get the most frustrating customer. Now you must understand, I’m ready to leave, the concession stand closes in 2 minutes, and as soon as this person is done ordering I can leave! See Subject C, Idiot: Me: Hi, may I help you? Idiot: Yeah hold on a minute. [Stares at candy. Minutes pass by.] Me: Hello? Idiot: Oh sorry! Ummm yeah gimme Twizzlers. Me: OK, anything else? Idiot: Yeah. [Blank stare] Me: What ... would you like? Idiot: Small popcorn. Me: Anything else? Idiot: [blank stare] Me: ANYTHING ELSE?

He gives me more money than needed. Cannot count: also Idiot: Nah that’s it. punk rock. Me: $5.50 Idiot: $5.50!??!?! DAAAAMNNN WHAT IS UP WIT THAT?! Boy, it must be tough being so awesome. How does he do it? WHY IS IT SO EXPENSIVE? Right, as if I am in control of the prices. Don’t worry; you’re Thursday, January 8th, 2004 lucky I’m not. I would charge you in gold bullion so you couldn’t pay for it, because obviously you’ve been smoking Little hooligans always come to bother me. When ordering, they change their minds, are loud, hold up the line, and the chemical butter they put on the popcorn. never have enough money. Then when it comes to putting butter on their popcorn, they get quite slobby. We have selfSaturday, December 20th, 2003 serve popcorn butter stations, and of course one group of adolescents attempted to put their mouths under the dis“May I have the nachos?” penser and drink the butter. I gave them a cup and told them to drink the butter that way. Good, maybe they’ll die “Would you like mild or spicy cheese?” faster. Well...not die, but get sick enough to learn to stop being brats. “I don’t want any cheese.” YOU’RE PAYING FOR THE CHEESE NO MATTER WHAT! You’re getting something for free, so take it. If you’re feeling daring, try the spicy cheese (oh my!). Getting free products is always a good experimental opportunity, and the only exception I can think of for this rule is heroin.

Friday, January 9th, 2004 Were you aware January 9th is a holiday? Apparently it marks “Get a head start on 420 and bother Alex at work day.”

“Can I get the number one with the large popcorn and large My first encounter with the stoned kind was an outstanding soda, but replace the large popcorn with a hot dog, and the smoker: a soccer mom. That’s right, a woman who looked like she came right out of the cricket club reeked of pot, and large soda with a slushy?” 18 ordered two hot dogs, a large popcorn, pretzels, and a large So you want a custom special that fits your needs? I’m soda for herself. She was very pleasant, and when I told her sorry I can’t do that, you idiot, but you can have the hot dog the hot dogs wouldn’t be ready for another 10 minutes, she and slushy special. Oh I’m sorry, that doesn’t exist. Maybe I patiently and joyfully waited for them. Makes me appreciate can use the “make your own special” buttons on my comput- “American Beauty” even more now. er screen to fit your needs. Oh I’m sorry, those don’t exist My next ganjarocker was a man who looked like a Rasta Bill either. Cosby. When I politely asked him, “Hi, may I help you?” he responded, “Got any weed?” I told him to wait until my break for the next shipment. In the meantime, we can help Monday, December 22nd, 2003 a patron who already consumed marijuana with our lovely I love how the Krispy Kreme is opening right next to LA variety of food. Very amazing man, he even tipped me! Fitness—that’s like having an AA meeting above Cheers. Finally, I even had my own reefer madness moment. Toward the end of the night I was very tired, and took a look at the “damaged products” list. I thought it read, “Product: Pizza, Tuesday, December 30th, 2003 Damage: BURKAT.” Was my last name listed under “damI’d like to share one of my favorite types of customers. Let’s aged products” some kind of subliminal insult? I confronted call him the punk rocker. Punk rocker, at first glance, is my manager about this. decked out in a leather jacket, wool hat (with the word “Psycho” tastefully pinned on the back), classy chains, and “What is THAT supposed to mean?” anarchy gloves. My favorite part about this punk rocker is the fact that he sports his anarchy A’s, which he clearly I later discovered it said the pizza was BURNT. The only bought from a marked-up Hot Topic, and is currently con- thing burnt was the customers that night, and the only thing tributing to capitalism even further by giving in to the senso- damaged was my mind. ry-enticing concession stand.

IMAGE BY ALEX BURKAT, 18, AMBLER, PA

{ gen•der and sex } By Devinity Davis, 17, Portland, OR

PHOTO BY HERA LEVINTANER, 17, ENCINO, CA

gen·der n. sex n.

Sexual identity, especially in relation to society or culture.

The property or quality by which organisms are classified as female or

male on the basis of their reproductive organs and functions.

No one ever comprehends that the girl they see on the bus or in line at the store has gone to great lengths to be seen as nothing more than that. A girl. Underneath the layers of MAC and Maybelline, lie traces of a beard that has been shaved down to the max. Behind the clothing, the body that once resembled that of male, is slowly morphing into something new. Underneath the stigma associated with being trans, underneath the categories, down to the soul..I am just a girl, that is doing what I have to, to not hate what I see in the mirror. It’s a lot more interesting to people from the outside for the concept of me to be “man turning into woman.” I was never a man. From Barbies to always being the mom when the neighbor kids and myself would play house, the gender has always read female. The exterior just hasn’t always matched up. 8 Sadly, in 1today’s day and age, genitals still are the defining factor in what is male and what is female. Life

isn’t that black and white. I rely on the fact that when I go out and about in daily life, people only see me as being female. It hasn’t always been like it is now. The words faggot and freak are all too familiar. It’s not hiding and it’s not living a lie. It’s just not putting myself out there too far. You would understand if you were in my head for 5 seconds. You would see how fucking scary my life can be. You would see how easy it is to get into a bad situation and end up being killed. It’s shit nobody should have to worry about. Am I bitter? YES. Bitter that life is so easy for some and yet so hard for others. But I take the cards I get dealt. Unless you’re one of the weak people that can see suicide as an option, you make the most of what you get. I probably wouldn’t change anything, if given the chance. Just because the fact that being me has brought some of the most amazing individuals into my life that probably wouldn’t have been around otherwise. Understand that sometimes girls get born with dicks and sometimes guys get born with cunts. Before you’re quick to judge, or say something stupid, think about what YOUR life would be like..with your mind being put into the body of the opposite sex. Queer, Transgendered, Drag Queen, Girl. I am a lot of things. But it all comes down to the fact that I am a woman, dick or no dick. I hope someday people as a whole will see that gender and sex are different. So that the life of people like us can be different and we won’t have to worry about whether we pass or not.

THE FAN

By Kristin Huffaker, 21, Midwest City, OK

I learned something new watching this year’s Holiday Bowl in Washington State. A WSU fan does not take anything for granted when it comes to the ability of their team to lose it all in the final seconds of the game. With barely a minute left and Washington State leading by 8, the room was tense and full of doubt. Perhaps this all seemed so strange to me because, down in Oklahoma, we are exactly the opposite. My friends and I all watched in disbelief as Louisiana State ran down the clock, fully expecting the last second Hail Mary and Joseph and Jesus and God miracle that would lead us to the glory we still fully expected. So when the crowd rushed the field and the postgame interviews began, we all sat in complete silence just trying to comprehend the fact that our team, one people had called “perhaps the greatest team in college football history,” had just handed off the national title. After our moment of silence, we immediately set out to establish the blame, not, of course, on our beloved football team or the amazing Mr. Bob Stoops. Obviously, there were greater forces at work here. 18

On this particular occasion, our friend Michelle and her puppy Dexter had decided to join us for the game. “You know Michelle,” someone said, “the only two games you watched with us this season were the Big Twelve Championship Game and the Sugar Bowl. Also the only two games we lost.” We glared at Michelle. We glared at Michelle’s puppy. Conner shook his head. “Before every game I would get three doughnuts and chocolate milk. But before Kansas State I had Sonic, and today we got pizza.” His face flushed under our harsh gazes, Conner sunk into the sofa in defeat. “Actually Kristin,” said Katie, “your mom bought red and white flowers before every game. Every game except for the last two.” Ravaged with guilt, I cursed my family, grabbed my keys and fled from the house. When I arrived back home I immediately flung myself into the bed and let the tears flow. How could I have allowed my own family to make such a terrible error? How could I have allowed my sweet Sooner football team to suffer this way? Minutes before I lost my will to survive, my dear friend Katie got online and revealed the true cause of our loss. roxygrldmb: I think our bad luck started with Jessica Simpson roxygrldmb: singing the national anthem And how obviously true. I mean, look at that hideous thing she wore. Nothing says spawn of Satan quite like a green fur wrap shirt thing. Curse you, Jessica Simpson. Curse you. Boomer Sooner. Back next year.

PHOTO BY MALACHY WOLOHAN, 24, CARDIFF, WALES 52

A TOUCHY SUBJECT By Timothy Minerd, 18, San Antonio, TX

Right...so let’s have a touchy subject tonight. Most guys my age are into, and I really mean into their bodies, correct? And when I say into their bodies, I really mean that, well, most of these guys are doing a lot of thinking down there. Yes...there. So, then there is me. For me, down “there” is also a focal point. But in all the wrong ways. A relapse of leukemia in teen males more often than not occurs just “there.” So theoretically, without having to worry about “there,” life would seem to be a lot healthier right now, correct? Perhaps you see my dilemma. Do you remember that episode of ‘Sex & the City,’ where Miranda’s ex loses one of his boys, and wants to get things patched up with an implant? And Miranda is horrified. Well, vanity aside, is 18 this really such a bad thing? OK, things are getting gross here, but my point is: how is it possible to be so unattached to something that’s so, well... attached to you? Now, here is where things get interesting. “There,” as we all know, also has a function in the grand scheme of things. Without “there,” none of us would ever be “here,” and “there” wouldn’t even be an object of contention at the moment. But “there” exists for a reason, so let’s deal with what happens when its purpose in this world becomes threatened. Chemotherapy involves an intense array of multi-colored, cell killing drugs. This means that when we introduce those drugs down “there,” we will be doing some serious damage. Of course, this damage is nothing that couldn’t also happen to, say, an unlucky biker or an overzealous anabolic steroid user. But, when the aforementioned damage can be forecasted, we’re obliged to take cer-

tain actions. This is why God created sperm banks. In case you have never found yourself as a gay, leukemic, 18year-old man in a Catholic hospital having a conversation about the benefits of sperm banking in front of your mother, let me tell you that it is not the coziest spot to find yourself.

Quietly, you decide to yourself that no matter how shagadelic it would be to say you’ve got a frozen mojo sample just waiting for an eager egg, sperm banking is not necessary.

So, you have reached your decision. Now you must break the news, as gently It turns out that the Catholic Church as possible, to your eager social worker does not condone sperm banking. This who is already dialing the nearest donafact, however, does not stop the social tion center to set you up. workers at Catholic hospitals from crossing themselves, asking the sisters “Wait!” you say. There is a lull. Your for forgiveness, saying a Hail Mary or mother looks up, and you feel a pang of two and then lunging into a lecture about guilt for dashing any feeble hope she the benefits of freezing your little guys had left of one day having a well-earned, for future use. true-blood grandchild. Your social worker puts down the phone, wondering just Finding yourself in such a situation, you what kind of meshuggeneh 18-year-old will sit politely nodding your head in thinks he can deny this world a sample agreement with the obvious advantages of his DNA. And you begin to think of modern technology, casting any wisps things over again. of lingering Catholic guilt momentarily aside. at the end of her informative spiel Looking at the crucifix on the wall, you (temporarily even delving into the physi- think it wise to be honest with these peocal processes of sperm banking...), your ple. You will just say, “Thank you very social worker will pause, stare at you much, but I can assure you that my intently, and will ask “So...is there any- future partner will find a frozen sample of thing I can set up for you?” my 18- year-old DNA to be an utter waste of his time.” Presumably, you are at this point being offered a time slot in one of the deluxe Then it crosses your mind that the donation rooms at one of the city’s finest Catholic Church is also not too keen on sperm banks. So convinced by such an all things gay. Your tight spot has informative spiel, you are ready to sign swelled to claustrophobic proportions. up right now, there is no reason not to! Then you remember something. Oh yes, Eternal damnation notwithstanding, the you are gay. Guys are your thing, and the issue is still at hand. You must let your thought of giving up a little love, frozen social worker know your true feelings on solid or not, in the name of reproduction the personal issue of sperm banking. just gives you the willies. There are plen- And so, radiant with self-confidence, you ty of orphaned babies or S.P.C.A. mutts say, “Thank you very much, but the who could benefit from your love in the Church would not approve.” future without any actual reproduction having to go on in your world. Besides, And with that, you again admire the cruthis is the Bible Belt, not Chelsea, and cifix, give the social worker a guilty eye you doubt local sperm bank donation for putting such a young mind in peril, rooms are equipped with sufficient peri- and thank Mary for her point of view on odicals to help you get the job done. such a touchy decision.

PHOTO BY SANNA SVANBERG, DALEN, SWEDEN

A RUSH OF BLOOD TO THE HEAD By Matthew Duffett, 21, Bryn Mawr, PA

I always knew I would die young, but I didn’t think it would be this soon or this bloody. Nomar hit a grand slam in the top of the ninth to beat the Athletics on a warm September evening at Fenway. The crowd was intense. Autumn looked beautiful. I’ll never forget what I was wearing. I think it is because my clothes looked so strange when they were covered with brown-red blood. We ate so much. We each had a hot dog. Then we shared some peanuts. For some reason I had so much trouble cracking them. I actually had four peanuts with nothing in them. Empty. Then we had a pretzel, a hot dog, four sodas, an ice cream in a little Red Sox helmet, and chicken fingers and fries. We ate it all. Except for a few fries that fell on the ground. I actually ate one of them too. Then I realized that was gross. We left the game covered in sweat, beer, and fun. Ortiz gave the sellout crowd the curtain call it deserved. “That Old Dirty Water” blasted from the stadium speakers. We walked along Lansdowne to my dad’s favorite garage. The one across from an old Boston Symphony music store. It was only ten bucks. We took a left out of the garage and took a right onto Boylston. We drove by all my favorite bars: Hennessey’s, the Pour House, 54

Whiskey’s, past Abe and Louie’s where me and my Mom had steak au poivre together on her 42nd birthday, my favorite sandwich shop, the Parish Café, took a left around the Commons, took a right past Congressmen and liberal politicians in navy blue suits on Beacon Hill, took a left, and followed it down to the bus station, took a right, a left and a right onto I-93. I eased onto the highway, waited for a black Volvo to pass, glided into the middle lane, sped up, passed a red Kharmen Gia, and sped into the third lane. We were listening to Coldplay’s new CD just like everyone else, but we also had a Counting Crows bootleg I got on a trip to Italy, Jay- Z’s first CD Reasonable Doubt, a little Matt Nathanson, a lot of Journey, Biggie’s Ready to Die, Common’s Like Water for Chocolate, a little bit of Damien Rice, and tracks 3, 4, and 7 from the White Stripes CD. We were listening to a lot of different music, except when Autumn got mad at me and she put every CD she could fit on to her ten fingers and held them out the window until I apologized. The music was blasting, but we weren’t going too fast. We were just laughing, singing, talking, dancing, and holding hands. And as we pulled off onto the Mystic River Parkway, I noticed there

were a lot of red brake lights in front of me. As I touched the brake, we kept getting closer and closer to cars. We were rapidly approaching an elderly, no a young teenage couple in a red Volkswagen Passat. But we didn’t barrel into them from behind, forcing the driver to smash his face off the wheel, shattering his teeth and gums, breaking his arm on the dashboard, or send his girlfriend, lover hurtling through the windshield, causing hundreds of thousands of dollars of damage to her milky, creamy innocent face. And we didn’t send her to the emergency room in pain and tears. We didn’t even hit them. We pulled up behind them with a reasonable amount of room to stop. But as we edged closer to their bumper we heard a loud screeching sound. Autumn looked at me not in terror, but just confusion. As she thought to herself, “Is that us?” and looked at me not in terror, but just confused, I was looking in the rear view mirror. I saw a large cloud of smoke on both sides of the truck. It was a Ford F150, black, towing an ugly tan RV. It was struggling to stay on the road. Or it was struggling to stop from smashing into our brand new black Acura Legend. I looked through Autumn to the cars on my right. They were all veering off to the shoulder of the two lane highway. The cars in front of me were as confused as I was. Some were pulling off to the left shoulder, some were heading right. The only thing all parties could agree on was that a large truck carrying another large truck was barreling towards two dozen cars at a reckless pace. I looked to my right. Left. Right. Then I looked in the rear view mirror again. If I didn’t move I was going to be crushed by a 38-year-

old plumber from Wilmington who would break his left leg but avoid many major injuries. I started to hurry right, to the other side of the road, but the drivers who were hesitating and paralyzed with fear didn’t move. I swerved back left, passing a red Le Baron on my right, and tried to make it to the left shoulder. I tried to make it. I tried to pull in front of a purple Dodge minivan. If I was listening to the stereo, I would have heard “I’m just a curbside prophet, waiting for my rocket to come.” But I didn’t make it. The brand new black Acura Legend was crushed by the two ton force of the black Ford F150 and the ugly tan RV. Autumn was shaking with the terror of a girl about to die. But she didn’t. I was hit by the big black Ford F150 right on my door, causing the brand new door to cave in on my left leg. I smashed my face off the wheel shattering my teeth and gums, and I broke my right arm in two places trying to stop Autumn from flying through the windshield. But I didn’t need reconstructive surgery on my teeth or gums. I didn’t need surgery on my arm. Or any of my face at all. Because after he hit the left side of my door, we spun slightly, turning us upright heading forward until the police car chasing Glenn Johnson of 49 Tremont St. in Wilmington smashed into our rear end at full speed. My backside lifted up in its seat and crushed my spine. But Autumn didn’t crush her spine. She cut her beautiful, beautiful face and comforting arms as she hurtled through the windshield. But she didn’t break any bones or need any major surgery. Glenn Johnson, the 38year-old plumber from Wilmington spent 4 months in rehab for his left leg, paid his speeding ticket, and is still waiting to hear from the district court about his vehicular homicide charge. The cops were deemed unresponsible for any major damage in the accident. I always knew I would die young but I didn’t think it would be this soon or this bloody. I shouldn’t have died. I wasn’t famous enough. I should not have died because I haven’t been on the cover of Vanity Fair yet. I am not plastered on the walls of millions of adoring teenage girls’ rooms yet. You haven’t seen me pictured in Us hanging out with P. Diddy, Andre Harrell and Russell Simmons at Downtown Cipriani’s yet. I haven’t fucked a model. I haven’t overdosed on any designer drugs in the bathroom of the Skybar. I don’t even have a Bentley. Not yet. I am not famous enough yet.

PHOTO BY BEN REYER, 18, SANTA MONICA, CA

OPEN PAGES

INSIDE MY HEAD: ONE PERSON’S COLLAGES

COLLAGES BY JACK DAKIN, 26, NEW YORK, NY 58

PEOPLE I LIKE INTERVIEW WITH JASON DEAMER OF PIXAR

The Kid Stays in the Pixar An interview with Pixar Animation Studioâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Jason Deamer By: Damon Agapiou, 24, Van Nuys, CA

I am always intrigued at the journey other artists have taken to be where they are today... Recently, I had the chance to interview a very fun, creative artist. He works for one of the most innovative, award winning animation studios today. Monsters Inc., Finding Nemo... sound familiar? Of course: itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Pixar Animation Studios. Jason Deamer, now 29, has been working for Pixar for six years and, from my impression, it looks like he will stick around for a while. As a character designer, Jason lends his mind to us for a brief view into the world of art in animation. 62

Damon Agapiou: How did you get involved in the field of art/animation? Jason Deamer: By accident. After graduating from art school, resigned to a life of Top Ramen and artistic freedom, my good friend and animator Jimmy Haward hooked me up with a temp job at Pixar moving furniture for a hundred dollars a day which I needed desperately because I borrowed $60,000 to put myself through school. DA: What was your first job in the industry? JD: My first job creatively was doing graphics for Plan B skateboards. DA: Who are some of your inspirations? JD: Egon Schiele, Dave McKean, Van Gogh, Joe Sorren, Ronald Searle, Barron Storey, Dave Attel, Chris Rock and letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not forget Slayer. DA: What circumstances brought you to Pixar and when?

DA: Where do you fall in the animation chain of work as a character designer? JD: I create concept art in the very beginning of the filmmaking process. Collaborating with the director and the character design team we create the appearance of the characters, which includes not only their static appearance, but also how the character will move. For example, I spent two weeks designing the seagulls in Finding Nemo and a whole other week figuring out how they could fold their very long wings so they would fit against their very short bodies.

JD: While I moved furniture around the studio I looked at all the amazing production art around me and I realized that it was not only something I could do but something that I wanted to do. I resolved to start working there as an artist right then. That was six years ago.

DA: What are some of the movies that you have worked on and which one seemed the most interesting? JD: Monster’s Inc., Finding Nemo, and the one that I’m currently working on which I wish I could tell you about. But Monster’s will always have the warmest spot in my heart because it was the first one. DA: I have heard that Pixar is an exhilarating, wacky place to work. What is it like? JD: There are all kinds of great things to do: a swimming pool, a miniature golf course, video games, parties every Friday night, and at the old Pixar building we even had skateboard ramps. Most of the time I’m too busy making movies to take advantage of any of it, but I do get to skateboard through the hallways, which makes me happy. DA: Do you and your co-workers play jokes on each other? JD: My friend Ricky Nierva and I used to hide this beat-up unplayable guitar in each other’s offices. It escalated to the point that I found it in the trunk of my car and I turned around and packaged it up and sent it to him UPS. I haven’t seen it since. It’s a good thing, too because I was secretly plotting to cement it into his front yard when I saw it again. DA: I’ve noticed some animators/designers put a little piece of their own personality or likeness into some of the characters that they design. Have you made characters that have a bit of you in them? JD: There are lots of examples of that. In Finding Nemo, the Tikis in the dentist’s fish tank are actually portraits of three people in the art department. Also, people always unintentionally draw themselves. So in that way, there is a little of everyone in all the characters. DA: What are some of the most valuable lessons you have learned so far that you could pass on to other aspiring artists? JD: An art career is a marathon more than a sprint. It’s the ones that won’t give up that make it. Oh, and one more thing, when in doubt, draw your client.

OPEN PAGES

INSIDE MY HEAD: ONE PERSON’S DRAWINGS

DRAWINGS BY KATY HORAN, 24, BROOKLYN, NY

PHOTO GEOGRAPHIC The people, places and things that live in your world

ADAM BRAGG, RICHMOND, VA

JOCELYN STEWART, 25, EUREKA,CA 71

DANNY CHRISTOPHER, 27, TORONTO, CANADA

TAN TIAN XIANG, 19, SINGAPORE

ALICIA ROSELLO GENE, 19, BARCELONA, SPAIN

MARIAN GARRIDO HERROJO, 19, AVILES, SPAIN

HAILEY PARRY, 16, SIGNAL MOUNTAIN, TN

BEN REYER,18, LOS ANGELES, CA

RACHEL CHANDLER, 16, LOS ANGELES, CA

MILES TOKUNOW, 15, LOS ANGELES, CA

EMILIANO ORTIZ, 15, NEW YORK, NY

GIA COPPOLA, 17, LOS ANGELES, CA

LOUIE EISNER, 15, LOS ANGELES, CA

RACHEL CHANDLER, 16, LOS ANGELES, CA

CLAIRE GRIFFITHS, 21, LONDON, ENGLAND

CHRISTINA CINTRON, 17, DETROIT, MI

DAVID DREIMANN, 23, CAMBERWELL, AUSTRALIA

MICHAEL TSAY, 27, SAN GABRIEL, CA

JOCELYN STEWART, 25 EUREKA, CA “Self-portrait taken with my fisheye lens, after a day sledding.”

BEN REYER, 18 SANTA MONICA, CA “I want to become more and more childish and to pass beyond childhood in the opposite direction.”--Henry Miller

DANNY CHRISTOPHER, 27 TORONTO, CANADA “Danny Smith recording at Cherry Beach in Toronto.”

RACHEL CHANDLER, 16 LOS ANGELES, CA

TAN TIAN XIANG MATTHEW 19, SINGAPORE “This pretty young lady here is ‘Princess Sherilyn.’ I was having coffee with her when I realized that I’m armed with

MILES TOKUNOW, 15 LOS ANGELES, CA “Well, this was a shot of my carpool friend Sancho. I took this photo while walking from my car to school.”

ALICIA ROSELLO GENE, 19 BARCELONA, SPAIN “When art speaks the words of people it becomes a tool for experimenting and questioning official views and states of minds, which is at the root of all freedoms (The laboratory of living arts).”

EMILIANO ORTIZ, 15 NEW YORK, NY “It’s hard not to like this picture.”

ALICIA ROSELLO GENE, 19 BARCELONA, SPAIN “I was sitting in the doc’s waiting room, feeling really bored, when I realized that the floor was pixelated!”

GIA COPPOLA, 17 LOS ANGELES, CA “We can be heroes.”

MARIAN GARRIDO HERROJO 19, AVILES, SPAIN “The photograph was taken when I was looking for geometrical figures in life.”

LOUIE EISNER, 15 LOS ANGELES, CA

HAILEY PARRY, 16 SIGNAL MOUNTAIN, TN “This is a picture I took of myself while on the phone with my friend. I was reacting to a comment.”

RACHEL CHANDLER, 16 LOS ANGELES, CA

CLAIRE GRIFFITHS, 21 LONDON, ENGLAND “Dancing or fighting, truth is only known to them, also me watching.”

CHRISTINA CINTRON, 17 DETROIT, MI “These are my friends, and these pictures were taken out of fun. Some people might think we are crazy...but we think that we are darn good looking and silly.”

DAVID DREIMANN, 23 CAMBERWELL, AUSTRALIA “Spent the day comtemplating my navel, now you can contemplate it, too. This little crater is all that’s left of where it all started in this life.”

DAVID DREIMANN, 23 CAMBERWELL, AUSTRALIA “A friend of mine thought she didn’t have an eye for anything artistic, but said wet eyelashes looked cool. This is one of several shots I took to prove her wrong and inspire her to go grab a camera.”

MICHAEL TSAY, 27 SAN GABRIEL, CA “I love my beaches.”

How to Contribute: Want to get published? If you have photos, writings, drawings, musings, insights, critiques, scribbles or anything else you can think of that you want to see in the pages of an upcoming issue of Look-Look, all you have to do is:

1. 2.

Be someone between the ages of 14-30 who does not get paid for your art (i.e. be amateur in the pure sense of the word).

Go to look-lookmagazine.com and follow the submission guidelines on the website. By the way, your images MUST be at least 300 dpi in order to be reproduced in the magazine. So if youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not sure, contact us and weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll set you straight.

Send your work via snail mail to: Look-Look Magazine Submissions Department 6685 Hollywood Blvd. Hollywood, CA 90028

Please note: We are not able to send any submissions back to you so you should be prepared to part with your work on a permanent basis. See you in the next issue! look-lookmagazine.com

LAST LOOK-LOOK A PARTING SHOT

SHANE DEEGAN, 27, LONDON, ENGLAND 95

Pomona, cA Los Angeles, ca tucson, Az Austin, tx Denton, tx Nashville, tn cincinnati, oh chicago, il Detroit, mi Brooklyn, ny New york, ny Virgin Mobile Presents...

On the Road

The Look-Look Youth Invasion Tour, Spring 2004 Beginning in late April, we’re taking the show on the road. We’re customizing an Airstream trailer, packing it full of artists, musicians, art, zines, t-shirts and driving it across America, stopping along the way to put on art exhibits and performances. Fresh from touring with bad girl Peaches, the notorious duo Electrocute from Berlin and Tahane True (featuring members of XBXRX) will be on the bus along with a show of work culled from the submissions to Look-Look by legendary indie curator Aaron Rose. In addition to a performance by Electrocute and Tahane True in each of the 11 cities, we’ll be finding local acts along the way. If you’ve got a band, get us a tape and you could be added to the bill in your city. Check www.look-lookmagazine.com for actual dates. What the hell else are you doing this spring, anyway, right?

The Ad Gallery. Someone had to pay for this. You know, it sounds like a great idea when you say to yourself, “let’s just find a company to sponsor us.” Ha! Trying to find someone to put up so you’ll shut up is a whole other ballgame. We are unbelievably fortunate to have found ourselves a few very supportive companies including our title sponsor, Virgin Mobile. We got lucky. Not once, not twice, but four times. We found four sponsors willing not only to donate their funds, but also to let our contributors design their ads that run in the magazine. Talk about bending the rules. Sure, the ads in this section are selling something. But they’re also a pretty darn interesting blend of art and commerce. And for that we have no one to thank but our sponsors. You guys give us hope. Look-Look

The Sponsors

The Artists

Lomography

Lucia Astuy, 21, Aviles, Spain “Shoot your life and spread the word!”

Pepsi

Marina Michelson, 17, Los Angeles, CA “Keepin’ it real. Keepin’ it simple. Keepin’ it real simple.”

Sony Pictures Revolution Studios

Monique Del Rio, 23, Montebello, CA “Que sera sera.”

Virgin Mobile

S. Davidson, 19, Toronto, Canada “These images were just the first things I thought of for living without a plan.”

The Lomographic Society is a globally active organization dedicated to experimental and creative snapshot photography.

Log-on to www.lomography.com, and dive face-first into our free photo homes, intense monthly contests, breathtaking online shop, and never-ending stream of juicy Lomographic images.

LOOK-LOOK MAGAZINE

ISSUE NO. 02

2004