Summer 2012 Volume 1, Issue 2
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volume 1, issue 2 June 21, 2012
masthead Jeff Groat Coordinating Editor editor@runnerrag.ca
Table of Contents
Claire Matthews Managing Editor managingeditor@pulpmag.ca
Courtney Burt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 - 4
J.C. Doyle . . . . . . . . . . . . . .30 - 32
Grad Showcase . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 -7
Tinja Berg. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Mikayla Fawcett . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 -10
Amanda Paananen . . . . . . . . . . 34 -35
Stephanie Peters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11-19
Taryn Pearcey . . . . . . . . . . . .36 - 39
Chantal Houle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Kristen Sedore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
Jasmin Nguyen . . . . . . . . . . . . 21- 22
Arts Editorial . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
Charis Au . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 -25
ROZ Showcase . . . . . . . . . .42 - 43
Andrew Lund . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 -28
Lisa King . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .44 - 45
Sylvia Moore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Bri Harrison . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Debbie Langtry Publishing Editor publishing@pulpmag.ca Andres Salaz Associate Publishing Editor publishing@pulpmag.ca Chelsea Lawrick Arts Editor arts@pulpmag.ca Rhea Paez Associate Arts Editor arts@pulpmag.ca Connor Doyle Associate Literary Editor writing@pulpmag.ca Weronika Slowinski Web Editor support@pulpmag.ca Victoria Almond Office Coordinator office@runnerrag.ca Pulp Magazine Standing Committee: Taryn Pearcey, Simon Massey, Alex Hawley. Arbutus 3710/3720 12666 72 Avenue Surrey, BC V3W 2M8 778-565-3801
Views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily shared by the editors. Cover: Debbie Langtry & AndrĂŠs Salaz
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Visit our website at www.pulpmag.ca and check out our blogs. Special thank you to Roland Nguyen for production assistance. pulp magazine is student owned and operated by Kwantlen Polytechnic University students, published under Ink Publishing Society.
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interview art
courtney burt
ourtney’s recent work dares to express the outcomes achieved by chance. She doesn’t concern herself with creating something that could be deemed aesthetically beautiful, but is more interested in the process of identifying recognizable features through experimentation with charcoal, water, ink and string. It is a process that relies partly on intuition, skill from many years of practice, and a subconscious expression. The results are abstract illustrations that encourage one’s imagination to recognize a face, a body posture, and/or a mood.
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Lost Soul 23x33” charcoal and thread on paper
Courtney does not concern herself as much with aesthetically pleasing her viewers as she does with effectively communicating with them. She recently described her opinion on making art in her essay Artworks Threatened by Opinion: “What is considered offensive is different to everyone because we live in a visual world. Why is it that people find looking at an issue more disturbing than just hearing about it? Being faced or looked in the eye by a truth can be frightening.” Face 60 x 40” mixed media on panel
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art
courtney burt
Untitled 23x33” charcoal on paper
“While many factors play a role in how people see works of art today, it comes down to personal opinion based on values, religion, taste, and culture. Therefore, there is no real way to measure what is considered offensive. I have the freedom to speak and address topics of my choice. I do so without thinking twice about offending anyone. In my work I strive to create a reaction from the viewer, this way I know that my thoughts, opinions, and/or ideas have really been seen.”
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art The First Annual
BFA Grad Show
April 13, 2012 at Cloverdale Gallery In a space so vast, we were challenged to fill it with art. As the first group of students to exhibit as BFA graduates of Kwantlen Polytechnic University, we were responsible for pulling the whole show together without faculty assistance – from marketing and invitations, to music and munchies. Those who came had a fantastic time. Those who did not missed out on a great party and some fantastic art.
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art
BFA Grad Show 2012 Here are some inspiring words of wisdom written by Fine Arts instructor, Robert Gelineau for the “Forward” in the Grad Show Catalogue… Since the 19th century and the onslaught of modernity, a blind faith in progress has resulted in a world focused on streamlined productivity, profit, and a mechanistic approach to living that has left very little space for the contemplative. If the purpose of an activity or object is not immediately apparent, its life may be all too short. The artists graduating from our program have spent four years looking for what perhaps could best be described in the words of the 18th century German philosopher Immanuel Kant as “purposiveness without purpose.” In opposition to the move toward speed and immediate gratification, the Fine Arts program is dedicated to looking more closely, questioning everything, and taking an active role in creating varied experiences (be it visual, auditory, or physical). In a culture filled with the malaise of the immediate, these eleven artists are the perfect antidote to a sickness I don’t think the good doctor has a hope in hell of fixing. Robert Gelineau Department of Fine Arts
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art
The next time these artists exhibit, it will likely be with work created from personal inspiration and not as a reaction to school assignments. They will no longer receive grades from instructors, but critiques from the professional art world. They are now BFA graduates and emerging artists no longer held within Kwantlen.
Congrats to the eleven BFA grad show students
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poetry
an apology to bukowski mikayla fawcett i’m sorry, mister bukowski, sir. it comes, as you say, unasked out of my
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brain and bones and throat.
i fulfilled criteria.
but not always.
i followed instructions.
i still did it.
i waxed over symbolism and theme
i had to sit for hours
and doted on
staring at my computer screen
imagery.
hunched over the
i fretted over structure.
keyboard
i can find something good in anything
not just searching but
and god damn it, i mean every word.
digging for words.
i’ve edited and been edited
sometimes i have to sit there and
and i wrote about the weather.
rewrite it again and again.
i wrote about the god damn weather
editing.
but so help me
and here i am now, trying to write
i never called it poetry.
in a poor imitation
i never called it
of someone else’s voice.
my poetry.
i’m sorry.
it’s work.
i still did it.
i still did it.
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poetry
this isn’t poetry.
my collarbone
this is an inside joke.
demands release
this is a confession.
fills my mouth and spills over my fingers
this is a prayer.
into a journal or ramble
this is therapy.
a stray thought,
when i’m done with it, i’ll read it
incomplete.
out loud and it won’t sound
imperfect.
like a roar or a scream or a howl.
without context
just a belligerent mutter.
and signifying nothing
and then i’ll
to anyone else.
get back to work.
mine.
it won’t be my poetry.
i can wait. you said,
i’ll write for myself when my eyes burn too much
there is no other way.
to see the letters clearly
and there never was.
and what pours out
i’m a traitor, perhaps.
clutches my throat
whatever works.
and burns
it’s mine.
crawls behind my ribs
sometimes.
and gnaws
i still wrote about the god damn weather.
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poetry
to write you down mikayla fawcett To write you down I’d strip you down to bare bones, veins and pheromones, flesh laid open, picked apart, discrete, notified, accounted for darling, you’d be little more than a list of odd details, dislocated, disembodied, chicken scratch details – the curving of your fingernails the shallow crescent indents made and pressed into the shoulder-blade, carve eddies in between the broken ring of sunlight caught and steeped to bottle green the labyrinth of your fingerprints, weltered pale and impassable with the worms of old scars – darling, I’ve no eye for beauty, no spine for honest interaction, no brain for simple human gesture, no words to write you down.
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interview
stephanie peters writer interview by: connor doyle
Stephanie Peters was shortlisted for Kwantlen’s Creative Writing Award at the Creative Writing Department’s annual year-end reading in April. She crafts stories from a genuine, human thread we all are capable of identifying with. We conducted this interview in person and via email.
ou’ve described your writing as being about “women behaving badly.” Is there something you’re trying to explore or is it just a topic you find yourself returning to? A : It’s a theme that keeps popping up. The young female perspective is the most natural for me to write from, and bad behaviour, well, that’s just the most fun to write about. There’s an element of escapism, for sure. It’s liberating to create characters with no regard for social conventions. It also has a lot to do with what I’m drawn to as a reader. I can distinctly remember, in one of my first year Writing classes, reading these hilarious voice-driven stories, realizing that there was more out there than high school fare. I felt a bit like it was cheating, writing this stuff, because it was so fun and informal. It’s not a deliberate choice to go back to these characters, but so often my stories spring from a single line that comes to my head, and that line usually comes with a voice. More often than not, the voice of a badly behaved woman.
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Q: After that line and that voice come to you, what’s next in your process? A: Ideally, I can run with it, get it down on paper, and see where it goes for a paragraph or two before I think too hard about it. Then I think about
it a lot, figure out who the characters are, what makes them unique. This involves an unmanageable number of Word documents open on my computer at once: one for the story, the quick notes that I want to remember for later, the second attempt at the story when I get frustrated, and the brainstorm about the characters. Through this process, I usually discover that my original idea isn’t really a story. It’s one thing to create characters. I can give them back-stories, throw them together and have them fight or flirt or light something on fire, but it isn’t a story until they need something. Too often, I find myself eleven pages in with no plot. Lately, I’ve tried discipline in that respect. That usually means jotting down the plot points in point form and referring back to them periodically, making sure I’m staying on track. Inevitably, things change. I never know how a story is going to end until I get there. Q: To what extent does voice play a role in the creation of your stories? Do you ever find the voice of your protagonist/narrator is a skewed version of your own? A: Voice drives most, if not all, of my stories. I write about people, the way that they behave and react in different situations. Apart from the voice, the stories could be quite boring. I hope that they’re enjoyable to read because the narrator provides a unique perspective. In order to write authentically, I need to identify with the character. Age and gender [are] the easiest ways to create some commonality, but it doesn’t have to be those. I can identify with a specific experience. I used to be a competitive swimmer, and I think I could write authentically about a seventy-year-old man who’s a competitive swimmer, because I understand that world. Even something broad, like
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interview
loneliness, can help me identify with an unlikely character. I don’t feel obligated to write characters that share my morals or opinions. I enjoy writing characters that do terrible things, but are still somewhat sympathetic. An element of my own voice does come through, even if it’s not arguing a point that I would. Friends say they can recognize my voice in my writing, so I guess my protagonists really do present a skewed version of my own voice. Q: Does it ever feel like you have a story bursting out of you, waiting to be written? A: I sit down to write and more and more words come out of me the more nights I spend in bed thinking, “What am I going to do with this story?” More scenes and flashbacks and elements come into my head. Some ideas come into my mind and they’re going in a certain direction and it’s just about getting them there. But with stories like “Celeb Beat” [published here] it’s like I have these characters in my mind, and I know things about them, but there’s less of a destination for them. I really struggled with that one: I kept writing and it wasn’t going in the direction it was supposed to. I came up with so many more backstories as a result, I have around fifteen different scenes about what these kids did in their childhood. And if I were to get them all in, it would create a completely different picture of the mother for the reader.
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Q: You’ve said that you have trouble deciding on titles for your stories. A: It’s true. I try to look for patterns in the stories that I read and what kind of stories have a strong title. We’ve discussed before that if there’s some sort of word play in story, like “Throwing Cotton” [by Sarah Selecky], then that plays into the title. I don’t have that much word play, but something that Aislinn Hunter told me to do once was to take a bunch of words from the story and throw them into a hat then pull one out. Q: What are some of the major challenges you face as a writer? What do you do to overcome them? A: Time, motivation and discipline are the big ones. It’s a challenge to write regularly, to chose to write when it’s not an assignment. It’s a challenge to pull out old stories after a semester is over and re-edit them. Often, I get to the point that I want to throw a story in the garbage and start fresh. It’s only a looming deadline that makes me finish. For finding motivation, immersing myself further into the writing community has been beneficial. The more time I spend with writers, discussing writing, the more it’s on my mind when I’m doing other activities. It’s also a big motivator to know that there are people outside the classroom who have read my writing, have opinions about it and are expecting to see more of it.
find that other writers help in regards to any specific aspect of writing? A: My experience with the writing community has been very positive. Many different people influence my work: Writing student peers, faculty members, other professional writers. There’s a huge amount of camaraderie among the Kwantlen Creative Writing students. It’s a really encouraging atmosphere. Working with the same students in multiple classes and events helps us grow to understand each other’s work, and so the value of my peers’ feedback has increased over the past couple years. I’m a member of the Writing Guild, as well, and among other things it’s a great forum to air questions and frustrations about writing. We can spend hours talking about a specific aspect of craft, or analyzing a book, or giving feedback on a piece of writing. It’s stimulating, being in a room full of excited, creative people. Writers I’ve never met affect my work as well. When I read a lot of a piece, the voice in my head starts to imitate the voice of the works I’m reading. Sometimes it’s annoying. One time, after I read Twilight, I couldn’t fall asleep because I was narrating my life like Bella Swan. It was horrific. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to admit to that. Anyway, a lot of my stories are directly inspired by something I read before writing them. On occasion, I’ll read a specific book to see how the author crafts dialogue or flashbacks.
Q: What has your experience with the writing community been like? Do you
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prose
Celeb Beat stephanie peters short fiction lex accuses me of being disloyal when I say that Paige looks slutty in the magazine pictures. As if he has anything to teach me about loyalty. In high school, when Allen Petersen ripped off Paige’s tearaways in gym class to see her thong underwear, Alex lost his head and started flailing, eventually getting himself beaten up. I was the one with the presence of mind to wait until the next day and poison Allen Petersen. A non-fatal poisoning, don’t worry. I don’t bring this story up out loud, because we’re sitting in the middle of the Café Crêpe, and I try not to talk about poisonings in public places. Alex sits across from me reading local news in the Metro while I flip through this week’s issue of Celeb Beat magazine, which features a two page spread of Paige and the rest of the contestants on Flippin’ with the Famous, a spin off of Dancing with the Stars, in which pseudo-celebrities are paired with members of Cirque du Soleil and have to perform gymnastics routines. In the picture, Paige is dangling off of her partner, Olaf Charkovsky, and leering at the camera suggestively. “Look at her outfit,” I say, passing the magazine to Alex. “It looks like she tried to squeeze into a child’s Halloween costume.” “Put that away,” says Alex, flipping the magazine shut. “It’s weird if we’re reading it when she gets here.” I whip it open again, defiant, now, just for the sake of being defiant.
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“‘I’ll always be a Vancouverite at heart,’” I read aloud in an affected voice. “‘No matter where I am in the world, I put on my Canucks jersey and I feel at home. I’m whisked back to my childhood days, splashing in puddles and exploring Stanley Park.’ This is crap, Alex. Who says stuff like that?” He sighs, folds up his paper and takes off his glasses. His mannerisms remind me of my grandpa. “What makes you think she owes Celeb Beat the truth?” he says. “When you’re giving hundreds and hundreds of interviews, you’re allowed to make up some pat answers.” “Hundreds of interviews? She isn’t Julia Roberts, Alex.” He sighs. “We’re supposed to be her friends. Do you have to be so critical?” I’m in the middle of concocting a response, one that will fill Alex with guilt and shame over his idiotic, twenty-yearold crush, when his eyes leave mine, drift up over my head, and I can tell by the expression on his face that she’s behind me. I turn around. There she is, wearing a Grace Kelly head scarf and giant sunglasses and posing in the doorway. People are staring at her like, who is this tall fancy person? but the way she’s looking at them, you can tell she thinks they recognize her. She sees us and comes over to the table, kisses my cheek, which is awkward, and hugs Alex dramatically, her foot popping up behind her.
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prose “Darlings!” she says, and we aren’t sure how to respond. “You look great,” says Alex. “You too, both of you,” she laughs. “Last time I saw you, you had a beard, Alex.” He grins and pats his naked chin. “It was time for a change.” “And you, Hannah,” she says, turning to me. “Last time I saw you, you had long hair.” “Last time I saw you, you were a B-cup.” Paige throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, Hannah, you funny girl.” “Tell us about Flippin’ with the Famous!” says Alex, pulling out a chair for her. “Oh, it’s wonderful,” says Paige, taking off her sunglasses and sighing. “So hard, the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but so rewarding.” She said that same thing, word for word, in the article. The rest of the conversation is an exchange of generic pleasantries. Paige asks Alex all about Mindy and Jayden, and coos and giggles over his answers. “That’s so cute, Alex!” she squeals, after he tells some dumb story about Jayden finding a box of Mindy’s tampons and putting them in the fish tank. I can tell she actually thinks it’s boring, not flashy and glamorous like her own life. I’m good at reading people. For once, I want to come to the defence of Alex’s family. I mean, Mindy is a cow. She’s uptight and only wears yoga pants and tries to turn Alex into an old man. She’s told Alex she doesn’t want him to hang out with me, because I’m contrary and intimidating and a bad influence on Jayden. I never even look at Jayden. He’s whiney and mostly boring. Every time I’m in a room with him I pretend he isn’t there. “Mindy’s great,” I say. I rack my brain for something positive. “She’s patriotic!”
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“What?” says Alex. I shrug. I’m basing it off of the Canadian flag that sticks out of the planter on their front porch. I can’t imagine Alex putting it there, so it must have been Mindy. “She loves her country. That’s important.” “Of course,” says Paige. “I’m glad to hear you two are friends.” She knows that Mindy and I didn’t hit it off from the start. Ten years ago, when Mindy and Alex started dating, Paige and I both thought she was a dud. They met at the library, where Alex was attending lecture. Mindy was checking out books from the Young Adult section. They started talking, and she ended up going with him. As he told the story the next day, it was immediately clear to me that the chick didn’t care at all about affordable housing or social justice or whatever the lecture was about. She was just into Alex. I called Paige –she was in Toronto then, working on some YTV show with puppets that taught traffic safety — and told her all about her. “She’s going to an Avril Lavigne concert,” I said. “You can’t be serious! What is she, twelve?” “I know. She made Alex listen to the CD!” We thought he would get over her. She was ridiculous, infantile, but it never happened. All of the sudden they were married, then knocked up, and then there was Jayden. Eventually I accepted that I was going to have to deal with her forever. It’s hardly fathomable that here, today, I’m feeling a sense of solidarity with Mindy. “Yeah, we’re great friends,” I say. Alex raises his eyebrows. “That’s wonderful,” says Paige. “I hope I can get to know her better.” She’s flat out lying, I can tell. She thinks she’s above Mindy.
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stephanie peters “Listen,” Paige says. “I’m going to a party tonight that’s hosted by Matthew Dejourno.” The way she says Matthew Dejourno tips us off that he is someone of importance. “No kidding,” says Alex. “That’s great.” “I know,” she says. “I’m so excited. You two should come with me!” “We don’t know who the hell Matthew Dejourno is,” I say. Alex glares at me. “Oh,” says Paige. “I bet you’ve heard his music. He’s getting really big.” She starts to hum a song and wave her hands. “Nope,” I say. Alex shakes his head apologetically. “Well, you should come anyways,” says Paige. “It will be really fun. Lots of celebrities!” “I can’t,” I say. “I have to work.” “The clinic is open at night?” “My other job,” I say. “My real job.” Paige looks confused. “You aren’t still –” “Yep,” says Alex. “She’s still at it.” “Oh, Hannah, how can you? You’re in the health industry.” I say nothing. She never complained when I was doing it on her behalf. “Alex?” she says. “Can you come?” Alex is in agony. “I wish I could, Paige, but I have to watch Jayden tonight. Mindy has Tae Kwon Do.” I want so badly to laugh at this. Just the image of Mindy, barefoot in a Martial Arts studio, flinging her arms and yelling in Japanese. But, I’m pretending to be her friend. “Well,” says Paige, “I have to go.” She jumps to her feet and puts her sunglasses back on in one graceful swoop. “Bye, Alex. I’d love to meet up with you and Mindy before I go back to LA.” After she’s out the door, Alex is still waving, a vacant grin on his face. “Alex, you are pathetic.”
prose
“What? What did I do?” “I should tell Mindy on you.” He knows I’m bluffing, of course. I don’t talk to Mindy. Actually, she would be more upset to find out that he’s in my company than to discover that he’s in love with a B-list celebrity. She’s all but forbidden him to see me. Honestly, I’m proud of Alex for occasionally defying Mindy and grabbing a coffee with me. I feel like a mistress. Sometimes I joke that he ought to bring me gifts –perfume, jewelry– but he doesn’t find this funny. Mindy will never fully understand the special bond between Alex, Paige and I. It goes back to the first day of high school when we, three of the awkwardest thirteen-yearolds you can imagine, stumbled into Ms. Collingwood’s homeroom class. No one was supposed to know each other, but similar people flocked together. Already, girls with pony tails were sharing lip gloss and saying, “I’m Karlie! I’m Jennifer!” Boys in athletic shorts were nodding at each other. “You play ball?” “Yeah man. You play ball?” Even the stoners had found each other at the back of the room, and were quietly making plans to do illegal things together after class. I had hoped to do better than Paige and Alex, or, as I thought of them at that point, Praying Mantis Girl and Beige Boy. She was unbelievably tall and gangly, and seemed to be trying to make up for it by hunching over. He was all beige –his mousy blond hair, his yellowypale skin, his beige-on-beige striped shirt, his khaki pants. I wasn’t much to look at either. Half frizzy, half straight hair, hand-me-down clothes from older brothers. Paige looked like she wanted to disappear, and Alex looked
“ ‘My other job,’ I say. ‘My real job.’ ‘Yep,’ says Alex. She’s still at it.’ ”
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prose like he didn’t want to be seen sitting with a girl. I cleared my throat to get their attention and told them we were going to be friends. They weren’t ideal, but it was clear that none of us were going to fit in anywhere else. I explained to them that none of us had any other prospects, and the next five years would be much more bearable if we were in it together. I don’t know if they were inspired by my speech, or just too afraid to argue, but we became friends. Over the next five years, we grew inseparable. Even as we grew out of the painfully awkward stage (Alex and I settling in at plain, Paige rising to the realms of gorgeous) we were a team. All of us would have gladly died, or killed, for any of the others. I proved it when I poisoned Allen Petersen’s sandwich. It didn’t kill him, but I didn’t know that when I spread industrial strength toilet cleaner on his tuna sandwich. He ended up just getting sick and missing a week of school. They figured out what was in his system, but Allen Petersen was such an idiot that his parents figured he had just drank toilet water. Me, Alex and Paige were the only ones who ever knew the truth: a connection that Mindy can’t squash, try as she might. We stick around the Café Crêpe long enough to finish our coffees. He goes back to his newspaper and I finish reading Celeb Beat. We sit in familiar silence. Alex suddenly places the paper on top of my magazine. “You have anything to do with this?” he says. The headline reads, CEO of Norton Chemicals Inc. Hospitalized Following Alleged Poisoning. I shrug, looking straight into Alex’s eyes. I dealt with Wayne Norton two days ago. Stood outside his office for five hours waiting for him to go to lunch. Looking at him, I knew he was a restaurant man. Sure enough, at 2:15 he left the office and I followed him to the Cactus Club. From
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there, it was easy to slip into the kitchen, grab a dirty apron from the laundry bin and a tray of stuffed mushroom appetizers from the counter. On my way to his table, I doused them all with Drano. According to the article, he’s suffering from severe erosion to the esophageal lining. Good. With the amount of environmental damage Wayne Norton has caused, he deserves a lot worse. “There’s a full scale police investigation going on, Hannah,” Alex whispers, sharply. “Look, in the second column. The VPD are pursuing several leads.” I just laugh. “It’s not the first time the police have gotten involved. I’m not worried.” Alex leaves a tip on our table, even though it’s not customary at the Café Crêpe. We make our way up Granville street, passing coffee shops and clothing stores. We make fun of window displays and heckle a street performer –a kid with salon-styled dreadlocks and vintage Nikes playing Green Day songs on an electric guitar. While we wait for the walk signal at the corner of West Georgia, Alex turns to me. “Look, Hannah, I don’t know what that guy did,” Alex begins. “The simple answer is that he dumped industrial waste in rivers –” “Whatever. I don’t want to know. It’s just that, well, how does this fix anything? Killing this guy doesn’t reverse the damage, right?” I sigh. This is the thing that Alex can never understand. “It’s not about changing the past, Alex. It’s about punishing bad people.” He stares at me, trying to understand. I’ve got to give him credit for that. He wants to get it. He can’t grasp that it’s not about changing the world. It’s almost guaranteed that Wayne Norton will be back doing the
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stephanie peters exact thing once he’s out of the hospital. If not, someone else will rise up to take his place. I’m not making the world a better place, I’m providing a tiny dose of justice. I’ve poisoned corrupt politicians, shoplifters, sexual predators, and rude public transit passengers. I once took on an after-hours cleaning job at the headquarters of an electronics company that screwed my dad over when they wouldn’t honour the warranty on his computer. Every night for a month, I would open up the fridge and give every food item in it a spritz of Windex. I don’t know if any of them even missed a day of work, but they must have gotten a little queasy, and that is satisfying. I want to put all of this into words that Alex can understand, explain to him the gratification that comes from a good poisoning, but it’s hard to express. “I have to go. I’ve got to be home by four,” he says when we arrive at the Skytrain station. “Say hi to Mindy for me.” He’s almost at the door. “Alex!” He’s right in front of the door, and people are milling all around him. By turning around and stopping, he seriously interrupts the flow. He pushes through the throng of people to get back to the sidewalk where I’m standing. “What is it?” “Look, I know you’re her biggest fan and everything, but you have to admit that Paige has gotten weird.” Alex looks uncomfortable. When we were closer, Paige and I used to talk about Alex constantly. We talked about how he was too insecure, how he could be good looking if he chose to dress better, how he would never get a girlfriend if he didn’t conquer his shyness. We practically dissected him, tried to psychoanalyze his behaviour. Alex and I don’t talk that way. I guess it’s a guy thing.
prose
“She is who she is, Hannah,” he says. “We’ve all changed. We’ve all grown up.” “Yeah, but for a long time we were growing up together.” When Paige first started getting into show business, we were still best friends. She did a few commercials in Vancouver, then moved to Toronto when she landed a part on the YTV show. She used to call us all the time, and when we visited her she would show us off to her new friends. It was fun. Even as she got more and more successful, particularly through a minor sex tape scandal that ended up doing wonders for her career, she was still our friend. “Something changed, Alex,” I say. “There’s a reason she decided she was better than us, a moment when it all changed.” Alex looks at his watch, then back at the door to the Skytrain station. He hops from one foot to the other. “I don’t have time for this, Hannah!” “Come on, Alex, help me here. We were cool when she moved to L.A. She celebrated with us when her show got syndicated.” Paige’s big break was her role on the Fox hospital drama Open Heart. She played hypochondriac nurse Esme O’Connor. “Look,” says Alex, cutting me off. “If you seriously need to blame this on someone, I would recommend James Jackson.” He turns around and heads back toward the Skytrain. “James Jackson,” I repeat. He was the bassist in some pop-punk band that was all the rage in the early 2000’s. He and Paige dated around the end of the hospital show, and the media was mildly interested in their
“ ‘It’s not about changing the past, Alex. It’s about punishing bad people.’ ”
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prose relationship. “Wait, Alex!” He shakes his head without turning around. Later in the evening, I ponder James Jackson in my booth at Bullseye, a trendy little bar with enough of a western theme that girls wear cutoff shorts and dance to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy”. I’ve been coming to Bullseye for over a month. Not for fun, for a purpose. Bullseye seems to be a magnet for douchebags. I’m guaranteed to find at least one guy with the sole intent to prey on vulnerable women. I see them slip their wedding rings into their pockets, make up some phoney story about being a talent agent. They’re creeps. I observe them, then slip a shot of Ambien into their drink. Tonight I can hardly focus on the creeps around me. I can’t stop thinking about what Alex said. It figures that he would blame the whole thing on a guy. He’s never liked any of Paige’s boyfriends. I think her sex tape scandal was more traumatic for him than for Paige. Still, Paige was nuts about James, and people do crazy things for love. If he told her to ditch us, she probably would have. What kind of a jerk makes his naive girlfriend abandon everyone who loves her? It’s disgusting. I step outside the bar and dial Paige’s number. “Hello?” I can hear loud, electronic music blaring behind her. “We need to talk about James Jackson.” “Huh? Sorry, who is this?” “It’s Hannah. Your best friend.” She must have made it into another room, because the background noise clears out. “Hannah?” she says. “What do you want?” She sounds annoyed. I can only assume that with a few drinks in her and no one watching, she’s free to stop acting like I’m her darling.
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“James Jackson,” I say. “Did he change you? Did you trade us for him?” “What are you talking about?” she groans. Suddenly, her voice is alert. “Hannah, No! I don’t know what you’re thinking, but stop. Don’t even think about it.” I sigh, loud and breathy, into the phone. “Where are you?” she asks, frantic now. “Just stop! I’ll come get you. We can talk.” I hang up the phone. The night air feels pleasantly cool on my skin. The tension I’ve been carrying in my neck all afternoon has dispersed. I’ve had a few moments like this in my life, where I know so clearly what I have to do that it has a calming effect. The Allen Peterson thing in high school was the same. I was angry, sure, but the solution was so obvious that my heart rate barely rose the entire time. I feel completely at peace, and the only logical thing to do is to go straight to the airport. I need to book a seat on the next flight to L.A. In the airport lounge, I pull Celeb Beat out of my purse. It’s the normal thing to do while waiting for a flight, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself. There are interviews with all of the stars of Paige’s show: Steven, who was the eighth runner up on the third season of The Bachelorette, Randi, who apparently had a hit single in 1997. I flip right to Paige, even though I read most of it this morning. Actress Paige Harper, best known for her role on the Emmy Winning drama Open Heart, hopes her childhood gymnastics lessons will come in handy on Flippin’. While she looks like the classic Hollywood bombshell, Harper doesn’t shy away from her Canadian roots. Then comes her garbage rant about frolicking in Stanley Park. “She’s from Surrey, you know. Surrey,” I say, nudging the man beside me.
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stephanie peters He’s got to be about sixty. The kind of man who wears a hat, not because it’s fashionable but because he comes from a time where men wore hats, same as they wear pants. He probably wears it every day. “She never even went to Stanley Park till she was fifteen,” I continue. “I know it for a fact.” He smiles, gently. “That’s nice, dear.” “Wait a second!” I push the magazine into his face. “That’s him! She mentions him!” My finger is glued to a point on the page. “Since her very public break up with musician James Jackson in 2008, Harper has kept her love life out of the spotlight. ‘It was hard going through that in the public eye,’ she admits. ‘But there hasn’t been much of a love life to hide since then. James was my first true love. My soul mate.’” “Sounds like she isn’t over him,” he says. He’s right. “What do you think she’d do if something bad was going to happen to him?” I ask. He raises his eyebrows. “Who knows? Women in love can do strange things.” I can only nod, solemnly. I am suddenly wondering what I would do if someone were going to hurt Alex. I’ve tried to poison Mindy twice. Just little things; expired mayonnaise, cat litter – enough for an upset stomach. He caught me both times and stopped me, but didn’t tell her. He didn’t stop seeing me, either. I focus my thoughts on Paige and James. She might call the police. This could be my last poisoning. It doesn’t dissuade me at all. I feel a firm hand on my arm and I know it’s all over. It’s the authorities. Paige has called them already, told them everything. I’m going to jail. Possibly forever, because one person died. A very bad man. No one is sorry he’s dead, but I killed him. “Hannah! There you are!”
prose
It’s Alex. He’s here, in the airport, and he has Jayden in some kind of backpack. He catches me staring at the kid. Jayden is four. His arms and legs are hanging all over the place. Alex looks like an octopus man with all these extra floppy limbs. “I had to bring him. Mindy’s at Tae Kwon Do.” “How long can you carry him in that?” “He’s in this running away phase,” says Alex. “If I put him down, he’s gone. Look, Hannah, Paige called me. She’s frantic. You can’t go through with this.” “It’s for the best,” I say. “Don’t try to stop me.” “Hannah, please. Can we talk this through?” He looks me right in the eyes, and I really want to say yes. “Why are you doing this?” “Because you’re making a mistake. I’m trying to help you.” But he’s lying. He’s doing this for her. Paige begged him to stop me, so he did. I could go talk to him, and I would like it, but Paige’s face will be hanging over us and Mindy’s kid will be hanging over us literally. “I’ll tell her you tried,” I say. I hug him, and head to my gate. As the plane lifts off, we ascend into rain clouds. For as long as I can, I look through the window at the city below. One of the cars rolling beneath me is Alex’s. One of those bright lights, growing smaller and blurrier as I rise, is Paige’s hotel room. Soon, all of it converges together and Vancouver is nothing but a wet, invisible entity. I soar over it.
“ ‘Who knows? Women in love can do strange things.’ ”
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poetry
3 AM chantal houle
You heard it said, “3 AM is the time when the veil between this world and the next, is the thinnest.� You were unsure of which other world was referred to, but you believed it. So that winter, when you visited the temporarily abandoned pier, in the middle of the night, you brought a friend. You two rarely agreed on anything, but when you sat, bundled in blankets, hair whipping your face, the clouds vanished, and you both looked up to see the same moon.
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art
or this piece, I cut my own hair and created a composition that could evoke anxiety in a viewer. I always have a feeling of unease when looking at displayed hair. It can be a great attribute to our appearance, especially for women, but when it becomes an object, detached from its environment, it creates a sense
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of disturbance. The unknown story behind the hair makes the viewer wonder, it looses its identity from the moment it’s cut. As the creator, knowing where the hair came from and the history behind the hair, I still feel discomfort looking at it. Even though this piece is a part of me, there’s a sense of alienation and I feel distant towards it.
jasmin nguyen “Anxiety of Change” 4’ x 2’ x 3’ hair installation
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jasmin nguyen
art
Presenting two works from the series Tension and Anxiety
“Anatomy of Anxiety” is made up of three pieces connected to each other with a nylon tube. The first piece, “Domino,” is made of 500 soft, plastic clothing stencils of various shapes. Stencils are bent and inserted into each other without any stitches. The idea behind this “tight looseness” is that there is a constant anxiety of one stencil snapping, which will cause the whole piece to fall apart. The process of creating it was my anxiety. “Fur” is the second piece connected to “Domino.” “Fur” represents an unknown living creature, familiar but strange. Last is the “ Blood bag” (pictured on the right).
“Anatomy of Anxiety” 15’ x 2’ x 3’ installation
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art
charis au
The Same and Not the Same 35” x 25” each Photography
Time and culture differences between my parent’s generation and mine are addressed in this piece. I took an old photo in which my father was my present age, and created a replica of me in my own context. My father’s picture was taken in Hong Kong near the building where he was working at the time. My picture was taken at the corner of a popular intersection in Steveston, British Columbia. My father was born and raised in Hong Kong and by the age of twenty-four in the 1970s, he had a steady job that allowed
him to travel to many different places in the world. In comparison, I immigrated to Canada at the age of five and grew up biking around Steveston every summer. I’m twenty-three this year, still in university, and have not travelled as extensively as he had. This contrasting idea of the two different generations allows me to address the expectations that every parent has for their children. How am I expected to be the same as my parents when our culture, time, and place are completely different?
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art
art
charis au continued…
Paths 35” x 25” Photography
Spaces create an expectation for an individual to occupy them. From this series of four places, the unmet paths are created. These places include my family kitchen, my school’s drawing studio, Richmond Centre and Aberdeen Centre. All these places create personalities in me that almost could not be overlapped. I have struggled to fit in ever since I was aware of my surroundings. I knew I was different and I was told that I am fortunate to be a part of two cultures, but this causes some identity issues. Which path should I take when none of them fit me?
Mantra to Fatties 8”x10” each Photography
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This self-portrait series is a response to a blog written by an attractive Asian female celebrity. She posted a thirty-two point list that was addressed to “fatties” and listed, in her point of view, what is needed to survive in society. This series was made by photographing the words
from her blog written on my body to signify a type of labelling. As the list progresses, each point was scrubbed off and replaced with a new point until my skin became raw. This progression imitates the idea of how each person struggles to remove ideals that are forced on them by society.
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interview
andrew lund interview by chelsea lawrick
Whether he expresses his ideas through more traditional mediums or through digital means of production, Andrew’s themes are concerned with new media and its place in society.
225 Collages (Facebook, Youtube, Twitter) digital print
ost of your recent work is digitally based, even your paintings. What is it about digital media that interests you the most? A: I am interested in how digital media is mostly contained within a flat non-space, yet still contains connotations of physicality in its interactions between individuals. Facebook and other social networks embody this idea through digital interaction between real-life friends and colleagues.
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Q: Have you always been drawn to digital mediums? A: I’ve always felt more comfortable using digital mediums over the traditional. There’s a greater range of possibilities within Photoshop and Illustrator. Growing up without access to a great variety of materials, I became appreciative of the infinite spectrum of colours and brushes that the artist could access in digital media programs.
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interview
Isolation 30 x 55”. digital print
Q: What are your thoughts on people’s digital existence, with regards to things like Facebook profiles, World of Warcraft characters, and so on? Where does the realworld person end and the digital existence begin? A: For the most part I don’t feel there is a beginning or an end to either existence. It seems the more we develop digital identities, the greater the two worlds are becoming one and the same. Interactions between friends and family
over Facebook, Skype, and Twitter can become just as meaningful as those in a physical space. We have to be careful not to judge online interactions as black and white, but rather examine it in a case-by-case approach. World of Warcraft and Second Life are good examples in which people may take it too far. But one could also view these online avatars as a more real and introspective version of their identity, expressing ideas and interests they would suppress in their every-day lives.
Q: What do you plan on doing with art after graduation? A: I want to further develop and showcase my ideas. I have always been interested in digital entertainment, such as the development of film, television, and video games. I would love to learn some of these more technical skills and reverse engineer them into a traditional art form.
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interview andrew lund
Enhance 36” x 48” acrylic on wood blocks
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poetry
Oktoberfest after Dark sylvia moore
Odours of beer and leather, and two young women startled as starlings splayed on the pavement. Revellers shuffle around them, their ruffles and bodices encapsulated with blinking lights. One holds the other’s head in her palms like a book. The other searches our faces, unknowing, limbs ragged. Her eyes heavy, flutter to the man now sweeping up the pink-lipped mascots, on a steel bridge, in the streets of Munich.
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prose
I’ve Seen What You Look Like in the Tub and You Look Ridiculous j.c. doyle non-fiction
I
f you’ve ever met me and are taller than I am, chances are I’ve pictured what you look like in the bathtub. This doesn’t have to do with your looks and certainly isn’t a sexual thing. In fact, it’s totally involuntary, and has to do with the idea that I, as a short person, feel as though I have to make up for a lot and as a result can often be overly petty. It also has to do with you being tall and being in my general vicinity, as at some point you have probably alerted me to your height by grabbing something from somewhere well out of my reach. It doesn’t matter what it was—it could have been a coat off a high hook or a book off a shelf. What does matter is that I would have probably had to jump for it, which always prompts questions like, “Do you want me to get you a stepladder?” and “Is that how the rest of the Oompa Loompas do it?” My longstanding battle with tall people, and one of the many reasons I often picture them in a bathtub, started toward the end of elementary school. My female classmates, who got most of their relationship-based advice from teen ‘zines,’ older sisters, and generic gossip, had already started to compile the attributes of their preferred, imaginary boyfriends. They wanted them funny, handsome, and with broad shoulders. They wanted their ‘men’ tall and dark-haired. All of this was discussed with much group-huddling and giggling, something that went mostly unnoticed by the boys, and almost completely ignored by me. It only made sense, though, that we wouldn’t be paying attention—at that same moment, the boys were trying to figure out what Jeff meant when he used the initialism, ‘PMS.’ Of course, it was widely believed that not even Jeff knew, however, that didn’t stop him from basking in the half-credibility allotted by the phrase, “Well, if you don’t know, then I’m not telling.” Around the same time, my classmates had all begun their growth-spurts. Tristan was a looming fivefoot-something-or-other, and his best friend Grae was not much shorter. I, on the other
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prose
hand, noted with casual indifference that I was still lurking around 4’3”. Not only was I short, I was the shortest in the class, but it didn’t matter at the time. I was living in a world where I didn’t have to duck under the drop-down blackboard to get at my cubby. Nor did I have to slouch when trying to conceal something under my desk. It wasn’t until I started attending pre-teen dances that I started to doubt the preferred status of being vertically challenged. As it turned out, the pre-teen dances were the primary source of girl-huddling and boy-attribute-list-compiling. While the boys were employing their sleuthing skills in an attempt to decode mysterious feminine initialisms, the girls were busy ranking us in terms of our worth as a dance-partner, hand-holder, and awkward first date. The highest priority on this list (once, I assume, the girls figured out nobody was old enough to own “a sweet ride,” or be “strapped with cash”) was height. As it was explained to me by one girl in particular, “The boy has to be tall so that the girl can rest her head on his shoulder.” At first, I tried to casually explain that a girl could just as easily rest her chin on my forehead, and that I thought it actually might be more comfortable for her, which is a point I still argue to this day. However, I quickly gave up after being informed that “broad shoulders are hot,” and that “big foreheads are not.” Shell-shocked, and lacking the appropriate training in mechanics and engineering to build a leg-extender device of some kind, I lodged deep within my brain the idea that ‘short’ is synonymous with ‘undesirable’. At first, while this idea permeated in my
mind, I remained a stalwart supporter of shortness. I quickly learned to work with and draw attention to my height in a way that campaigned for its superiority. “Sure,” I’d say, “I can’t dunk, but I can sit under my desk and pick the gum off the bottom without having to bend my neck.” This mode of logic persisted, and extended into other areas of my physique, such as my lack of muscles and thin body. I also learned to work with flattery, “Sure, I can’t lift eighty pounds over my head, but you can lift me over your head. I guess that makes you pretty impressive.” And, after graduating grade seven, I promoted my unique brand of ‘to-go’ boyfriendism by demonstrating how a small male could fit in a half-sized locker with a shelf in it—just in case you wanted to save him for later. This demonstration was so popular with my classmates that impromptu, repeat performances were given on an almost weekly basis. Despite my efforts, which certainly never came off as “desperate” or “funny but bordering on weird,” getting a girl to like short me seemed an insurmountable task, and as the months went on, I found myself fitting in less and fitting inside much, much more.
“ I lodged deep within my brain the idea that ‘short’ is synonymous with ‘undesirable.’ ”
I started to get depressed, but realized shortly after that I had very little experience with actually being depressed and would have to go off what I’d seen in movies. This way, I’d at least have a rough guide in regards to what I should look and act like while succumbing to the depths of my depression.
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j.c. doyle
prose
It didn’t take me long to realize two things: depressed people are not fantastic at maintaining their hairstyles, and depressed people don’t shower. The first realization was no big issue—I hated doing my hair, because I could never get my awesome bowl-cut to look the way I wanted it to. The second was a bit harder. Just over the cusp of puberty, I realized what many people at my age were realizing: my armpits reeked. Struck by the fear of being “the smelly kid in class” and unamused by the idea of being confined with such a stench while performing one of my totally voluntary locker routines, I resolved that baths were the appropriate method of sanitation for a depressed person. After all, baths are not nearly as dynamic as a shower, and can allow a depressed person to do things the way they should do everything— lying down, completely static, so that other people have a visual idea of just how dead they are inside. I did this for a while, until I realized that I’d inadvertently stumbled into a glorious version of Waterworld that was built exclusively for the height-inferior. The standard size of a bath tub is 30”x 60”, a measurement which includes the back of the tub, which is either built to prop you up at an uncomfortable 90-degree angle or slanted at 45-degrees to hoist you up a bit. I found, through various complicated bath-tub positioning experiments, that either configuration was perfect for me. If the tub had no slanted back, the water enveloped me completely and allowed me to bask as lazily as I preferred. If it did have a back, I was still short
enough that the water covered my nipples and knee-caps, which gave the whole tub the comfort of a bed and the warmth of a form-fitted electric blanket. And all of this without the annoying sound of the showerhead. This, I realized, was something my tall classmates and counterparts could never truly experience in a standard-sized bathtub. They could try, sure, but the sizing didn’t make sense to me—they’d have to dip down to stop their nipples from getting cold, which would cause their kneecaps to poke out and cool down, so they’d have to sit back up again, and the cycle would repeat until they looked like they were doing some kind of Eastern European dance in slow-mo and inevitably decided that the tub was “no place to be for someone who isn’t all static and depressed or whatever.” So, while it’s true that tall people will never have to convince anyone of the softness of their forehead, they’ll also never experience the pure bliss and maximum comfort-potential of their standard-sized tubs. And while they reach for things on shelves I’ll never come close to even grazing with my nubby little fingers, I picture them as caricatures, in their respective tubs, their knees up by their ears and their backs bent at inhuman angles, while they shift endlessly in their futile attempts to get comfortable. It always makes me laugh, it always makes me smile, and it always makes me sink just a little deeper into the canyon that is my built-to-standard tub.
“ This, I realized, was something my tall classmates and counterparts could never truly experience ”
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art
Mass Production acrylic on wall
tinja berg Just like painting is an abstract portrayal of reality, the subjects in her painting – children – are shown as being shaped and programmed by an artificial culture portrayed on TV. Tinja’s Mass Production is a monochromatic, high contrast, and static representation of the hypnotizing effects she believes television and the mass media has on our youth today.
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poetry
The Adamant Atomist amanda paananen
Dear Democritus Turns out atoms are divisible but goddamn if you weren’t close Logic presumes building blocks but forgot that nothing matters just as much Even a sentence than
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just
is more words
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poetry
The Center of the Universe amanda paananen
Copernicus
poetry
you clever bastard. Your deathbed bore the birth of science and proved God fallible once and for all. Inquisitions be damned. 1543 – the ďŹ nal fuck you. I imagine your laughter. I imagine it sounded a lot like tears. A function of celestial mechanics. A fantastically unfortunate orbit extending to even Galileo in his cell. To even Bruno on his burning stake.
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poetry
How to Survive High School taryn pearcey
The key is to remain invisible. Don’t worry about being popular, you’re not cut out for that, anyway. Instead, focus on how to disappear. Don’t worry about being popular. Forget about bright colours and stylish hair, instead focus on how to disappear. Wear hand-me-down jeans and bland sweaters, forget about bright colours and stylish hair;
Your laugh is nowhere near infectious enough
you can’t pull off the bleach-blonde look.
to earn any good attention. Shut your mouth
Wear hand-me-down jeans and bland sweaters,
so there’s less for them to poke fun at,
hide yourself beneath layers of fabric.
and absolutely don’t raise your hand in class.
You can’t pull off the bleach-blonde look:
To earn any good attention, shut your mouth.
your laugh is nowhere near infectious enough.
You shouldn’t be seen more than you need to,
Hide yourself beneath layers of fabric
so absolutely don’t raise your hand in class
so there’s less for them to poke fun at.
even if you have something to say. You shouldn’t be seen more than you need to, you’re not cut out for that, anyway. Even if you have something to say, the key is to remain invisible.
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interview
taryn pearcey writer, badassssion interview by: jon turner
o you write for self-therapy? A: Not as much as I used to. The more “therapy” related writing would have to be the writing I do in my personal journal. Otherwise the majority of my time is taken up by craft-based writing: short stories, poems, my novel. Although whenever I write about something that has happened to me, or something that is based off of something in my life, there is always the element of therapy in that I am working through the situation and the emotions involved with that situation through the writing. I’ve also found that sometimes the physical act of writing calms me down. Often I just like the feel of a notebook open on my lap or my pen in my hand.
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Q: With all your experience writing prose, have you found it harder to write in the shorter, denser poetic style? A: At first, yes, definitely. I also found that a lot of my first attempts at poems came out very narrative. I couldn’t break out of the habit of trying to tell a story. It took some experimentation and a lot of poetry reading for me to start to distinguish between a way of writing prose and a way of writing poetry. I’d say I’ve got the hang of it now; I’m able to
This April, Taryn Pearcey, a fourth-year Writing student, was awarded the David and Terry Atkinson Award at the Creative Writing Department’s annual year-end reading.
switch back and forth. However, density is still something I struggle with. I guess I’ll just never be the type of writer who is good at really tightly condensing my writing. Q: Do you prefer writing in one specific genre or style, or do you enjoy experimenting with a broad range of different forms and themes? A: I enjoy writing in any medium I can, whether that be short stories or blog posts. So long as I am writing something where I can be creative, then I’m happy. I believe experimentation is key to being innovative in writing. If, as a writer, I stop wanting to try new things, then I know I’ve become stagnant. I’ve only recently just started to become aware of the themes that I work with. Beforehand it was always something I left up to my subconscious. Now I’m starting to pay attention more to the underlying message present in the writing. Looking back at some of my past writing, and the writing I’m working on now, I’d say one of the main themes I deal with is isolation. I like to write about misfits, people who don’t quite belong in the situation that they’re in, so ultimately they are isolated from the people around them. I hardly think this will forever be the only theme I ever work with, but it has reoccurred the most in my writing thus far.
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interview Q: Your stories generally fall close to realism. Do you tend to write characters who are based on real people, or are they mostly invented? A: All of my characters are invented. I generally save writing about real people for non-fiction, though I am not opposed to borrowing from real life every once and awhile. For instance, I might pick at certain characteristics or situations from people I encounter in real life, but the rest is imagined. A lot of the fun of writing is being able to create a wide array of characters, to watch them come into shape as the writing goes along. Q: Have any of your stories ended up wildly different from your original intentions? A: That pretty much describes how my endings turn out for every story. My creative process does not involve a lot of planning ahead. Usually I start from one line or one initial idea and see where it takes me from there. I find that if I do write with an ending in mind, I either end up with something completely different from what I originally intended, or I get frustrated in trying to write towards that ending. For instance, I once had an ending scene in mind where a father makes an emotional reveal to his teenage son in the car as he’s driving him home. What I ended up with was the son being nearly 30 and driving the car, and hardly anything being said between them. Not only that, but the story leading up to that moment completely changed as well. Q: What’s your editing process like? Do you revise while you write the work, or do you let it sit for a few days before you revisit it? A: With short stories and poems I tend to revise as I write until I at least have a completed draft. Then I will go back and revise the piece as a
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whole. I tried doing this initially with my novel, but found it was causing me a significant amount of trouble. If I kept starting over every time I didn’t like one scene, it would have taken me forever to get one chapter done. So now I will plow through and write an entire chapter until it’s finished, then take that as a reference to go in and fix what’s needed. I need time in between, just to let ideas settle in my brain. Q: What is the hardest part of writing a novel? A: I think the hardest part of writing a novel for me is the length of the project. I have attempted a couple of novel-sized projects in the past, and they didn’t turn out so well. I started great and with a lot of energy, and then around the third chapter or so I started to burn out. In a short story I create a moment out of someone’s life, but in a novel I am creating multiple lives, and complete ones at that. I have to know every little detail that I might need to use in the project, and even all the details that I won’t even end up using. It’s also a lot of planning, and generally I am not a writer who plans things ahead. Basically I am dealing with a lot of inexperience on my part. I really don’t know what I’m doing, and there is no manual that tells you exactly how to write a novel. (Well, there may be some out there, but I doubt they’re helpful.) I don’t know how to manage a timeline, how much action to add, how much backstory to include ... I have to trust my instinct a lot, and that in itself is tough to do. Q: Do you think the ubiquity of services like Twitter has shortened our collective literary attention spans?
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interview
A: Twitter and such things may have affected the attention spans and grammar of certain people, but not humans collectively. I think Twitter probably appeals to some people, but those who long for more will definitely go out and seek larger stimulus. Twitter and literature are still far removed, and I hope it stays that way. Q: Does it bother you a little when poorly written books/shows/movies become popular? A: Yes and no. It makes me upset that things like these are more valued than high literature by the general population, but at the same time with so much of that poorly-written stuff around, it makes the good stuff stand out more. It also helps to inspire me in the sense that if things like Twilight can be published, there’s hope for me. Q: What’s the strangest, but most effective writing advice you have ever been given? A: There is a line that I got out of one of Aislinn Hunter’s lectures (that she says she took from someone else as well) that has been really influential in my writing. “Kill your darlings.” Not only is it great writing advice, but it’s worded in such a wonderfully macabre way that it has been permanently tattooed onto my brain. Basically it refers to lines that we may fall in love with when we write them, but that otherwise do nothing, or perhaps even hinder, the rest of the writing. Just because writing sounds great does not mean it should be kept around. It’s one of my favourite pieces of advice I have ever received, and I aim to pass it along to as many other writers as I can.
A: I would do it on two conditions. One, it would have to be something I still got some sort of enjoyment out of, or else I’d get bored pretty quickly. And two, I would have to still be able to have writing be my main passion and side-career. Q: Do you think of yourself as a distinctly Canadian or even a British Columbian writer? A: I’m not sure if I classify as either of those in regards to my voice or tone or anything like that, but I think I would definitely classify as a British Columbian writer in the sense that the majority of what I write is set in BC, or at least has reference to it. That being said, I’m sure that some of the neighbourhoods I write about could be relatable to any number of readers, whether Canadian or not. Q: Now that you’ve more-or-less chosen your career path, do you have any regrets? A: It is one of my life mantras to never have any regrets. Currently, I’d say that I don’t have any, because I feel that over the past year or so I’ve gained a stronger discipline and understanding in regards to what a writing career entails. If nothing else, I am dedicated to trying to make it work as a career. The one thing I know for sure is that I’ve only got this one life, and if I didn’t at least try to do what I love for a living, then I would definitely regret it later on.
Q: If you were given the chance to do creatively unrewarding work for a ton of money, would you do it?
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art
kirsten sedore
Self-Portrait
1” x 5” each Photography 35mm film
I find the most challenging but fulfilling part of making art is the process, not the result. With my self portrait I’d like to say I planned it out perfectly and created a representation of myself that was intentional. That is not the case. I went in having no idea what I wanted or what I
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was going to get. The idea formed for me in the process. I ended up making a stack of test strips in attempt to get the perfect print but ended up liking them better than the final result. Using the same negative, I printed three separate test strips at different exposures and ended
up with three different images. Even though it’s a static image, the repetition and variation in scale and exposure captures the process I fully intended to make. It encompasses the errors and imperfections that are inevitable in the process of getting to the end result.
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6/14/12 4:35:16 PM
editorial
Assumptions about the Psychology of an Artist
Apathetic Prowess
ithout darkness there is no light. This can be understood as a visual truth; a highlight can’t exist without dark contrast on the page next to it. When considered as a metaphor, it can be extrapolated to stereotype an artist. The creative inspiration, or “light,” is often seen as being fueled by melancholy, or darkness. This stereotype is supported and encouraged by psychological studies that stem from Carl Jung’s research on the “shadow self.” It also emerges in many mythological narratives, such as Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ story, “The Wolf’s Eyelash,” which is a metaphorical illustration about taking the risk of looking into the shadows to illuminate the truth within oneself, as well as the wisdom to notice it in others. Many literary works discuss how an individual’s dark side influences divergent thinking and creativity. The idea is that in order for an individual to be whole and to allow for creative expression to freely emerge, one must recognize and accept the bad with the good, the
ugly in the beautiful, the sorrow that exemplifies joy through its contrast, and the faults required for perfection to exist. Thus, highly creative individuals are then sometimes seen as complex, polarized and perhaps moody or apathetic.
acceptable documentation of artwork 300dpi, proper lighting, minimal Photoshop adjustments
NOT acceptable documentation of artwork Poor lighting, camera not “square” with art, shadows & glare.
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However, if there is any truth in the idea that some artists are apathetic as a condition for exploring the negative side that exists in all of us, then there is a power to be found within the weariness. Although it may sound like I’m encouraging artists to indulge in a state of apathy for the sake of creative inspiration, caution needs to be advised: Please do NOT remain apathetic when it comes to documenting your artwork. (We want to be able to publish your genius and can’t if your photos are bad). Thank you. With much love, from your Publishing Editor.
(Artwork for demonstration purposes, It Matters by Debbie Langtry)
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art
ROZ
Untitled (The Wall) 8’ x 8’ installation Clay and straw
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My current work discusses virginity and its influence on my personal life. If they have broken their hymens, Muslim brides can face serious consequences depending on their familys’ and/or in-laws’ religious backgrounds. Hymenoplasty has become popular amongst young upper-middleclass Muslim females who have the luxury of undergoing this expensive procedure in order to get married within their own community. For the past few of years, I have questioned the morality
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art
of this surgery, and considered it to secure my future and to protect my family’s reputation. In The Wall I have a small amount of tea in the cup to highlight the importance of virginity, for the tea is only enough for one to sip.
Untitled 12” x 12” each Fabric, pork jerky, beef jerky
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interview
lisa king interview by: rhea paez uch of the work you’ve produced this semester are photographic images, and being a student who has dabbled in different kinds of art forms, what made you decide to employ photography as an art medium? A: I am a professional photographer working in the field of photojournalism. I wanted to use photography because I found it the most powerful to get my messages across. Unlike the literal form of photojournalism, I was able to work conceptually and push my statements farther than just documentation of events.
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Top photo:
Bedroom Right photo series:
United
Q: In Bedroom, the juxtaposition with the toys and the gun make for an interesting conversation on gun violence. What do you
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think about Bill C-19 that recently came into effect this past April, which no longer requires people to register non-restricted firearms? Did this Bill, in any way, inspire you to create work on this subject matter? A: Bill C-19 applies only to long guns such as rifles and shotguns. These firearms are primarily used as tools for hunting, not criminal acts. Long guns are unpractical for criminals therefore the registry really was more of a burden in cost than help in gun safety. In Canada, special training and registration is needed to acquire a restricted firearm or handgun resulting in fewer gun deaths through the power of education. Bill C-19 did not influence me, but instead a story of a three-year-old child from Washington who fatally shot himself in the family car while
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interview his parents stopped for gas. The juxtaposition of the child’s toys and the gun gets the viewers attention. I wanted to draw on the importance of safety rather than the stigma of firearms.
semester that helped inspire the piece representing the political dynamic between Canada and its North American partner. I wanted to make this piece visually striking, and let the viewer come to their own conclusion of its meaning.
Q: Your piece United compares the characteristics of Canada vs the United States in terms of how they govern. What is it about this subject matter that compelled you to create artwork about it? A: Due to the nature of my work, I am a current events junkie. I have a strong passion for military history and relevance. I was also taking a political geography class last
Q: Are these themes something you think you will continue to explore with your art in the future? A: Yes, definitely. I started the semester off with the theme of death. Three out of four pieces were politically inspired; news crossed with fine art to get my point across. I have a lot more works brewing for next semester and my own projects to come.
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art
bri harrison
ri’s work is often shocking in nature. At first, viewers may not believe what they have just seen. At second glance, they notice everyday objects intermingled with raunchy pornography and potentially used tampons. This discomfort is what the artist strives for. About this reaction, Bri says she enjoys making viewers feel “uneasy or overexposed.”
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Perception of Pain 60 x 60”. mixed media on panel
Her work is created using painting, collage, and found objects. She is heavily influenced by modern artists and has said that she “[feels hesitant towards] and somewhat reject[s] the movement towards digital art.” Regarding her aesthetic process, she pens, “I am interested in popular culture and consumerism, and the effect they have on mass culture. Pornography and the exploitation of human sexuality are of great interest to me because of their absurdness and influences on society. The repetition in my work relates to the repetitiveness we see in advertising and mass media.”
Flaccid and Erect 60 x 40”. mixed media on panel
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6/14/12 2:15:53 PM
art
Pornography and Cotton Underwear 24 x 24”. mixed media on canvas
A perfect example of this style of repetition is her work Pornography and Cotton Underwear. About this piece, she writes, “I am not interested in how mass produced images become a part of one’s identity. In this piece I expose the contradiction between an average woman and the overproduced pornographic icon. The highly erotic found images relate to the standards society [places] on
female sexuality. Men are overexposed to these images and [have] standards that are unachievable to most, unless undergoing surgery. The cotton ‘granny panties’ are juxtaposed with pornography. The average woman in North America is a size 14, as are the underwear in my work. Society has labeled this type of underwear as unisexual and ugly, although most women wear them. They have become
an icon in consumer culture as the opposite appeal of a pornstar.” To Bri, art is not about a pretty object, but about the conversation. In her words, “Art is not meant to mystify the viewer but to allow the viewer to question. Art is a critique on society, not a pat on its back. Art is meant to expose falsehood and expose truth, not to beautify and sugar coat it.”
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