SHEI Magazine // Winter 2021 by SHEI Magazine

Standford Lipsey Student Publications Building 420 Maynard St, Ann Arbor, MI 48109

NATALIE GUISINGER COLLEEN JONES Editor-in-Chief

Creative Director EVAN PARNESS

Publisher

Marketing Director KIRA MINTZER

Operations Director DRISHA GWALANI

Design Editors CARLY LUCAS MACKENZIE SCHWEDT

Print Fashion Editors NICK FARRUGIA JUAN MARQUEZ

Print Features Editor DEIRDRE LEE

Print Photography Editors KATIE CORBETT RYAN LITTLE

Video Editor KENDALL KA

Digital Fashion Editor JACOB WARD

Digital Features Editor MELINA SCHAEFER

Digital Photography Editor RITA VEGA

Finance Coordinators ALEX CHESSARE DEESHA SHAH

Events Coordinator ALEX MCMULLEN

Managing Photo Editor ALEX ANDERSEN

Street Style Editor LUCY CARPENTER

Human Resources Coordinator JULIA NAPIEWOCKI

Social Media Coordinators ELIZABETH HALEY HANNAH TRIESTER

Public Relations Coordinators MACKENZIE FLEMING GILLIAN YANG

Digital Content Editor ALEX STERCHELE

Design Team

Camille Andrew, Helen Lee, Sophie Levit, Tung Tung Lin, Halley Luby, Gabi Mechaber, Yuki Obayashi, Emma Peterson, Taylor Silver

Fashion Team

Sophie Alphonso, Josie Burck, Kailana Flora Dejoie, Chloe Erdle, Isabelle Fisher, Tavleen Gill, Amanda Li, Ivy Li, Karly Madey, Claire Manor, Peter Marcus, Courtney Mass, Noor Moughni, Natalia Nowicka, Sarah Ory, Abigail Rapoport, Jacob Sweat, Dhruv Verma, Caroline White, Megan Young, Abigail Ziemkowski

Features Team

Tahani Almhujahid, Brooklyn Blevins, Lauren Champlin, Melissa Dash, Benjamin Decker, Catherine Heher, Janice Kang, Neha Kotagiri, Meera Kumar, Scotty Lockwood, Annie Malek, Heba Malik, Will Neumaier, Tiara Partsch, Lucy Perrone, Jessica Ramirez, Ava Shapiro, Hannah Triester, Patience Young

Photography Team

Lauren Berman, Rosalie Comte, Gabriella Ceritano, Nick Daniel, Korrin Dering, Calin Firlit, Jenna Frieberg, Frances Gu, Maggie Innis, Kendall Ka, Devon Kelly, Youmna Khan, Anders Lundin, Gabrielle Mack, Karly Madey, Becca Mahon, Samantha McLeod, Paulina Rajski, Webb Sarris, Sureet Sarau, Edmund Tian, Rithi Vaithyanathan, Ally Vern, Fern Sirapa Vickaikul, Hannah Yoo

Videography Team

Sara Cooper, Grant Emenheiser, Macy Goller, Madeline Kim, Hannah Mutz, Sam Rhao, Lisa Ryou

Finance Team

Laura O’Connor, Sophia Gajdjis, Siena van der Steen-Mizel, Annie Varellas, Xiaolei Wang

Human Resources Team Julia Barofsky, Sena Kaddurah, Sean Marshall, Izzy Tuchmann

Public Relations Team

Devon Mann, Caroline Martino, Daphne Patton, Rachel Pordy, Jarryn Shin, Mya Steir

Events Team

Sophia Afendoulis, Ava Ben-David, Annie Cooper, Amanda Engels, Caroline Martino, Rachel Rock, Mia Scalia

Social Media Team

Halle Dretler, Nadia Elnaggar, Nina Fazio, Apoorva Gautam, Julia Goldish, Sofie Harb, Neha Kotagiri, Carolyn Soltz, Makena Torrey

Digital Content Team

Nicole Belans, Lily Cho, Benjamin Decker, Mallory Demeter, Judy Effendi, Nicole Kim, Olivia Miller, Jason Moy, Tess Perry, Lucy Price

IN THIS ISSUE 06

MMXXI

NATURALLY OPPOSED

REALIZING REALISM

A LIFE LIVED

FREEDOM OF THE ABSTRACT

THE BEAUTY OF A BLANK CANVAS

TABLEAU IN RED, BLUE, AND YELLOW

LET’S MAKE BAD ART

TEMPO

EXHIBITIONISM: NUDE ART IN THE DIGITAL AGE

<h1> CYBERPUNK </h1>

DREAMING OF THE ORDINARY

PAROXYSM

SHEI Magazine Editor’s Note, 2021 Winter Print Issue You step into a museum. The bright, open, and didactic space encourages you to wander through and allow yourself a moment of introspection or inspiration. Although museums are expertly designed with subtle cues for an attendee to be guided through, every person’s experience is their own. Some people sit down and study an old master. Others take selfies in front of modern pop art. Not only is the act of engaging with a museum up to the individual, but the ability to interpret the art in your own way is an act of power and autonomy. In this print issue, our shoots celebrate this act of autonomy by re-interpreting art movements from the past, present, and future. We invite you to wander through our Exhibition. The journey begins with MMXXI, where we bring art to life within the UMMA. Inspired by the Baroque period, the dresses drip with maximalism, as the ornate patterns accentuate regality and evoke hints of King Louis XIV’s Palace of Versailles. The regality shifts to Realism in Naturally Opposed. While certain art movements prioritize glamour and aesthetics above all, we renounce this notion by representing daily life. In the shoot’s accompanying features writer William Neumaier states in Realizing Realism that “while Realism isn’t always ‘realistic’ in the visual sense of how we perceive things, it is real in the way that we understand them; and it can be quite refreshing to realize the Realism that’s all around us” (19). While reality may sometimes be as beautiful as the ideal, the beauty of art itself may be the fact that we perceive it in any way we choose. Throughout millenia, humans’ cherishment towards art has led to its immortalization. In Heba Malik’s A Life Lived, Malik converses between three paintings and delves into themes of childhood, love, aging, and memory. The journey of seeking out meaning continues in Freedom of the Abstract, where simplicity and boldness are what bring beauty to this Collaborative project. In The Beauty of a Blank Canvas, features writer Annie Malek states that “while complex and colorful beauty can be more obvious, searching for simplistic beauty can be more effortful because you have to first detach yourself from society’s beauty standards in order to see it” (28). Beauty in simplicity carries on into Tableau in Red, Blue and Yellow. Inspired by the avant-garde art movement De Stijl (translating to “the style” in Dutch), we took a playful

approach to abstraction with existing geometric, primarycolored shapes. While we experience the COVID-19 pandemic and stay in quarantine, a rise in individuality and creative, nonjudgemental expression has led to dedicated and earnest work. In Tiara Partsch’s Let’s Make Bad Art, Partsch examines how art has become “a form of community healing” (43). This rise in experimental self-expression and experimentation is especially prevalent among youth culture. Tempo, short for Contemporary, expresses Gen Z’s rebellion against traditional norms of beauty and fashion standards. While we remain socially-distant, we are relating to our bodies in a different way as something to relish, embrace, and celebrate. A rise in self-documentation and embracing our sexuality and bodies leads to a rise in self-confidence in Patience Young’s piece Exhibitionism: Nude in the Digital Age. Although we are making great progress with our self image and the celebration of diverse bodies, many artists still suffer from self-doubt; the voice inside of their heads nagging them that they can be better. What does this demon, innersaboteur look like? In <h1>Cyberpunk</h1>, we interpret them as futuristic punksters; their direct gazes challenge the viewer to reinterpret what is art. Although it is easy to get into a bad headspace about your own art and creativity, art can be a healing connection to oneself. In Tahani Almujahid’s Dreaming of the Ordinary, Almujahid interprets modern Yemini art to connect with her heritage. “I dream this dream constantly, and it always ends the same. I am always there — where my roots begin and connect in a painting, as if I am a plant that has absorbed the elixir of love and the ordinary” (65). Finally, we project ourselves 2000 years into the future in Paroxysm. The distorting uncertainty is visually unleashed into a surreal conversation and balance of what is real versus what is not real. Even though we will not be around, what will last of us? What is our legacy? It is inevitable that the artist will die. But the art endures, and the art will live in and among us. This print issue is a celebration of the art and its makers, and one of the many examples of how creativity and art will always persist, even though we cannot.

Natalie Guisinger Editor-In-Chief

SHEI Magazine Exhibition, 2021 Winter Print Issue When you read the word “art”, I’m sure associations attached to your definition of art surfaced to the forefront of your mind with perhaps specific words, images, or historical locations or movements. As encompassing or sparse as your definition of art may be, someone else’s conception of “art” can overlap your own, even mirror it, or theirs could be as disparate from yours as possible. The idea of what is “art” is clearly an abstract term, and rightfully so. Based upon interpretations of both artist and audience, art is perceived, cherished, scorned, admired, ruined. Despite what we as humans do to add our own mark into the universal definition of art, art will always exist, but for what? This issue of the magazine attempts to find an answer(s) to this question. By using the traditional method of exhibiting our own art in this issue, we try to expand, break, build, and redefine our own definitions and understandings of art. Through this, our writers discover the obvious as well as sometimes forgotten histories of art. In each article, we reflect on art movements in order to revive, rediscover, and highlight their legacies. Some of the articles look back to

previous art history movements to understand how they have influenced modern art, while others amplify the creative abilities of those who often are excluded from conversations about art and are largely invisible. We credit the art and artists in our conversations to spotlight the work that’s already been created, and we hope our words inspire you to make your own mark. As Exhibition progresses, what we as a magazine defines as art shifts, turns, and takes different forms on each page. Our definition expands to encompass all that we share, as well as the implications our articles and images suggest to you. However you interpret our conclusions, we implore you to contemplate your own definition of art. Consider what’s included, excluded, covert, overt. Examine your own relationship with art. Identify what you see in this issue, and just as you’ll digest your findings, we hope you find the art in, around, and within you.

Deirdre Lee Print Features Editor

MMXXI

Concept & Styling Nick Farrugia Juan Marquez Photography Katie Corbett Ryan Little Evan Parness Graphic Design Gabi Mechaber Modeling Kali Hightower Juan Marquez Location The University of Michigan Museum of Art

Helen Frankenthaler, Sunset Corner, 1969, Acrylic on canvas.

Joan Mitchell, White Territory, 1970-1971, Oil on Canvas.

Dorothea Rockburne, Fire Engine Red, 1967, Wrinkle finish paint (oil) on aluminum.

Mark Bradford, Untitled, 2005, Mixed Media collage

Left: Chris Ofili, Odessy 11, 2019, Oil, gold leaf, and graphite on linen. Right: Grace Hartigan, Tarzana, 1987, Oil on canvas.

REALIZING REALISM REALIZING REALISM REALIZING REALISM What is Realism? Is it something that resembles so-called “reality”? Is it something that appears to be “realistic”? Does it present “real” subjects in “real” scenarios? Depending on the geographical, political, temporal, social, and cultural context, as well as the medium within which the “realism” is being discussed, the word can carry a number of different meanings and connotations. Yet, it is widely used to describe a type of art, whether literary, painterly, filmic, or otherwise, that strives to represent its subject matter in a truthful manner and present unidealized representations. As my classes began this semester, I realized a similar theme developing among all of them: this persistence of Realism in the arts. It’s an idea that is visible even before it’s conscious acceptance (or lack thereof) in mid-19th century Paris, all the way until the present day. In my art history class centered around the Realism and Impressionism movements, we discussed the work of artists such as Courbet and Millet and the way in which they rebelled against the status quo of the day, depicting real people doing real things, such as stonebreakers breaking big rocks into small rocks (The Stonebreakers 1849), or peasant women gleaning wheat after the harvest (The Gleaners 1857). These artists renounced the favored styles of the Salon, which presented life in idealized and artificial fashions, preferring rather to depict the people and their métiers in an ordinary, unembellished way. These representations often worked to political effects as well, presenting peasants and low forms of labor on a shocking scale, calling attention to their newfound power in France’s Second Republic.

Bazin, André. “The Myth of Total Cinema,” 21.

16 SHEI Magazine

Yet it wasn’t just the history of painting and print culture where I noticed the presence of realist principles. My film theory class began with discussions of realist film theory and the writings of authors like André Bazin and Siegfried Kracauer, the former of which believed that an essential motivation in the original inception of the cinematic medium and its illusion of motion was an “integral realism”1. In other words, Bazin posited that the inventors of the cinema were motivated by a desire to recreate reality through the lens of a movie camera.

This realist approach to cinema, however, is a theme that would be expanded upon throughout much of film history, a lineage and development I would discover further through my film history classes. Artists would move beyond strict attempts to recreate reality, seeking what I would argue is a more noble pursuit of representing reality not just of vision and recreation, but a reality of burden

and truth that can create a sense of representation and acknowledgement for relegated audiences. The Italian neorealists of the 1940s and 50s prioritized stories concerning the poor and working-class people, often shooting films on location, with nonprofessional actors, frequently with some sort of political underpinnings or morals. One could draw many comparisons between the work of painters like Gustave Courbet and Jean-François Millet and the films of directors like Roberto Rossellini or Vittorio De Sica; all of these artists presented everyday people taking part in everyday activities, trying to make it in the often harsh and unforgiving world around them. These works showed people that their struggles were real and valid, and that life doesn’t necessarily mirror the idealized narrative that other art often represented. Even furthermore, fast forwarding to the late 1960s and 1970s, I noticed realist elements in much of the American cinema of the time, specifically in the American New Wave and New Hollywood movements. Films by directors such as Francis Ford Coppola, Robert Altman, and Bob Rafelson took heavy influence from the French New Wave, attempting to present scenarios that were more objective. These films were frequently self-aware, experimenting with form and style, and inspired by this idea of film authorship. They presented characters who were uncertain and often unmotivated, in loose narratives filled with ambiguity and openness. A prime example being Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) in The Graduate (Mike Nichols, 1967) who is lost in a state of uncertainty as he grapples to figure out what he wants to do with his life after his recent graduation from college.

Concept & Styling Isabelle Fisher Karly Madey Courtney Mass Abby Rappaport Photography Alex Andersen Karly Madey Videography Grant Emenheiser Graphic Design Helen Lee Modeling Mari Escobar Helena Grobel

All of these examples, regardless of their medium, movement, or time period, strove to present real people experiencing real struggles and situations; from the oft-relegated peasantry and their difficult forms of manual labor, to the toil of breaking free from a post-World War II despair of oppression and poverty, to the psychological isolation and alienation of modern youth — these artists were creating something real. They wanted to represent the marginalized everyday people and their strife, straying away from the idealized representations of classical and romantic art movements and the glamorous, idolized movie stars and stories strictly aimed at satisfying the masses. In this way I argue that we can frame Realism as something broader than just an art movement or theme throughout film history to be a mentality of meaningful, purposeful art that presents real people and their real trials. We can think of modern films such as Bong Joon Ho’s Parasite, Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight, or Chloé Zhao’s new film Nomadland, which presents “a unique portrait of outside existence.”2 We can look at the work of artists like Jordan Casteel, a modern artist who presents her subjects in their natural environments, chronicling the human experience through community engagement, or Aliza Nisenbaum who uses vibrant colors and scale in her paintings to show the community and their everyday struggles and efforts, recently focusing on the healthcare community and their tireless efforts during the pandemic. While these works may appear stylistically different, they maintain a unifying sense of truth through stories and conflicts. Because of this, audiences can relate to and feel for the characters on a more personal level than the romanticized mush, that, while beautiful on the surface, often lacks this sincere candor which realism in art can present. Even though these artists may not always present their subjects and pieces through a perfectly “realistic” visual lens, in terms of the degree to which they parallel the way that life looks, I would argue they achieve an integral essence of Realism. It’s a ealism of truth and representation, a humanistic realism of difficulty, a realism that rejects the idealized representations that plague so much of our modern media and bog audiences down with unrealistic expectations and worldviews. It strives to represent the people, struggles, and situations of the world that are forgotten and not always apparent. Realism is refreshing, yet not always in a relieving manner. It shows that life is hard and isn’t always an idealized fairytale with a textbook happy ending. So, whether it’s in films, paintings, literature, music, or anything else, Realism can offer us a valuable window into the less represented, the marginalized, and the difficult. It can offer the audience a chance to witness something unidealized and true, something they can relate to on a non-superficial level. It can be an invigorating sense of truth so often unrepresented in our modern media landscapes. Therefore, while Realism isn’t always “realistic” in the visual sense of how we perceive things, it is real in the way that we understand them; and it can be quite refreshing to realize the Realism that’s all around us.

By William Neumaier Layout by Helen Lee

Rooney, David. “‘Nomadland’: Film Review.” The Hollywood Reporter.

Exhibition 19

A Life Lived “Art depicts life, however real or abstract. By extension, then, life itself is art”

Innocence ––––––– The painting is quiet, almost bland at first sight. But the viewer finds themself gazing at it longingly in the shadows of museum hallways. They always come back. The girl sits alone in a dull green field, eyes fixated on a dark building with a billowing chimney on the horizon. One can assume it is home for her. The sky is a gradient of gray and white. To the girl’s right, a flimsy wire fence; to her left, an imagined expanse of more dull green. She’s donned in a salmon-colored dress, cinched at the waist with a thin black belt. White tights feed into light gray shoes. Take a look at her bottom half, she’s relaxed. Her upper half, though, is alert, primal. One hand supports and one reaches forward into the grass, looking, searching, yearning for something unbeknownst to the viewer. That is what the viewer will see. That is what they will think.

She sat on the wind-flattened grass, gleefully aware of the rebellious green stubs that found their way into her sock-clad feet, down the neckline of her birthday dress, and in the soft space behind her knees. She watched those blades of grass evolve, changing colors under the soft caresses of the wind. And soon, the velvet field evaporated and condensed into a prismatic river stream lit by sunset. Dark paint strokes outlined where water separated for rock. Rainbows danced along rumbling streams, their toes dipping into the water to feel the current’s massage. Waterfall droplets rose as sustenance for air, and she flew with them. The vices of secret night reading had whispered in her ear stories of gods, dryads, and tiny winged creatures. As she looked around her wild world, she saw them. Her stream, a river god, her favorite weeping willow, a nymph in disguise, and every flutter in the air, a fairy’s wings. This was her world and hers alone. Nothing else mattered.

Wyeth, Christina’s World, 1948

Exhibition 21

Intoxication ––––––– Art takes man from innocence to wickedness like a narrow wooden boat adrift on the Nile. The painting is as detailed as the imagination. Trees sprawl with uninhibited growth. Every green and pastel that biology lets us see lives in the canvas. A young woman tackles the air on a swing. An enraptured man watches as her skirt billows in the wind. Step closer to the canvas and let your fingers graze the mountains and valleys of the paint. Do you see the glint in her eyes? Suffused with mischief–the look of a siren as a sailor falls. She knows his eyes follow her legs, so she swings higher, lifting her legs to meet the sun. Cupid watches in the corner. His eyes twinkle.

A line of quicksilver, suspended in air, painted the way to him. It led through cobblestone streets and empty cafes. She followed it through the ragged clouds across the sky and along sea horizons. And finally, she found herself on a swing with her feet pointed daintily to the sky. Her lover under her, watching, waiting, relishing. Bathed in wet sunlight, she swung. Forward and then back. As she flew, the quicksilver ribbon snaked up the sides of the braided rope that held the swing, down the willow still damp with dew, across the forest floor, and to the man it had seeked for years. The ribbon tied itself to his stretched leg like a garter belt.

In an instant, her lover became a part of her, like ink diffusing into clear water. He later led her through the evergreen trees. The night breathed warmth back into the air and set fireflies loose to light the path. And like a hatching egg, the darkness cracked and gave way to light. Her eyes finally took him in, slowly, lazily. Dressed in nothing but gold, he rendered everything around him dull. The light dimmed, the sky darkened, and he danced. He turned his back to her, and in the contour of his Renaissance flesh, she saw where gold met body, where his and her world intersected. The air between them was not merely a negative space between solids. It was electric and volatile and so sharp it could have pierced hearts. Put enough pressure on it, air particles would have turned to diamond. Go further and diamond would have crumbled into sand so perfect it could have melted into glass. Faces met and became one. They shared the same breath and detected the fragrance of each other’s souls. Their love, newly borne only minutes ago, blossomed and bloomed into adulthood. Like lithe ice-skaters, they glided over and under each other. Fingers anchored themselves to keep body in body. Sounds muffled to keep noise from crawling into the world. There they stayed, drifting through the river of time, until he whispered, ragged breath warming her face, “Hold my life for me.” And ceased.

Fragonard, The Swing, 1767

22 SHEI Magazine

Wisdom ––––––– The third piece in the collection is one of solids, of securities. An old woman sits on a black wooden chair facing away from curious eyes. Her feet lightly rest on a thin stool. Aged hands tightly grasp a satin napkin. Silver hair sits tightly tucked behind ears. In the foreground, dark drapes flirt with the wooden paneling of the floor, a print of a city skyline attaches itself to the wall just to the left of her silhouette. Another print peaks out at the edge of the frame. A deeper glance reveals the rippling of dress fabric and the intricate lace of cobwebs hushed in room corners. Trace her profile with your eyes and muse on the lines of life in her face, the crinkles at the corner of eyes that hold decades of laughter. She is stoic yet alive with the familiar old beat of pleasure inside her body.

I have lived a good life, no doubt. I’ve danced and loved and grieved. But I know that once I die and once everyone who knows me has died, I will cease to exist. My being will simply dissolve into sand. So, I tell my story to you, Viewer. That way, the dust born of my end can be blown into glass. Unfortunately, you only get one of the five senses when you look at this still of me, so let me gift you the other four. Listen closely and you can hear my second favorite grandchild play the piano like it’s elemental: solid one minute and air the next. The air smells fresh, like spring in the country. My tongue still tastes the skins of blueberries and the flour of pie crust. The napkin I clutch is smooth to the touch though I roughly pick at the weak seams when I’m nervous. It’s a bad habit that’s too late to change. Death seems to be bolder now. I found her hiding behind my drapes this morning, her white silk dress peering slyly at me. She giggles more than I expected and strews excess flowers from her crown on the floor, in my bathroom, and on my bed. Her olive skin glows with health even after the sun has settled into the comfort of the sea. She startled me at first, but I was trapped in a curiosity more powerful than terror. And over time, I would like to think we have become inhabitants of the same space, our worlds pressing against each other but never overlapping. I hear her whispers in the silence of the night, reminding me of a field of magic. Her touch is that of an old lover. We hunger for food, for drink, for people, but the most savage hunger of all is a hunger for memory. The past recedes from a traveler like the shadow of land from a ship’s stern, and for the rest of the journey of life, we chase after it. But there is a beauty about old age, as well. Dying, as it is, is an existential category of life. The bulk of one’s experiences has passed through the period of the present, so the quotidian details shift toward the interior, toward reflection. We tally. We look through old

James McNeill Whistler, Arrangement in Grey and Black No. 1 (Whistler’s Mother), 1871

photographs made yellow by time. We call old friends. We try to forgive those who wronged us. We don’t usually succeed. Eventually, we reach a point where we exist in limbo, in nonexistence and memory. We will never see the images that flow past us again. None of it matters. But it all carries weight. Our memories may be fragile, but they linger, and with us among them. Death and I dance in that limbo. I lead. She follows. In my arms, we spin and twirl until the images become a silent film. We watch until the end. I tilt her head up to meet my gaze, and to her iridescent eyes, I signal a change in the dance. The elemental piano begins anew. The crescendo inches forward like a train in the mountains. She leads, and I have no choice but to follow. Art is an immortalization of life, a way to not forget the dead, and a mechanism by which to cherish the incredible certainty of the present. Our time is not measured by arbitrary dates, but by the withering of human flesh. Perhaps by now, you’ve realized that the child who sits is the girl who loved is the old woman who danced. Her’s is a story worn by experience, each a piece in a collection of time. From birth to death: a life lived.

By Heba Malik Layout by Taylor Silver

Exhibition 23

FREEDOM

of the abstract

the beauty of a BLANK The use of makeup to accentuate someone’s features has been present for years, the earliest use dating back to ~10,000 BCE with the Egyptians. This soon evolved into using different natural substances to color their eyes and cheeks and lining their eyes with kohl to create a more almond shape1. While this trend started with the Egyptians, it soon spread to the rest of the world as centuries passed. Women used corsets to cinch their waists and powders to lighten their skin, and men frequently wore heels and long hair to show their prestige. The better you looked, the greater, and richer, you were perceived. Since nice fabrics, jewelery, perfume, and cosmetics were expensive and hard to come by, they were seen as overt status symbols. Nevertheless, a lot of the beauty trends that were used at the time ended up doing more harm than good; most cosmetics were filled with toxic lead, and corsets were often laced so tight that women became faint or even developed muscle atrophy (deformation)2. Fast-forwarding throughout history, the trends continued to evolve into safer methods, leading to the fashion today.

CANVAS While this ideology started long ago, it has continued in full force to the present. The world, and the United States, in particular, are obsessed with the idea of beauty and the need for that beauty to be as complex as possible. The more fancy, lavish, and sumptuous objects someone wears, the more interesting and well-perceived they are. From bright colors, chunky shoes, gold jewelry, and layers of expensive makeup, all are currently a rage, especially if you want to be seen as “trendy” or even beautiful. Women, as well as men, now constantly feel pressure to look good all the time, and many fear even leaving their house without a full face of makeup and accessorized outfit. Simple and natural beauty can be overlooked, and even shamed, making people feel that they have to look as perfect as possible in order to be validated. Therefore, the idea of simplistic beauty needs to be normalized and appreciated more, which is more difficult than most would think. In fact, it is a scientifically proven fact that people tend to prefer complicated rather than simple, which is called the

“A History of Cosmetics from Ancient Times.” A History of Cosmetics from Ancient Times | Cosmetics Info. Accessed March 15, 2021. https:// cosmeticsinfo.org/Ancient-history-cosmetics. 2 Isaac, Susan. “The Dangers of Tight Lacing: the Effects of the Corset.” Royal College of Surgeons. Royal College of Surgeons, May 13, 2019. https://www.rcseng.ac.uk/library-and-publications/library/blog/effects-of-the-corset/. 3 “Complexity Bias: Why We Prefer Complicated to Simple.” Farnam Street. Farnam Street, June 6, 2020. https://fs.blog/2018/01/complexity-bias/. 1

Exhibition 27

complexity bias. This bias occurs most often when people are given two solutions, one simple and the other more complex, and people tend to choose the more complicated solution because the simple one seems too straightforward to actually work. The bias is fascinating because most cognitive biases lean toward the more simplistic side in order to save mental energy; to do that saving, people usually stick to what they know, or what they are told, and avoid things that may contradict themselves3. Despite this psychology, when things get too complicated, they can become chaotic. There’s often a blurry line distinguishing the boundary between them, and this transition from complicated to chaotic can happen with the simple addition of one more thing, which means that order and simplicity in some cases can actually be considered more beautiful. Take the famous Palace of Versailles, for example. It is not very tall, colorful, or even complex to the naked eye, but it is probably one of the most aesthetically pleasing buildings to have ever been built. This is due to the stacked windows, clean, cream-colored walls with gold accents, and the neatly trimmed trees and bushes that decorate the gardens. Adding something to Versailles would ruin its order and its simplistic beauty4. The same thought process can apply to the beauty of people. A significant problem humans have is our constant need to judge each other based on our physical appearances. This stems from our desire to feel more comfortable in our skin, even though this process in turn causes others to feel less comfortable in theirs. These boxes can have many different labels such as fashionable or frumpy, intelligent or stupid, and complex or simple. Trying to put people into boxes is like trying to standardize beauty— it is impossible and doing so damages people and devalues the innate, purposefully abstract essence of the term itself. Instead of using these boxes, both types of beauty can be appreciated in different ways. While complex and colorful beauty can be more obvious, searching for simplistic beauty can be more effortful because you have to first detach yourself from society’s beauty standards in order to see it.

Simplistic beauty is like purchasing a blank canvas from the craft store and looking at it before you paint a color across it. When looking at a blank canvas, it is so clean, natural, and unadulterated that it can often be hard to paint on it for fear of sullying the perceived “perfection” of the absence of color. However, when thinking in this way, not only are you limiting your interpretation of art and boxing yourself into society’s expectations of art, but you also inhibit yourself from the infinite amount of potential of what there can be on the canvas. Traditionally, beauty standards dictate that in order for something to count as being “beautiful”, something must be added to an existing object, yet this narrows the definition of beauty to exclude simplistic beauty. Perhaps, a reason for this exclusion is so that artists can protect themselves from criticism — something so simple can be up to interpretation, and in turn then judgement. This relates to the same way people perceive others and judge them off of what they first notice. Rather than recognizing that everyone desires and deserves validation, people turn to judgement in order to boost their own self-confidence and in turn, validate themselves, when this act devalues others. We tend to overlook someone’s simple features that can be lost in the details when focusing on their overall appearance, and this prompts society to place harmful assumptions on people for their restraint. This shows the gap that exists between people’s perceptions of art and beauty, and the expectations that they place on both. Whereas art is lauded for being either plain, elaborate, or anything in between, society imposes this social norm of complex beauty that contradicts the very same beauty spectrum they associate with art. Even though this hypocrisy might be subconscious, it is still harmful to those it is invoked on. Thus, just as we admire a blank canvas for its integrity, it is important and necessary to learn how to do the same for people’s expressions of beauty and accept and validate standalone beauty.

By Annie Malek Layout by Tung Tung Lin

Platt, Rory. “The Secret of Beauty: Order and Complexity -.” The School of Life Articles, August 12, 2019. https:// www.theschooloflife.com/thebookoflife/the-secret-of-beauty-order-and-complexity/. 4

28 SHEI Magazine

Concept & Styling Josie Burck, Kailana Dejoie, Sarah Ory Photography Rosalie Comte, Korrin Dering Videography Sam Rao Graphic Design Tung Tung Lin Modeling Mokhtar Al-Yamani, Christina Scheibner

Tableau

In Red, Blue, and Yellow

Concept & Styling Nick Farrugia Juan Marquez Photography Katie Corbett Ryan Little Evan Parness Videography Evan Parness Graphic Design Carly Lucas Modeling Rose Janusiak

LETS LET’S MAKE BAD ART (and be okay with it!)

42 SHEI Magazine

In the age of lockdowns and isolation, art supplies sales are soaring. Gouaches are being pulled out of storage, small art businesses are launching, and suddenly, everyone has at least one friend who makes jewelry. Why, in the political turmoil, health crisis, and personal hell that has been this pandemic, have we found, as a society, a time and place in which calling yourself an artist has become so much easier? How is the year 2020 redefining artistry? And why should you buy a set of acrylic paint — if you haven’t already? Our culture has always romanticized the idea of a “real artist”. Artists were expected to be all or nothing, suffering “workaholics”; and the ones who didn’t choose art above all else were not being awarded the same consideration, explains Rachel Friedman in And Then we Grew Up-On Creativity. This “art monster trope”, or the idea that one has to sacrifice mental sanity, sobriety, and pretty much anything else in order to create has discouraged many. It’s hard to compare self-obsessed, all-consuming artists who spend days and nights on their art to individuals who just paint on the weekends. Furthermore, pursuing a career and an education in the arts is wildly expensive and out of reach for many. Whereas wealthier families can afford to let their children follow their artistic dreams, the majority has to give up their paintbrushes and focus on more economically rewarding activities, which reinforces elitism in creativity. Artistic training has become expensive and exclusive and, in turn, has reinforced the belief that artists without an innate talent or an expensive college degree shouldn’t call themselves artists at all. According to Friedman, in a world where creatives were competing against this level of training and specialization, artists who didn’t sacrifice everything for their art were considered to have failed already, and being creative was no longer an act for the self: art existed for others and operated against everyone else’s creations. May the best art win. However, the pandemic, in all its isolating glory, encouraged many to start making art again: lockdowns offered a quiet space, one in which individuals were allowed to make art for themselves. When lockdown was announced in Italy, musicians took to the roofs and serenaded their cities; street art flourished, balancing out the closing down of elitist art galleries; and many museums and theatres opened virtually, offering free strolls through exhibitions

or access to online performances. Professionals and amateurs even joined hands in writing and producing a musical that was born on Tik Tok and made it to Broadway, hence debunking the “real artist” trope and forcing a redefinition of artistry: Everyone’s art was valid, no matter their level of training, dedication, or talent. Pandemic art was seen as an escape, a solace from COVID-19, no longer the product of a cut-throat industry; Instead, creating became a form of community healing. The challenges of 2020 fueled creations, provided inspiration, and fed creative spirits, and the isolation provided the time few ever have to dedicate to their craft. People who would paint on the weekends could now paint a little longer in the evenings, and musicians who hadn’t had the time to practice their piano scales could now spend hours re-learning a long-forgotten piece. Moreover, isolation sheltered everyday artists from societal expectations, outside criticism, and the destructive nature of comparison. There was no longer the fear to fail because no one was witnessing the failure: Art existed for the self first and foremost, instead of for others. In all fairness, yes, the isolation wasn’t total. With social media usage growing rapidly during the pandemic, platforms like Instagram, Pinterest and Tik Tok were still, as Friedman explains “constantly clamoring for us to perform and compare our achievements.” Social media reinforced the ever-growing importance of perception in our communities, and art could still be shared, critiqued and compared on those platforms like it had been pre-pandemic. And yet, while the nature of social media supported the idea of art for others, it also provided many with new tools and a new artistic community. Tik Tok users were sharing recipes, painting hacks, embroidery and gouache kits, and advertising their small art businesses, which only encouraged users to give painting or baking a try again (or hell, even remodeling the backyard shed). It bred creativity and provided isolated artists with both inspiration and support. But why should you make art, then? The pandemic is giving artists time to deepen their skills. Great. Why should you? The short answer is, because you can. Have you ever heard a song on the radio and thought — you could have sung that? Or seen a painting go for millions at an auction, walked out of a play, or bought a friend’s art, and thought you could create something

better, if only given the opportunity? If your answer is yes, you clearly have a desire to create. Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, has built a career on teaching people how to connect — or reconnect — with their creativity. “Many of us sense we are more creative, but unable to effectively tap into that,” she explains. Her teachings are based on nurturing this artistic spark and allowing yourself to make bad art: on accepting it as progress instead of as failure. “Learning to let yourself create is like learning to walk”, Cameron claims, and many times, your first artistic failures discourage you out of persevering; however, “judging your early artistic efforts is abuse”, she explains, and instead, you should celebrate these early efforts and nurture your art. Rather than aiming for what the world defines as perfection, artists can and should accept their creations as works of arts, no matter how basic, simplistic, or bad. Forgive your failures, accept them, cherish them for the growth they have brought on, and continue to create. Ann Patchett, renowned author, writes: “I can’t write the book I want to write, but I can and will write the book I am capable of writing. Again and again throughout the course of my life I will forgive myself.” Oftentimes, the world can get in the way of that nurturing forgiveness: “Beginning work is exposed to premature criticism, or shown to overly critical friends,” Cameron argues. However, the pandemic offers shelter from judgement and expectations, and 2020 redefined artistry as something accessible to all, as a healing practice, and as a form of self-love, which makes 2021 the perfect year to invest in your creativity. The pandemic authorizes, nay, encourages mistakes and stumbles in your art-making because no one gets to shame you for falling flat on your face. It gives you the time to better your art, learn a new skill, or even open a small business selling the bracelets you’ve been making. “You must be willing to be a bad artist,” Cameron claims, because “by being willing to be a bad artist, you have a chance to be an artist.” Gone are the times of the suffering, high achieving artist trope. Make the art you want to make. Laugh at your mistakes, grow from them. Pick up your journal, your paints, your threads, your beads, and while the pandemic shelters you from what the world defines as creative, create for yourself, instead. Make it as bad as you can.

By Tiara Partsch Layout by Camille Andrew

Exhibition 43

TEMPO

Concept & Styling Nick Farrugia Juan Marquez Photography Katie Corbett Ryan Little Juan Marquez Evan Parness Graphic Design Sophie Levit Modeling Zahria Arianne Sowghandi Battu

EXHIBITIONISM NUDE ART IN THE DIGITAL AGE

52 SHEI Magazine

The female nude has a long history in art. From the Renaissance to Surrealism, nude women dominated the canvas, but they were rarely the ones with a paintbrush in hand. Today, everyone is an artist. Thanks to social media, we have become experts at curating our lives for presentation. Women and people of all genders are empowered to create their own art about their bodies, and Instagram, especially, has allowed for the representation of diverse bodies and the democratization of the nude and erotic. As a queer white woman I would like to explore the importance of decolonizing beauty standards and reclaiming our right to decide how we are represented. Prior to the advent of the Internet, social media, and the trend of posting images of our bodies online, the only images we saw of nude or nearly nude people were in magazines or movies. These bodies represented an impossible beauty standard and were frequently white and heteronormative. The people who decided how these bodies would be portrayed were often white men, and they were displayed for the male gaze. It's no secret that women’s bodies have long been exploited by capitalism and the patriarchy. Advertisements feature heavily photoshopped, disembodied women used as props. Female pop stars and movie stars are subjected to invasive questions and their bodies are material for public debate; they are expected to be sexy and then criticized for it. The way their bodies are regulated by Congress speaks to the fact that their bodies are seen as public property and not something belonging to them. With all of this said, it’s clear that the ways in which the female body has been sexualized are to enforce subservience and objectification. It is only recently that women have had platforms to share their bodies on their own terms, and it's caused much backlash. Women are criticized for being slutty, unprofessional, and attention-seeking when they post pictures of themselves. Social media companies harass nude artists and pass tighter and tighter regulations to limit their voices. Audre Lorde says in her essay Uses of the Erotic, "Of course, women so empowered are dangerous.

So we are taught to separate the erotic from most vital areas of our lives other than sex.” Despite being written over 30 years ago, at a time when women had even less control over their bodies, this fear is still prevalent today. The inclusion of the erotic in the way we portray ourselves threatens a society that benefits from subjugating women and other marginalized people. There is a power in challenging the narrative and reveling in our own eroticism. In capturing nude images of ourselves, we are able to explore our sense of self and challenge mainstream portrayals of sexuality. LGBTQIA people and BIPoC especially are underrepresented and rarely get a voice in how their bodies are perceived, and the intersectionality of their identities leads to a deeper marginalization. When their bodies aren’t completely ignored, they are the subject of hate. Trans people, in particular, experience increased violence on their bodies and are rarely afforded a place in society to feel empowered and beautiful. The ability to publicly showcase LGBTQIA and BIPoC bodies allows people to control their own narratives and take their representation into their own hands. Specifically, documenting our bodies allows us to challenge the violence and subjugation society has placed on us. As it becomes more common for LGBTQIA and BIPoC people to share their bodies online, we see a democratization of the body and the expansion of communities of solidarity and empowerment. By following such accounts, their voices are boosted, and we can contribute to lifting up people that have often been ignored. Social media, though often replicating the racist, homophobic, and patriarchal aspects of society, still allows a place where people can control how they show themselves and who they show themselves to. When we share our bodies on our accounts we don’t have to ask permission or fit into societal norms that don’t serve us. Social media allows us to create community, and the screen acts as both a protective barrier between us and the world and a gateway to solidarity and empowerment with others.

Exhibition 53

Instagram, despite their best censorship efforts, has created a space where people of all kinds are able to document and share their bodies. Maybe you’ve posted a “thirst trap” or follow people who do. It can be empowering to decide how your body should be viewed and to harness your sexuality in a public way. With this said, it is important to note that the freedom and power of sharing our lewds and nudes online is a way that has been paved by sex workers, who still face persecution on the very platforms that profit off of their art, and this article is dedicated to the brave sex workers and artists who continue to pave the way to our erotic liberation:

@xenonopaluniverse is a self described Trans Angel Boy. He is an indigenous artist, performer, poet, and model. His instagram is a soft, intimate, documentation of his queer experience. @littlebumsofttum is an empowerment queen. She is a feminist, large bodied, queer woman of color from Utah who dreams of empowering marginalized communities and breaking the stigma around nudity and mental illness while advocating radical selfacceptance regardless of color, shape, size or gender. @death_by_femme is a queer smut faire. They are a producer, director, and performer of queer porn, and their Instagram is a veritable buffet of babes of all stripes. Silly, whimsical, sexy, smart, messy, and dreamy, their work is as political as it is sensual. @truckslutsmag is a southern queer submissionbased project highlighting hotties and their trucks. It is a love letter to motor oil, coolant, exhaust, hauling ass and burning gas. @houseofhuitlacooch is a QTPoC Chicago based kink and BDSM collective that creates beautiful content and hosts events.

54 SHEI Magazine

@dreams_______unlimited is surreal sexy art for the post-modern era. Usually 35mm film, their unique concepts are mind boggling and mystifying. They play with food a lot. Their work is funny, sexy, and queer in all senses of the word. @liquidandleather is a queer kinky educator, prodomme, and shibari artist. She pairs her beautiful photographs with thoughtful quotes from various writers and from her own sharp brain. Additionally, she leads workshops and has speaking engagements via Twitter. @shooglet is a queer fat artist and photographer that captures the unapologetic beauty of fat bodies. Shoog’s work shows the whole unedited truth, stretch marks, rolls, and cellulite, and makes magical bodies that are often deemed ugly and unhealthy by societal standards. @spunk.rock creates erotic illustrations of fat and queer bodies. Slutty, feminist, fun, bright, playful, and sexy, her work is sure to brighten up your feed and your day.

All bodies, but the female body especially, are sexualized to sell products, music, and media, and many face sexualization from a very young age and are discouraged from having agency over their own bodies. By challenging the status quo, these artists are creating a space where bodies can be celebrated and respected. They control the narrative in a way that people have never been able to before because their art is created for their own gaze, and for the gaze of a complex and diverse public. By making nude and erotic art and displaying our bodies the way we want them to be seen, we can take back our power and determine the boundaries of our eroticism and sexuality. Get to know your body. Document it for yourself even if you don’t want to share it with the public. Start a group chat with friends to share empowering images of your bodies. Boost other content creators by sharing their work. Defend peoples’ right to own their sexuality. Stand with sex workers against legislation that threatens their livelihood and power. Seek out media created by BIPoC. Diversifying the media you post and consume can improve your self-image and relationship with your body, and it can also help you decolonize your conception of beauty. Learn about your body. Practice affirmations in the mirror to undo society's conditioning. Remind yourself you are beautiful and that’s not even the most important thing about you. Take a class in bystander intervention to combat catcalling. Lift up other people and celebrate their bodies when they decide to share them. Post that thirst trap. Revel in the erotic, and add to the diverse collection of bodies on the Internet. Own your body because it's yours, and you can do whatever you want with it.

By Patience Young Layout by Mackenzie Schwedt

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Concept & Styling Nick Farrugia, Juan Marquez Photography Katie Corbett, Ryan Little, Juan Marquez, Evan Parness Graphic Design Mackenzie Schwedt Modeling Jeremy Clemente, Olivia Johnson, Maya Sistruck

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Dreaming of the Ordinary There is always more out there than I realize, always so much knowledge I don’t know that exists beyond myself. When my teacher asks me to speak about something from my “culture,” I am silent. I know she is referring to my Arab identity; she studies the Middle East yet doesn’t know anything about the gulf region, Yemen, our dialect, or the Dragon’s Blood trees in the island of Socotra. It wasn’t a surprise to me that her being a scholar of the Middle East, her focus fixated solely on the Levant. The Middle East only stretched that far. Yemen was never interesting to them. Our rich history fell flat. It only matters when America is involved, only in mentions of war. The task at hand feels enormous, that this one thing of my choice could represent an entirety of a culture. I feel numb to it all — being the spokesperson for the token minority of the group is too familiar. When I ask my mother what I should introduce, she mentions the more obvious: “When people think about culture, it’s always about the food or attire. Didn’t they have sabaya at culture night?” But I don’t want to discuss food or cultural wear. I want to present something of the unknown, even to myself. There is so much more to my cultural heritage that has gotten lost over the years, but it’s in my unconscious, in the stories, the photos, and the conversations with my family. I need to learn about it — there has to be a way to keep it alive. I think about the architecture of San’aa: the tinted windows, the baked bricks in rich shades of browns. They are unlike that anywhere else, existing only in my dreams.

64 SHEI Magazine

When I think I find the gem I want to share with the world — that tiny seminar made of people who know nothing of the Middle East besides the two The New York Times articles they’ve read prior to class — I cast the thought that I know very little of Yemen’s modern art scene. “Mama, mama, do you know about this at all?” There is always more silence. In our homes, art is constantly looked over for the “practical” — what will make money and stray away from poverty — but art is what is keeping us alive. When I fall upon the art of painter Hakim Alakel, I know that this time, things will be different. Most of his paintings are titled “Untitled,” followed by the date of creation. They don’t need a name to represent his true intentions: depicting the ordinary. In radiant colors, Alakel paints the domestic life in Yemen before the civil war. It is something I’ve never known, never having walked the streets of my village, yet I know it through pictures and familial tales and stories. Nothing tells me more of home than a painting of a place that is so far away. That life lives in my household. In those paintings, I see my mother and aunts, gathered together surrounding the bright fruit; their bodies juxtapose the fruit in warm tones. Everything is ordinary. I see my uncles and brothers around the table, playing a game of cards, all from the vantage point of a bird. They are dressed in traditional Yemeni wear, reminding me of a picture I once saw of a Yemeni man casually dressing this way in the middle of Liverpool. It must’ve been bizarre for everyone else — those who implicitly “other” us.

From a bird’s eye, we are watchers above the family in these paintings, watching the day-to-day life and practices, almost as if we are watching that same Yemeni man in Liverpool, except that, they are everything to me, and I don’t shame them. Everything is ordinary, everything is Yemeni, and like the man, we never leave ourselves somewhere else. Alakel’s style of art is unique to me, just like the rest of this experience, but it feels bodily, like it’s always been inside me. His work feels familiar, even though my exposure has been limited to whatever the local art museums deemed important. It is fascinating to unravel the rich history of art in Yemen, especially the relationship to the Cold War. The Cold War Cultural Program in the 1970s provided funding for approximately 50-70 Yemeni artists to study art in Moscow. Among those artists, Alakel learned the Art Nouveau style, which he utilizes in his work. The tradition of art in Yemen has always existed — from the painting clubs in Aden in the 1930s to the Basement Cultural Foundation in San’aa. I am not sure how I can sum up this history in a few lines to the class to do it justice, when it has been silenced in our archival knowledge of the Middle East, that history book for class, and the museums I thought I loved. I want them to know why it is important, how Alakel’s work makes my body shake and leaves my heart on fire. My body tries to remember this feeling by paving its way into my dreams. At night, I walk into my university museum, in all its familiarity. The neon sign says something about love that is easily forgettable, yet I find myself trying to remember. My memory is always slipping

from me. I need to write it down before I exit. It must be important if everyone is taking a picture of it, and with it. But I miscalculate. It isn’t that neon sign, it’s him, his work, and I am in the painting. It is here. I am surrounded by bright flowers, and my eyes look to the sky, as I lay in the feathery grass. My eyes hold the same silence I see in all the faces of the Yemeni women Alakel paints. I dream this dream constantly, and it always ends the same. I am always there — where my roots begin and connect in a painting, as if I am a plant that has absorbed the elixir of love and the ordinary. The knowledge of my homeland to an outsider results in minimal media coverage highlighting the civil war, but my body knows that our history and culture goes beyond this. Art takes a step away from the misconceptions that minimize the Yemeni experience to trauma and pain. As Alakel does in his paintings, I know the importance of art now, as far as I can allow myself to grow: Going back to the “ordinary” means healing myself. Art doesn’t always have to depict the bizarre, the crazy, or the unknown, or even what we think we know of the world, or of ourselves. Sometimes, it’s just a Yemeni woman gazing at the sun, or a family sitting down on the floor, surrounded by colors and smiles, and they might look a little like me. Sometimes, it’s just a picture of myself, how I envision myself in those paintings. As my mind ponders this, I’m warped back into the classroom, staring at the expectant eyes of my teacher and classmates. From my reflections, I’ve realized this: Yes, I am ready to share my culture with the class.

By Tahani Almujahid Layout by Emma Peterson

Exhibition 65

Concept & Styling Nick Farrugia, Juan Marq uez Photography Katie Corbett, Ryan Little, Evan Parness Graphic Design Yuki Obayashi Modeling Korrin Dering, Sasha Yakovenko

SHEI Magazine Behind the Scenes, 2021 Winter Print Issue

There is value in putting your creative work in Print. How we interact with, consume, and create art is increasingly existing within digital realms. Producing a tangible piece of artistic expression reminds us of art’s objective materiality and subjective internalization. Artistic expression is encoded in human nature, reinventing itself through each movement and medium, indexing the aesthetic and ambition of each generation. What would it mean to create art which no one would ever see? Would the making of the art in and of itself fulfil one’s individual act of self articulation? Or do we interpret the significance, the worth, and the validity of the art we create through the way in which it is received, re-interpreted and remembered? Identity is actualized through the craft of your work. Regardless of the manner in which the art will be viewed, thought about, discussed or forgotten, the intricacies in what we create reveals fragments of our individuality. There is virtue in preserving artistic expressions within the cultural imaginary; not abandoning the past, but constantly reflecting, learning from the work of artists, and continuing to inquire into the capacity of visual representation. Art has always been reactionary and referential, inextricable from the context in which it is crafted. “Exhibition” was an opportunity to devote our passion, inspiration, and intention toward producing a piece true to our combined experience, building upon our artistic inspirations, fueled by a longing for clarity while embracing the uncertainties of our present. We hope you interpret Exhibition as you are, however it may resonate with you. I will always cherish how SHEI has been a constant space for unapologetic exploration, collaborative revelation, and inspired interaction. I am forever grateful to have worked alongside so many talented, visionary artists throughout my years in SHEI. I find myself motivated by love for the craft of what we make together, enamoured with the friendships and connections bound to the fleeting moments our collaboration exists within. To put our work in Print together materializes our collective expression, eternalizing the times we shared creating.

Evan Parness Creative Director

BTS, 2021

SHEI DIGITAL