At our last SMEAR meeting, tucked in a back corner of Spider House, some new writers came to join the staff. A girl arrived late to the meeting and shyly explained, “I had to ask the bartender where SMEAR Magazine meets, and he told me y’all meet back here.” We’ve been holding SMEAR Mag meetings behind the near-abandoned Spider House stage, seated around four picnic tables, roughly every two weeks for the past two years. But for some reason it still shocked us that people know we exist? Even after all this time, we can’t believe we’re gaining momentum. With over one hundred online articles, two South By Southwest showcases, multiple Shirley Temples, two print magazines and a few grammatical errors (ok...maybe more,) it would be a betrayal to stop now. Since graduation is coming up, people have asked us what we plan to do with SMEAR in the future. The short answer is: We are gonna keep this shit rolling, baby. We are gonna go go go into the future, eternal. We still feel that same way we felt two years ago when we made SMEAR – that there’s a need for an alternative publication to represent the underbelly of Austin, and we want to fill that need. Over the past few months, we’ve seen alarming threats on local DIY spaces, independent artists, radical voices, women and minorities. While we’ve always focused on these stories, we are going to strengthen our representation of them as we enter SMEAR’s next phase. Our serendipitous growth over the past two years has been the result of the ferocious work by our 30-member staff of writers, photographers and illustrators. Their unconventional ideas and dedication make this weird shit work. Thank you. And if you need us, we’ll be at Spider House.
6
1
16
11
7
2
17
12
8
3
18
13
9
4
19
14
10
5
15
CONTRIBUTORS
1/Mary K. Cantrell founder/editor 2/Emily Gibson founder/editor 3/Darby Kendall managing editor 4/Nathan Burgess art director 5/Crystal Garcia art director 6/Cody Bjornson photographer 7/Thea Robinson photographer 8/Francis Molina writer 9/John Pesina illustrator 10/Devonya Batiste writer 11/Emma Johnston writer 12/Dani MuĂąoz illustrator 13/Mackenzie Palmer writer 14/Henry Davis photographer 15/Justin Viera photographer 16/Sonia Margolin illustrator 17/Ashley Magenheimer writer 18/Stephanie Lawrence cover illustrator 19/Melanie Allen staff photographer Contributors/02
Snow White Syndrome
04
Into the Ether
08
Truth or Consequences
10
Highways
14
Essential Viewing for Uncertain Times
16
Getting Involved
19
The Black Box: Anal Worries
20
one-on-ones
visuals
moody musings
jams
moody musings
current events
moody musings
www.smearmagazine.com Table of Contents
Photography by Cody Bjornson
Interview with Sustainable Artist: Calder Kamin Written By Ashley Magenheimer An unfinished fox sculpture sits atop a desk next to piles of plastic bags, duct tape and taxidermy mounts. The artist sits perched in her studio, meticulously twirling strips of plastic into smaller and smaller bits. She glues each piece onto a taxidermy mount, slowly animating the fox. A small dog, Pixel, sits next to her, occasionally tilting her head from side to side. The gray walls of Calder Kamin’s home studio contrast with the colorful plastic strewn about her work space. These sculptures are part of Kamin’s Plastic Planet, a project she exhibited at the local nonprofit art gallery, Women & Their Work, in November. Her installation featured ten whimsical creatures made from plastic bags and other recyclable materials. The 32-year-old has felt actively compelled by nature since spending time in her childhood backyard, attempting to rescue birds after they hit windows. Growing up in Austin, she was fascinated by animals that thrive in urban environments. “When I was a little girl my favorite Disney character was Snow White,” she says. “I thought I was Snow White, that I could speak to the animals. I call my fascination with animals ‘Snow
White Syndrome.’” In 2013, Kamin discovered a kestral that had died from flying into a Plexiglass bus station. She was motivated to create Impact Proof, a project in which she creates vinyl window decals of native birds to prevent these types of accidents. The project started in Kansas City, but she currently makes Austin-native birds such as the red tail hawk. The decals themselves also double as a hands-on activity where kids trace and make their own. “I thought I was
Snow White, that I could speak to the animals. I call my fascination with animals ‘Snow White Syndrome.’”
“Education is a really big part of my projects, that’s what has helped grow and strengthen my relationships with museums and art centers,” Kamin says. “They’re interested in engaging with audiences, not collecting new objects.” Kamin’s scientific art has also found an aquatic focus. When Kamin was 27, doctors told her she had a hormone deficiency and needed to be put on birth control. After trying out multiple oral contraceptives, all with One-on-Ones/05
Photo by Ashley Magenheimer
adverse effects, Kamin began to wonder how birth control impacts the body. She quickly found out the pills also negatively influence the environment. Kamin was inspired by her research and made Ripple Effects, an installation which features birth control packets shaped into frogs. Frog species and populations are slowly diminishing as a result of birth control being released from the body through urine and entering the water supply. The pill tabs look similar to the bumpy skin of the amphibians. “Synthetic estrogen has entered our water supply and is immediately affecting amphibians and impacting biodiversity in our areas,” she says. With her most recent exhibition, Plastic Planet, Kamin wanted to take an approach that would allow her to discuss the heavy topics of extinction and pollution while still engaging the community with brightlycolored sculptures. She says the topics
become more palatable when paired with fantastical depictions of the wildlife that thrive in urban environments. With plastic becoming increasingly harmful to our environment, Kamin decided to use it as the medium for her art. When plastic is exposed to light it begins to photodegrade, breaking down into smaller particles, which humans and animals ultimately consume. Her work inspired her to live a plasticfree life. “I’m transforming materials and now I’m transforming too, and trying to transform my community,” Kamin says.
“I’m transforming materials and now I’m transforming too, and trying to transform my community.” The second part of Kamin’s Plastic Planet installation was The Neocortex Classroom, named after the newest evolution to the cerebral cortex in the human brain. Kamin’s goal for the informative workshops, held at Women & Their Work, was to educate patrons on conservation and the environment while inspiring younger generations. The classroom is nostalgic of the ‘90s with a clunky vintage projector and big brown school desks. Kamin bought the desks from her old elementary school to create a space that reflected her own upbringing. “I wanted to create a space that felt like my ‘90s childhood, because there was so much discourse about saving the planet,” she says. As of late, Kamin and her Neocortex Classroom are headed out of Austin. She wants to take Plastic Planet to cities voting on the bag ban in 2017, such as New York and Galveston. “We all have choices we can make,” she says. “It’s all out of convenience. You have to inconvenience yourself a little bit to make the world better for everybody.” One-on-Ones/07
Photography By Henry Davis
Truth Or Consequences
Photography by Thea Robinson
Written By Frances Molina We collected the gun from Rosa’s mother’s house. The errand took a little more than an hour because her mom insisted we stay for tea. The little shack of a house smelt like West Indian food and church incense and the wet filth of decay. I parked myself between the two ancient dogs camped on the couch and let Miss Jean pour me cup after cup of cinnamon tea, while Rosa went to find the gun. It had belonged to her father. According to Rosa, he’d hidden it behind a slate of drywall in the back of his closet. No one had touched it since he’d died. We’re in the car now, Rosa at the wheel, eating and navigating with one hand. The backseat is crowded with dirty laundry and food trash, chipped CD cases and paperback novels missing their covers. Here, again, there is that wet smell of something rotten. Because my mother thinks that I am on a regular road trip, she bought me a paper map. Because I want some10/Moody Musings
thing to do on the road besides talk to Rosa about the trip, I spread it across my lap and try to get a general idea of direction. I calculate that it will take nearly ten hours to drive to the town of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, a town I did not know existed until the other night. I had to Google it to make sure Rosa wasn’t simply fucking with me. But the place exists. A tourist town, known for its name and its hot springs and not much else. “So what happened between you and Ian?” I’ve been answering this question for months, so it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. “I was tired of his drinking so I threw him out. Wish he’d stayed though.” “He hit you a lot?” The pencil in my hand breaks through the paper of the map with a quiet pop, disappearing the city of Lubbock. My silence is answer enough for her. After a few minutes, I change the subject. “Why did you and your friends
pick this town for a vacation? There’s nothing here.” Rosa grins at me, her mouth crowded with dollar hamburger and cheese. “We wanted some place warm.” She takes a few last bites and tosses the yellow burger wrapper into the back. “Anyway, the town’s got like 6,000 people in it. Shouldn’t be too difficult to find the one we’re looking for.” I do not answer right away. Instead, I fold the map, counting how many halves I can make until the thing is about the size of my hand. She’s glancing at me every few seconds, as if suddenly noticing my immense discomfort. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you Jo?” She reaches over to squeeze the muscle above my knee and I wince. “If you really need help, I can get you some, Rosa. Real help.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the muscles in her jaw move. Her hand is still on my knee and she squeezes me again, harder this time, before she
pulls away. Neither of us say anything for a while as we watch the road. The wind is whistling in through a crack in the window and the air smells like night time. We will have to stop soon. “Open the map again and read it to me, Jo. I can’t do everything myself.” Even though the motel room comes with two beds, we sleep together. We take long sips from the rum we packed, passing the bottle between us where we sit on the bed. There is an old Keanu Reeves movie on the television that neither of us are really watching. Rosa’s head is heavy on my shoulder. I can tell that she is asleep when I feel the warm wetness of her drool on my chest. The smell of her, sweet and cutting like the liquor, reminds me of who we were. Younger, caught up in one another, as if that was all there was. I can still remember the first time she kissed me. On the neck, at an orchestra show. I could barely see her through the dark Moody Musings/11
but I had seen the glint of her teeth and I smiled back. This was the moment I would later regret, because I had given something up to her. At the time, I didn’t understand because I didn’t know that I loved her. But eventually I would learn that the kind of love I had to give was surrender. People like Rosa had a way of making me soft and easy to swallow, of making me disappear, like smoke. I loved those people. And I loved Rosa best. So when she told me that she’d been hurt and that she needed me to help the hurt, I said yes. Truthfully, I had already agreed to whatever she could ask of me. I would always agree. In the morning, the sun creeps in through a slit in the curtains. The light inches across the room like a trail of fire, catching onto the foot of the bed. I am watching the gun where it sits on the bedside table as if it is a thing that will come alive. I do not look away from it until much later, when Rosa stirs awake. By now, I have memorized the house and the road to it. We have driven down nearly every residential street in town. This is the house that Rosa says is most familiar. She says she remembers the paper windmills, planted at the foot of the lawn. Night falls and the air smells like rain and dirt. Truth or Consequences is so ordinary, so unnervingly quiet in the way that ordinary places are. I stare at the house and I try to imagine Rosa inside of it. On a street this quiet, someone must have heard her screaming. Then again, it feels like there is hardly anyone around to hear anything. We are the only car parked on the street tonight. Rosa leads the way and I can barely make out what she is saying to me over the ringing in my ears and the crunch of the gravel under our feet. When I catch her wrist to stop her from going any farther up the driveway, she 12/Moody Musings
turns slowly. It is so dark now I cannot see her face except for the whites of her eyes. “You came all this way just to stop me now.” Her voice is lower than a whisper and I am staring down at the gun in her other hand. “All those nights telling me you wanted this for me. That you thought about hurting him as much as I did. Did that not mean anything? Were you lying?” “What if he’s not the right one?” “You don’t believe me?” “Do you believe yourself? Look at you.” She pulls out of my grip and starts up the driveway again, moving quicker this time. I start after her and with a swiftness that is almost animal, she swings around. The butt of the gun connects with my jaw and I am thrown sideways with the pain and shock of the blow.
“People like Rosa had a way of making me so and easy to swallow, of making me disappear, like smoke. I loved those people. And I loved Rosa best.” I catch myself, but just barely. When I stand up again, Rosa has stopped walking. We stand paralyzed in horror, separate from one another, and it is unclear for a moment who struck who. I taste the familiar swell of blood on my lip and then I am moving, toward her, at her. I feel the gravel give under her feet as I knock her down. I grip her ribs between my thighs and I dig my feet into the ground. My hand is around her wrist and I’m trying to pin her arm above her head. The gun flashes wildly like light in a mirror as I send it flying into the dark of the lawn. “Who do you think you are?” My words come out in grunts as we struggle against each other. “You think you
can show up after three years of nothing and I’m going to just follow along on this fucked up crusade of yours?”
“I do as I’m told. I cannot tell if the wetness on my face is my blood or tears. Everything is earth and iron and salt on my tongue and in my nose.” “You did follow me,” she hisses, “Because you know I’m right.” She leans up into my face and her mouth smells like rum. “You could never admit how much you wanted to take back all the hurt you’ve ever felt. You’re too weak for that.” Rosa cuts me again across the mouth and this time, the pain is enough to send me down. I remember how much stronger she is than me, how much stronger she’s always been, and I relax into the hurt. She presses herself on top of me until I cannot breathe. I try feebly to buck her off me and her hand stings my face
with a slap. “Stop it, Jo. Stop trying to fight.” I do as I’m told. I cannot tell if the wetness on my face is my blood or my tears or her tears. Everything is earth and iron and salt on my tongue and in my nose. “You may be too weak. But I’m not.” She stands. A shower of dirt and pebbles rains down as she steps over me. Reflexively, I grab her ankle. She tugs at me once, twice, and then she’s loose. I wait for her foot to collide with my skull, for the fight that always comes. Instead, she walks away. I listen as she searches for a moment for the gun, forgotten and half hidden in the tall grass of the lawn. Her footsteps grow fainter, until there is only silence. I lie still as I can and stare into the dense darkness of a sky I do not recognize. When it comes, the sound is deafening, like lightning when it splits the earth. The rain comes after. It is so warm and it washes my face clean. Moody Musings/13
Interview with singersongwriter: Vonne
Photography by Justin Viera
Written By Mackenzie Palmer From Houston, to Saudi Arabia, to Austin, Vonne and her ukelele have travelled from one side of the world to another. Her debut EP Foreign Affairs explores the 19-year-old’s relationship with the world around her. From the wistful “I built a time machine / I run it on gasoline / I guarantee you’ll be amazed” to the contemplative “the wind was in your hair / but your mind was everywhere,” the EP showcases Vonne’s talent as both a musician and a lyricist. She recently released a new single “Doctor (B-Side)” and is working on her next project that will focus on her experience living in the Middle East. SMEAR sat down with the newly-introduced Austinite to talk about Foreign Affairs, expanding her music in the local scene and how her travels have influenced her. 14/Jams
SMEAR: When did you start making music? Vonne: The earliest song I remember writing, I wrote when I was in third grade after I had finally gotten a keyboard. That song was about love, and most of my songs up to now are centered around love. I also like to recall events when I write and tell a story that way. S: How do you define your music? V: I really don’t know what genre I would call my music. Specifically, Foreign Affairs. I had a very different perception of the vibe than the majority of the people who enjoyed it. To me, those were my personal bangers that I would head-bump and flail to in my room, but a lot of people described it as ‘chill’ and I was surprised. It’s easier for me to label moods in music because my mood is usually what triggers
my writing. But I guess in context of the other music around me, it seems like I would fit into some sort of pop category. S: What struggles did you face when you first started? V: The first thing that comes to mind is when I was arranging Foreign Affairs and in the process of transferring the stems to my mixing engineer, I spilled lemonade all over my computer and had to rerecord a good chunk of the EP. It was the December right before I was moving out of the States and my release date was mid February, so it quickly became a scramble. The only other thing I can think of is the learning curve I put unto myself. I rarely opened a manual or anything for any of the equipment and software I was using, so I would just assume things and if it sounded good, it sounded good.
S: How do you write your lyrics? V: Lyrics initially come to me as one stanza. If I find myself feeling a certain way, or thinking on a moment, a stanza will come to me. Then, I usually can’t do anything with that stanza until like a week after I’ve listened to it or sung it like 100 times. Sometimes I’ll come up with something when I’m messing around in my Digital Audio Workstation, sometimes when I play ukulele, sometimes when I’m walking in the street, or peeing. It’s all comes for my thoughts and moods. When that doesn’t happen, something usually comes out of my lone jam sessions or anytime I get in a creative zone. S: How did living in Saudi Arabia influence or affect your outlook on your music? V: Living in Saudi Arabia did a 180 on my perspective. Living in two polar extreme societies really changed my outlook. I think it’ll be most evident in my lyrics. I wish I was exposed to more Arabic music while I was there. The rhythms are nothing like western rhythms. Usually just from listening to songs excessively, elements of the song rub off into my music. But I didn’t reach out enough to my sources for traditional Arabic music. Some of friends in school helped me out, but I only got a handful of songs. S: How are you focusing on your music now? V: I’ve tried to continue to just flow with what comes with me, but moving to such an art-influenced city caused me to doubt myself and my ideas a little bit. So I really just try to focus on myself, my well being, and my goals. The music is always true that way I think.
Jams/15
Science Fiction in the Modern Age Written By Emma Johnston “What’s that show you watch? The one with the robots and the cowboys?” my mom asks, sitting next to me on the living room couch. I know something’s become widely popular when my mom’s heard of it from Kathy Lee Gifford’s complaining on the Today Show. There’s been a recent change in mainstream media culture, and that is the increasing domination of science fiction. This past year, Netflix’s nostalgia bomb, “Stranger Things,” and HBO’s top dollar re-imagination of the 1973 film “Westworld” exploded 16/Moody Musings
in popularity, each gaining Golden Globe nods. Alien-thriller “Arrival” was nominated for an Oscar this year; dystopian action-film “Mad Max: Fury Road” and space-centric “The Martian” both appeared on the ticket the year before. Science fiction has broken out of the shoestring budgets and small cult followings of independent films and the Sci-Fi Network. Production studios are investing more in larger sci-fi projects because they realize this genre has struck a chord with viewers. The genre has always emphasized political, social and technological fears by removing familiar context or exaggerating technology. While science fiction literature has existed since the turn of the
19th century, the Cold War proved to be a renaissance of sci-fi television and film. Fears of hidden enemies, sudden nuclear devastation, residual World War trauma and rapid technological growth were a crucible through which sci-fi gained mass appeal. In the early ‘60s, Rod Serling appeared on “The Twilight Zone,” cigarette in hand, to spout morals and encourage people to confront their societal fears—set to the entertaining backdrop of sci-fi horrors befalling unsuspecting folks. The necessary ingredients for sci-fi are undeniably prevalent in today’s society. People in power actively
obscure and refute information. The freedoms of some people are being limited because of the interests of others. Police brutality has made people fear those who are supposed to keep them safe. Meanwhile, we carry computers in our pockets or on our wrist and use them to share everything we do. The dystopian plotline practically writes itself. Science fiction finds an audience through its relatability. Its current popularity is a litmus test for societal dissatisfaction and disenfranchisement, though not disengagement. While media acts as an escape from reality, many
Moody Musings/17
people paradoxically choose to watch entertainment that questions our world. One need look no further than the popularity of such shows as Black Mirror, which often punish their audience. There are few happy endings in this anthology series critiquing modern society. The show even seems to be in on the joke—it airs on Netflix, a streaming platform that has become synonymous with “binging” extensive amounts of television, despite the show’s unforgiving view of technological dependence. Science fiction-based content and its consumers are becoming increasingly self-aware as people seek out shows more relevant than pleasant.
During the Women’s Marches held around the globe, Carrie Fisher crossed the boundary from science fiction heroine to political icon, Princess Leia becoming a symbol of female rebellion. After President Trump’s inauguration, George Orwell’s classic “1984” experienced a huge resurgence, long after the term “Big Brother” infiltrated everyday vocabulary. Sci-fi is not just a tonic to viewers dissatisfied with the status quo; it’s a source of empowerment. Seeing beloved characters fight, survive and triumph over governmental oppression and societal rigidity creates rallying cries that support modern movements.
Emma Johnston’s Five Sci-Fi Must-Sees! The Twilight Zone “The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street” (1960) The definition of a classic. Nothing is better than an old fashioned Rod Serling guilt trip. Primer (2004) What if Jobs and Wozniak built a time machine in their garage instead? Ghost in the Shell (1995) Stunningly redefines cyberpunk visuals with strong female leads. Solaris (1972) Psychological exploration amidst planetary exploration. Black Mirror “White Bear” (2011) A show that realizes sometimes nobody wins. 18/Moody Musings
Current Events/19
Illustrations by Sonia Margolin
Dear Miroir Noir, So, anal is a thing now but I don’t want to do it. I’ve never tried it but is it true that you need to try something before you say you don’t like it? I feel behind in this sexy revolution we’re having but I don’t want anything in my ass. Sincerely, Sad Ass Dear Sad Ass, I have to say the name you chose tickled my pickle. That being said, shouldn’t your ass be kind of happy it isn’t being probed and prodded? Turn that brown frown upside down! I love porn and I hate porn. Confusing, isn’t it? I love porn because of how much fun I have with it, and with my rechargeable vibrator - ladies, if you don’t have a rechargeable vibrator, get with the program. That shit’s fire, yo. Anyways, porn is fun for me because I get to watch a lot of fun stuff and orgasm like a wild banshee to it. I hate porn because of unrealistic expectations. Over the 20/Moody Musings
years, I’ve seen many of my friends get frustrated with the exact same sentiment you have, Sad Ass. Their partner wants to try anal because they see it in porn and it ‘looks so easy, s/he seems to really like it.’ Well, I’m gonna tell you that anal really is a pain in the ass for us non-porn stars. They don’t show you all the prep work in porn, because that would be boring for the audience. Just like other kinks out there, a lot of prep work is necessary. Porn is literally just a place for fantasy - that’s why I hate it sometimes. People have a hard time separating it from reality. If you feel pressured to do anal because it seems like ‘everyone is doing it,’ tell your partner to take a break from the fap screen.
“If you feel pressured to do anal because it seems like ‘everyone is doing it,’ tell your partner to take a break from the fap screen.” I, for one, would never want to be fisted vaginally or anally. I’ve never done it and I never will. Nothing about it appeals to me and there is no need for
me to try something I probably won’t enjoy. It’s almost like food, isn’t it? The very idea of beef tartar makes me want to gag. I don’t need to put myself through that weird, bloody, cubed beef with a raw egg on top just to grin throughout and pretend to enjoy it. It’s a silly notion. Don’t be ashamed to set up boundaries for yourself. If you partner really cares about you, they want you to enjoy the act and not just smile. For any sexual pressure they try to put on you, just remember that finger in between the index and ring. You’ve got two of them. There are plenty of fish in the sea who
care more about your emotional needs than their sexual ones. So cheer up, Sad Ass. Keep it puckered, keep it clear and keep your happiness important, my dear! Sincerely, Miroir Noir
THE BLACK BOX is a bi-monthly sex column on our website: smearmagazine.com.
Illustration by John Pesina