Issue 22: Arrival by startmagazine1

ST.ART MAGAZINE

ARRIVAL

ISSUE 22

THE ATTAINEMENT OF AN END

A RR I VAL

2021

CO LOPH ON p 67 - 6 8

T HE T EAM p 65 - 66

. TABLE OF CONTENTS .

L ETT ER F R OM THE EDI TOR S p 63 - 6 4

4 9 M attea Ge rne nt z 5 0 E mily M al es 5 1 G abr iel le H ill S mith 5 4 Camille Ga ggiott i 5 5 - 56 Ge ne vie ve Ma le s 5 7 - 60 C ie l E.Burges 6 1 -6 2 Col ett e Du r iez

4 7 - 48 Em ily M al es

I II . OS MO SSI S p 46 - 62

27 - 30 Colle tt e Au yan g 31 - 32 Matt ea Garn en tz 33 - 34 A gat a Buks owicz 35 - 38 Lon g Tran 39 Cath er in e Lau ghar n 40 Sarah Alle n 31 - 42 Gabr ielle Hill Sm ith 43 -4 4 Fio n a Go lden

II. ACCEPTAN CE p 2 6 - 44

7 - 1 0 G en evie ve Male s 11 - 15 Gabrie lle H ill S mit h 16 Ch ar lotte Sil ve rm an 17 -2 0 Cole tte Auy an g 21 -2 2 Nic ole En tin 23 Eilidh Gilm our 24 Sarah Alle n

I. CONVE RG EN CE p 6 - 2 3

CON-VER-GENCE | \ K N-V R-J N(T)S

noun

. I CONVERGENCE .

CONVERGENCE DEFINITION OF CONVERGENCE

1: THE ACT OF CONVERGING AND ESPECIALLY MOVING TOWARD UNION OR UNIFORMITY. 2: THE INDEPENDENT DEVELOPMENT OF SIMILARITIES BETWEEN SEPERATE CULTURES. 3: THE MERGING OF DISTINCT TECHNOLOGIES,

INDUSTRIES, OR DEVICES INTO A UNIFIED WHOLE.

COMPRESSION .

GENEVIEVE MALES .

PRESSURED .

GENEVIEVE MALES .

i.HEAVENLY CONVERGENCE .

Do you think they do collide You ask again I roll over and look at your profile in the moonlight And picture every freckle on your face I cannot see them like stars in the daytime

There are so many shooting stars You say Gesturing around us at the canopy

I don’t know I say perhaps

Do you think they do collide You ask again I roll over and look at your profile in the moonlight And picture every freckle on your face I cannot see them like stars in the daytime

Another shooting star I say pointing upwards You point too And our fingers collide as our hands fall back to the earth Our own personal gravity

Do you think stars can touch You ask While our hands collide And we flinch Divide Shift our weight And look back at the sky

I don’t know much about space You say As we lay on our backs The damp grass holding us Cradling us in its chill embrace As we face The stars above us like A child’s bedroom ceiling

i. HEAVENLY CONVERGENCE

GABRIELLE HILL SMITH .

i.HEAVENLY CONVERGENCE .

GABRIELLE HILL SMITH .

One in a billion then You say The night sky is our own fireworks display Tonight and every night but tonight it lights up in a way that spells This is the moment This is the convergence

Only we can see The same constellations

More than that I say smiling You don’t look at me You’re taken up by the stars There’s something in the night sky Unknown, ephemeral, mercurial You

One in a million You say

One blinks out of existence Just like that And it’s gone

Surely they’d have to collide sometime

From different cities with the same fascination We see every day From different cities with the same fascination

Only we can see The same constellations We see every day

There are so many shooting stars You say Gesturing around us at the canopy

I don’t know I say perhaps

One in a trillion I say As we witness the Collision

Maybe they converge You say turning to me You realise I’ve been looking at you Your fingertips hover over the surface of my cheek An insurmountable distance Between ground and sky Which every so often Closes ever so softly

GABRIELLE HILL SMITH .

. CHARLOTTE SILVERMAN .

i.HEAVENLY CONVERGENCE .

CIRCLES .

COLETTE AUYANG .

CIRCLES .

COLETTE AUYANG .

FOR THESEUS .

(I dreamed last night that you scattered sapphires in my hair and called me Ariadne, tied my wrists with string, but this time you did not go)

I think I shall make paper chains out of your letters, Or rather the letters that I wrote to myself on your behalf. I shall cut apart the mind that penned them, I shall cut apart the inner light, trace the outlines of the shadows.

What will I do with[out] you?

What will you do with me? I ask you kindly To take back the day when I met your gaze And I saw myself nestled in the fleck of life Which illuminates the darkness of the pupil. Now I recognize that it was only entrapment, The filtered thread of experience in the subjective mind. Now I have falsified the hypothesis.

(I dreamed last night that you scattered sapphires in my hair and called me Ariadne, tied my wrists with string then left without a word. I sat howling in the labyrinth, not knowing whether the shadow slowly approaching was a Dionysus crowned

What shall I do? Stroll forlorn on the moors in hopes Of being caught by the storm? Of being overrun by some Understanding of the binding agent, the yoke Of necessity that necessarily creates an agony Between the two of us? Or shall I cry in a taxicab, Caught in traffic, in a deluge, and watch how The streetlamps outside blur into the raindrops, Luminescent orbs that cling to the glass?

Hellish, darling, this waiting, Incessant drumbeat that pulls me apart.

Hellish.

FOR THESEUS

NICOLE ENTIN .

ROSKLIDE UNIVERSITY, DENMARK .

. SARAH ALLEN .

EILIDH GILMOUR .

AC-CEP-TANCE | \ IK-’SEP-T N(T)S

. II ACCEPTANCE .

ACCEPTANCE

noun

DEFINITION OF ACCEPTANCE 1: THE ACT OR STATE OF BEING ACCEPTED OR ACCEPTABLE 2: THE ACT OF TAKING OR RECEIVING SOMETHING OFFERED 3: THE ACT OF ASSENTING OR BELIEVING

. COLETTE AUYANG .

FISH FOOD .

COLETTE AUYANG .

for sale: yellow house upon a hill (memories not included)

In you, I wrote many love letters but never the one that counted; now my eyes plead softly, “don’t go,” even as my words say otherwise.

tokens, abandoned: bike, scooter, archery kit in the barn loft, the rich world I created

my first love drove me home from the school dance, a hush latent in the dark, his eyes pleading softly, “don’t go” even as his words said otherwise— bouquet of tender goodbyes.

ghost stories interrupted by windchimes in the kitchen, alchemy of recipes old and new

each evening, my father would play his records, perusing the vast shelves before dinner, and mother would tell him, always, to choose jazz this time.

pets, buried: cat, bunny, cat in the cellar, I made my fort

one distant summer my friend and I carved a trail through the woods, raking away leaf litter and logs until dripping with sweat, smiling. I can remember the twists and turns by heart, though long overgrown.

yellow house upon a hill (and the adjacent field)

FOR SALE

FOR SALE .

MATTEA GERNENTZ .

PEACE OF MIND .

AGATA BUKSOWICZ .

THE STAGS .

will the planktons think our ashes as food, would I be okay with that?

inside of us, of earth, or by the red flower unto dust to be scattered away,

this same digested end – unless by those little creatures-friends-

dwelling on your passage then my own, praying I won’t suffer

inside a bothy, scattered, skulls split right in half, just like mine

I imagine the last breaths of your kinds, their bones

about this shared world and our shared expiry fate?

all their being, like yours, ask: what do we know

into the sky: their flight ontological, their voice meta-physics

the mini-loch, white unlike your shadowy selves they blend

these sprinting rabbits, the swans and grouses swoop round

and taste its melted snow, how cold, fresh, how rich of energy

those fishless streams that urge one to stoop down

trudging along this boggy foggy heather-feathered hills, across

in passing by we are adopting your paths, your ways of life,

your silhouettes are phantoms unfathomable almost

by minute on these stretching velvet hills and descending mist where

we were both there and then we age together minute

my sense of you’d balled up in traces left behind until

LONG TRAN .

is nature not in its most sanctified form? digested grass balled up in brown,

an oath to protect, and a desire for non-protruding life––

that both are beings, with consciousness, with pride and caution,

on we are in awe of each other, understanding

from the hillside and from that moment

I see these spirits of the glens staring

By Long Tran

THE STAGS

Remembering these hills that were mountains once

lest we risk its faltering, we must make do, we must––

a circle of things large and little we try too hard to alter

whose corpses cover deserts or float in gusts of wind––

THE STAGS .

its abundance a dance between the dried-up-seas and living trees,

are taking care of us, like say the air we breathe

charged them as caretakers of things when things

to symbolize themselves? they think some power

of every creatures in their sight, did somebody plant them there

On one hill I spot a pair of pines, standing like loan guards

or must a city grow, to watch over and teach it to be kind.

as a tree, I’d wish for a forest to spurt amongst

their branches to home their birds, feed their squirrels––

Better the food of trees perhaps, let them grow tall or gently curved

LONG TRAN .

. SARAH ALLEN .

. CATHERINE LAUGHARN .

ii WATERY ACCEPTANCE .

Disgusted All I am Is disused Like me as I am Love me as I am Accept me as I am My prayers lost to the sound of the ocean I’ve forgotten how to give myself over Maybe for the best; You prepare the watery grave Which closes over my head I let the hot bath hold me Closer than you ever did Dripping wet in my clothes Reminds me of that moonlit night The heat of the water feels so close To something we almost knew.

Does the moon know the sea You asked me Looking out a steamed-up window Into the cool night air I think she does I say Because how else would the waves Find the shore at night You’re right you say Standing in the bathroom towel round your waist You’re dripping onto the Lino I tell you Come back to bed You smell like sand and salt and soap And felt something like hope Cold sheets embrace us the silk lining our coffins In the moonlight I see You sleepily reaching out to hold me Warm hands weighing heavily on my belly And as the waves do You turn away roll back out to sea Taking/giving yourself but never to me Rolling waves return the distance between seas You’ve grown distant

ii. WATERY ACCEPTANCE

GABRIELLE HILL SMITH .

MOONQUAKE .

one day i’ll go back to where you went in dreams, maybe then the moon will be less cruel.

Now we rediscover you in different ways and in Each little corner of the house, i saw you. the you i had heard only in stories.

FIONA GOLDEN .

I didn’t grieve in june i grieved my adolescence when the nights were long and the house felt empty.

My memory was so slick you slipped right out of it and my only context of you was that of pain.

i had held my breath for nine years in the longest waiting room of your life you couldn’t talk, you watched films and went to sleep i did the same the difference is when the sun rose, i could feel it on me. Revelation renewed me you looked out over the parking lot

MOONQUAKE when you finally reached your repose, did you think of me? Could you even picture my face? i was a fable of your legacy, one you hardly knew you went quietly in the night. And it was all so sudden as the green flash i saw one night at dusk when you dipped under the horizon, i finally exhaled

. III OSMOSIS .

OSMOSIS OS-MO-SIS | \ ÄZ-‘MÖ-S S

noun

DEFINITION OF OSMOSIS 1: A PROCESS BY WHICH THE MOLECULES OF A SOLVENT PASS FROM A SOLUTION OF LOW CONCENTRATION TO A SOLUTION OF HIGH CONCENTRATION THROUGH A SEMI-PERNEABLE MEMBRANE

2: THE PROCESS OF GRADUAL OR UNCONSCIOUS ASSIMILATION OF IDEAS, KNOWLEDGE, ETC

GIAVANNA / BEACH .

EMILY MALES .

again and again, waning, the flame would not catch, sputtering out before match met tinder met log met oxygen. alight? we laughed and nearly used a whole box of matches, shoving in crumpled envelopes, digging further into the sand, and the wind tugged fiercely at our clothes as everything began to seem possible because of this one small impossibility and, next to me, in my friend’s body, a new life was unfolding, growing. The fire burned at last, of course— it sparked; it ate; it purified.

EAST SANDS

EMILY MALES .

MATTEA GERNENTZ .

ALISTAIR / CLIFFS .

EAST SANDS .

iii EARTHLY OSMOSIS .

GABRIELLE HILL SMITH .

I’m learning by osmosis, You say with your head buried underneath a book, You’re going to fail this test, but I help nonetheless. I know you haven’t worked because you were up last night entangled, Trying to converge with her your souls moving together across That partially permeable membrane that is your heart, It passes through me like a ghost of a punch to the gut. Come here and I’ll help you, you can’t accumulate knowledge Through osmosis, an unconscious assimilation of my mind is what you need A ready-made transplant - you get my brain, free of charge, I your heart: You don’t remember where you buried me, Among the moss and the forests of firns, I decay and decompose and your growth is fed By the heat of my rotted bones in my earthly bed.

iii. EARTHLY OSMOSIS Or Sonnet from the Buried

TRIPTYQUE .

CAMILLE GAGGIOTTI .

AMBIENT SOUND .

URGENCY AND PARALYSIS .

GENEVIEVE MALES .

NOVEL PERRCEPTUAL REALITIES : LOST . CIEL E. BURGES .

all concepts torn apart with the drawing of the curtains in the morning: gazing through a window of hope onto nameless objects in the yard.

the untouched new world: blending into its landscapes, seascapes, skyscapes – i feel I am dissolving, not anymore what i once was, not yet what i will be one day, somewhere between the yellow pages.

coated in grey raindrops: the morning ferry a sceptic ark of merely me, the one-way ticket a letter to the sea: let the flood wash away the bitter misery. what stays when I leave all behind is a consciousness still: as we sail on, i feed fake passports to the fishes.

the yearning to fully disappear in iridescence: i am all, i am nothing, triangular prisms on the white wall disturbed by everchanging nature, chased by the pain, regrets overflowing the jars of retrospection.

one, aimlessly wandering through confused clusters of convictions: here, clues are empty, there, they find prophecies under every pebble while the earth is flat, the earth is round – am i searching for infinity or running from mortality?

novel perceptual realities: LOST

NOVEL PERRCEPTUAL REALITIES : FOUND . CIEL E. BURGES .

watching the stars, meaning enough: you are as found as me when inhaling the great uncertainty as novel perceptual realities unfold like waterlilies in the duet of reverberating souls under waves of sensitivity.

there is randomness to my existence – though the resonance with my skin’s touch is a rightful reflection of my proactive creation, a fickle portrait in a piece of sea glass. all moments are bearable but brighter when our minds merge – constantly exposed to the unfathomable symptoms coming along with a heartbeat.

beyond the hills, there is a city rising from the dunes and sunset, golden like eternity but i broke with universals, opened for all appearances since the venomous veil of a paradise promised rose: suspend the fantasy of complete cognition for the sake of sanity.

spat out on the shore of the ocean of emptiness: reborn, naked and pink – with feet touching the soft white sand for the first time where my imperfections are laid out like apples under the harvest moon.

embracing how the vibrance of the strange streets supersedes me, unbecoming the hollow images in which they created me – to become alive. uproot all the trees and dig deep.

novel perceptual realities: FOUND

. COLETTE DURIEZ .

Emily Males Editor in Chief

Joséphine Duriez Editor of Print

. LETTER FROM THE EDITORS .

Adya Khosla Editor of Online Content

Whether you have arrived in the place where you hoped you would be, at home or abroad, or are still on the way to do so, we hope this colourful and imaginative issue will fill you with a feeling of excitement and leave you intrigued about the stories behind those art works.

The ST.ART committee thanks the artists in St Andrews and around the world who have shared their thoughts and creations for the making of this issue. It was a pleasure to put together this collection of creative pieces which tell the story of a memorable journey.

ARRIVAL is the continuation of the journey explored by the previous magazine on the theme of PASSAGE. These themes reflect on the eventful and insightful, yet calm and disturbing period we have all been through in the past year. This 22nd issue seeks to uncover feelings of acceptance, belonging and new beginnings as we arrive at the culmination of a journey. We believe that the chapters of convergence, acceptance and osmosis accurately illustrate the overarching theme and leave space for every artists’ own interpretation of it.

Our expectations and hopes about the nature of the world a few months ago might differ from the reality of what we are experiencing today at the ARRIVAL. However, this only allowed us to think creatively about how we wanted to interpret this carefully chosen theme.

EDITOR IN CHIEF: EMILY MALES GRAPHIC AND ONLINE DESIGN: SHONA MACPHERSON

ARTS AND CULTURE SUB-EDITOR:

FILM SUB-EDITOR:

FASHION SUB-EDITORS:

DIGITAL CONTENT EDITOR:

BUSINESS MANAGER:

PRINT CONTENT EDITOR:

MANAGING EDITOR: EMILY MALES

CREATIVE DIRECTOR : CAMILLE GAGGIOTTI

. THE TEAM .

COVER IMAGE BY COLETTE AUYANG DESIGN AND ARTWORK/PHOTOGRAPHY OF MAGAZIN BY CAMILLE GAGGIOTTI

INTERNATIONAL EDITOR: KYRA HO

FASHION EDITOR: ISABELLE NGUYEN

PHOTOGRAPHY EDITOR: EMILY SILK

TRAVEL EDITOR: EILIDH MARSHALL

FILM EDITOR: INES BIOLLAY

THEATRE EDITOR: ANA FATI

MUSIC EDITOR: KAT GUNYA

CREATIVE WRITING EDITOR: MOLLY KETCHESON

ARTS & CULTURE EDITOR: LILI JONES

CONTENT EDITOR: FIONA GOLDEN / JACKSON SPOTNITZ

PODCAST: ALEXANDER BLANTER / JACKSON SPOTNITZ

EVENTS COORDINATOR: FLO CUTTS / TOM KENNEDY

PUBLICITY: AGNES FANIZZA / ELI LAURENCE

SOCIAL MEDIA: INDIA BERRY

BUSINESS & SPONSORSHIP: CLAIRE TAYLOR

EDITOR OF PRINT: JOSÉPHINE DURIEZ

EDITOR OF ONLINE CONTENT: ADYA KHOLSA

GRAPHIC AND ONLINE DESIGN: SHONA MACPHERSON

CREATIVE DIRECTOR: CAMILLE GAGGIOTTI

THE TEAM

. COLOPHON .

An additional thank you to all contributors, whose work and talent make up this magazine, and to those who buy a print issue, whose support allows this work to come to fruition.

Printing of ARRIVAL was made possible thanks to the University of St Andrews’ Students’ Association Student Project Fund. With their grant, ST.ART was able to confidently publish this 22nd issue despite difficulties incurred by the COVID-19 pandemic.

The ARRIVAL issue was made by Camille Gaggiotti using Adobe InDesign. Fonts used are Avenir Next medium, demi bold, bold.

For each issue, the ST.ART Magazine committee collectively decides upon a theme. Then, a call for submissions is opened universally and internationally. Selections for the issue are chosen with the theme in mind at the discretion of the Editor in Chief Emily Males, The Editor of Online Content Adya Khosla, and the Editor of Print Joséphine Duriez.