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Creative Director - Elyssa English
Illustrator - Niusha Naderi
Editor in Chief - Andrea Sadowski
Distributor - Gurtaj Dhami
Managing Editor - Chandy Dancey
Judge - Anoop Dhaliwal
Production Assistant - Darien Johnsen Production Assistant & Illustrator - Brielle Quon
Judge - Joel Robertson-Taylor Judge - Martin Castro
Cover Art: Brielle Quon
The Cascade is the University of the Fraser Valley’s autonomous student newspaper and an alternative press for the Fraser Valley. The Zine is a bi-annual, semester-end edition of The Cascade’s regular bi-weekly newspaper, featuring UFV students’ and alumni's short stories, graphic designs, non-academic essays, literary nonfiction, poetry, photography, drawings, and paintings — everything that would otherwise not find a place in a regular edition of The Cascade. The pieces that make up The Zine were submitted by contributors, picked blindly by a panel of judges, and edited by our production team. The Zine is not just about showcasing the arts and the works of creatives, it is composed of people’s stories and experiences; their thoughts and ideas. With this, we build a bigger picture of what it means to be alive. As a whole, that is what The Cascade does — collect pieces of reality and build them into perspectives for our audience: UFV students, the greater Fraser Valley community, and beyond. Our publications strive to build meaningful connections between people, their realities, and their community. We are journalists who find the truth and present it in a way that can be understood. Through The Zine we are representing the material of our present reality, through a wider scope of expression. Your reality holds a truth, and is valid in its honest expression. We are here to encourage you not only to share your wisdom as university students, but as human beings alive in the 21st century. Lew Welch said: “if it is accurate there is always beauty.” This is a Zine for you, dear reader, to get lost in and to contribute to. The job of The Zine creators is to put all the pieces together to make something that is greater than the sum of its parts — that's the substance of true community. We are here to make something that means something. And we hope you enjoy.
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Darien Johnsen — Visual Art night terrors
Poetry — Alex Rake forgive me spider, but i don't like
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Hannah Chernoff — Poetry Unwell
Poetry — Catherine Friesen In The Dream Where You Tell Me You're Ok
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Graeme Beamiss — Visual Art Bomb
Poetry — Martin Castro Television Food Ad Prophesy
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Alex Rake — Poetry the sponge
Poetry — Sequel Adamson Church Service
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Hannah Chernoff — Poetry Ink and Rain
Poetry —Sequel Adamson Secular
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Jeff Mijo-Burch — Photography A Strong Stance
Photography — Andrea Sadowski Immaculate Vibes Larks on Larks
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Chantelle Trainor-Matties — Visual Art Pdeek
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Darien Johnsen — Poetry paved paradise
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Kellyn Kavanagh — Poetry Vignette
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Marcel Faucheret— Visual Art Lecram
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Varga Pourmokhtari — Photography Full Moon Adventures
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Varga Pourmokhtari — Photography Lougheed Station
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Joel Robertson-Taylor — Poetry Access for Justus
Photography — Luke Pardy Mattress
Visual Art — Anoop Dhaliwal Flower of Life Poetry — Catherine Friesen The Garden Poetry — Caleb Silveira Winter Morning Poetry — Catherine Friesen Cleaved Photography — Marcel Faucheret Arson Poetry — Simrat Kailay Rest
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Biographies Andrea Sadowski is the Editor-in-chief of The Cascade. She hopes you enjoy flipping through these pages, as so much love and care went into each one. Alex Rake is a poet from Mission, BC and an alumnus of UFV. He has resided in Vancouver over the course of the pandemic, Lord knows why. Anoop Dhaliwal is an interdisciplinary visual artist and graphic designer. Dhaliwal’s practice is predominantly in photography (analog + digital), video, dynamic media, printmaking, painting, and illustration. Her artistic approach embraces traditional art practices, digital art practices, and their intersections. As an active community member, she believes arts engagement promotes community development. Catherine Friesen is a UFV alumni, avid writer, voracious reader, and teacher, who is also currently completing school to become an art therapist. When they’re not reading, writing, or studying, they can be found gardening, baking cakes, or disappearing into the woods. Caleb Silveira neither belongs at mountain tops nor valley bottoms, neither where noiseless or noise-full. He is a man concerned with good, better, and best ways of being. A recent alumnus from UFV, he is conducting a MA in Theology and Culture. Live for better waters, friends.
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Chantelle Trainor-Matties is an Indigenous visual artist and graphic designer who graduated from UFV with her diploma in visual arts in 2020. She works as a freelance artist through her small business Frettchan Studios. Darien Johnsen is a writer, editor, activist, reckless lover, and forever student. She lives in the Valley, in an old apartment above an old store owned by an old man. She is continuously fraying at the seams, but has gotten very good at sewing them back together before they completely unravel. Graeme Beamiss: For a young Graeme, art was a means to understand, express and transform thoughts and feelings when words had failed. Today, Graeme uses his art to explore and express the felt intersection between responsibility, intellect, emotion and the mystery of the unconscious. His latest painting, "Bomb," is a meditation on the horrifying beauty of human potential. Hannah Chernoff is in her third year at UFV studying English in the BA program. She has a love for writing and is always working on something. She is passionate about stories in all their forms and can always be found with at least two non-curricular books in her backpack. Jeff Mijo-Burch writes a lot of words, and works to help other people’s words sound good. One time he wrote so many words that they
turned into a book. That’s too long for The Zine, though. Thankfully, he also takes pictures sometimes.
distant parent or the custodian of a trust fund.
Joel Robertson-Taylor is an award winning writer, rambling law student, former Editor-in-Chief of The Cascade, and the founding editor of The Zine. He currently resides in Toronto, ON.
Simrat Kailay is a freshman at UFV in the Bachelor of Arts Program. She enjoys writing poetry and taking photos of the wonderful world around her. With her poetry and photography she hopes to inspire others. She is also an active advocate for Joyful Foundation and hopes to help others with her time at UFV.
Kellyn Kavanagh is an autistic, gender non-conforming writer from the Fraser Valley in BC. While their work tackles many different themes, they primarily write about grief, mental health, and autism. In their spare time, Kellyn likes to read horror/sci-fi novels as well as produce lo-fi hip hop music. Luke Pardy is a fourth year Visual Arts student who specializes in photography, experimental and documentary media. More of his work can been found on Instagram @lkpardy, and on www.lukepardy.com
Sequel Adamson is doing alright.
Varga Pourmokhtari is a local photographer who primarily shoots with film. Film photography began as a hobby for Varga in 2019 and since then his work has been featured by both Kodak and Cinestill. His work displays themes of isolation and he particularly enjoys shooting at night. His Instagram is @prmkhtr.
Marcel Faucheret: Photographer, filmmaker, and underground noise enthusiast. Aspiring photojournalist. Sour and spicy, that’s how he likes it. If it crawls, yes. If it lurks, better. Martin Castro was there when The Zine took its first breath and he'll be goddamned if he's not there to watch it take its last. Until then he's glad to support its growth from afar, like a
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Luke Pardy "Mattress" Photography
Artist Statement: As an artist, I am interested in what may appear to be banal and mundane moments. For me it is these seemingly insignificant moments that connect humans to each other and connect us with histories. This photo was taken during the summer after being struck by the contrasting colours of the pink and green, and the slightly odd situation of seeing a mattress on a lawn. The resulting photo is indistinguishable of time and location which makes us able to imagine this scene as something that is both of our past and present. 1
forgive me spider, but i don’t like Alex Rake : that there's a spider in my tub : watching such a struggle towards failure : feeling responsible for what happens while i sleep in other rooms : uninvited guests constant invaders or silent violators : that after fifteen minutes wondering if i should run the bath anyway i run the bath anyway : this circumstance : anything you could call a circumstance : feeling such fast hatred when spider, i never said i didn’t like you
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In The Dream Where You Tell Me You’re Okay Catherine Friesen In a soft gouge of earth cut for a future basement I meet with your body. You tell me you never left, you just hadn’t found your footing. In the beginning the ground rolled under you, bucking you off and into the primordial cavern of death but you found your way out: you just had to put one foot in front of the other. Here, you are as you were in life: hair falling across your forehead, the soft curve of your mouth and your eyes staring to god knows where, and as I’ve done endless times before I wonder where you’ve gone: to the curve of sand where we collected sea glass or the woods behind our friend’s house or to the edge of a lake where you can dive in and disappear, your body merging with the water until you are the water. But you step forward and you’re here, all here: you pull me in for a hug and are solid as ever, a cliff face overlooking the woods or the blue mountains or a great chasm at the bottom of the sea. Pull me closer and say: there is so much of me left with you; there is so much more for you
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to do with your body; everything changes, nothing dies. When I wake you are a bird shot from the sky, the rug pulled from under me and an unseen, open-handed slap across the back of my head, an ache so deep that I’d excavate my own body if it meant it would leave. But you’re also everything else: a soft curve of sand, a cavern, the water of a lake or the sea glass or a body, all bodies, their mouths smiling, telling me that I’ll find you wherever I look.
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television food ad prophecy Martin Castro gonna be good to eat consume and soon get eaten scooped out of a can on a moonless Saturday by George Bush starring as a rodeo clown to be afraid of as seen in a dream by Scout after spending six days behind bars for taking a hatchet to all the plastic toy cop cars at the mall bundling the splinters into a bonfire stoking the bright neon flames toasting marshmallows and setting the building alight (tv jingle plays as product is presented a fast man reads legal disclaimers)
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Ad by: Darien Johnsen
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Church Service Sequel Adamson As I sit politely in church I hear the pastor say, “Think of your family, your friends, your sorrows, and how this is all Jesus’ plan.” On the third day he rose and said, “The grave could not hold me. I will die and be reborn again and again into you. A never ending cycle of despair, the holy trinity of suffering, my father, you the son, break my holy spirit and we are broken as one.” I will light a candle for your peace of mind. Give blood for the communion, sacrifice my body to your will. You will reign over me in the flesh. It is the same yesterday, today, tomorrow. The choir sings. We pray. I remember they have snacks after service. I thank you. Amen.
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Secular Sequel Adamson
I'm sitting in the stairway of the church, listening to others prey. There's a newborn who made it through the service without crying. I cannot say the same. God was used against me. Mother’s weapon of choice. Wrap a rosary around my hand. Glass beads, knuckles of mercy. Here to beat the living God out of you to leave room for the devil or resentment or whatever else is left after the faith is gone. That was not all loving. No God of mine could want that. God does not speak through a sick woman. For my mother: I hold forgiveness in my heart but not love. There is comfort in familiarity. The Lord's prayer uttered in unison. Bow with me as I pray. A ritual to sacrifice my Sunday mornings. Break fast with a man built entirely of crackers. Paper-thin and substanceless. No nutrition to feed my soul. My existence is still hungry.
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Andrea Sadowski "Immaculate vibes" Photography
Andrea Sadowski "Larks on Larks" Photography
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Artist Statement (Andrea Sadowski): These photos were taken while hiking Frosty Mountain in Manning Park. The forest and the mountains are where I find my solace, peace, and joy. Days like this make me forever grateful to be alive.
“Mathematics is the language in which God has written the universe”. Galileo Galilei. Artist Statement (Anoop Dhaliwal) This artwork series includes Flower of Life 1 and Flower of Life 2. The artwork combines my artistic practice in digital photography and graphic design. Flower of Life 1 is composed of digital photographs captured at so-called White Rock, BC. The artwork pictures visibly include rocks, seaweed, leave, the Pacific Ocean, and driftwood. Flower of Life 2 is composed of digital photographs captured from two locations: The University of Fraser Valley (so-called Abbotsford, BC), where I attend school, as well as a photography from my residence (so-called New Westminster, BC). The artwork pictures visibly include a tree, grass, and dirt. The spaces and the materials in the photographs provide me with spiritual grounding. Both artworks include graphic design: The Flower of Life. Simply put, sacred geometry can be understood as sacred meanings to certain geometric shapes. The Flower of Life is one of these scared symbols. As in this artwork, it often composed of 19 overlapping evenly spaced circles however it can be building infinitely. Symbolically, the Flower of Life symbolizes creation and unity among everything. The artworks present dualities such as living and dead matter, cool and warm tones, smooth and rough textures, as well as organic and geometric shapes. The Flower of Life reminds us these dualities are unified co-existing in harmony.
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Anoop Dhaliwal "Flower of Life 1" Visual Arts
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Anoop Dhaliwal "Flower of Life 2" Visual Arts
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The Garden Catherine Friesen
Again we’re at the border of spring with no idea what to do. The world eats itself alive and here we are, wondering whether we’ll plant carrots or cucumbers, not worried about how long this will last or who will outlast it. But we’re no strangers to death: each year we watch petals drop off daffodils, lilacs sag at the border of the yard, pumpkins rot and leaves dry up and drop to the bark mulch below. The black-eyed susans are the last to go, failing above low graves of ribs and clavicles of cats, names lost in the dirt. Nothing has changed, really; every night the sky detonates violent tangerine as the sun drops and the hyacinths still droop over new-sprouted tulips, withering in a different kind of beauty while we watch the world burn and consider what to grow next.
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Winter Morning. Caleb Silveira
There is a time in the morning when the cats slowly fall to rest and the dogs are sound asleep. The kitchen table with its hanging light, my most graceful friend. Down the road the horses stand still -in the snowed over plainslike stoic statues. And the Albertan bison rise from their snowy pits -let loose breathy steamand walk in unison to better pastures. The coffee brews and through frosted windows I watch the waking morn.
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Cleaved Catherine Friesen Listen: do you feel loved? I hear you digging below the surface of yourself in the dark folds of morning for things you don’t know how to reach. You split yourself willingly, searching in the wrong places: in the folds of a cardigan; in the rafters of the fire-bright barn; in someone else’s bed. Like you, I crave what I can’t have: someone else’s problems, one night of silence, the truth blazing fire-bright in the dark folds of morning and one good slap in the face. In this I risk finding new territory, and I’m damned if I won’t dig until my hands bleed and the truth splits from me like the bright-glossy seeds of a watermelon. Silhouette yourself against a backdrop of the insignificance of every decision you’ve ever made and remember: the first blow is always the worst. Be careful; it’ll cleave you before you have time to risk finding something worth digging for or to count how many pieces of you are left.
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Marcel Faucheret "Arson" Photography
Artist Statement: Provoked fire on Spadina Ave. downtown Chilliwack on September 4. The word in the streets says it had to do with the urban development plans on that block.
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Rest Simrat Kailay Rest my love, Till you feel peace. Till you love yourself, And focus on the light, Not the dark. Rest my friend, Till you feel light. Till you are strong, And breathe your soul free. Rest my soul, Till you die. Till you fulfill your dreams, And leave this life accomplished.
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Darien Johnsen "night terrors" Visual Art
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Unwell Hannah Chernoff Bruises – like stubbed cigarettes on cement – litter Her neck – like the wall of an abandoned building – is a canvas Bite marks – like echoes in a subway tunnel – are reminders Of how to feel Her nerves – like chests of treasure – are hidden Sunk – like a stone in quicksand – under Grey – like faded dates on a grave – dust Only reachable – like the blade of razor – through pain She wants to want to feel
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Graeme Beamiss "Bomb" Visual Arts
Artist Statement: Oil on canvas, 18 x 24". I was inspired to paint this as a way of exploring it's place within ourselves. The atom bomb is a weapon, ironically designed as a solution, but it's also a symbol; of love and fear, of apes as gods, of how real this is. I'm drawn to its hideous beauty because, to me, it's evidence that what we truly fear is ourselves, and that fear is so great, annihilation is preferable to enduring it.
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the sponge Alex Rake
where what am what did i absorb just now? whatever it is drained out when i was squeezed i was emptied but do i miss it? (miss what) whatever it is? (you tell me) whatever it is was part of me (who are you) whoever it is who soaks in whatever it is i've soaked in or else whatever it is i've lost (this is all pretty heady talk for a thing so hard and shrunk on the edge of my sink) you're telling me (i'm telling you) ... what's that (a dish) you gonna you gonna wash that dish? (that's what i'm here for) and i'm here for? (what i'm here for) and you are?
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(whoever it is who comes for whatever it is i've come for) a dish? (a dish) a dish ( ) a dish ( ) a dish ( ) a dish ( the heat of the water, felt in waves, in heartbeats, as i am filled am filled again am full again am me again meanwhile ) a dish ( ) a dish ( ) a dish ( there is no greater high, hoooney ) a dish ( than becoming one's self ) a dish ( but these scant moments of becoming? ) a dish ( all bookended by daily living! ) a dish ( DAILY LIFE ) a dish ( hard and shrunk! ) a dish ( awaiting the old days to come again! DAILY O O O DAILY LIFE: ) a dish ( great hangover of the spirit! ... a dish a dish a dish (ok alright))
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Ink and Rain Hannah Chernoff
Clots and pots and pitter patter, smudges and stains and splatter splatter, wells and brooks droplets on stone, I take a deep breath, let it sink in my bones. Soothing…the scent is made of intrigue and matter, the sound is a soft, whispering clatter, I stand and I watch as the drip drops – they shatter. I wait and watch as the ink and rain scatter.
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Jeff Mijo-Burch "A Strong Stance" Photography
Artist Statement: I really like garlic. Some people do not. Thankfully, I've found solidarity in this little stump plant pot. He also loves garlic. He'll take to the proverbial streets to prove it. He once used to grow garlic inside himself. In doing so, he gave garlic life, and now, holding up his sign in resolute pride, he seems to come alive himself. So as he gives life to garlic, garlic gives life to him. Just like how garlic gives life to me. And that's why I really like it.
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Chantelle Trainor-Matties "Pdeek" Visual Arts
Artist Statement: "Pdeek" is the Nisga'a word for tribe or large family. I've illustrated young animals that represent each of the four tribes working together to form a totem pole, eagle, raven, orca and wolf.
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paved paradise Darien Johnsen
they are paving our cities for condos and eating our organic farms for their imports. my backyard chickens cause distress to their industrial farmers and my 79.89 is still owed to revenue services for the free health care plan that ended two years ago. and when i withdrew from my courses burnt out they said i scammed the system and now i can’t do my masters (broke ass). and i work with homeless people while i fight to pay my rent but i love my neighbour who is addicted while i am less addicted (more functioning). and struggling (just barely scraping by) to afford a new condo that’s been paved over the lot of my elementary school stomping grounds so that i don’t breathe the mould of my old apartment and die.
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Vignette
A Spoken Word Poem
Kellyn Kavanagh I stood in the snow where you died and felt you fade from this earth. Your likeness buried in a natural grave while your presence lingered both next to us and a dimension away. I felt the cold sting of your absence slice up my skin, draw blood, and dry out the tears from my face. I strained my brain to feel a crumb of what my family felt right then. My processes failed me while I drained my whiskey and desperately tried to feel any other way than how I was… … numb. I hollowed out my heart like a pumpkin. Pulled out the guts and separated the seeds and roasted my grief in the oven with a sprinkle of salt. Toasting my beliefs subsided to a burn while I embraced the cynic and spoke out of turn sending shockwaves through my psychological static. I shiver in a hot bathtub, shaking with panic. Winter becomes summer, and summer becomes winter. You know it’s BC man, we don’t have normal seasons, or seasonal transitions. Like my emotions go zero to hundred. I hear your voice, or a melody, a single note, a snapshot of video, a weed pipe like the one you brought back for me from El Salvador. I named it Fernando. Life is fucked. But it’s also magic. If you look closely, it’s all emotional static. When it’s crazy it flashes with colour, and every now and again you glimpse the full picture. But the TV is broken, so you’ll never see the whole picture. But I think- maybe that’s better. I’ll sit by the trees and breathe a sigh of release knowing it’s been 3 years since I’ve felt this relief. The rain slips through while the sun shines in. Tears spill out and a smile breaks over my face. I’m thinking, I’m missing, holding onto, and remembering you. And I can feel it too. 29
Marcel Faucheret "Lecram" Visual Arts 21 cm × 19.7 cm
Artist Statement: The duality in the mirror, the shadow of the self.
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Varga Pourmokhtari "Full Moon Adventures" Photography
Artist Statement: This shot was taken at an abandoned house in Fort Langley. My cousin and I decided to check out this abandoned house very late at night and coincidentally it was a full moon which made the adventure even more eerie. I like to portray feelings of isolation and solitude in my photography and I feel like this shot encapsulates these feelings
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Varga Pourmokhtari "Lougheed Station" Photography
Artist Statement: For this shot I used Cinestill 800t film, which is repackaged motion picture film. This is what gives the photograph its cinematic feel. Before shooting this, I was watching late night crowds entering and exiting the skytrain when I realized it would be an interesting photograph to take.
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Access for justus Joel Robertson-Taylor i want to get representation He sez & we r liek look pal u wnt justus? there's alotta justus we got all ur justus but the man has hols in his pockets or som kinda excuse liek get real get ur justus somewhere els
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