Thread Magazine Fall/Winter 2023: The Artist by Thread Magazine

THE ARTIST BEAUTY BEGETS BEAUTY

ISSUE NO. 22 FW23

Cornell University is located on the traditional homelands of the Gayogohó:no (the Cayuga Nation). The Gayogohó:no are members of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, an alliance of six sovereign Nations with a historic and contemporary presence on this land. The Confederacy precedes the establishment of Cornell University, New York State, and the United States of America. We acknowledge the painful of Gayogohóno dispossession, and the honor of ongoing connection of Gayogohóno people, past and present, to these lands and waters.

As Cornell’s premier student-run fashion, art, and culture magazine, Thread aims to create a collaborative environment where Cornellians can learn to express themselves with different forms of mixed media. Thread cultivates and celebrates individuality among its members and models as well as through our partner campus groups and external organizations. We draw inspiration from students of all interests and disciplines to create a bi-annual publication, each showcasing a unique aspect of the human experience. Embedded within are a diverse array of perspectives and content creation we hope will continue to captivate our readers in years to come.

Web https://threadmagazine.org Email thethreadmagazine@gmail.com Instagram @threadmag

THE

ARTIST

FOREWORD Beauty begets beauty. When you see a painting that moves you for the first time, you stare. You take a photo of it. You scratch a sketch of it into a notebook, or you weave the image into words. I have never been so full of words. The past year of my life has been spent collecting them, plucking them from song lyrics, underlining them in novels, transcribing them as my friend gives me advice. I am a collection of moments— fragments of that which I find beautiful. I want to capture and immortalize these moments, so much so that my heart races at the prospect. My desire to preserve this beauty brought me to the theme of this issue. It begins with the realization that it is impossible to perfectly replicate beauty. I have witnessed a futile obsession with creation consume my peers. This frustration is the plight of the artist: the search for immortality within the confines of mortal bodies. And yet, we persist in begetting beauty as though our lives depend on it. Among our reactions to beauty, one that governs most of us is the impulse to share beauty, and share art, with the world. Magazines are vehicles for this impulse. An abundance of ideas, work, and coordination has gone into the making of this one. History and novels and short stories and movies have informed each shoot. Monologues were read, instruments were played, paint was mixed, there was dancing and singing and writing and love. The magazine is a place where all that we have found beautiful converges. All the beauty the staff has consumed exists here, and, as Oscar Wilde said, “It would always be alive.” Our creation is larger than ourselves. Elaine Scarry, the author of On Beauty and Being Just, argued that beauty is essential to justice. Begetting beauty requires and compels one to look to the past in order to create for the future. The viewer is confronted with their own limits in admiring that which is limitless; art is a reflection of the world and its errors. As much as it shows us our flaws, beauty forces us to face our ability to create. It makes us realize that power is within our reach, and it simultaneously pushes us to use that power for good. For connection. For justice.

You can see the influence of James Baldwin in our final shoot, The Musician. In “Sonny’s Blues,” Sonny plays jazz for his brother, and, “He and his boys up there were keeping it new, at the risk of ruin, destruction, madness, and death, in order to find new ways to make us listen.” We know this reckless desperation well, and so does Sonny, the artist. His ability to show us beauty is powerful, and we must listen. Because we might see ourselves in him and his piano, and then maybe he can get better. Maybe we can restore justice. This issue is a product of beauty. Through obsessive desperation as I align text boxes and lean over photographers’ shoulders, I have found fulfillment and friendship. I hope you see yourself in it, and I hope you feel an impulse to create art—to beget beauty. I encourage you to give in. xoxo, Alex

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR As I step into my period of retirement, I find myself in quite a peculiar position within Thread. Having exhausted the e-board leadership chain as a junior, I honestly don’t know exactly where my future within Thread lies. What I do know is that I’m sticking around. Thread has been the epicenter of my college experience, and it’s impossible to imagine being on campus without this vibrant, creative, and spirited community. Whether I overstay my welcome and take on a much smaller e-board position or fully step down and enjoy the calmness of g-body, I look forward to maintaining my ties to this Thread and watching how my peers continue our impactful work. It is with great honor and excitement that I pass my metaphorical baton and allow another individual to lead and shape the community that touches so many lives here at Cornell. Throughout this semester, my team has left me in awe. The initiative, leadership, and creativity exhibited by this e-board are unparalleled. I feel like I’ve spent more time asking people what they’re doing than telling them what to do, which fills me with immense pride and amazement. I am especially proud of our Creative Director, Alex, whose dedication to Thread, art, and community have really shone through this semester. Alex shared a narrative that was both aesthetically and emotionally powerful, imbuing her own artistic inspirations into the creation of the magazine. Her creative direction of The Artist helped to illuminate and give voice to the creativity and artistic passions across the larger Cornell community. As I take a step back from the Editor-in-Chief role, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the memories, challenges, and growth that Thread has brought into my life. I have never poured so much time, energy, and love into any singular thing in my life, but also never have I reaped such rewards from my efforts. The journey has been nothing short of extraordinary, and I am confident that this community, fueled by its passionate members and innovative leaders, will continue to thrive and evolve. Thread is not just a club; it’s a family, a source of inspiration, and a testament to the incredible things that can be achieved when like-minded individuals come together. I may be retiring from a formal position, but my heart remains firmly woven into the fabric of Thread. Here’s to new beginnings, shared accomplishments, and the enduring spirit of creativity that defines us. Thank you, Thread, for the unforgettable journey. I look forward to watching the next chapter unfold, knowing that the magic we’ve created will endure and inspire for semesters to come. With love, Raquel

Editor-in-Chief Raquel Coren Managing Editor Misha Caternor Print Director Lee Fitzgerald Communications Director Ellie Altman-Sagan Outreach Director Jasmine Chang Creative Director Alexandria Fennell Creative Advisor Audrey Yin Art Directors Asuka Kurebayashi Isabel Mina Beauty Directors Valerie Chang Taylor Brown Editorial Directors Parker Piccolo Hill Peter Yacoub Fashion Directors Rani Sheth Emma Dow Photography Directors Sophie Shadid Jade Nguyen

Collaborations Director Erin Yoon Community Director Ryan O’Donnell Social Media Strategy Director Seth Stephenson Social Media Graphics Director Rahanna Bisseret Martinez Web Director Ignacio Estrada Film Director Carolyn Dunn Events Director Jake Rosen Casting Director Eliot Lee Finance Director Krisha Desai Sales Director Saskia Gonzalez

STAFF

Amida Akpan Emma Baik Roxana Behdad David Behdad Mark Bell Cate Bellesheim Jessalyn Birt Summer Broadfoot Paige Burch Susanna Burr Lillian Casazza Viann Chan Andreew Cheung Catherine Ching Maya Chiravuri Alina Chisti Matthew Correa Adrienne Correia Marge Dalseth Tricia Derecho Elle DiCicco Jasper Drake Renee Du Tanya Fan Sophie Feldman Jackson Feldman Jessie Fujii Jules Gembs Srija Ghosh Pia Glaysher Lily Greenberg Ella Grimm Shrayes Gunna Charlotte Hamilton Isabella Hanson Kate Harris Roan Harvey Macarena Hesse Emma Hogan Kelly Hong Louisa Howe Kayla Hsu Audrey Hua Halsey Hulse Sofia Iantosca

Simone Jacobs Joonah Jang Inah Jung Emmanuel Kaiser-Veyrat Ruth Kim Heilani Kim Leah Kim Allison Kwon Anabelle Lau Cielle Lee Brandon Leung Maggie Levine Pola Levy Jiayin Li Pat Li Myna Lim Rosey Limmer Miya Liu Mia Loosmann Hannah Luna Nicole Luque Mahima Mahy Sadie Mank Mira Marino Lindsay McCormack Devon Meenaghan Lauren Mok Roxanna Mora Elsie Muhirwa Pranav Nair Dante Napoletano Liriana Nezaj Grace Nivera Katie Noh Yoona Oh Funmi Olukanmi Alisa Orlova Jade Oshodi Ria Panchal Julie Park Mia Paz Esandi Perera Ava Perez Lia Ponciano Diaz

Rachel Pyeon Reter Padzio Adrita Rahman Irenys Reyes Yoolae Rho Eve Riskind Catrina Roman Millie Roper Savanna Rostad Sasha Ryder Brian Sa Kaelyn Sandifer Hana Schultz Jennie Seo Pat Sevikul Rania Shah Tyler Siegmann Aleisha Sin Jacqui Sparrow Kate Stiens Marina Tadrous Tasnimul Taher Shun Tanaka Jamie Tang Neen Yada Tangcharoenmonkong Camila Tedesco Remy Teltser Nicole Tian Chau Trinh Lucy Troy Jolene Tsang Arden Van Hollebeke Sophie van Straten Jaidan Voelkner Jillian Walker Margaret Watkins Alex Watson Nora Weber Jenny Williams Asya Wise Fiona Yin Ella Yitzhaki Sally Zhang Hemchee Zhong

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THE PAINTER THE ARCHITECT THE ACTOR THE DANCER THE POET THE DESIGNER THE MUSICIAN 11

The Painter “Je ne sais pas ce que tu sais. Je sais seulement ce que tu es. Je peux voir que tu souffres.” - The French Dispatch

Directors: Asuka Kurebayashi Isabel Mina, Seth Stephenson Models: Justin Guilfu, Isabel Breslin, Leo Alger, Amber Arquilevich Art: Ria Panchal, Ella Grimm, Rania Shah Beauty: Lindsay McCormack, Cate Bellesheim Creative: Kelly Hong, Sophie van Straten, Shun Tanaka Editorial: Remy Teltser Fashion: Brandon Leung, Cielle Lee, David Behdad Photo: Peter Radzio, Eve Riskind 13

A Dialogue of Artists Remy Teltser Vera Kelly ’25, Fine Arts AAP:“I’ve been a chronic drawer my entire life, it’s how I calm myself down and visually explore the world. Drawing is then the blueprint for painting. What I love about painting is color. It is a whole other dimension that you get to explore.” Will Ritter ’26, Fine Arts AAP: “I like the physicality of film photography. The act of having one roll of film and only 24 photos to take; you can’t snap a billion photos. You automatically have to think through what you’re photographing. It gives more intention.” “I really love photography, too. It’s fascinating that photography is a medium that captures exactly what’s in front of you, but somehow it can show instances where the world gets uncanny, when it doesn’t make sense. I liked the delayed gratification of the film because you really have to work to get it.” “Photography forces you to confront what is real in the world. It is purely an investigation into materials and objects that surround you. You are put into conflict with your subject, there is no choice. You have to give more freedom to the subject, you can’t force things, but rather let something unveil itself to you. It’s an exploration of the world around me.” “[Painting] is very different because you get to see it process by process, you decide what it looks like. Photography is a medium where you’re the translator of a thought. Painting is a little bit more personal, you’re the creator. It depends on what mood I am in.” “Walter Benjamin wrote an essay about the advent of photography, how you can now photograph something and print it 100 times, making it public. He argues there’s a difference between a photograph of a painting and seeing it in real life. He says there is an aura that is lost. In a museum, the painting is one of one, it has a place in time and space. The photograph of a painting eliminates the singular nature. A photograph is an investigative method, it’s never going to be one-of-one. It’s inherently public and reproducible. The painting is an original.” “A lot of abstract art that is literal draws on emotions. Drawing a table where you heard bad news and rendering that emotion visually is what makes it abstract. Anyone else could walk by the table and draw it as is, but drawing those nonvisual feelings and making those emotions something you can see is an abstraction.” “We are all made up of abstraction. We are all just shapes. I had this crazy spiritual awakening in 2019 where I saw everything as shapes. There is some inherent truth in that. Even scientific truth; we are all made of atoms. It marked a really hard time for my life because it was like my body adjusting to this change in lens. ” 15

“It’s this thing that I’m observing and existing with. I’m constantly looking at it and being like, what does it have to tell me? There is a self-fascination with artists. You’re just the translator of your personality and perspective.” “My friends are my muses. When I portray people, it’s my friends, typically in unintentional poses. No studio shots, just documentation. I photograph people from a distance because I am more interested in the interaction with the space around them, where they stand in the frame.” “Friends, lovers, fashion. I feel like the world is my muse. There’s no one I’m not inspired by. There’s something to glean from everyone.”

“The audience is what brings your art to life. If a person [stays in their] glass box [their] entire life, not interacting with anyone, [they have] no feedback. Your audience animates your art and determines its nature.” “I make art for myself. There’s subjects that I investigate through a medium that might be something other people are interested in. If they are, that’s great. It’s like a book; if people want to read, they’ll read.” “I just read this text for my photo class about artists and the audience having an equal relationship in what the art achieves. Is art anything without anyone viewing it? Is it meant to be viewed and appreciated and experienced?” “I think art made for an audience is rarely art because it’s trying to please someone. And then, artists go into it with the full intent of what the audience wants, and that disrupts the whole process of discovery and refining. Whatever you’re trying to depict, you’re not giving it any freedom to tell you like what its character actually is. You construe it so it fits the preferences of your audience.” “That’s your job as an artist, is making pieces for the public. It both is therapeutic for you and spreads the message. It’s multidimensional. Some people view it differently, but I do view it as that.” 17

“Art is an imitation of reality. Reality is informed by art. They create each other. It’s a cycle that can’t be separated. I like to be on the side that is producing [art] because you’re helping to inform the world.” “In photographing or drawing something, you frame it within the confines of the white space of the paper. It’s elevating that object or scene, and inherently making it something sacred and beautiful in its own existence.” “Painting is a translation of your objective view and your opinion about it. It’s really true that even though the world is 3-dimensional, our view is only 2-dimensional, and that’s why we can translate things into drawings” “Photography is an investigative tool. You can read a photo book the same way you [can] read a novel. It’s just a matter of opening your mind and tuning into the photo. Art can explain things that words or economics cannot.” “As I add new perspectives to my world my art is a mirror to that. It’s an outlet for everything I’m learning, and it helps me reflect on what I’ve learned to see by mindset externalized. They’re interchangeable, to me.”

“I used to make charcoal drawings focused on realism and form. At the place where I am now, I’m very accepting and encouraging of “mistakes.” To me it’s a representation of the time and evolution of the drawing, so I don’t see it as perfect. It’s really evident in a lot of my current pieces. There’s solid figures but also free lines. If I wanted to depict something with perfect realism, I’d just photograph it.” “The constraints of perfectionism are more about feeling like as much as you tried to photograph or draw something, it might not be the right subject to say what you are looking to say. It’s frustrating because you’re back to square one, wondering what you should draw.” “It was before the realization that art was meant to be flexible that I was really rigid. The realization allowed my brain to adopt it. It took a second, definitely. It’s like my truth was evolving, so I just evolved with it.” “It’s more about using objects and subjects as the means to express something, rather than trying to make the object the focus. I don’t necessarily care about drawing something realistically, or photographing something as is, if it’s not the medium for what I’m trying to say.” “When I am going through a relationship, it can really inform my art. Especially with ADD, I hyper-fixate on things, not in an obsessive way, but constantly mulling over your thoughts: this person, these interactions we’ve had. It can be therapeutic to paint them.” “I am interested in so many different things that there’s not one thing. I read something new and then all of a sudden, I want to create art with that.” “Last year I was doing an exhibition while in this mind-f*cking situationship, and so I painted him. There are all these feelings encoded in the art. I was thinking about him while painting it. But it wasn’t about him. It was about me.” “My most recent mini-project consisting of four photos stemmed from my interest in psychoanalysis, [specifically Sigmund] Freud, and Carl Young. The photos were using their ideas to explore the subconscious with photographs of things that might seem unrelated. None of the photos could have stood alone and said what I wanted to say; they activated each other. It’s not arbitrary, there is intentionality between placement. If you want a conversation, you need at least two photos that evoke something in each other. Just like how a word can’t stand on its own.” 18

The Architect

Directors: Sophie Shadid, Jade Nguyen Models: Ruby Rosenthal, Fiona Yin, Lihui Li, Aadi Singla Art: Lillian Casazza, Cassie Liu, Summer Broadfoot, Lia Ponciano Diaz Beauty: Simone Jacobs, Roxana Mora Creative: Maya Chiravuri, Renee Du, Roan Harvey, Heilani Kim Editorial: Joonah Jang Fashion: Mark Bell, Brian Sa, Kate Stiens Photography: Sophie Shadid, Jade Nguyen, Lillian Casazza, Neen Yada Tangcharoenmonkong

“The blind man said, ‘We’re drawing a cathedral. Me and him are working on it.’” -“Cathedral” by Raymond Carver

Whether it’s metal spikes placed over the only ledge big enough to sleep on or partitions within a bench to discourage lying down, hostile architecture is quite common in cities and public areas. Hostile architecture is frequently used to restrict certain behaviors from occurring; this can mean skateboarding, loitering, or lying down. On paper, it seems like it is an effective method of establishing order and ensuring safety in certain areas. Tall fences can provide security to homes and concrete barriers prevent cars from entering pedestrian-heavy spaces. However, in practice, many of these efforts disproportionately target vulnerable groups such as homeless populations (Hu, 2019). What appears to be beneficial to the majority is actually intended to exclude certain groups of people. Much of the fashion industry also has the intent to exclude, similarly to hostile architecture practices. It is apparent that the fashion industry has a “skinny bias”. For example, in 2017, the fitness brand Athleta faced incredible backlash for using non plussize models to market clothes in that category. The biggest size advertised was a medium.

Many felt that this indicated that Athleta discouraged those with certain body shapes and types from wearing their brand (Elizabeth, 2017). The lack of use of plus-size models in advertising is questionable, and it is also concerning how much skinniness is emphasized in the fashion industry. More recently, the 2023 Met Gala honored fashion icon Karl Lagerfeld through its theme “Karl Lagerfeld: A Line of Beauty”. The German designer accomplished admirable work for brands like Chanel and Fendi. However, he was a controversial figure due to his misogynistic and fatphobic comments directed towards women, on top of his seemingly outdated and harmful beauty standards. This led to backlash from many models that attended the event this year. The theme’s controversy was amplified when Kim Kardashian lost 16 pounds in three weeks to fit into Marilyn Monroe’s historic dress (Felbin, 2022). In the luxury fashion and designer world, the thinnest models are used to advertise goods to consumers. Think about Chanel, Prada, Hermès, Dior… the list goes on. The models for these brands don’t just advertise the clothing and accessories,

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but also perfect skin, perfect bodies, and a perfect lifestyle. It is apparent that much of the fashion industry discourages those who don’t fit within this seemingly perfect archetype of a human from owning their products. For those buying women’s clothes, it’s shockingly normalized for sizes to be petite, even if it’s labeled XL. An XL Black Danse Maxi Dress from Ann Demeulemeester is only 14.75 inches for its waist size. An XXL Grey Lupetto Sweater from Rick Owens is the same measurement. It seems that certain styles of clothes, like avant garde, are deemed only appropriate for people with extremely tiny waists and bodies. Like hostile architecture, hostile fashion is designed with the intent to exclude certain groups of people. It also seems to be a permanent element of the industry. Inclusivity in clothing may perhaps be designated to “mall” brands to fit everyone’s needs… to keep the high-fashion brands in their own, “perfect world” bubble.

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Chair Design: Fluidity and Rigidity by Ola Taha 24

The Actor

Shoot Directors: Krisha Desai, Ryan O’Donnell, Jake Rosen Models: Nicole Yan, Sadeen Musa, Waad Rahal, Joseph Wolff Art: Jiayin Li, Nicole Tian, Asya Wise Beauty: Kate Harris, Irenys Reyes Creative: Elle DiCicco, Louisa Howe, Myna Lim, Jolene Tsang Editorial: Mahima Mahy, Jenny Williams Fashion: Kayla Hsu, Allison Kwon, Luciana Luque, Julie Park, Tasnimul Taher Photo: Jasper Drake, Pia Glaysher, Anabelle Lau, Jacqui Sparrow 28

“A play, Ricardo, is A mirror to all men.”

- Punishment Without Revenge by Lope de Vega

Creative: Elle DiCicco, Louisa Howe, Myna Lim, Jolene Tsang Editorial: Mahima Mahy, Jenny Williams Fashion: Kayla Hsu, Allison Kwon, Luciana Luque, Julie Park, Tasnimul Taher Photo: Jasper Drake, Pia Glaysher, Anabelle Lau, Jacqui Sparrow

I’m told I make the character come to life. I give them power, prestige. I decide their strengths and weaknesses. When I retire to the wings, I must return and regain myself — stripped of face paint and costume, stripped of pretending. Bare and suddenly small I must find my way back to who I am. Hot, severe stage lighting. Foundation melts, mascara smudges, sweat drips to the ground below. Stomachs grumble, eyes squint, mouths dry out, voices becoming hoarse, waists are cinched, hands that are our hands move in ways so intimate but so unfamiliar. A loud shriek disrupts the audience’s silence — followed next by an exaggerated thump and a woman, sprawled out, fists clutching her chest and her face distorted by mourning. Yet, no one calls out. Tears drawn forth by the beauty of her pain well in the eyes of the audience, but they do not reach for her. They awe and clap and ooh, while she writhes in agony on the floor before them — Nobody has ever seen a heart break so beautifully, an agony so rich, and an artist so involved. The curtains close and she remembers.

“Voices rose and fell around me. Hands grabbed the skin of my face. My hair pulled back into a tight bun, my eyebrows made up into high arches. I sit unmoving among the production. The dressing room; a stage in itself — each role cast is complete and in the end I, or whoever I am supposed to be, is created. My character exists between the wings, the director tells me. On the black stage floor. Among the other actors, but not beyond. Characters are to be discarded. I am to discard them. To wear my own name again and return to myself. But what is there left of myself when I have fallen so deeply into someone else — When my own heart pulls towards a heartbreak I do not own, or feel grief for a soul I have never loved? Or when I have bellowed with all the power in the world in a voice I cannot keep? My drawn on eyes, my agonizing screWams, my sexy dancing and loud personality is not a hobby. Or a game. My acting is a craft — so I craft myself. I become someone. My reflection replaced in the mirror before me, so we can all wonder:

Jenny Williams

When Can I Stop Performing? Mahima Mahy Curtains close on the final night signaling the last time my character will live on stage with me. As I make my way home, I realize I’m not alone. My costume might have come off but my character didn’t. Curtains close on the final night signaling the first time my character will go out into the real world. Show season is over and all I’m left with is another hollow body in my closet for me to wear. One day I’ll find something to fill this hollow body of my own. Show season is over but I can’t stop performing The world expects to see versions of myself that I created for them The world expects to see someone who isn’t me Actors are supposed to give the audience what they want, right? In the shower, I work on my lines Lines written for the character I’ll play today Everything I say, scripted by a writer The way I say it, dictated by a director My existence, eyed by an audience Turn off the water before I start thinking about it for too long Remember, your job isn’t to think It’s to be who they expect you to be

I dry off before scouring my closet for A top A bottom A pair of shoes An identity I take off my own putting another on This one, I got from my 5th grade play I might have outgrown it, but I’ll make it fit A bit tight, my body fights to break out But once it’s on, you could never tell I’ll just have to be careful not to let it tear The audience can’t know who they see is just a shell 32

I zip up this costume before I scour my script My script filled to the brim with notes About my character, about me My character’s actions are motivated by what What books do I read How do I respond to a friend asking for help What I would order at a coffee shop Inked pages detailing the ins and outs of my character, about me Dress rehearsal is in five I hurry so I don’t get cut 8 a.m. sharp in front of the mirror My understudy, my identity, must go another day I catch a glimpse of her longing to be called on stage Delusional, still waiting for her cue Backstage, she waits, she doesn’t understand Actors must give the audience what they want And the audience wants anything but her I almost feel sorry, but “That’s show business, darling” It’s almost 9 I do one last run-through of my lines I realize something’s missing during my costume check My smile I forgot to draw it on The single thread tying together all of my costumes My smile I drew it on Just like I was told to for my 7th-grade musical One last check before stepping onto stage I scour myself A top A bottom A pair of shoes A costume A character A smile And nothing of mine Just what the audience wants My front door opens It’s showtime

The

- Black Swan

“I just want to be perfect.”

Directors: Taylor Brown, Valerie Chang Models: Alina Draa, Lexie DeLuca, Kimberly Lau Art: Ella Yitzhaki Beauty: Jessie Fuji, Hana Schultz Creative: Jackson Feldman, Ava Perez, Inah Jung, Funmi Olukanmi, Yoona Oh Editorial: Grace Nivera, Jaidan Voelkner, Jillian Walker Fashion: Catherine Ching, Adriene Correia, Dante Napoletano, Jade Oshodi Photo: Alina Chisti, Shrayes Gunna, Rosey Limmer 36

A N C E R

And I’ll dance. First, second, Pas de bourrée en courus Fouetté, Fouetté, Fouetté Temps levée, Temps levée Temps levée en arabesque Deep breath Deep breath Soutenu Eye here- stay! Keep and keep Keep eyeonme dry my teethsmile! smile! plant ankle & dig rib in to lung. thigh is out for biting then allegro & allegro allegroallegro You’re not focusing/ Focusfocus

Jaidan Voelkner

i’ll do it again do it again. & do it again so youll s ee how my toes bleed;

Good Pain or Bad Pain? Grace Nivera A twirling sugarplum fairy, palaces made of sugar coated candy, whimsical orchestrations. Even just a few words and most will instantly recognize The Nutcracker: an iconic, mesmerizing ballet that kickstarts many dancers’ journeys, including Anna Rose Marion’s. Ever since starting at the early age of two, Anna Rose has been a dancer. She has not only trained in a variety of styles—including ballet, modern, contemporary, and jazz—but also choreographed intricate pieces within all of those genres. There is certainly no doubt that Anna Rose is a seasoned veteran in this field. I sat down with her to ask about her dance journey, beginning with what exactly has kept her dancing for more than seventeen years. “What keeps me going is often not performing, although I do love it, but being in rooms with people that are highly creative and collaborative,” she said. “Dance can be a means of harnessing embodied knowledge into a form that can be communicated to a mass audience without ever having to speak.” “Have there ever been any challenges? What are the unhealthiest aspects of the dance industry?” I ask. “I’ll admit, I did giggle when I saw this question, not because it’s not legitimate, but because it’s such a minefield. At least in the Western dance industry, you spend your day in front of a mirror. Your body is the medium, and that means that your body comes under fire because it needs to look a certain way. In a lot of cases, that means making the right shape for the choreography. But it often also means being the right shape and maintaining a certain weight, body type, or look. Girls wouldn’t want to stand in a certain place at barre because it would be too triggering to see themselves in tights and a leotard from that particular angle.” Anna Rose then shares disheartening anecdotes from her home ballet studio in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where teachers would tell her to “suck in her gut, so it doesn’t look like she ate lunch” or side-eye students for simply eating dinner after a long night of rehearsal. “In the studio, there’s nowhere to hide,” she explains. “As a dancer, you get this feeling that if you can mold your body into any shape, why can’t you mold your body into a perceived ideal form?” Often, this intense scrutiny of one’s body shortens the careers of dancers significantly, taking a toll on the mind and body. Even as a veteran dancer, Anna Rose still grapples with these issues. “It’s hard to draw a distinction between the body image issues I have from just growing up as a woman in America from the body image issues of being a dancer. I was always too tall to be partnered with guys and the biggest dancer in any space I was in. When I get photos back from a performance, I still notice that I look different from the other girls in my costume.” Yet, she has found ways to lessen that overwhelming, toxic energy by moving into environments that are more appreciative of her body’s capabilities. “Recognizing that size can be a strength has been powerful for me. Moving into high school and college, I did more modern pieces that were meant to be more athletic, less light, and proper. In those pieces are big lifts, and I learned to make a space for myself by being the person that could lift other girls because I’m strong enough to.”

Nevertheless, in the larger dance industry, even if you’ve found a niche, once you’ve reached an older age, your talents are often not valued anymore. In the oldest ballet company in the world, the Paris Opera Ballet, once dancers reach the age of 42, they’re forced to retire. Anna Rose believes this unwritten dance rule is a product of the outer world: “Dance is cultural, meaning it is a reflection of our larger culture. Women over 50 tend to be less valued in our society at large, and that’s certainly reflected in the dance industry. Additionally, the dance industry profits off of youth, and the kind of energy young people bring is more valued in the industry than the maturity of veteran dancers. It is unfortunate because there’s a lot of creative people that are being phased out.” She reflects that as dancers, “We push our bodies until injury and even beyond that. Almost every dancer I know has either had an injury in the past, or has one side weaker than the other, or a knee that’s a little stronger. I have some scarring in my left hamstring because in my junior year of high school, I badly strained it on stage and just had to keep performing.” I still didn’t fully understand why dancers push themselves to such extremes. Why undergo such sacrifice for an art that opens your body up to such criticism and exhaustion? Anna Rose details the mindset that has been drilled into her: “We dancers are told from such a young age, ‘no pain no gain.’ We are taught to place our bodies in extremely unnatural positions that are not anatomically natural. If you stretch and mention discomfort , the teacher often says, “Is that good pain or bad pain?” One part of her answer hits me square in the chest: “Pain is always a part of the equation. There are all sorts of aches and pains that you’re taught to work through and deal with on your own. As dancers, we work so hard and so long, dedicating so much of our body, mind, and spirit to a piece, so it can be gutting to let it go on with-

out you.”

Building off of that, I wonder out loud, “Do you think pain is inherent to being a good dancer?” She answers,“There’s something so powerful and enticing about performing a piece where you’re pushing your body to its limit and every night you don’t know if you’ll get through it. At some point, when you hit that limit, you have to kick into a different gear. Then, something happens where you end up dancing with more freedom and abandon because you have nothing left of your inhibitions.” When Anna Rose dances past her limit, she’s vulnerable to the audience. Her walls are broken down, and she’s acting in pure survival mode. Only with this pain could she unlock her potential. “In the moment you feel the most powerless, you end up becoming the most powerful.” I am awestruck by Anna Rose’s description of that high, and quite frankly, honored that I could gain insight into her mindset. I ask her if she will continue dancing after college, secretly hoping that she won’t let this passion and talent fade away so soon. She answers in the affirmative: “To be a dancer and to move requires you to open your body up to meet the environment around you. The process demands vulnerability, which can be scary. But that kind of porosity demands that I actively listen to my authentic desires, become more grounded in my identities, and meet and form deep connections with other dancers as they express their own multiplicities. Dance is a pure source of joy for me and a place of experimentation, harnessing energy in a way that I have not replicated anywhere else.” The vulnerability that Anna Rose so easily showed during this interview is what I can tell makes her shine so brightly on stage. Anna Rose is strong and highly in-tune with her environment, just like many others in this field. The central use of your body as a medium means dance offers something no other art can offer: a heightened sense of connection to your body and identity. For dancers, this art serves as a critical space of self-reflection and personal empowerment. Good pain or bad pain, it’s all growth.

On Perfection Jillian Walker

What happens when how you look becomes who you are? When numbers on the back of food labels become an obsession, when you’re small in the real world but feel massive on stage, when you’re scared to take up space. Many dancers agree: their art is inherently toxic. From ballet to hip hop and everything in between;when your art is your body, your body must be perfect. One friend and former ballerina of mine lamented on her past experiences. She stopped dancing at a young age before being subjected to serious mental damage, but didn’t hesitate to share some of her more fundamental sorrows with her art. She told me how her ballet teachers held her to impossibly high standards, to the point where she would be forced to sleep in splits to train her hip flexibility from a young age. Another friend of mine, in her forties rather than a teenage girl, is a mother to a six-year-old girl. Now a realtor in Brooklyn, New York, this friend was formerly a lead ballerina in the New York Ballet. Yes, the New York Ballet. When she reflected on her time in the dance company, this friend talked about the torment of having her body be her career. One wrong cut, scar, bruise, jiggle, shape, meant that her career could be jeopardized. Her young daughter begs almost daily to be enrolled in ballet lessons, yet she refuses. Because of the relationship this friend has formed with her body, one that to this day means she still starves herself in hopes of reaching perfection, she knows that she will never let her daughter engage in such perilous activity. So the question on the table: is suffering needed for art? I would argue that suffering and art aren’t inherently dependent on each other. Suffering should be the inspiration that creates art, not the product of it. In regards to dance, most environments, regardless of their allegedly toxicity, depend on the suffering created by art. But how do we dismantle the suffering of the dancer? My answer, in brief: we cannot.

THE POET “Like the blood moving through her own heart: a word, a word, a word.” - The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

Directors: Rahanna Bisseret Martinez, Parker Piccolo Hill, Peter Yacoub Models: David Suarez, Lucy Bazezy Art: Hannah Luna, Adrita Rahman, Sasha Ryder Beauty: Paige Burch, Charlotte Hamilton, Chau Trinh Creative: Jessalyn Birt, Viann Chan, Savanna Rostad Editorial: Audrey Hua, Sadie Mank Fashion: Emma Baik, Marina Tadrous, Fiona Yin Photo: Elizabeth Han, Halsey Hulse, Millie Roper, Sally Zhang 44

Calligraphy: Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, Walt Whitman (2018) Square Word Calligraphy: In Reply to Pei Ti, a poem by Wang Wei from Mountain Home: The Wilderness Poetry of Ancient China, forthcoming from New Directions

One of the most important Chinese artists, a member of Andrew D. The right work spells out a poem from Tang Dynasty in China: White Professor-at-Large program, Xu Bing developed the series of Square Word Calligraphy that displays Chinese-like characters The cold river spreads boundless away. that are actually composed of English letters in traditional Chinese Autumn rains darken azure-deep skies. letter format. You ask about WholeSouth Mountain: The left piece spells out the first section of Crossing Brooklyn Ferry by poet Walt Whitman:

Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face! Clouds of the west—sun there half an hour high—I see you also face to face. Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious you are to me! On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose, And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.

the mind knows beyond white clouds.

As a Chinese-born artist based in both Beijing and New York, Xu Bing’s printmaking inherits the symbolism of Chinese characters, and as a frame helps to organize and compose English letters celebrating the artist’s living experience with Brooklyn, and exploring the relationship between his second language and Chinese poetry. In this process of transformation and interchanges, it creates tension both for Chinese and non-Chinese speakers. One explores familiar language use and imagery from another symbolic lens and perspective. The latter gradually demystifies the Chinese language by learning to write brushstrokes and decipher the text. On a secondary level, Xu Bing also creates fictional languages that mix English and Chinese, providing a fictional transformation state for two languages, cultures, and people. From symbolic motifs to legible and meaningful languages, this process exhibits how written languages symbolize the human thought and cultural consciousness that people process.

Audrey Hua

the languages of the liberal arts A declining trend of students pursuing liberal arts in higher education has entered the national conversation in recent years. Young people pursuing bachelor’s degrees in the past decade appear to be opting for majors in more pre-professional and STEM fields, concerning themselves less with the humanities and liberal arts. Consequently, public and private colleges across the country are cutting liberal arts programs to channel resources into the more fashionable major choices. Many speculate as to why - explanations have been wagered from an increase in job opportunities in the tech sector, college specialization and fewer core curriculum requirements, to the proportionately higher cost of education pushing people to financially optimize their degrees. In an article for Forbes, education consultant Christopher Kim wagers his possible explanation: that educators “often cannot articulate to prospective students the value of liberal arts education as a pedagogical approach rather than simply a disciplinary focus, which produces graduates who also struggle to relay to prospective employers this value.” Just a year ago I was a prospective student who naturally gravitated toward the liberal arts disciplines, without having to be explicitly marketed to. That being said, even after touring many liberal arts colleges, I was never really able to articulate why I wanted to study in them myself. It wasn’t until I began to research their decline that I was given the language to describe what sets them apart. In the words of Kim, the phrase liberal arts is derived from the Latin root for “to be free,” and is a philosophical approach to education which “stands opposed to transactional, capitalist interests… They are aimed at cultivating free thinkers and innovators, not mere workers.” A liberal arts education is fundamental for understanding one’s role in society, as a citizen and participant in democracy, and equips students to make generally intentional life choices while understanding what moves them to act. Since beginning college this fall, I’m relieved and grateful that I’ve found the value in the liberal arts I’d hoped to. In two of my classes, introductions to psychology and cognitive science, I encountered the theory of linguistic relativity, also known as the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. The theory states that our native languages shape our thoughts and how we perceive the world. More specifically, as defined by Barbara Scholz for the Stanford Encyclopedia of Psychology, “...the grammar… of each language is not merely a reproducing instrument for voicing ideas but rather is itself the shaper of ideas, the program and guide for the individual’s mental activity, for his analysis of impressions, for his synthesis of his mental stock in trade.” While this came up for me in social science classes, the concept is considered part of the field of linguistic philosophy. 48

The Sapir-Whorf hypothesis immediately registered to me as key to understanding oneself and others, as well as how we perceive the world and navigate our environments. Our native language endows us with the concepts and categories through which we filter the world, perhaps even those that we project onto the world, in our interpretations of the things that transpire around us. The reality each of us inhabits is unique and individual, a construction built of lived experience and preconceived notions. Linguistic relativity means language might just be the most significant, inescapable preconceived notion of all, making so much unavailable to our consciousness. In the end, though, it’s our only concrete tool of expression. What is fascinating to me about linguistic relativity is that not only are we limited in what we can express, in our output, but we are also limited in our input. The former seems pretty intuitive, the latter, mind-blowing. What is thinkable to us is shaped by the narrow amount of sentence structure options available, and only employing the vocabulary we’ve inherited from the speakers of our language’s past. Language, something I formerly thought of as having merely descriptive abilities for communication — the capacity to give words to feelings I have and phenomena around me — becomes almost prescriptive; it shapes what I give attention to and how I can conceive of and perceive it. It shapes my cognitive input as much as it does my expression. Academics seem to critique how people tend to dwell on the lexical aspect of the theory - that nuance in vocabulary can cause the speaker of a particular language to perceive nuance in a situation. In her article, Barbara Scholz writes about the cliché that people dwell on variety in vocabulary when considering the theory; “Whorf ’s speculations about the “sensuously and operationally different” character of different snow types for “an Eskimo” (Whorf 1956: 216) developed into a familiar journalistic meme about the Inuit having dozens or scores or hundreds of words for snow; but few who repeat that urban legend recall Whorf ’s emphasis on its being grammar, rather than lexicon, that cuts up and organizes nature for us.” Warning - I’m going to proceed to perpetrate a similar cliché. In any intro class in college, field-specific terminology is usually the entry point into a discipline. In this sense, I find there a parallel to be considered between a language and an area of expertise; to take on and internalize the disciplinary jargon of any specific field is to predispose oneself to devote special attention to the areas of concern of that field, and to have that jargon shape perception by enabling the realization of nuance. The concepts and categories we inherit from our fields of study, determined by the experts of our fields’ past, come to organize our worlds in a similar way, impacting the input and output of our minds.

If nothing else, this just gives me another reason to mourn a decline in people specializing in the liberal arts. Where are the ‘salvage linguistics’ for the bodies of knowledge going unlearned? Of course, the liberal arts have a fraught history and are not to be overly romanticized. But in this decline I see too the tragedy of lost languages; potential insights on culture, social currency, status, belonging, power structures, meaning, all the intangibles, lost. I see a saddening lack of perspectives attuned to those things that are so fundamentally human. This trend doesn’t mean extinction. Pendulums swing and statistics bounce back - all I know is that out of fashion doesn’t mean obsolete, and I’ll be taking as many English courses as I possibly can over the next four years.

Sadie Mank

The Designer

Directors: Emma Dow,vRani Sheth Models: Maya Abrol, Ashlyn Lee, Kylie Gillen Art: Emma Hogan, Rachel Pyeon, Katie Noh Beauty: Catrina Roman Fashion: Alex Watson, Pola Levy, Ruth Kim, Aleisha Sin, Devon Meenaghan, Saskia Gonzalez Photography: Pat Li, Pranav Nair, Alisa Orlova 53

Designer Spotlight:

Raquel Coren, Editor-in-Chief Can you share the story of how you first entered the world of fashion? What elements of the fashion industry initially captivated your interest and drew you in? It all began with people. My dad, an artist himself, would draw with me when I was a kid. We loved drawing people and characters all dressed up, and together we’d watch Project Runway and do our own design battles. It was during these moments that my fascination with fashion emerged. My typical girlish love for dressing up and admiring clothes became an appreciation for the art of creating fashion and the visual narratives that they can tell about the people on which they are sketched or worn. People and their unique styles fascinated me. I soon began sewing so that I could make my own creations. There was something so special to me about the ability to think something up, bring it into existence, and put it on my body. By high school, I began to branch out and make things not just for myself, but for others as well. I ventured into costume design and fell in love with the personal interaction inherent to the work. I got to talk with actors to learn about the characters they portrayed and the clothes they felt best in so as to create something to make them feel and act their best on stage. I loved collaborating with others in my creative process and witnessing the personal impact of my work. People continued to fuel my passion for fashion. For me, my love for fashion has always been grounded in individuality and the belief that style is not confined to runways or exclusive events, but rather resides in the everyday choices that people make to express themselves. Fashion is a form of art that transcends labels and price tags; it is a means by which every single body becomes art in its own unique way. I find joy in the democratic nature of this artistic expression, something that extends beyond the realm of materialism. Can you discuss how the nature of the industry conflicts with your personal values? I won’t get on my soapbox about the consequences of the industrial revolution, but all of the issues that we see in the industry are largely due to the massive scales on which we produce. The more you learn about the fashion industry and production, the more overwhelmingly horrific it becomes. Every fiber of your clothing is tied directly to the suffering and exploitation of countless workers and environments. In the industry, everyone is concerned with the product, the company, the numbers. The human element is completely lost. What does the consumer need? Surely not another black tank top with some infinitesimally different seam line stolen from another brand. No one considers the implications of creating these products or what the real purpose of them is. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame just the designers. Corporate culture can turn creatives into mere cogs of the industrial machine. Plus, sadly, most of America is probably out here eagerly awaiting the next monthly drop, since in our consumer culture, fashion has become yet another token of status. Maybe the fault is with all of us, and none of us. Society needs a major overhaul, but to my optimistic mind, it feels like things are heading in a better direction. Sure, a better direction that still exists within the broken framework of consumerism, but hey! It’s something.

How would you describe your personal design ethos? Are there specific principles or values that guide your creative process?

Are there projects on the horizon that align with your design ethos?

Fashion design for me is all about the wearer. I create the best work and have the best time doing it when I’m designing for a specific client. Whether this be a custom piece for an event or just envisioning clothes for my friends, there is always an individual at the forefront of my creative process.

For the upcoming Spring show for the Cornell Fashion Collective, I am working on a collection that delves into the concept of ‘future bodies’. I am exploring the inextricable link between our bodies and our environments and creating physical manifestations that envision self-expression beyond social constructs of the body. I am seeking to communicate the interconnectedness of every being and the natural world, portraying my vision of unbound beauty. This will be an entirely zero-waste collection, as are all of my projects. Stay tuned for what’s to come!

Utility is also a significant value in my design philosophy. Fashion lies at the intersection of art and utility which has always resonated with my logical brain. Despite being an artist, I struggle to create things just for the sake of creating them, so I appreciate the utilitarian nature of clothing. I like to make things that are innovative and creative yet comfortable and functional. I find a sense of purpose in my work when there is someone on the other end wearing and enjoying my creations, so wearability is super important to me. Where these two key values intersect is what I consider the almost spiritual utility of fashion. Fashion wields such transformative power in shaping our self-perception and how others perceive us. This phenomenon embodies what I see as the true essence of fashion — the enrichment of personal expression and the enhancement of everyday lives. My mission is to amplify individual voices and challenge norms, and to make a positive environmental impact while doing so. Sustainability, though such a huge buzzword nowadays, is another key aspect of my design ethos. The current use of the word is frankly sad. You can make something out of recycled materials and slap a green tag on it, but at the end of the day, you’re still cranking out 10,000 units of a polyester shirt that you have to convince people they need. For me, sustainability is about creating long-lasting, size-adjustable, and versatile pieces in a way that produces little to no waste and keeps the supply chain close to the consumer. This is the guiding force of the more commercial pieces that I create.

The Musician “Freedom lurked around us and I understood, at last, that he could help us to be free if we would listen, that he would never be free until we did.” - “Sonny’s Blues” by James Baldwin

Directors: Carolyn Dunn, Eliot Lee, & Erin Yoon Models: Luke Ellis, Summer Seward, Noëlle Romero, Austin Burgett, Kobby Adu, Josh Sokol, Kaleb Kavuma, Turner Aldrich Tife Sokan, Brad Bogues Art: Alexa Miller, Leah Kim, Mimi Gurrola, Lauren Mok Creative: Jules Gembs, Esandi Perera, Isabella Hanson, Gabe Wolf-Velarde, Lily Greenberg Editorial: Sophie Feldman, Kaelyn Sandifer Fashion: Susanna Burr, Nora Weber, Mia Loosmann, Liriana Nezaj Photo: Lillian Casazza, Marge Dalseth, Pat Sevikul 60

As Time Goes By Sophie Feldman

I collect. My mother collects, her mother collects, and her mother before her. They collected trinkets, or jewelry, small things like that. I collect records. My bedroom is lined with shelves of my favorite albums, my collection growing yearly from each birthday and each payday. The bulk of my collection, however, isn’t even mine at all– it’s my grandfather’s. Some families pass down photographs, but mine passes down music. Levi, my grandfather, managed to bring his entire assortment of vinyl records with him when he came to this country, leaving everything behind but that small collection and his violin. When I was younger, he’d call me over. “Motek,” he’d say. “Come listen to the music play.” I’d come up to his old, cracked leather couch, and crawl into his lap. He refused to replace that thing, and no matter how many times my father begged him to replace it, he’d refuse with a laugh. “Benny, this couch knows it all. We don’t want a dumpster knowing our secrets!” He’d play old songs only he knew the words, closing his eyes to hum along, swaying a little. He’d reach out, miming his violin. He hadn’t been able to play it in years, but his brain remembered what his muscles could not. I’ve been saying goodbye to Levi for a long time. He hasn’t remembered my name since I was 14, but he knows my face. I can tell. We haven’t spoken in nearly six years, but we understand each other. I bring my wagon, filled to the brim with his old vinyls, and dust off whichever we hadn’t gotten to the day before. His murky blue eyes would sparkle then, as if something inside him understood what was about to happen. I’d play his music, and some switch would go off. His eyes would close, and he’d smile. He’d hum, and I was six again. I was six, and I had a bowl of frozen blueberries in my lap and I was sitting on an old cracked leather couch. I was laughing, and my grandfather was playing the violin. He was jumping around, laughing as he played, my father shaking his head and smiling in the other corner. “Feel the music, motek!” he’d say, his eyes bright and happy, filled with memories. The song ends, and I’m 19 again. There are no blueberries, and the couch was thrown out two years ago. His eyes open again, and there’s no life behind them. His arms, though, still move. I know what he’s asking for. I reach for my violin, an instrument that has seen more life than I have, and begin to play. I sit on the edge of his bed, and play a new song. I’d heard it by mistake, after tuning the car radio to the wrong channel. It’s the sort of song I’d never think to play for him– it’s in English, and most of his music isn’t. I’ve always thought that music he’d grown up on would bring him back, so I’ve stuck to the songs he’s passed down. The first note jolted my grandfather up. That degree of movement… it was almost never seen. I watched as his arms rose up, just like they used to, copying my motions and humming along.

“They still say I love you On that you can rely,”

I froze. My bow dropped out of my hands, and my instrument fell onto his bed. Levi hadn’t spoken in years. I hadn’t heard his voice in years, and there it was. As if my mouth wasn’t my own, I continued.

“No matter what the future brings Levi sang with me, his raspy As time goes by,”

voice sounding exactly as it did in my mind, from all those years ago. I don’t know when I started crying, but I must have, because my father ran in, coffee spilled down his shirt and glasses in his hands. “Is he dead? I didn’t get to say goodbye,” my father cried, hands running through his hair. I was laughing through my tears, and grabbed my father’s hand and turned him towards his own father’s face. His own tears flowed harder, but his laugh was louder than mine. “Damn ‘Casablanca.’ It was always his favorite. Reminded him of your grandmother, he always said.” my father sighed. “Hi Dad, it’s been a while.” “Son. It’s nice to see you. Where have you been?” My grandfather was smiling still, singing and playing his imaginary violin. He paused, and turned to look at us. “Here and there, Dad. You know.” My father’s tears clouded his words, his arms tense on Levi’s bedrail. “You look old. Lay off the brisket for a minute, will ya?” My father laughed in response, like he used to, shaking his head.

“I will, Dad. I’ve been meaning to. Maya’s been telling me I eat too much red meat.” “Ah. What do I always say, Benny?” My father’s childhood nickname caused his grip on Levi’s hand to strengthen, bringing his other hand to his mouth in disbelief. “Listen to your wife!” my father and I both said, and I knew my grandmother would be laughing with us if she were here. “Play more of my song, Lea.” He remembered my name. My eyes welled up again, but I motioned for the bow. I placed his hand on mine, so he could feel the music. As I began to play, my grandfather’s eyes shut, and he began to sway. “Tell my Maya I’m coming for her, will you?” I leaned my head on my own father’s arm, and I felt the music.

Artist Feature: Amara Valerio

backgrounds that discouraged emotional expression. For many of them, the troupe was one of the first places they felt enabled to open up emotionally. Upon asking her if art was cleansing, she enthusiastically agreed, citing the experiences of those at Auburn and her own.

Kaelyn Sandifer

mara Valerio is one of Cornell’s most passionate vocalists; from singing in an acapella group to performing with a band’s accompaniment, she sings for the joy of music. Since she was a young child, music was her emotional comfort. Her mother would turn on music, particularly R&B, soul, and gospel, and the music became an integral part of their relationship and a shared source of happiness. Rough times were an opportunity to sing— her and her mother would put on a song, something like Colbie Callait’s Bubbly, and let it all out. Amara has been humming a tune since the near beginning of her life. Her mom would fondly note that she would hum along to commercials when she was two years old. At six, she joined her church choir and participated in musical theater and voice competitions, spurred on by people’s recognition of her vocal talents. She would also participate in musical theater, drawn to the storytelling aspect of theater. Upon coming to Cornell, she joined the acapella group Nothing But Treble and continues pursuing music in her free time.“I don’t know what I would be without it,” Amara said. ”That’s my happy place.” When asked why she sings, Amara noted the joy that she associates with music. She sees performing in front of others as a way of spreading that joy she has to an audience, bringing others the happiness that music had always brought her when she was a little girl listening to R&B with her mother. Her passion for singing is what has driven her to continue auditioning for things and pursuing her musical interests, even if they are currently divorced from her professional career. “I see music as the light when things are really rough,” she said. Later in our conversation, Amara began to talk about her volunteer work at the Auburn Correctional Facility, helping to create a theater troupe for the people incarcerated at the facility. She notes the therapeutic aspect of the art that the troupe creates, stating the majority of the people she worked with had come from

She always believed that art was therapeutic, but she said “I think I really experienced it when I was meeting [the Auburn prisoners] for the first time. Sometimes the monologues they write or the scenes that they create are the first times that they’re ever really sharing these things with people. It’s a distraction from the bad things, its almost like therapy for them.`` She notes how the most important part of storytelling and creating art is the desire to be seen. Most of the incarcerated people in the theater troupe were driven by this desire to be seen, having had few, if any, opportunities to do so before. She also notes how, for many of them, sharing their trauma is a new and unfamiliar experience, so art can provide a more comfortable method of sharing. She also notes the content of stories told through art can help the audience, citing the first time she saw In The Heights, feeling like it was the first time she had seen her neighborhood depicted on stage. For her, that close-to-home feeling really moved her— it’s always interested her to see “what art moves people in different ways.” We began to discuss what made music such a unique form of art and Amara immediately noted its physical impact on the listener. The beat of the music translates to physical sensations in the body, making music literally more impactful than other forms of art. She also says that this physical component creates a deeper connection between artist and audience, which she says is amplified to an even greater degree in live settings, including theater. The sheer physicality of music is what makes music special. Amara says how she believes it draws the musician and the audience closer to each other. Additionally, this close tie between artist and listener makes imprinting emotion onto an audience even easier. For Amara, that emotion is joy. All the happiness and relief that music has brought her over the years motivates her to continue singing, both to bring that joy to herself and share the joy she’s felt with people who will listen.

* All alcoholic beverages featured in this photoshoot are simulated and entirely non-alcoholic, used for artistic purposes only. No real alcohol was consumed or utilized during the production of these images. 64

Keyboard: Luke Ellis Vocalists: Summer Seward, Noëlle Romero, Austin Burgett Trumpet: Kobby Adu Saxophone: Josh Sokol Bass: Kaleb Kavuma Guitar: Turner Aldrich Drums: Tife Sokan 66

Fea bas tured e Ico d, R& in Th n ope win B ban e Mu ned ner d o sicia s for and f Cor n are the Slo nell s mem b Q-T pe D tude nts ers o ay ip Ban Per . The f Aft dits form y ar er 6 , C ers e tw oin . Th o ti - an Itha , A ey me B h min ig R ca a v e é and rece ed Co ntly uch .

Photo: Dan Newman

FW23 EBOARD