UV
Magazine 2020-2021 Volume 25
EDITORIAL BOARD CO-EDITORS
LAUREN FERNANDEZ GILLIAN GIOVANNETTI
HEAD OF SOCIAL MEDIA AND MARKETING
SADIE LEVINE
HEAD OF LAYOUT
HALEEMA RAJA
HEAD OF WEBSITE
ANDREW MUN-SHIMODA
HEAD OF EVENTS
ANNIE ROGERS
SOCIAL MEDIA EMAIL
ultravioletmagazine@gmail.com
Ultraviolet Magazine at Queen’s
@ultravioletmagazine
WEBSITE
https://www.ultravioletmag.com/
FRONT COVER Jane Forrest..........Empty Highway BACK COVER Jessica Jiang...............Every Family
LETTER FROM EDITORS For 25 years, Ultraviolet Magazine has been committed to allow artists to express their creativity through giving them a platform to share their work. In publishing online and in print, artists from around Kingston and beyond have been able to share their photographs, sketches, writings, videos and more. Especially in these unprecedented times, we have been delighted to allow people a medium to escape and connect with others when doing so in person is not a possibility. Our wish is that this magazine inspires you to continue to be creative as you have inspired us. We would like to thank our incredible editorial board, Andrew, Sadie, Haleema and Annie, for all of the work they have put into Ultraviolet Magazine. Despite these unconventional times, they have all worked extremely hard to adapt and ensure the magazine had a successful year. We would also like to thank all of the artists that have submitted their work, because without you, we wouldn’t have a magazine. Finally, we would like to thank the readers for supporting us and all of these incredible artists. We are very thankful to be able to print another publication for you this year, and we hope to be able to do so for many years to come. Thank you so much, and we hope you enjoy the 25th edition of Ultraviolet Magazine. Sincerely, Lauren and Gillian
Galah and Butcher Bird
MATTHEW STRICKLAND
dandelion
I made a wish on snow-white decay That blows in the wind and gusts past by face Catching in my eyelashes Are the ghostly angels of dandelion fuzz A thousand little wishes Floating along a breeze of what once was And planting enough seeds there To smother a whole valley All the while, signing a gentle reminder: Things will never be the same again
OLIVIA JOSEPH
PO R
NATASHA B
T OF AT I H TRA
E NA
It takes courage to love, and although my heart is an organ that is protected by lungs and constantly beating, pumping oxygen throughout, I never knew how easily it could break You enter their lives for a second a few photos, a bio and a name are all they need to see to determine if you are worth pursuing before swiping left or right. It’s scary putting yourself out there as people don’t love you. They just want to fuck you, use you, discard you as if you are nothing. Nothing more than an object that can be tossed aside at a moment’s notice. Catching feelings in a society that is so superficial will leave you crying in the dark over the loss of a potential lover, or leave you constantly overthinking wondering what went wrong.
The Pursuit of Love GILLIAN STEWART
I am starting to realize that love is a game that I’m not sure I want to play. You win some You lose some But I’m tired of sifting between what’s real and what’s not.
I want to be touched, held, kissed; I want a love that may not exist. A true love where I take one glance and know it’s meant to be. I hold out for a love I pray will last, hoping that the wait will be worth it, knowing that I don’t need another to complete me but still longing always longing for a love that I have not yet found.
Like a weed that grows Between your neighbouring gardens I watched as the love that was planted there Was slowly eaten away By the vicious pest I call neglect
between two gardens
Love flourished for a season That I ache to remember Then died in the winter And grew back brittle as a thorn bush Just to prick your sides before it blew away into ash Like a climbing bunch of vines that races It’s way up a chain link fence I tried to choke out the barrier That keeps you apart I managed instead to further obscure your view As for me, I can still see you both for what you are: Two green gardens And I’m caught in between
OLIVIA JOSEPH
SALVATION
JESSICA JIANG
In The Foyer
JAY MEDEIROS
Through a Portal
JAY MEDEIROS
Swan Song By: Hannah Luppe
I will tell you this only once, so, please, listen carefully.
thing, please remember to end it gently. Teardrops—yours or the dew from a willow tree, it does not matter which—will land on your skin. Somewhere, deep in the east, those forgotten gods will begin to whisper their old magic to the sky, the words lost between the thunder.
You must walk kindly. Kindly, child. Leave your boots by the door and slip beneath the blackberry bush behind the gate. Go north to the foxes and the cliffs and the fair folk. Lean on the trees or those tall, ancient stones if The swan will sing then. She you wish—they have carried far heavi- will not lie to you, this you must know. er than you. She will sing of palace spires and Keep going. Walk until the melodies plucked from strings. Of love night drips by like molasses from a letters read by candlelight, their truths spoon. Until scents like dreams hang smudged by inky fingertips. She will thickly in the air: lavenders, and crimsons, and deep, burnt golds. When tell you of the sweet melodies in the you reach the lake, sit by the still water dark; how they could make you feel. and speak softly. Softly, child. Make A song of love and comfort. it a story about love; the stars will be The rhythm will change with the first listening, after all. And maybe—if you drops of rain. She will begin again. A tell it well enough—the moon might song of mountaintops and their crystal slip through the mist and the wind silence. Of those deep and mossy might call out a lullaby stolen from the woods with secrets hidden beneath sea: come home, come home, come their tangled roots. Of the dawn and its home. promise. Have patience; she is growing This song, too, is of love, but old and her wings are weary. She will it will never be of comfort. land silently—always silent—on that lake made of glass, her ripples twirling The silver on her brow will the night sky toward your bare feet. call out to you again, and you must The crown atop her brow will call to make your choice. Bravely, child. You you with its braided silver and heavy must be brave. Here is where I leave promise, but do not be tempted. Not you. This is as far as I could manyet. Let the ripples settle the stars back age—I did not have the courage. I still into their constellations and watch as do not. the swan arches her neck. Finish your story. Gently, child. If any
But you might.
A Women’s Trip
MARY WILLIAMS
INNER DEMONS
SADIE LEVINE
GREEN EYED FINN
HEATHER KNIGHT
BUTTERFLY HOUR
FFION TURNER-LAWRENCE
Ethereal
SYDNEY TAYLOR
THE GHOST OF THE TTC
MARINA PAPACHRISTOS
Bliss
MAYA KACHRA
Adventure Awaits the City Constraints
PEREGRINE PRODUCTIONS
The Over-thinkers
SADIE LEVINE
Amnesiac
JESSICA JIANG
Shades of Gray
LIV
Gallery Floor
JAY MEDEIROS
Tangerine Tennis
FFION TURNER-LAWRENCE
Same Dream
SERAPHINIA SOL
I ’ I N BE O TH VE
Best Friends
DESSA ELY
O E E H I R HI W RE NE ES ND M W V Y E NE T R R I L N O I F I N TE T S M NY E ITS ID TL E P N AN Y C SU E C E CO G EA OV M OU M E R K S M S I S O IN S , A OF ER M G E S S I “shenyang”
my Shenyang speaks a rough northeastern tongue and breathes homespun evening smoke; i rest in its cove of swaying willows, knowing your alps and vales are not worth a nick in my sidewalk. i have been sitting at the nanhu lake with my Grandpa for nineteen years, as fish bite his hook. i never had his patience, so i pick wildflowers and crown his fisherman’s hat.
my Grandma is as bright-eyed as she was at nineteen, in her old monochromatic photographs. her laughter rings through our sunlit kitchen, where flour dust dances around fresh dumpling dough. behind their old school, in midsummer heat, my Older Cousin and his high school friends teach me to catch lightning bugs in plastic water bottles before civility caught up to me.
i’ve never felt this old before: i threw rose petals at my Aunt’s wedding when i was nine; now my Little Cousin can’t fit into his baby shoes anymore. the airplane dips softly through the clouds and rumbles loudly in my ears as it lands on earth. Shenyang kisses my hair and cheeks, always welcoming me home.
larissa zhong
DEEP IN THOUGHT
MARINA PAPACHRISTOS
LOSS I stand on the shoreline My heart breaking every night The waves crash noisily Telling the story of your plight The rocks glisten with sea spray Like your dear eyes in moonlight The wind whips up a frenzy The rain soaks me to the bone The tears stream down my face I know I am all alone
FATIMAH
Quiet The music was too loud. There were too many people talking. Too many colours, too much light. Kiara’s breathing was too shallow, too fast. It was all too much. She had to get out of there. She shoved her way through small groupings of people. She didn’t want to start crying. Not here, not with everyone watching. Her hands shook and her head felt like it might explode. There was a weight on her chest, and her head was spinning because of how little oxygen she was getting. Kiara crashed through the doors of the ballroom, rushing into the cool nighttime air. The garden was quieter, and when the door closed behind her, the noise was muffled further. She knew she could calm herself down out here, it would just take a bit. Kiara walked over to one of the stone benches, still shaking. She leaned her back against the wall behind her and pulled her feet up unto the bench, hugging her knees. Her breathing was still coming in short, shallow gasps, but at least the air out here wasn’t as stiff. Her cheeks felt wet, but she didn’t have enough control to wipe them yet. She closed her eyes, focusing as hard as she could on slowing her breathing. After a long while, Kiara’s breathing had evened out and her shaking stopped, though her throat still burned and her cheeks remained wet. She was still sitting on the bench hugging her knees when a voice startled her. “Kiara?” Kiara looked up, relieved to see it was Sam. She smiled weakly and patted the bench beside her. While Sam situated herself, Kiara tucked her face safely against her knees. Sam sat silently for a moment, her hands gripping the edge of the bench. The quiet between them had never been awkward, something both girls appreciated. Sam often found herself uncomfortable in social situations, preferring to sit in a corner alone, and Kiara got easily overstimulated in loud and bright spaces. They hadn’t made a pact or anything out loud, but they would both always keep an eye on the other. Sam knew Kiara liked some space to calm herself down before talking to anyone.
When she saw Kiara run out like she had earlier that night, she always gave her ten or so minutes before finding her. Kiara suddenly felt an intense urge to thank Sam, feeling like she’d not said the words enough. She pulled her face away from her legs, opening her mouth to say something, but no words came. She huffed in frustration, annoyed that this happened so often. And not only when the panic attacks came. Sometimes she’d be completely unable to speak for hours at a time, and she didn’t know why, or how to stop it. “It’s alright, you don’t need to say anything,” Sam reassured her. Kiara reached out to hold Sam’s hand, suddenly getting an idea. She pulled her hand away, wiping her cheeks, and stood up. Sam looked at her curiously, somewhat surprised at the sudden energy burst. Kiara spun around twice, stopping to reach a hand out to Sam. Dance with me , she mouthed. Sam accepted her hand, laughing quietly when Kiara pulled her from the bench with unexpected strength. “You want to dance now, do you?” Sam said with a smile. “I have to warn you, I’m a terrible dancer, but I can try.” Kiara smiled broadly and tugged Sam to the small plaza in the centre of the garden. The music was faint through the closed doors, but it was enough. Kiara took the lead, letting Sam follow her steps and spinning her gracefully several times. After dancing together for a long while, Sam pulled Kiara close, resting her head on Kiara’s shoulder. They swayed gently, Kiara nestling her face into Sam’s hair. The sounds of the party inside were faint, and the night air was still. They said nothing, but they didn’t have to. “Thank you,” Kiara mumbled into Sam’s soft black hair, finally getting her voice back. “Anytime,” Sam replied, smiling against Kiara’s shoulder.
GRACE TUCKER-PIECZONKA