BURNT

April 1st, 2024

WOO Publication’s Spring 2024 issue, BURNT, looks to inflame all wounds through a bittersweet collection of fiery artworks from Emily Carr University’s students and alumni. BURNT is the overcooked partner publication to WOO’s Fall 2023 issue, Tender. While Tender is an ode to the soft and sensitive, BURNT is a tribute to the harsh and neglected emotions, exploring themes of passion, bitterness, jealousy, and loudness. BURNT is a space for anger, as well as a space for healing.

Our team works incredibly hard to make WOO Publication happen each semester. Through designing, writing, editing, photographing, filming, and printing, our design, media, and editorial teams have put countless hours into creating the knockout publication you’re currently holding.

Enjoy, and remember to stop, drop, and roll.

Charlie Mahoney-Volk, Isaac Hatfield, Kelly Hardi, Sodam Hong

BURNT

SEEING SUNDAY BY JALYSE PUK

UNTITLED BY YEBOJI

KAKAW BY SOFIA GOTTFRIED

MADE YOU LOOK BY SELA VOLK & GLORY MUNROE

LONG ISLAND ICED TEA BY ABI SIMATUPANG

CANOLA AND FLAX POD HOPPERS BY VANESSA BOLINGER

SINOPHOBIA BY LENNY YANG

CONTENTS OF A PURSE BY SHELLY KOSITSKY

PLEASURE CENTRE BY LEN

BROKEN FILM BY FATEMEH POURSEYED

RED BY WEIJIN ROSS

PIECES OF ME BY GRACIELLA ROSARY

SH*T I DIDN’T SAY BY MADELEINE MULLEN

BONES BY MARIA MICHOPULU

TO TELL YOU WHAT YOU SOUND LIKE BY PARUMVEER WALIA

SCENES FROM A GRAVEYARD BY MAEVE STINSON

2021 SKETCHBOOK SERIES BY BETHANY PARDOE

SETTING FIRE TO MATRIMONY BY JESS OUIMET

UNMELTABLE MEN BY JESS OUIMET

VENAE BY HANA VIE MITCHELL

FOUR LEGGED BY NAOMI WATKINS

I LONG TO RETURN TO AN INSIGNIFICANT FEAR BY ELLA WHITE

OLD HOLLYWOOD COLLAGES BY SHAMSA MALEK

AFTER IMPACT BY BOYA LIANG

THEZINES N°2 BY EDEN LUNA GOLDET

BITTER PILL BY SOPHIE-JANE BRINDLE

OLIGARCHY & PERSIMMONS BY KALINA LASHKOVA

BUZZY BUG BY JUN BAEK

WHO AM I SHOWERING FOR? BY SAYDE KOETKE

MOTHER BY ALIZE TAMTURK

TOUCH AND BODY EXTENSION BY LUCINE LUO

I KNEW A HOME BY KELLY HARDI

VANITY BY EKNOOR THIND

I STILL CARE BY RACHEL CRANE

THE CLOSING SHIFT BY ANDY GOMEZ

SCULPTURE MADE BY A GIRL BY SHELLY KOSITSKY

HOME SICK BY ARIANA MESIC

DEFEAT BY JACIE RU

FEVER DREAM BY CHARLIE MAHONEY-VOLK

⌘TRAN E BY FRAY HARDING

BORN BY JADE TOTH

TILL DEATH DOES US APART BY ZEYNEP ALGUN

BAD PEOPLE BY JINGFU CHEN

NEVER BETTER BY ANNE SEOL

KEEP IN MIND, ONLY 23KG! BY PANIZ MANI

BAD BALUT BY OLIVIA LEE-CHUN

LIPS BY ADOLFO BERMUDEZ

SECOND SKINS BY SOPHIE-JANE BRINDLE

ALL I’VE SEEN BY KAI LIUM-HALL

MELT BY SIHAN ZHU

PROCESSING CHANGE BY BRIE WATSON

THE NUMEROLOGY OF FIRE BY VY LE

CONNECTED SOULS BY SODAM HONG

TEAMS

COLOPHON

UNTITLED

(2024) PAINTING

YEBOJI

4TH YEAR, VISUAL ARTS @YEBOJI

(2024) INTAGLIO PRINT

SOFIA GOTTFRIED

4TH YEAR, ILLUSTRATION @X.MOONSOUP

MADE YOU LOOK

(2023)DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY TURNED INTO CYANOTYPE

PHOTOGRAPHED BY SELA VOLK

CONCEPT BY GLORY MUNROE

3RD YEAR, PHOTOGRAPHY

@SELAV.STUDIO

@GLORYS_GALLERY

ABI SIMATUPANG

LONG ISLAND ICED TEA

2ND YEAR, COMMUNICATION DESIGN

@ABELBERITH

19:00

the dark sky hid the hard beatings on my ribs all of my friends are taller than me, bigger than me anticipation and fear run their course what if i can’t do it? bouncer sees my ID, “bit short for your age” i just laugh and carried on into the club

20:00

flashes of light above my head loud thumps pass through my earplugs gravity on my chest gets heavier with each beat and my eyes squint harder, seeing only blurred lines everything was a bit too much, not enough to tip the glass over

like a tuesday morning with 5 deadlines on friday a friend offered me a shot, mellow things down a little

21:00 drink, 1-2-3 warmth of the booze flows behind my lungs eyes fluttering; gravity lifts away drink, 4-5-6 flashing lights become butterflies i’m as tall as my friends now maybe this can be fun!

00:00

out of the club, standing still fingertips flushed, shivering in the cold it’s been 30 minutes since I last felt tipsy the night is still dark, and my friends are still taller but maybe I’ll be alright after all

CANOLA AND FLAX POD HOPPERS

(2023) SCULPTURE

Two copper-hoppers coated in aging patina, shedding silver tears of harvest’s bounty.

These works were created in conscious reflection on the tumultuous relationship that agricultural farming has with the land and its inhabitants, as well as the ever-present increase of prairie wildfires.

VANESSA BOLINGER

4TH YEAR, VISUAL ARTS @NEDDA_.MAY

SINOPHOBIA

(2023) PAINTING

3RD YEAR, 2D ANIMATION @MUDANART

LENNY YANG

CANOLA AND FLAX POD HOPPERS

(2023) SCULPTURE

Two copper-hoppers coated in aging patina, shedding silver tears of harvest’s bounty.

VANESSA BOLINGER 4TH YEAR, VISUAL ARTS

Sinophobia has impacted my entire being since before I was even born, yet its violence continues to be erased, excused and ignored by white supremacist society. Racism against Chinese peoples is so normalized and invisibilized, that even within our community its destruction is denied. Instead, we are blamed for not being perfect enough Model Minorities to “overcome” it. This racial gaslighting corrodes the psyche, burning up everything inside until only the ashes of what was your personhood is left to crumble away into obedient nothingness. This painting was my first ever artistic expression of this pain — it took 21 years of my life to even paint about it. Whenever I feel myself drift towards that internalized silence again, I force myself to look at those vitriolic reds and yellows, searing into my eyes; in remembrance of what sinophobia did to me, my loved ones and the world. Like gas, you can’t see it until you light it up with flame.

CONTENTS OF A PURSE

(2023) VIDEO PROJECTION ON METAL

Contents of a Purse is a self-portrait featuring a metal purse as a backdrop for a nostalgic stop motion video projection. The accumulated items in the purse represent the woman’s feminine existence, and I wanted to expand the limits of a purse to represent the world of a girl. The combination of material objects and reflection also highlights the conflation of materialism and femininity.

SHELLY KOSITSKY

3RD YEAR, VISUAL ARTS

@SHELLY.KOSITSKY

PLEASURE CENTRE

(2023) SCULPTURE

LEN

4TH YEAR, NEW MEDIA + SOUND @LEN.P

BROKEN FILM

(2021) FILM PHOTOGRAPHY

I took this picture with everything measured— everything was supposed to be perfect. And then someone opened the camera without thinking about my picture, so it burnt.

But I think I actually like it more now. Life is better when it is imperfect, burnt, fresh.

FATEMEH POURSEYED

2ND YEAR, COMMUNICATION DESIGN BEHANCE.NET/FATEMEHPOURSEYED

RED

(2023) POETRY

Something about last Tuesday

How she used to forage for chalk stubs from beneath classroom windows

And there was something about Wednesday

Onion skins at the bottom of my bag and cabbage from Supermarket 88

The cucumber that rolled down the street when the net ripped

The glint of stainless steel

Don’t worry

She told me all about the irony over the phone

And I laughed too

Embarrassed about how I acted I took the long way home

And it’s in my hands again

Small cut on my right index finger and the bruise on my knee where I hit it on the faucet

I was supposed to check the forecast I was supposed to be home by now

Too tired to walk so I took the train I felt guilty while I sat

Cheek on the kitchen tile

Feet warm in my slippers

Imagining the rickety stairs and the feeling of teeth on wrought iron

Standing in front of the mirror

Deciding what’s the same

WEIJIN

ROSS

4TH YEAR, INTERACTION DESIGN @WEIJINROSS

Something about Thursday

I was 25 minutes late

Brought my new bag with the oranges stitched on it

It held my metal lunch box which was full of too much rice

There was yelling

And I couldn’t really hear over the sound of the wind

There was a vague message

And I couldn’t read it neutrally

The email I never replied to Friday night I slept alone in her bed

Run my head over scabs and feek them crumble like sand

Mom sent me back home with groceries

Sunday it happened again

Without thinking too much this time It hurt but only for a second

I’ve decided red is my favourite colour

Fruit tastes better when it’s peeled

Something like Monday

And how I couldn’t keep my eyes open

Turned the heat up to 22 degrees I lay in my bed still buzzing

Forgot to call them back again

They’d said something about Tuesday

PI EC ES OF ME

“Pieces of Me” depicts that awkward age when you’re technically an adult, yet people still treat you like a child, while also expecting you to act like an adult. It’s that stage of confusion when you start to question the boundaries you set with people, especially parental figures. When you start to pick up the fragments of what you think might make you whole. When you start to wonder… who’s the puppet master behind this show called ‘Life’?

(2023) PHOTOMONTAGE

SH*T I DIDN’T SAY

(2024) WATERCOLOUR, FIRE

MADELEINE MULLEN

3RD YEAR, COMMUNICATION

BONES

(2023) SCULPTURE, PHOTOGRAPHY

This piece expresses a visual fascination with beef bones and the representation of their long journey of rich use, ending with bone broth, a culinary ingredient of a high value and use. We would not be able to achieve this without killing an animal.

MARIA MICHOPULU

4TH YEAR, PHOTOGRAPHY

@MARYJEMARYJE

TO TELL YOU WHAT YOU SOUND LIKE

EDITORIAL

Thesaurus vomit.

What you curate as a symphony of synonyms turns your syllables into a cacophony, drowning meaning and connotation, a capsule you intended to make palatable and bite-sized, mutated, now the size of a sun melon, only bitter and inedible, not capable of consumption even by the greediest, hunger-mongering mammals- whales, witches, and cornucopians - all failing at the challenge of acquiring the knowledge you knowingly code in continuous confidentialities.

Thesaurus vomit.

You tell me art is elitist You tell me we should make for the people and the children and the world

You tell me we need a new world de-mystified

And yet you write words worth a line into pages full of bullshit

Make it make sense.

PARUMVEER WALIA

SCENES FROM A GRAVEYARD

2023, MIXED MEDIA

The combination of poetry and imagery depicts the struggle of mental illness and addiction. The words open up a deep hole into the artist and screams the innermost feelings of regret, sorrow, and loneliness. The artist puts her wounds on displaying by digging up the wounds of a life lost.

2021 SKETCHBOOK SERIES

BETHANY PARDOE

3RD YEAR, ILLUSTRATION

@BETHANYPARDOEART

These pieces were created in my sketchbook during the summer of 2021. Life felt chaotic during this time and now this sketchbook serves as a time capsule for those feelings and experiences. My process for this sketchbook was impulsive, messy, and cathartic and it contains some of my most expressive works.

(2021) MIXED MEDIA

2021 SKETCHBOOK SERIES

SETTING FIRE TO MATRIMONY

2021, DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY

JESS OUIMET

2ND YEAR, PHOTOGRAPHY @JESSOUIMET_

Historically speaking marriage is a business arrangement made by men, for men. This piece is literally setting fire to this concept. I designed and sewed a wedding dress out of thrifted materials, making women of the past a part of the current feminist movement. The series shows the sequence of the burning.

UNMELTABLE MEN

On an unimportant walk through an unimportant city with unimportant people I thought I knew, we came across a statue, and horror ran through my veins. Why would they erect a statue for someone like him?

“Why have we stopped?” Asks unimportant boy number one. He seems annoyed to not still be cruising along without a thought of anything wrong in the world occurring in front of him.

Privilege.

I answer without breaking my gaze to the bronze sculpture in front of me, one which I’m sure cost thousands of dollars to cast in such a way. “This is someone who is murdering women.”

The other unimportant girl speaks next, saying, “There is no way that they’d have a statue for a murderer.” Her inflection at the end made it obvious she wouldn’t care, even after I explained.

“Yeah come on, who’s he killed?” Asked unimportant boy number one.

I paused for a moment to think of them, suppressed my want to cry, and answered, “Maternal death has increased by over 25% since the things he said. He said he didn’t have the responsibility to decide how the separate states wanted to police womens bodies. He said that without this we were putting ‘potential lives’ at risk, without caring for the ones that already exist.”

“So he was against abortions?” Asked the other unimportant girl.

“Yea, he is,” I responded, anger growing in my voice. Was? She carelessly threw that word around as if this isn’t something that’s putting people with child bearing anatomy at risk every day. Not in 1973, and still not rectified from June 2022. Now. Today. In 2024 this exists.

“I’m sure he’s done some good things, there’s a statue of him.”

“Should it matter if he’s murdering women?”

“Okay but that’s just one angry feminist’s opinion. ”

“Just one angry feminist’s opinion?” I finally broke my gaze from the statue as a tear streamed down my face.

I took a moment before saying the truth I rarely say, “I ache to show the full spectrum of my emotions, but I know that if I do, it will remove more rungs from the latter that I already struggle to climb. I know that it will stiffen my voice more than it already has. I spend every day hungry; starving to say what’s on my mind, but it’s not an easy thing to do when, We’ve been taught that silence would save us, but it won’t (Audre Lorde).

I fight an eternal internal war on whether to stay silent and be successful in the things I want to do in life, but live everyday with guilt, or speak out and have notions of emotions be built by the ones who think they know me, who slip details they’ve learned into meaningless conversations to gain possession of me. They’ll tell you you’re too loud, that you need to wait your turn and ask the right people for permission. Do it anyway (Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez). I languish the opportunity to speak up for us, to protect our bodies, to protect our credit cards. But I can’t help but be afraid of this when we live in a world where we’re all positioned to be perfect or fail. I want to build a community where women of all races can communicate and... continue to support and take care of each other. I want to give women a space to feel their own strength and tell their stories. That is power (Beyonce). And what is a world without power? But what if we give the wrong person with too much privilege that they are unaware of power? And this is coming from a loud woman. A woman who has been given voice by birth, through privilege and whiteness. Mary, do you ever really read the

JESS OUIMET

2ND YEAR, PHOTOGRAPHY @JESSOUIMET_

work of Black women? Did you ever read my words, or did you merely finger through them for quotations which you thought might valuably support an already conceived idea concerning some old and distorted connection between us? This is not a rhetorical question (Audre Lorde, Sister Outsider). And half the time we’re hurting ourselves even more because we won’t hold each other’s hands to even dance. Or if we do, then when it comes time to actually let her speak, we speak over her, and veil her perspective with the inadequacies of white liberal feminism. If white feminism is a weapon, then intersectional feminism is a pressure bandage. It can’t heal the wounds, but it can stop the bleeding and give a community a chance to heal on its own (Mikki kendall). I’m so sick of running as fast as I can, wondering if I’d get there if I were a man (Taylor Swift). They’ll never hear the words we scream about the necessity for people to learn from the perspective of the people who are less privileged, that society has to survive. I’m not going to continue knocking that old door that doesn’t open for me. I’m going to create my own door and walk through that (Ava Duvernay).”

But I didn’t say any of that. I said okay, and turned to continue walking. They followed in silence for a block before I turned around, and walked back to the statue, this time without them following. A block of quietude before I reach in my bag and grab my bottle of hand sanitizer. Five minutes of them ignoring the voice I couldn’t bring myself to use before I poured the seventy-five percent ethanol over the bronze statue of a man who decided that women should not have autonomy over their own bodies. A lifetime of fear before striking a match and watching fire burn over the statue that will never truly melt, just as the decisions he made will never not have an impact. It will virtually last forever, as have the statues of the past that have been recovered from ancient civilizations.

This is how they will remember us.

VENAE

2023, FILM PHOTOGRAPHY

I feel the earth and water under my feet, cupped or flowing past my hands. I am alive.

Venae means vain, in this work the shadows of the forest reflect as veins on friend, bodyworker, and fellow artist Roya Bahiyyih Abdi’s back and arms, pumping life, earth, and air into the body and heart.

Feel the shadows of life on your back. Reveal your self. We are alive.

HANA VIE MITCHELL

2ND YEAR, VISUAL ARTS

@HASHTAGMINDCONTROL

FOUR LEGGED

(2022) MIXED MEDIA

NAOMI WATKINS

4TH YEAR, VISUAL ARTS

@NAOMIWATKINSVA NAOMIWATKINS.COM

I lived there, on that chair.

Even though it was my safe haven, I wanted to escape sitting still. Chronic pain bound me to those four legs,

Crawling, crying, grabbing, yelling.

Without them, four legged was what I slowly corroded to.

This diptych portrays a self portrait amidst the agony of losing my ability to walk and run as a result of chronic pain.

I LONG TO RETURN TO AN INSIGNIFICANT FEAR

i can only write in english. she can read better in arabic. it is the same in every country, she says. here, or home, it is the same. the people who killed her people, the people who killed mine. everywhere we go, they are the same. i spoke one time. txa nii wil la isgu. i clung to it the way the child clings with clammy hands. clumsy. stuck to the roof of my mouth, then the words, they burst out. foreign, with little ease. i wanted them to see me.

you said i acted like a kid but i just wanted them to see me. are we safe yet? we clutch at each other’s hands,

she says my friends, they are dead, i do not wish to read the poems.

i clutch at her hands, but my hands are losing their importance. you said you don’t understand people who want to change the world. people who are full of self importance. because maybe the world was built for people like you.

i cannot write about much else. how can we write of love when elsewhere, people are always dying by the same kind of hands, that hold the same shape. this is not my genocide; it does not belong to me i held it with her but i did not carry its weight. nor did i demand it put upon me. they said do not be so complicated. they said do not write a sad poem.

on the surface of my sadness, i was angry. in muay thai, i kick the coach’s pads hard, the men kick harder. their sweat pools up on the floor until we are all stepping in it. and when they kick, they yell out. and when they yell out, i am terrified of the familiarity in which i know this anger have heard it.

the white boy, he took me out of myself. and i laid beside my body as he pressed himself, slick, and marred the surface of my skin and if he wanted, he could have killed me and if you wanted to, i’d let you. you’re scared that this is a turbulence you cannot swallow.

mom, i know i am no good inside anymore. i want to be hollow.

you’re scared that i’ll get sick from the anger i carry. in every country, it is the same. in every body, the same fear grapples with us. and she and i, if we lived in each other’s, we would struggle to feel the difference.

(2023) COLLAGE

4TH YEAR, COMMUNICATION DESIGN

AFTER IMPACT

(2024) PHOTOGRAPHY/VIDEO

In the shadow of the Third Impact, a world whispers of both void and vitality. “After Impact” is an ode to the after—a series where the visceral dance of death and rebirth paints every horizon. Inspired by the haunting legacy of “Neon Genesis Evangelion”, these pieces are suspended between the last breath of a fallen world and the first sigh of the new.

Crimson skies, not merely a backdrop but a character, speak in silent verses of the world’s end—a testament to Evangelion’s profound aesthetic. Beneath this vermilion dome, each image murmurs the ancient truths: シンジ「じゃあ僕の夢はどこ？」

レイ「それは現実の続き」

シンジ「僕の現実はどこ？」

レイ「それは夢の終わりよ」

シンジ: “Then where are my dreams?”

レイ: “That is the continuation of reality.”

シンジ: “And where is my reality?”

レイ: “That is the end of your dream.”

This is not the end but a delicate unraveling of beginnings. The artworks, like petals strewn upon the water’s surface, drift in the space between dream and waking, pain and promise. They invite the soul to wander in landscapes that pulse with the echoes of a dream that has met its end, only to find itself reborn in the eyes of the beholder. The series is a symphony of the senses, a visual sonnet where each frame is a note in the melody of rebirth. It is a call to those who hear the whispers of a world reborn, to those who find beauty in the rawness of healing scars.

THEZINES N°2 - LOVE WITHOUT

EDEN LUNA GOLDET

2ND YEAR, MASTER OF DESIGN

OWNERSHIP (2024), RISOPRINT

BITTER PILL

(2024) C-PRINT

SOPHIE-JANE BRINDLE

3RD YEAR, PHOTOGRAPHY @MEBUT1080P

THEZINES N°2 - LOVE WITHOUT

EDEN LUNA GOLDET

2ND YEAR, MASTER OF DESIGN

OWNERSHIP (2024), RISOPRINT

FIRE UNLIT

“And if the gamble is of love, then bet what you want. If you win, then what’s there to say; and if you lose, then it wasn’t for nothing. The point was the gamble. The purpose was the gamble.”

— Faiz Ahmad Faiz

There is a power in unrequited love, one that lies not in its ability to conquer the heart of another, but in its capacity to transform the lover themselves. It is a journey of self-transcendence, a pilgrimage to the depths of the soul in search of meaning and purpose.

There is a strength in unrequited love, wherein you love someone so raw, that their presence itself seems superfluous. For loving someone without the need for their presence is to transcend the limitations of conventional affection, a love that consumes you perfectly. There is no state of being better than this, and no weakness within its form. An emotion that belongs just to the person that loves, a joy you need not share with anyone.

There lies a promise of familiarity within unrequited love, given we are no strangers to the countless tales of such love; each one a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit. From the star-crossed lovers of literature to the lovelorn poets of antiquity, the echoes of one-sided love reverberate through the corridors of time with an everlasting resonance. It is a love that defies rational explanation, a love that takes pride in its solitary nature.

And yet, for all its beauty, one-sided love is not without its pitfalls and perils. It is a gamble of the heart, a wager with stakes that are both exhilarating and terrifying. To bet on love is to risk everything, to lay bare the depths of one’s emotions in the hopes of winning the ultimate prize. And yet, even in the face of risks, there is a profound sense of liberation, a recognition that the purpose was never the outcome, but the act of daring to love in the first place.

“Love

3RD YEAR, INTERACTION DESIGN

One-sided love can often be more than just a fleeting emotion. It can be a way of life; a philosophy that guides every thought and action. In the depths of one’s heart, there can burn a flame of passion that refuses to be extinguished, a love that knows no bounds or limitations. And though the object of affection may never return those feelings, one can take solace in the knowledge that their love is a force unto itself, a source of strength and inspiration that sustains them through the darkest of nights.

However, if one refuses this lifestyle, as we all look for some adventure in life, then a gamble it remains. For if love is a gamble, then bet all you have and all you’d like. A gamble that belongs to you, a gamble where you command the odds. And possibly sewn within the fibers of this gamble–a new resolve may be tempered, and a sense of acceptance may emerge. Let us wear these benumbed scars in stillness, for it is not the triumph that defines us, but the bravery to embrace certitude with unwavering composure.

In the end, the gamble of love is not about winning or losing, rather it recites a tale on embracing the journey with an open heart and a fearless spirit. And if luck eludes you, must you raise your guard again? Conceal your emotions, for they never grant you fruition?

Perhaps then, we may wonder if the gamble was the purpose, wherein the act of loving someone brings you life, where the thoughts of them satiate your mind, where simply knowing they exist brings you peace. Hence, in the midst of uncertainty, let us reflect: what if a fire didn’t need a flame to burn?

And therein lies the true essence of love—self-sustaining, eternal, and unyielding.

like a fire unlit, One that need not a flame to burn bright, Nor heat to blaze warmth unto itself Love like a fire unlit”

(2023) PERFECT BOUND BOOK

OLIGARCHY & PERSIMMONS

“Oligarchy & Persimmons” is a sentiment of stillness. It is composed of chronologically ordered images that depict a cycle of relocation and adjustment in a past or present home. Colour, form, and texture is used to replace the subjects in the original photographs—lingering on the details that the scene is comprised of.

Home cannot be limited to tangent space alone, instead embellishing all corners of life. In its purest form, home feels hopeful, safe, grounding, vulnerable—it can be found, or gifted, wherever you look or wherever you feel it. This is an exploration of a relationship to the realm inhabited by the body. How far away is the soul when it calls for the body to find a new home?

The reworked copy (right) has an aluminum cover & mohair spine. The braided bookmark is 5’ 9” (my height) & has 3 pearls at the base which mimic my nose piercing—symbolically a representation of my body and the experiences I hold.

4TH YEAR,

(2023) PERFECT BOUND BOOK

OLIGARCHY & PERSIMMONS

BUZZY BUG

(2022) PERFORMANCE VIDEO

JUN BAEK

3RD YEAR, VISUAL ARTS

People always ask me, “Why do you keep buzzing your hair?” The stereotype that I am hearing is freaky, anti-social, and even scary. This is just because of my buzz cut, which I think is ridiculous. I was inspired by the idea that the sound of buzzing my hair is similar to the sound of actual bugs, which represents those people. So I expressed my experience by combining foley and 2D animation in a single video with bugs that I drew.

MOTHER

(2023) PHOTOGRAPHY

In the series, “mother “ I dive deep into societal norms and expectations that a woman’s primary purpose is to bear children. The beliefs of the past persist, haunting the minds of many women as they grapple with the societal pressure to fulfill the role of motherhood, even with the occupational progress we’ve made. Through my lens, I capture the moments of introspection and longing, portraying the silent battle between societal expectations and personal fulfillment. The subject; longing to see herself as a mother remains anonymous. This anonymity serves as a protective veil, allowing the viewer to focus on the universal essence of the narrative rather than on the specifics of the individual.

(2021) SCULPTURE

TOUCH AND BODY EXTENSION

MFA, CERAMICS

@LUCINELUO_7

In Touch and Body Extension, participants are invited to interact with twin sculptures that convey decorative ideas of fungi, parasites, and internal organs. They can put their arms into the sculpture to experience and discover perception, mobilizing their sensory perception and imagination by touching the unknown. I explore the interplay and inconsistency between touch and vision. The display intentionally emphasizes the fear of being controlled and parasitized.

LUCINE LUO

3RD YEAR, ILLUSTRATION @CHAMOMYLETEA

i knew a home–one that believed in used lunchboxes and despised left hands i knew a home

i laid on the bed that claimed for comfort but traded my qi to the crawling bugs and sultry sun rays all in vengeance towards the window above its head

i faced the mirror that reflected a sacred space with bare feet and damp hair but warned me of the uninvited living in my sleep

i stared at the plate and counted the grains i left by scraping it onto my tongue before it could paint a man i did not want to recognize

i winced at the fingernail that slowly dug through my skin but knew waiting to clip it off until the sun greeted me would grant me 5 more years

i watched the sky with shades of orange embracing it and tapped to the rhythm of fast, light footsteps returning to a warm hug before the serpent could catch up

i let go of the needle and took back the stitch with the tip of my fingers fearing it could wound the speech of my next

i know a house–one that believes in clean countertops but hesitates throwing away plastic bags one that has not been whispered a prayer and feels like home is still following along i know a house

— qi is one’s force of unseen energy that flows through all things based on Ancient Chinese philosophy

EDITORIAL

I KNEW A HOME

VANITY

(2024) PHOTOGRAPHY

EKNOOR THIND

3RD YEAR VISUAL ARTS

@EKNOORSARTSTUFF

KELLY HARDI