Table of Contents
The Sweater Curse by Pierce Sinclair
Of Peony Peek-a-Boos and Florid Farewells by Sophie Wang
A Lover’s Touch (Ode to Trans Joy) by Ava Katz
Someone to Wash Your Back by Ella White
Fault Lines by Sar Nordstrom
Reminiscence by Paige Neufeld
Tranquil Summer by Sela Volk
Born to Die by Jess Ouimet
What Life Could Be by Jess Ouimet
Belongings by Claudia Goulet-Blais
I hope you are reading this by Parumveer Walia
Dead Plymouth by Martin Behrisch Elce
Within the Bounds by Stephanie Auw
Carry On by Ava Katz
Self-Conscious by Victoria Chirciu
Matryoshka by Amelie Shypilova
Serenity by Janice Tsai
Untitled by Abi Simatupang
I’m With You by Christina Hunyadi
Womanhood by Glory Munroe
It Comes Full Circle by Graciella Rosary
BESTIARY / BODY : UNCANNY by Rafael Zen
Down in the Swamps by Sayde Koetke
Left Behind by Laura Ayres
hugs that last longer than they used to by Amelie Shypilova
Stomachaches in Cities by Rowen Lobo
I sight freeze by Joanna Liang
Garden Project by Leo Mah
After Glow by Tannaz Saatchi
Serafina/Care for Me by Jordyn Julianna
Checklists, for even under the Sun when we sulk by Vy Le
Vacuum Altar by Li Copsey
Swimming in a Basket by Kanidrapat Liu
Tender by Anoushka Nair
Connected Souls by Sodam Hong
I LIKE WHAT I SEE by Theo Kehler
Too Sensitive by Kelly Hardi
from photo book: Naturally Beautiful by Téa Javiniar
Old Dog by Weijin Ross
A homemade fabric book for the homemade recipes my aunt left behind by Niki Karimali
Fish Move in Three Dimensions by Kyla Dooley & Zelda McAfee
Koselig Antologi by Avery Hansen
The Softest Place by Skylar Bainard
Teams
Colophon
@sincpierce 4th Year, Photography
The Sweater Curse
Pierce Sinclair
In my work, I have been particularly interested in exploring romantic intimacy, and the fear of letting oneself be loved in return. The Sweater Curse combines my interest in textiles and fiber arts with an exploration of love, care, and the fear which comes along with believing that someone else is capable of loving you unconditionally.
“The Curse of the Love Sweater,” also known as “The Sweater Curse,” is a superstition which says that making a sweater for your partner will cause them to break up with you. This work is intended to refute that. There is a deep root of capitalist dogma within the notion that you are only able to be loved as much as you are able to produce. The Sweater Curse instead is about allowing someone else to love you even after you have given them your labour and time, and only have your own love and care left to offer.
(2023) photography
Of Peony Peek-a-Boos and Florid Farewells
(2023) acrylic on canvas
An ode to that endless suburban childhood; laughter, hiding among blushing peonies, the smell of clear-cut grass lawns, and tearstained embraces as we awake from this pink-petal daydream. Or, a gift for my childhood friend to remember me by, before I moved far, far away from that unchanging suburban neighbourhood.
2nd Year, Communication Design Sophie Wang
@a.katz.r
4th Year, Visual Arts
A Lover’s Touch
(ode to trans joy)
(2023) textile sculpture
This piece speaks to the tender joy found in the trans community, and the strength of the bonds formed. Growing from mutual care we sustain each other; the gardener’s glove, a loving hand, a gentle touch. The calla lily represents an ambiguity of gender and a celebration of intersex forms. The piercings show an autonomy of body modification and presentation—markers of queer identity.
Tender was the absence of the bruise that he left. The spot where could have beens were born.
Where he cupped his hands around something delicate and began to squeeze. At first he didn’t want to hurt it but when he did, he felt a new stirring in his stomach. Because boys shoved into closets at birth seek and seek and seek to injure in return.
The body remembers and clutches the memory to me. I walked past the house the day I thought I might die to prove to myself that I wasn’t afraid anymore. I will always be afraid but I wake up next to you, breathing so loudly in your sleep. Ama Ganłaak. N Siip’n because you make me forget.
My birth was like pressing a thumb into a bruise; carried the injury that is still filling up with blood underneath the skin. and full of heat.
The bloodline is a working wound, tightly woven. I still don’t know what they did to my grandpa and I will never know but they took something. And when he left, there remained a space that cannot be filled.
Someone to Wash Your Back
Ella White
Just as my ba will be cold in her bones, the kind of coldness that heat can’t warm. My mother will never rest. If you looked, you would find that we never felt like women, we just felt like daughters.
I am the reflection of the wound. My birth is decades of unravelling. How many people it took, just so I may exist with you. I have to be good inside. I have to hold still and avoid the inevitable, I am as good as the apple core sitting out on the counter trying not to rot.
You press both your thumbs into the palm of one of my hands over and over and over. You can get close to a human. Press together tightly, but nothing feels closer than this.
N Siip’n. Lu’aam goodu nwil niidzn, because you are like pulling up sea glass amongst handfuls of rock.
However much bravery I needed to get here, I have learned that I still need twice the amount to be gentle. To hold myself up to softness and not flinch. As if we are two boats sitting out on the water being bumped together by the currents.
My hands have become as important to me as my lungs since I started breathing through them. When I was younger I would pinch at the soft wrinkled skin under Ba’s arms and make her rest her hand next to mine to see the weathering of her age next to my smooth flat palm
and don’t you see — you could make a story out of that. Just our palms next to each other.
Just that.
Fault Lines
(2022) pencil crayon
Fault Lines is a life-size self-portrait drawn in pencil crayon, fragmented across seven pieces of paper. Warm and cool colours blend across the figure’s skin, spiralling lines creating its topographical texture. In drawing a self-portrait, I wanted to draw a body that felt simultaneously physically present while also acting as a temporal space. By emphasizing touch, the relationship of the body to the self, and the inherent vulnerability of a self-portrait, I sought to create a familiarity of emotion that one could step into through the intimacy of the self.
Due to its life-size scale, I drew this piece standing while using my whole body to draw, a process that provoked flareup of my chronic pain. This pain is intrinsically tied to my body and, as a part of the process of this drawing, the presence of that pain is carved into the piece itself, as well as its presentation as a queer and gender nonconforming body.
Sar Nordstrom
@sjnordst.art
3rd Year, Visual Arts
Reminiscence
@paiges_pages21 3rd Year, Communication Design
Paige Neufeld
(2023) gouache
3rd Year, Photography
Tranquil Summer
(2023) photography
Born to Die
A Candle is born to die, It is born to burn It is made to melt
Set to succumb,
Burnt be for show, Or burnt be for warmth, Burnt be for scent, Or burnt be for wealth,
Or may it be is a stagnant state For all of forever
As it leers at life passing it by, Being all knowing
Being all knowing that it, Was born to burn, That it, And made to melt
And containing all cognition
An un attenuating understanding
That,
The proprietor possesses, Its slaughter and sempiternity
What Life Could Be
A romanticization of what life could be if I abandoned my aspirations in the city and moved to a small east coast town, with a population of three thousand to live a mundane life, that ends in one of nine cemeteries where generations of my family are buried.
(2023) photography
jessouimet21.wixsite.com 2nd Year, Photography
@c.gouletblais
Claudia Goulet-Blais
MFA, Photography
Dead Plymouth
(2023) photography
The final resting place of a once grand Plymouth, in a field left for the dead.
Martin Behrisch Elce
@martin_behr.elce Foundation Year
Within the Bounds
(2023) film
Within the Bounds is a short film that asks it’s viewers to dive through the personal route of routines and thoughts of the main character. The film brings the audience along through the thoughts of an introverted 20 year old student, within the bounds of her room. A simple film with no intentions deeper than the importance of recognizing the passing thoughts that we all have as human beings.
Who knows what those thoughts may lead to in the future? This film is meant to be seen i n first person perspective, the audience is asked to channel the inner presence of the character, following along with the most random or the deepest thoughts that the character may come across. The film ends by leaving an empty sheet, to symbolize a thought that has yet to be discovered that may come in the future.
Stephanie Auw
@dilettantea
2nd Year, Communication Design
SCAN TO WATCH
Carry On
(2023) textile sculpture
This object is a memory of a suitcase, the same one I immigrated to Canada with. The transparent delicate nature of the materials reflect the ephemerality of the experience; a trace that lingers. The space within the case represents a bittersweet transience. A hope for that which is to come, and the loss of the life left behind. Inside the pocket is a small ceramic heart, broken in transit. This piece was gifted to me by my sister as I left Romania—its arteries ruptured by the jostling of the plane, by the ever growing distance between us. I carry her heart with me still, a reminder of the home I once had; of the self I once was, of the love that never leaves.
4th Year, Visual Arts
@vvixarts
2nd Year, 2D Animation
Self-Conscious
Victoria Chirciu
Matryoshka
I am my mother because I am her and she is me which means she feels me breathe when I read
“46 minutes ago russia ukrainian war live”
“blames west”
“deadlock deal”
“two killed”
“attack” but my eyes skip over words that don’t mean anything to me because all I’m looking for is that one word.
“kharkiv”
where I may lie is that I am not truly from there, I lived in kharkiv only through my mothers own breath and dinners while I grew inside her stomach awaiting a vancouver birth, a place that I would call home.
this war has made me try and reconnect with certain parts of my identity that I haven’t given much thought to parts like how I do not speak my mother language with ease.
I speak it with a twisted tongue worse than a slavic child, nor can I write, words take me many minutes to read and when my parents speak to me in russian, I respond in english with an ever lasting bit two killed in kharkiv.
I check my instagram of guilt I tuck away. but the traditions i’ve grown up and learning to cook our food brings me joy. it fills me with love to participate, even if I may only understand it amateur-ly.
yet I guiltily admit i’ve only checked the ukrainian news maybe six times, which I can’t really give a proper explanation for, other than fear.
“46 minutes ago russia ukrainian war live”
“two killed in kharkiv” my mama was one week last seen.
I am from kharkiv, because I am my mother and she is me which means I can feel her breathe even when we are thousands of kilometres away. in a place that should have been my home in another universe yet here,
I have never seen. this is what we know on day 427 of the invasion. 46 minutes ago.
museum attack. others wounded multiple russian missiles strike in kharkiv february 24
one killed shell 18 settlements names even I can’t pronounce names my teachers can’t pronounce. shypilova capture barrage two killed. (what if that was her?)
museum attack (what if she was there?)
“two women dead.” two women dead. a text from my mama “Hi baby. I’m okay.”
(five years last seen. how much longer will this go on?)
@amesketches 2nd Year, Illustration
Amelie Shypilova
Serenity
(2022) photography
Contrary to the fearsome stereotype for snakes, Apai the ball python rests peacefully as he is gently held against his owner’s chest. The two lie on the grass during a picnic, enjoying the warm afternoon sun and each other’s company.
Vancouver, July 2023.
30° summer air is enough to get my body limp, enough to get my skin drenched, enough to get my eyes watery;
brain’s melting, desperately clinging to memories of mother’s love yet I only remember Jakarta’s smoked air slowly seeping into my lungs. mother’s gaze kept getting hotter by the minute, as she spit,
“anak cewek mama harusnya___, bukan kayak kamu3 .”
over and over again mother reminded me of my place —my youth, my womb, my naivete; every single remark skins my body open.
30° summer air is enough to make me wonder if the heat of mother’s hand burns clean my own skin, if the mystics of mother’s words is making my own sharper; skin burned off of my hands from the heat of the place I’ve walked away, yet I long to mold a child without knowing how to handle clay. Vancouver might be quieter for a child, but it’s also quieter for an adult —piercing loneliness, fears of being misunderstood; I fear of becoming like mother, as I only know from her how to hug a child tightly, not softly how to dismiss the painful fevers of my womb how to seize their self and attach myself onto a young one and I’m afraid to try to be gentle with a child, afraid to burn the skin off my own anak.
3 “Anak cewek mama harusnya___, bukan kayak kamu” translates directly from Indonesian to “Mother’s daughter should’ve been___, not like how you are.”
@abelberith_ 2nd Year, Communication Design
I’m With You
(2023) oil painting
TENDER @christinahuny
2nd Year, 3D Animation
Christina Hunyadi
@glorys_gallery
3rd Year, Photography
Womanhood
(2022) photography
Glory Munroe
A collection of photos taken from my recent trip to my home country after 6 years. The title comes from the feeling of tenderness that surfaced during my visit, sort of returning to the past with a very different mindset after going through a series of growth and changes.
This photobook conveys the delicate and bittersweet feeling of coming back home a different person.
(2023) photobook @graciellarosary
3rd Year, Communication Design
Graciella Rosary
BESTIARY / BODY : UNCANNY
(2023) performance/photography
2nd Year, New Media + Sound Art
BESTIARY / BODY : UNCANNY is a project by queer Latinx artist Rafael Zen, exploring queer experiences and the interplay between body-labour and body-image. It delves into themes like dysmorphic body-awareness, the uncanny in queer experiences, oppressive language embodiment, and Nightmare Surrealism aesthetics. Using long exposure, Zen creates doppelgangers and distortions of themselves, aiming for an unsettling visual landscape. The project delves into the complex experience of human bodies within cultural and linguistic contexts, especially in marginalized and queer cultures. This personal journey also addresses body dysphoria and societal pressures regarding otherness embodiment in a colonial-capitalistic world.
Down in the Swamps
(2023) digital illustration
@drizzledrawings
4th Year, Illustration
Sayde Koetke
3rd Year, Photography
(2022) photography
Left Behind
This photograph shows the impact of the 2017 Williams Lake wildfires, in which many homes were burned to the ground, including the one on this property. The only sign indicating that someone once inhabited this property is half of a small bridge leading to its former owner’s pond.
@lauraeyresphoto
hugs that last longer than they used to
(2023) photography
Friendship; it’s hard but it’s good. I think it’s the best thing anyone can ever have in their life. What I’ve always loved about my friends is I feel equal—I don’t feel less than for being me, all of me. My friends feel like home. These are good people who I love and would do anything for. I think if i could exist forever with nobody else but them, I would be content. I do not know what adult relationships entail, or what happens to friend groups like mine, but I know that catching up over brunch about our work and families will simply not do. If I can’t have our naive minds forever, I know that I will want to keep these people in my life no matter how long it is between our embraces. I will always love to hear about the ups and the downs or the nothings of their breaths. If I can’t have that, then the memories will do.
Stomachaches in Cities
What is it like to be a baby in a city that does not want you?
I was born into a home with Rice, Jesus Christ and cricket matches on the TV box
A home with loud wooden doors and eggshells on the floors
A home with constant nausea, vomit and stomachaches
The pandit says debilitating stomach aches
Written in the stars, Virgos will suffer with constant and consistent digestive issues
What is it like to be a child in a new city that does not want you?
We pray
We pray in the morning
We pray before every meal
Every snack
Every drink
Every stomachache
After every Sin
We pray in the evening
We pray before bed
Mama, to whom do we pray?
Why do we pray?
If nothing changes, why are we praying at all?
If I ask that again, Hell awaits.
Mama and Christ are in constant connection
What is it like to be a Teenager in another new city that does not want you?
I used to love the ocean, carrots made my stomachache, but water was good for the eyes
Diving in would make my brown eyes bleed
Perhaps my Irises would stain blue, and my pigmented skin would wash away
What is it like to be a new adult in yet another new city that does not want you?
Mama lived in a home, where she slept under a cot
Oldest of 6
They survived on scraps, while her dad drank himself stupid I slept in a queen sized bed of a 3 storey house
Youngest of three
I wasted expensive meals and drank myself stupid Visiting the cot, smelling old skin and Stomach aching
The prodigal child returns, vowing to never drink themself stupid again
What is it like to be an adult in yet another new city that still does not want you?
Pepto-Bismol and Guilt
Rowen Lobo
@maybeitsroe @rowe.collection 4th Year, Visual Arts
I sight freeze
(2023)
bookobject
I sight freeze is a book object containing a collection of poetry on the third, lesser known anxiety response: freeze. This work is about my personal experience with how my anxiety manifests; and the visual metaphors of mental cloudiness and dissociation are conveyed through the delicate materiality of the loose paper/plastic squares and stars inside the box that have varying levels of translucency.
The poems in I sight freeze delve into the difficulties of articulating your thoughts, feeling an absence of identity, and the fear of death. It’s about empty spaces and feeling like you are nothing at all in a way that is dishearteningly neutral and quiet.
Joanna Liang
Garden Project
(2023) photography
4th year, Photography
After Glow
(2023) photography
@photosbytannaz 3rd Year, Photography
Tannaz Saatchi
Serafina/Care for Me
(2023) textile sculpture
Serafina, with all her braids and ribbons, is something fragile. At her sweetest she represents care, deep love, and acceptance.
Jordyn Julianna
@ribbonbowsgirl
3rd Year, Visual Arts
Three. Learning to love, someone who’s worth it
☐ get out of bed in the morning (does the thought of them give you a reason to work harder?
☐ learn using anger to fuel love (know your Mars and Venus)
☐ “what would they do in this situation?”
☐ be on their wavelengths
☐ (allow spaces and time away)
☐ make love a routine
(“Goodnight”
“Good morning”
“Did you take your meds?”
“I’ll make dinner” and repeat.)
☐ hold each other’s lights
☐ “we’re not really strangers”
☐ discover boundaries
☐
(quiet transformations - they’re infinite and undefined)
☐ fall in love with each and every version of them
☐ …
Four. You’re guided
☐ dilated pupils and smile lines (is your body feeling ecstatic?
☐ cuticle care
☐ breathwork (in for 4 seconds hold for 7 seconds out for 8 seconds and repeat.)
☐ learning to love, yourself
☐
☐ (means giving yourself enough spaces and time, too)
☐ give things another try
☐ memory tracing
☐ (you have yet to know how many timelines exist in your mind)
☐ soul family
☐
(it’s okay to cry, healing is not linear either)
☐ light energies surrounding you
☐ party playlists
☐ go back to colours (a friend’s advice)
☐ meteor showers
☐ give your inner child a voice (because in a way, she always knows your life purpose)
☐ …
4th Year, 3D Animation
Vacuum Altar
(2023) sculpture
Altar of vacuum contents. An examination of ritual and daily practice, domestic detritus, diaspora, and the re-articulation of cultural practices through means of limited resources.
@sun_sun.jpg 2nd year, Photography
Tender
In the heart of the forest, there lives a girl named Tender. She possesses a unique nature, one that puzzles her, for she was born as the embodiment of tenderness itself. However, Tender feels a deep longing to truly understand herself, and so, with a sense of curiosity and adventure, she embarks on a journey to uncover the secrets of her own essence.
Tender ventures deep into the forest, and she can’t help but feel a profound sense of fondness towards the natural treasures that surround her. She marvels at the delicate flowers that grace her path, their petals whispering secrets to the breeze.
Tender notices how the leaves on the trees rustle softly, like a gentle lullaby, as if they were cradling the forest’s inhabitants in their caring arms.
Tender comes across a babbling river, its crystal-clear waters glistening like a thousand diamonds in the dappled sunlight. The river seemed alive, its playful currents dancing merrily over smooth, polished stones, creating a joyful melody that filled the air. Each droplet seems to sparkle with joy, inviting Tender to dip her fingers into the cool, refreshing stream. The water’s refreshing touch sends ripples of happiness through her heart.
Tender continues to explore; her steps, light and filled with wonder. She sees a herd of deer grazing in a meadow, their eyes filled with trust and kindness as they watch her pass by. The forest seems to hold its breath in respect for the harmony of life all around.
As the sun begins its descent, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold, Tender finds a cozy spot under the sheltering branches of a wise old oak tree. She nestles into the soft moss beneath her, feeling the tree’s ancient and formidable presence wrapping around her like a warm, protective hug. The forest has embraced her too, and Tender feels like she’s a part of this beautiful, gentle world, where every creature and element lives in perfect harmony.
However, amidst this beauty, a quiet realisation began to stir within Tender. She noticed how the trees, the grass, the sun, and the water, all had a certain tenderness about them; a quality that seemed so inherent to their existence. Yet, as she looked at herself, she couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of difference.
Tender’s hair, instead of softly brushing against the tree’s warming bark like the trees’ own leaves, scratched it harshly, creating an unintended discord in the otherwise harmonious forest symphony. Her legs and hands, as robust as they were, seemed to stand in stark contrast to the delicate, graceful flowers and plants that surrounded her.
It was as though she were a visitor in a world of serene and gentle beings, and her deep admiration for the natural world around her began to take on a tinge of envy. She yearned to seamlessly blend in with the tenderness of the forest, to contribute to its harmony in her own unique way.
As Tender pondered her feelings of not quite fitting into this peaceful world, a gentle rustling in the leaves above caught her attention.
She gazed upward and saw a being descending from the branches, its form too unconventional to belong in the forest. It landed gracefully in front of her, as if drawn by the curiosity of her dejected expression.
As the seconds ticked away, Tender felt an inexplicable connection with this mysterious being, her unease fading into a comforting vulnerability. She decided to share her thoughts, undisturbed by the reactions she might provoke.
“I am made of stone; hence, I can’t be tender,” she began, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.
The being regarded her with thoughtful eyes and replied, “Oh…but Tender is tender because it breaks down and gives life to the plants that grow upon it.”
Tender considered this, her heart starting to lighten. “Well,” she continued, “I have thorns for hair; hence I can’t be tender.”
The being nodded, offering a gentle smile. “Tender is tender because it has thorns to protect its gentle body, a home that lives for her.”
Tender felt a newfound sense of understanding. “That’s true,” she admitted, “but I have eyes of glass; hence I can’t be tender.”
The being sparkled with wisdom as it responded, “We’re not all that different. Tender is tender because it doesn’t hide what it holds inside. It reflects all the life it experiences, it glows with the truth that resides within.”
Tender stopped and thought for a while, letting all the new ideas sink in. She had misunderstood who she was, but talking to the mysterious being had helped her accept and embrace her place and purpose in this kind forest.
After taking a moment to compose herself, Tender gazed at the being once more, filled with a desire to convey her gratitude for their enlightening conversation.
“Thank you very much,” she says with sincerity, “I’m beginning to grasp my place in the circle of nature. I hope we meet again. Tell me, what are you called?”
With a final, gentle smile, the being responded, “I am called Mirror.”
Anoushka Nair
3rd Year, Interaction Design
Connected Souls
(2023) photography
Connected Souls explores the feeling of comfort, peace and love that you may find in places and people that you wouldn’t expect; yearning for more, grieving from less. This photo series finds a sense of assurance in a state of bliss, with not much to go from.
I LIKE WHAT I SEE
I LIKE WHAT I SEE is a body positivity revolution series that showcases explorations of shameless self-love, authentic representations of queer and diverse bodies, and ethical artistsubject relationships. Acting in antithesis to the oversaturation of dehumanizingly oversexualized media, Theo “THE.” Kehler confronts societal discomfort with depictions of sensuality and sincere self confidence.
Resulting photographs, following facilitation of a private bedroom photoshoot with inexperienced participants, are gifted to them as spiritual ephemera to empower them with their newly acquainted “highest self”. Each participant also had complete control of how they were portrayed and who can view them. To date, every participant has described some level of transformative improvement in their sense of self.
- DRXGS X iNTXMACY
Theo Kehler
Too Sensitive
I used to think being too sensitive was wrong.
I would hold back tears and let them sting long enough to act as if I wasn’t hurt. I thought showing the slightest signs of sensitivity was something shameful. I didn’t want to be labeled as too fragile. Too delicate. Too weak.
I used to think being too sensitive was irrational.
I constantly felt the need to re-evaluate if my feelings were valid and true. Discouragement would also flow in me when I understood others’ emotions but never mine. I would wonder if I was meant to conceal parts of myself. Or force myself to build a ‘thicker’ skin.
I used to think being too sensitive was selfish.
Why did I take things personally? Why couldn’t I differentiate between a joke and an insult? Why was I overwhelmed by my own feelings? Why did I excessively want time alone? Why did I feel like the only one who felt this way?
I used to think being too sensitive was too much.
Or that I was too much. Too much to be part of. Too much to consider. Too much to process. Too much for people to understand. And why too many ultimately chose to leave.
A way to be in tune with the feelings that well up in my heart and discern the energy around me. Likewise, a vessel for me that sources my compassion and depth. But I want to think of being too sensitive as a forgotten art.
I want to think of being too sensitive as being brave.
It is knowing when my boundaries are crossed. It is deciding when it is right to walk away from people who devalue my emotions. It is accepting that it is deserving to just feel.
I want to think of being too sensitive as my greatest strength.
A too sensitive heart is a heart crafted just for me. A gift that connects my heart to others and brings a keen awareness of other’s pain. An intuition to be perceptive of my emotions and yours. A virtue to show that I am genuine.
I want to think of being too sensitive as embodying intensity.
I love harder. I linger on pain a little longer. I empathize easily. I over-notice subtleties. I dwell on judgment. I emphasize sincerity.
I want to think of being too sensitive as living through sentience.
I want to think of being too sensitive as living.
I want to think of being too sensitive as simply living.
3rd Year, Illustration
from photo book : Naturally Beautiful
(2023) photography
@teajaviniar 4th Year, Photography
Téa Javiniar
Weijin Ross
@weijinross
4th Year, Interaction Design
Old Dog
I wonder how long it will take for my barley to soften?
How long until the dirt is washed from my wool? When will my wax melt all smooth and flat?
When you’re latchless you’ll latch to anything. That slouch, that drag, that ugly dance that you do to kill time before stains and joints settle.
I do my best to be docile, to tame unruly buzzing.
And I know I’ll survive the boots that have grown too big (though it’s a scary thought to wait).
Because the old dog who can no longer see or hear still knows to lick when it smells blood.
A homemade fabric book for the homemade recipes my aunt left behind
@nikikarimali
3rd Year, Visual Arts
A homemade fabric book for the homemade recipes my aunt left behind. In honour of the woman who inspired me to be an artist, I took four of her traditional Greek sweet recipes and designed a space for them to live. In the structure of this book, lives a recreation of one of her paintings, laid out with scrap fabrics and the original Greek and a translated English version of each recipe. It was vital for me to use textiles to make this book as my aunt’s practice consisted of painting on fabric and I wanted to create a space to resonate with her, moreover mourn her.
Niki Karimali
(2023) textile book
Fish Move in Three Dimensions
Fish Move in Three Dimensions is a multichannel installation of sledding home videos projected onto the ceilings of Emily Carr’s stairwell. The installation disrupts the mundane activity of walking down a stairwell in making people aware of their vertical transformation with melancholic home videos. They see people descending down a hill and they too are suddenly aware of their physical descent; they’re moving in three dimensions.
@kyladooley 3rd Year, Visual Arts
4th Year, Photography
Kyla Dooley
@gothbunnnystudios
Zelda McAfee
Cogs, and bronze, and patina.
Time for rust.
Koselig Antologi
Avery Hansen
2nd Year, Visual Arts
All his hours, his minutes, then seconds, gone, then back again. Impersonal clicks and ticks. The pendulum swings back and forth and back and forth, and then you’re feeling sleepy.
You’ll sleep now. You’ll rest now.
For a long while it had been soon. You’d sleep soon. It clicks and it ticks, and clicks and it tocks and suddenly soon is now. Rest now, grandfather is here.
Alight in my chest, there is a fire. It is not a wildfire. It does not rage or destroy. It dances in a hearth.
It is stoked only by those in the thickest of socks in the ugliest of colours. Those who clasp ceramic mugs.
The milk is thick, and too hot to drink just yet. Drink in the steam, the richest cinnamon.
The cinnamon, like the fire, dances her own dance with her siblings, nutmeg and cardamom, and if she is lucky, her neighbour vanilla. The dog is there too, as he has been for many years, during which his yawns have increased in volume, and the fur of his snout has become sugar sprinkled. He will go soon, but he has time for a nap.
Hunden er der også, som han har vært i mange år, hvor gjespene hans har økt i volum, og pelsen på snuten hans har blitt sukkerdrysset.
When I was younger, when I was angrier, I taught myself to curse in two different languages. I taught myself to curse so I would not hit, so I would not scratch.
I stocked my brain’s cupboards with expressions until I bruised. I found you there.
Ensemble is French for together. Ensom is Norwegian for lonely. I met you in between those two words.
I decided you should have his smile and her skin, but they’ve always been your eyes. I’ve yet to find your eyes on someone.
When I do, I will know it’s time to go.
The Softest Place
(2023) textile sculpture
The Softest Place is about learning to love my body as a woman, including all my soft parts. Growing up in the ballet world taught me that I shouldn’t have curves and should take up as little space as possible. I couldn’t have a voluptuous body. I needed flat breasts, a flat stomach, flat everything, which wasn’t in my anatomy. I was told this was the way to have a successful career, which put me at constant war with my body.
I wanted to create an image and feeling of comfort in one’s own body, and in doing that, provide the ability to wrap themselves in this blanket of bubbles and boobs. This piece is that comfort that I crave. To be able to hold myself and find a sense of peace and self-love within.
I can love my soft parts. It doesn’t mean I am less beautiful or desired. I can love with softness. It doesn’t mean I am weak.
@skylar_bainard
2nd Year, Communication Design
Skylar Bainard
Editor-in-Chief
Charlie Mahoney-Volk
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Isaac Hatfield
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Sodam Hong
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Colophon
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