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Free Association Magazine Spring, Issue #4 // HOME

[inside cover] Dan Harvey


FREE ASS. MAG. Free Association (Maga)Zine SPRING, ISSUE #4: HOME This anti-architecture/architecture (maga)zine is an agitated response to the closed nature of the architecture field. It was born out of the idea that our environment, built or unbuilt, influences much of who we are and the things we make as manifestations of our existence. Collected and hand-bound in Chicago, but extending across the globe. | @freeassmag |

SPECIAL THANKS My deep gratitude goes to those who have given their constant support and encouragement to this project. Without the persistent questioning of our present state of affairs by people like you, a piece such as Free Ass. Mag. would cease to exist. Profound thanks also go to the many contributors whose work we’ve had the honor to feature within the pages of Free Ass. Mag. – past and present. It has been such a privilege to connect and collaborate with so many brilliant thinkers from around the globe. And a final thanks to the incredible independent publishing scene in Chicago and around the world for keeping up the good fight. 4


EDITOR-IN-CHIEF & PUBLISHER Amanda Wills EDITOR & ART DIRECTION June Lee CONTRIBUTORS Adva Chernov Alice Brown Amanda Shirlow Amanda Wills Antoni Hidalgo Bridgit Gallagher Cameron Cortez Cosette To and Faiza Mehmood Dan Harvey David Ramis Gianna Sergovich Haden Miller Jennifer Cronin June Lee Karen Galue Karl Ochmanek Keefer Dunn Lauren McPhillips Lyra Jakabhazy Margherita Muzzi and Margherita Delmonego Marianela D’Aprile Melanie Grozdanoska Meri Carrasco Mohammad Hatahet Mohammed Kassem Noah Frazier Noritaka Minami Oscar Alejandro Patrick Flood Quade Gallagher Ryan Harding Tim Nguyen Trissa Dodson Will Powers SPECIAL FEATURE, pg. 8-9; 68-69 Conversation with Mohammad Hatahet, searching for home from Saudi Arabia to Syria to the States. SPECIAL FEATURE, pg. 30-35 Interview with Daniel Park, creator of Art Alleyways in Seoul, South Korea. 5

haden miller • chicago, usa SPRING // ISSUE #4



HOME : Already on our fourth issue, it has been an incredible privilege to receive work from so many talented individuals around the world and create a shared dialogue with wildly varying viewpoints. The challenge with Free Association Magazine (Free Ass. Mag.) has been to bring all the pieces together into a somewhat unified form due to the incredible variety and outward thinking from artists within these pages. The mission of this humble independently published (maga)zine has been, and still remains, to catalyze a dialogue around themes in architecture with works freely associating with one another, drawing connections often overlooked. With the theme of “Home”, we wanted to uncover the humanistic elements often overlooked when discussing conceptual ideas in architecture. The theme “Home” stems from the desire to uncover other acts of creating a “sense of place”. Rather than the typical design method through the top down approach, we invite those involved to express what it takes to build a community. For those of you familiar with the past issues of Free Ass. Mag., the following pages will look a little off kilter. Once you’ve produced three issues, it’s easy to fall into the same rhythm and glaze over the individual works. Thanks to our new collaborator, June Lee, we’ve been able to look again with fresh eyes at the goal of this collection of work. As an anti-architecture/architecture publication, we hope to push the boundaries of conventional publications by challenging the viewer to expect the unexpected. Though we take the project seriously, we have enjoyed breaking out of the rigidity and being more playful with all the works we have collected for this fourth issue: HOME. We’ve included not one, but two interviews – a first for us – in order to further share how one might go about creating a community revolving around art in the center of Seoul, South Korea or the process of seeking home despite cultural barriers from Saudi Arabia to Syria to the United States. Often the idea of home is within the confines of four walls and a roof but we hoped to uncover the elaborate network that knits people together. Whether this home is captured through the lens of a resident within an assisted living facility, or through the individual boards hammered together to erect a living space, we hope you can find a connection through this collection of exceptional works. Amanda Wills Editor/Founder



the 8

view from my livingroom


margherita muzzi

• venice, italy 9


in conversation with

mohammad hatahet was born Syrian, but was raised in Saudi Arabia for 18 years, traveling

between Damascus and Saudi Arabia for much of this time. Before leaving to study in the States, he spent time between Jordan and Syria, all the while feeling the itch to find a place he could call “Home”. For much of his life the meaning of home has been constantly transforming as he moved through Saudi Arabia, Syria, Jordan, and ultimately the United States.

I wanted to ask about your experience, and what “home” turned out to mean to you, because I’ve never heard your entire story, and I’m sure not many people knew what you went through.

“It’s that question that keeps ringing the bell: “oh, where is back home?”

So, I’m Syrian, and I was born and raised in Saudi Arabia for 18 years. I was raised in Saudi Arabia, but I always had this image that my dad has it in his mind that “one day we will be back home”. It’s that question that keeps ringing the bell: “oh, where is back home?”. I grew up in Saudi Arabia, and back home is somewhere in Damascus - somewhere in Syria where I used to go all the time and see my cousins, my uncles, my aunts from both my mom and dad’s [family]. So, this idea of home became a little fuzzy because I grew up in this place I was born [Saudi Arabia] where I had all my friends - I barely met Syrians back in Saudi Arabia. We used to go every summer back to Syria. My dad would not come with us, it would be just my mom, myself, and my younger brother. We would cross the border, and my mom would say, guess what, “Home!”. We stayed maybe in the suburbs for most of the time, and we would go in between the farms, and play… As kids, I remember one time we burned a whole field. We were playing with matches and one of my cousins was like, “oh, light it up”. And the grass that’s all dry...guess what, a big fire that burnt the whole place. I think I was about 6, he’s 4 years older than me so he was about 10. This person I’m talking about, he lives in Michigan right now (laughs). Yeah, so we used to do crazy things...climb mountains, chase dogs...

Did you have the opportunity to finally live in Syria, to go back “home”? So, we kept going back and forth until in 2000 my dad got permission to go back to Syria. And then I felt my dad was like, “okay, we are going establish home back in Syria.” My dad planned to establish a business, and I was excited. I felt that I’m going back to a country where I feel like I belonged, where we spoke the same language. 10



Did you have higher expectations for moving back to Syria?

I had high expectations, but guess what, I did not know how the country functioned. My parents taught me that not everyone has the same lifestyles as you have, whether is comes to money, education, all these things. [In Saudi Arabia], we had a Nigerian maid who came to clean the house, and we would see her kids that were our age that didn’t go to school. We would see them play on the streets and some of the kids would sell chocolate in the streets, and they would be chased by the Saudi government and by congressional officers all the time. I remember in one year, they were deported. They deported her children, and she came back to us, I felt there was this injustice in Saudi Arabia. I felt, “oh, in Syria, because we are Syrians, I could do anything.”...that I would have this ability to practice this teaching, or what I had thought in Saudi Arabia...apparently it was this way. Saudi Arabia is covered with this religious umbrella, and is slightly more conservative. In Syria, it is not that much, there is a more diverse community because we have Christians, we have Jews, there are Muslims, Shia, Muslims who are, there are a lot of secs in one place, and people got along.

What about Damascus felt like “home” to you? So, I went back to Damascus, and a few things that I liked about being back home is that there is a feeling of trust. Especially the people of Damascus, the original citizens of Damascus, not the ones who came after. They are very welcoming and generous. You would not be able to walk into a store without getting something sweet. It is known that the people of Damascus have a “sweet tongue”. They have a beautiful way of saying words and phrases…. [In Damascus] you could walk down the street and you might see the guy at the corner, who has a grocery store, and you walk down further and there are two more guys who know you. Everybody knows everybody in that small neighborhood.

→ pg. 68

“I had high expectations, but guess what, I did not know how the country functioned.”

. . . m ohammad

h ata h et

interviewed by amanda wills . . . in chicago, usa

photos by mohammad hatahet in Damascus, Syria





karen galue • miami, usa

This artwork represents my homes thus far. For me, home means more than just a house or a building, it represents a place where millions of memories are made, along with family and friendships.



“The American Dream” began as a promise: despite class status, every citizen has the opportunity for “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” through the merit of hard work. In turn, the American Dream promoted consumerism and ownership: the more you own, the more successful you are. But as we draw back curtain in the City of Oz, what’s revealed is a global nightmare: American consumption has come at a cost, not only to citizens around the world, but to the planet. And as we live on the verge of extinction, we find ourselves asking: can we ever go home again?



What was Once a Home (South Laflin Street) Carbon pencil on toned paper

jennifer cronin • chicago, usa



What was Once a Home (South Laflin Street) Carbon pencil on toned paper

What was Once a Home (South Throop Street) Carbon pencil on toned paper

jennifer cronin • chicago, usa 16


What was Once a Home (South Winchester Avenue) Carbon pencil on toned paper

What was Once a Home (West 70th Place) Carbon pencil on toned paper



a temporary h o m e

Residents at Brookdale Senior Living were asked to take photos on the inside of their apartments with disposable film cameras. The residents vary from independent to requiring assistance for living. This is not their home, this is a temporary living facility.

Julius - Room #714 “Would you like to sit up?” “No, I think I will stay laying down right here [on the bed].” “I have an appointment on Monday, will someone be able to take me? There is no parking outside the place...”

Shirley - Room #1202 “I’m helping out Lucy, she is the blind lady. She kept her dog up in her room. Sometimes it’s good for mom to be away from her kids.”



Pat - Room #403

“Were you upset when you were sent to the internment camps?” “No, my parents were, because they had to give up the business, but I was a teenager. We had music and we would dance, they would put on Glenn Miller and we would dance.”

Tom - Room #710


amanda wills

• chicago, usa

c an we ever g

bridget gallagher • chicago, usa


“The American Dream” began as a promise: despite class status, every citizen has the opportunity for “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” throughthemeritofhardwork.Inturn,theamericanDreampromotedconsumerism and ownership: the more you own, the more succesful you are. 20

o home again?


ButaswedrawbackcurtainintheCityofOz,what’srevealedisaglobal nightmare; American consumption has come at a cost, not only to citizensaroundtheworld,buttotheplanet.Andasweliveontheverge of extinction, we find ourselves asking: can we ever go home again? 21



melanie grozdanoska • chicago, usa



The moment we leave our family home, whether to university, a job, or to travel the world is when the search for home begins. Until then, the warm and fuzzy feeling of belonging is fulfilled by the family, whatever shape and form it takes. But then comes the era of the individual, searching for home, for belonging. A catalog of my search for home reveals that we, the 1 billion 18-28 year-olds in the world, are in perpetual state of decorated homelessness.

Is there a way out of this crisis, finding homes that fit our lifestyles or are we doomed to forever wander, untethered and alone?

1. the quintessential college experience of the student dorms. Shared bedroom with a stranger made for awkward encounters, an unwilling home because there were no other options. Communal bathroom between 50 people made one really wish for a perpetual cleaning staff. Living in a dorm is like going to the dentist…not a particularly comforting notion of home. No kitchen or common living area, only minimal dwelling units. The lack of secondary social space turned the bed into the dining room, the living room, the study, the office water cooler, etc. It became the entire cosmos of home.

3. the quest for a shortterm rent contract.

Studying in London in the spring, and not wanting to deal with sub-leases and craigslist strangers meant a short term rent contract for 1. For private lenders, smaller buildings, or “luxury apartments” a 5 month lease is an unnecessary hassle. The only remaining option within a 5 mile radius is a corporate high-rise built in the 1960s in not the safest area of Chicago. 22

2. a one bedroom apartment in the South Loop for Sharing with a friend a one bedroom apartment, meant the living room became bedroom #2. The apartment was clearly intended to house a conventional nuclear family model, even if it was for 1 person, in which the clear social functions of home and preconceived lifestyle were pre-designed into the space. The real estate market and the housing market support only one way of living – single family homes. Even when they design one bedroom apartments, they envision the values of suburban family life. Seems strange to fit in an urban non-family inhabitant. Rebelling against this model, out of necessity more than any political or social intentions, hanging a curtain floor to ceiling, placing a tall storage unit and inserting a long working desk, made a “door” between the kitchen and “bedroom.” Privacy is a perception, and walls are not the only tool of isolation.

5. home is where wi-fi is. Traveling across Europe, 25 train tickets, 18 hostels, and the only continuity - wifi. Home is about belonging, familiarity in strange situations or places. It is a way of adapting to circumstances. Nomads are not homeless nor belong everywhere, but those that can more easily reorient emotionally and symbolically to foreign spaces. Out of the 18 hostels I stayed at, 2 stand out. It is in these two that I felt at home. One in Genoa and one in Berlin. Vastly different architecturally, spatially, culturally. But both had one thing in common – a sense of community. Face to face interaction is clearly not going away, even in the age of the digital. It’ just changing. A diversity of demographics, races, genders, identities, - locals with students and tourists – all tied together by a successful common space where social interaction not only happened, but was successful. Space in which it was possible to be alone but also be part of community, where social life was not assumed to happen by designing a common space and hoping people use it, but made to happen, by human involvement.

two people.

Rent at almost 1.5 times that HOMEof a yearly contract rent for a studio where the walls have layers of paint so thick they crack off, a sink that doesn’t drain for hours, and a bathroom door that doesn’t close. But I do get 50 sqm of space, which I spend a few hours sleeping in every day. And wall to wall glass windows with a southern exposure that don’t close all the way - a sauna during the summer and an igloo in the winter. Too much quantity of space with not enough quality of design. Design of what, though?

4. renting in London p/week costs more than renting in Chicago per month.

Money is elastic. Resale values and speculation drive the house further and further from home. The design of the physical container (matter) prevents the design of the dark matter (the processes that shape matter). A new housing model with the economic aim to redefine affordable home is a first step towards a more equal redistribution of wealth within the city. A new typology of housing can be understood as a fundamental reshaping of current economic policy.Understanding the physical matter to re-design the dark matter.

6. financial consolidation; my mom as a roommate. Living alone was not a viable financial solution, for either of us. I was coming back from a 6-month trip in Europe, my mom moving back to Chicago, both economically drained. Neither of us was sure how it was going to turn out. Turns out it’s great. I don’t cook, but have food to eat. I don’t clean, but it’s clean. It’s good to live with your mom. But she doesn’t cook or clean, either. Domestic labor – cooking and cleaning is part of old family hierarchy structures – part of the mother’s realm of responsibility, unpaid of course. We are a family, but ordering food is more convenient. Cooking a quality meal takes 2-3 hours. And we eat at least 2-3 meals a day. That’s 4-9 hours of labor a day. We don’t even have 6 full hours a day in which to sleep. Life is busy. So spending 6-8 hours a day at home, most of which is spent sleeping leaves little to be cleaned. Every 2-3 weeks, a service comes for 2-3 hours to vacuum and dust. There isn’t much else. However, the idea of domestic labor as a form of work, performed as a service is deemed for the “ultra-rich,” yet in a lifestyle in which free time is the ultimate luxury, paid domestic service as part of the rental fee seems quite reasonable. 23


7. my entire life fits into 9 cubic meters. 8 of which are replaceable. I have possessions – books, furniture, clothes. Yet the happiest I remember being in the last few years is not when I was surrounded by these things, but during my two month stretch of travel in which everything I owned I could carry around with me in a backpack. Everything else I bought or was provided as part of my inhabitation. There is a freedom in not having things, of being liberated from constant consumption, where the only thing of value is qualitative experience. French bread, cheese, and tomatoes. A good cup of coffee. A nice evening stroll. These are experiences. We can’t own them. Or even hold on to them. So why does home need to be any different? Home is not a place. Home is a mental state of being. A sense of belonging. It’s not tied to books or furniture or clothes – if to anything, it’s people.

8. most of us will live in two places other than our birthplace before we’re 25. This demographic, young, educated workers, part of the “creative class” not only can’t afford to buy a house, but also don’t want to. Most work on shortterm contracts, making committing to financial debt for 30 years a punchline to a joke rather than viable housing solution. The labor market is volatile and unpredictable – the precarity of the situation, however also poses a freedom to pick up and move in the search of new experiences, so why tie yourself down to a chunk of concrete, steel, brick, wood, or glass? When dorms and hotels are the only forms of available housing, the student and the tourist are exploited for profit. In this economic model, the two forms of temporality are (stable and productive) versus (unstable and unproductive). This direct relationship between stability and productivity no longer useful. This idealized notion of home keeps us trapped in houses we can’t afford and don’t even want.

9. from Communism to the new Communal. a new economic model of Home.


10. rethinking the House as a space of Home. An economic housing model to accommodate a shifting labor force. A shortterm rental agreement with included domestic service. A minimal unit of private space with shared public spaces. Places to live and shared places to work. A typology that can be rethought of at multiple scales. That can be located along in desirable locations along transit lines. Designing homes for different lifestyles – unstable but productive.

Ownership is replaced by membership. Home is no longer where all the stuff is. Stuff is replaceable. Experiences drive people of this generation, maybe because we just can’t afford to buy as much stuff. Maybe because we realize it’s not a sustainable way of living. But sharing stuff, whether its tools, rides, rooms, playlists, Facebook posts, is the new norm. Sharing is not a social benefit for an ideal public or an ideological utopia, but a reasonable solution for regular people. It’s happening on an everyday basis, so not really a stretch to assume sharing can replace scarcity as an approach to affordable housing, therefore, affordable living.

melanie grozdanoska • chicago, usa


timothy nguyen • chicago, usa 25




Marble + Makeup The signifier. The signified. The subtle statement. The ornament. The power. The presence. The material of masterpieces. The facade.

lauren mcphillips • chicago, usa 27



antoni hidalgo • mollet del valles, barcelona


Buildings without windows and streets (almost) without people. Is your home like this?





cosette to • chicago, usa faiza mehmood • chicago, usa



↓ Hae-oo-so, 2011 / lee jung



with 32

yoon • seoul, south

Daniel Park photo credit /

photo diary • seoul, south korea

Founder of BTL

Media Group &

Creator of the


‘ A rt Alleyways ’ •

@ 24-8 Pildong 1-ga, Jung-gu

Seoul, South Korea

/Discussing the challenges and joys of bringing art into an underdeveloped neighbourhood and the importance of building a community/ What inspired you to start the Alleyway Street Museum Project? I grew up in the countryside in Sancheong, Gyeonggnam (a region in South Korea some 252km south of Seoul—editor), alone with my grandmother, until I finished middle school. I moved to Seoul for high school; but I had no money to pay the tuition with, so to support myself and to save up for school, I began working various odd jobs on the streets near Chungmuro, starting with collecting scrap-paper along the Cheonggye river; I also worked as a scalper near Daehan cinema, and sold fish jerky for a time, not to mention some physical labour & food-delivery, etc. Through all that, I continued to live in this area (Chungmuro), and repeated saving up for tuition, going to school, then running out of money, and so being kicked out of school. All in all, I went to high school three times; the first was a technical school, the second a specialised school, and thirdly and finally, an arts school. I quit the arts school at the end of the first term of the third(final) year, due to lack of tuition. I simply couldn’t afford the materials fee. After that, I came back onto the streets and began working at a printing press; and through that work, I got into advertising, and eventually set up my own advertising company. That was about 25 years ago. Now, I haven’t been to university, or have had any formal training, yet I still succeeded, right? So after the remodeling of this building (company’s current offices) and the moving in process were done and over with 3 years ago, I decided that, any monetary profit I make for the next 5 years, I will spend as re-payment for the education I got here. I owe this neighborhood a debt. And after those 5 years, I’ll leave. that’s what I decided — because the owner of the printing press I worked at was a teacher for me, and this neighborhood, my school; and when I asked myself, how can I repay where I learned all that I know? What I realised was, even though this area has a long and culturally significant history —for example, the first printing press during Joseon dynasty was based here, and the first filmmaking industry in Korea, as well as the first advertising industry, started and flourished here. Now, all those things have disappeared. The filmmaking industry emigrated to Busan, and the publishing industry to Paju—they’ve all left this area. To me, it was like, while my own success was growing and growing, the town my business is operating in was slowly dying around it. So my hope was to inject Art back into the neighborhood — to recover some of its past cultural identity. 33


→ So my hope was to inject Art back into the neighborhood — to recover some of its past cultural identity. So, First and foremostly, the project was for the pre-existing residents. And secondly, it was built with the neighbourhood’s children in mind. I installed the works in a way that the residents and the children in the area would simply come across works of art in their mundane, every-day routine, so that it becomes almost an unthinking, habitual thing — to, in a sense, eliminate the effort involved in having to go to a gallery, to buy tickets, to make time for that sort of thing; I built the Street Museum so that they could enjoy ‘Art’ in their ordinary, day-to-day lives. It is relatively rare to see organic architecture, such as those seen in the Street Museums around the neighborhood, in a modern metropolis like Seoul. What are the thoughts/ processes behind such designs? Whenever I construct a space, for example like with the 8 Street Museums we’ve built here, I always go to the spot and sketch the plans there. I look at the whole place and consider what sort of structure could come in and fit here. So, like, Bird’s Nest, for example. I thought, it would be nice to build a structure that resembled a bird’s nest, like those in the Namsan mountain. So when you look at the entire view from a distance, you’d see the Namsan Tower, then the Namsan Mountain, and then the Nest; like this, I strove to give the space this kind of flow... So, for me, the contextual significance of the site of construction — architects are people who create spaces, right? So when we construct a building, of any nature— whether it be a house, or a commercial building, the act is that of creating a specific spaces. 34


And I believe that prior to your plans for the site that is to be built on, it is essential that you consider the meaning of the site, itself. With this project, I looked for the cultural and historical significance of Pildong, first and foremost; and once I realised how much history and culture there are in its past, it dawned on me: whatever construction we’ll plan and execute here, it’s not meant to be built by first destroying the pre-existing structures, but built in a way that can eccentuate and honor the vestige left by time that’s come before. ← the art alleyways during Yesultong Festival

↓ picture of Nest

/ photo credit • photo diary

Mr Park’s sketch for Nest →

What are your priorities in choosing the kinds of artworks to install? I usually think in terms of the neighborhood’s residents, first. So for a spot right beside a residential building, we will go with a very fun, comical and light-hearted piece of work, because you’ll see it every day— it’s always right next to you! So I don’t want it to be something that was too deep or philosophical, something that would feel too heavy. On the other hand, for the *Hanok* Village, where most of the visitors are tourists, a deep and philosophical kind of work suits well. So those are the kinds of installations we’ll go with. But, in fact, the residents’ attitude has begun to shift a bit, so we are including some more experimental work here around the neighborhood, now, too, little by little. It’s like, they are seeing these works of art more and more as exactly that, works of art. But at the beginning, we definitely started with fun, more easily-enjoyable pieces of work. Still, we always explain the meaning behind the work to the residents living within the installation’s immediate vicinity; so if anyone asks, rather than simply saying, it’s a freakin’ elephant; it’s sort of pretty, they can explain to the passers-by, it’s about the unspoken sorrows of the modern city folk; that’s why the teardrops, you see.

When you arm them with such tidbits of information even on the more light-hearted works like Hae-oo-so, they’ll recite it with pride; grandmothers and grandfathers, too, they love to tell the story. And take joy in the visitors’ curiosity—and the visitors, they’ll take interest in the next work they come across along the neighborhood, and the next work, you know? And this cycle will continue—a granny might stroll out of her gates, and see people showing interest in the work outside her home. Have you witnessed any changes in the residents’ attitudes toward the project? And if so, how long did they take to come around? Well, we built each of the Street Museums around the neighborhood one by one, in a sense very much within the residents’ immediate environment. It took about—2 years. Everybody just wondered, until then: what the hell is wrong with that guy? Because, objectively speaking, it didn’t make a lot of sense, what I was doing. It really is kind of a unique case; if you asked anybody else to do what I was doing, nobody in their right minds would have agreed to it. 35






But if you look at each of our constructions —whether it be the buildings for the bakery, the restaurant, the library, or the concert hall, or the different Street Museums—, the finishing touches are of very high quality. Because I’m the one who is going to see it every day. If anything is below-par, I have to fix it. So I have no choice but to give each structure the best I can. And each one of the Street Museums, which we began the project with, was constructed very much within the residents’ immediate environment — to show them that Art can be something that can be so, uh— unintimidating, and present in the every-day life. And the fruits of that effort can be seen now in the works that are attached or installed directly on the pre-existing buildings in the neighborhood — which were achievable through the residents’ permission. So in hindsight, the installations that began on the streets seem to have influenced the residents little by little, in successfully swaying their minds to how Art can be something that is so unintimidating everyday, to the point where the works can now live on the buildings themselves—to me, that signifies that the residents have a more open-minded attitude toward bringing in and living among Art. In fact, a lot of them now downright request their homes to be artified. → goldman, 2016 / kim won geun • south korea

What do you think makes a Neighborhood a Home? So, in South Korea, at the moment, and perhaps in contrast to other cultures in, say, Europe, or the United States, most of our daily lives are spent outside. More and more, people are getting used to living outside of the home — eating out, spending time with friends out, partying out, etc. But I think it’s important to have those things inside the home, too; like, for example, having a dinner party at home, or really, having people over for any sort of gathering like that—to get used to spending time together, at home. And to make that happen, small changes to your surrounding environment need to be made, , not unlike what our project is doing, to help the home feel more intimate— through subtle touches like, for example, art, or music. So that you feel comfortable at home, and inviting people to your home makes you happy; that’s the sort of culture I think we need, and as a part of that culture, we need communal places around the home where you and your friends can gather. Because gathering is about community; you can’t gather by yourself. So, what we need are spaces where you and your neighbors can gather - so you can say, almost out of habit, Come to my neighborhood; come to my place. This is what I think our society needs at the moment, and to me, that is a form of communal art. If you want to spend time with your friends, and there is no backyard you can do that in, there should be some shared communal space where you can gather in or around, where you can communicate and relate with one another. I believe that is very important. 38


And Personally? I always think of home as rest. Respite. The place where you feel safest, where you feel truly nurtured — where you can rest in absolute safety, and the place you always want to return to. I think about that every day, actually. That’s partly the reason I did this project — I wanted these streets to be a place where anyone could visit and just enjoy themselves, and feel comfortable in. I wanted them to feel taken care of, like they’re in their own home, and feel acknowledged, here. So I always tell my staff, Greet everyone you see. Greet a stranger who’s passing by. Because they are guests in our home. Whoever it is, once they visit, they become ‘someone we’ve met’. Because that ‘someone we’ve met’ is the first element of a community. We need to first have met in order to have a conversation. And greeting one another is the first thing we can do. This intersection here is quite modest in size, but at the information booth, which is by the bakery downstairs, there is always someone standing by. The reason for that being, even if someone passing by is even giving a hint of hesitation, they should go over and ask if there is something they can help with, if there is something the visitors are looking for—so that, again, any visiting or passing individuals will feel cared for. So the whole neighborhood, and its streets, gives a sense of a home. And since we aren’t living in this house alone, but together, along with one another, we also have a restaurant, and a bakery, a pub—appendages? Like that; so that when you do come and visit, you can enjoy these various activities, one after another, or one along the other—and for the same reason, we’ve also built spaces for art, performance, music, and literature, in addition to drinking and dining; for your experience, rather than for profit (which there isn’t much of, haha).

Visit: / for more information on the Art Alleyways & www.streetmuseum. / for more detail on individual artworks

posters for the Yesultong Arts & Music Festival, held 19-21 May 2016.

• interview by amanda wills and june lee • translation by june lee



→ pg 46 & 47 / These objects are meant not to remain with us for too long, soaps are to keep us clean whilst eroding and disappearing through the sink hole. Whilst the core of our loo rolls often remain a reminder of those moments of panic when the white wiping sheet has run out. A little ode to the privacy of cleanliness and the evanescent nature of its products.



william powers • london, uk



st o ries This

piece was inspired by the notion of city dwelling, and what it means to live in a building full of lives and stories that, more often than not, never cross paths with our own.

Our most private space and time are spent at

home, yet there is so much distance with others who co-exist above, below and beside us. This illustration is intended to reflect the peculiarity of the individual home, which feels so intimate and personal, yet is surrounded by faceless people we know almost nothing about.

alice brown • madrid, spain 42




q uade g allagher • chicago, usa

ind ividua lism On a fateful day, Mr. Plumbean’s house was

The moral of this story is that uniqueness and individualism are superior to the values of conformity and collectivism. Yes, the block looks very ugly prior to Mr. Plumbean’s revolution. However, is it more beautiful now when each house is so disjointed from the next that you cannot perceive any sort of order? Of course not. It is actually the most beautiful when it is just Mr. Plumbean’s house that is a cascade of color. This is a result of the house being coherent with the rest of the block, with its uniqueness coming from the variation of that form, in this case the color palette. However, once the rest of the neighbors decide to recreate their homes as a manifestation of their own taste, the block loses its sense of whole and transforms into a summation of disjointed parts. If we take the home as the ultimate refuge for oneself--the ultimate means of self expression in the built environment--then something about our society can be extrapolated: individuality is the same ultimate ideal; to be free of all others, to be autonomous. 44

forever transformed when a seagull dropped a can of paint on it. His house was once a modular unit on a block with a monolithic architectural vocabulary. Now it broke the mold. Mr. Plumbean, being awoken to a new frame of reference for his home, decided to reimagine his house as a representation of his own self. Despite the pressure exerted by his neighbors to reconform, Mr. Plumbean stakes out his individualism bombastically and proudly. His expression of individuality is so infectious, that his neighbors begin following him in the quest to make their houses unique. They say: “Our street is us and we are it. Our street is where we like to be, and it looks like all our dreams.” ← Illustrations from The Big Orange Splot

This ideal exist in places like Winnetka: multimillion dollar homes that are unique unto thmselves and isolated from the context oft their neighbouts. Likewise, in the northwest side of chicago, there are plenty of wealthy developments that feature clashing facades rammed up against on another which create aggression rather than dialogues.


vs. collect ivism



“Often in architecture, we are taught to consider our projects without context of our surroundings.” In contrast, what are usually considered the most splendid and harmonious places to live, are those blocks in Chicago that consist of only bungalow houses with slight variations, such as red or yellow brick; octagonal or rectangular sun rooms. Similarly, the boulevards of Paris are breathtaking in their uniformity of scale and proportion with slight variation in choices in adornment, pronounced by the slight angle of the streets that keep the eye wandering, constantly refreshed by the smaller details. It is the sence of collectieness, of wholeness that makes these places so beautiful and tranquil. Often in architecture, we are taught to consider our projects without context of our surroundings. We are taught that we should push the envelope and develop our own style that might set us apart from our peers. We seek to create in a void - either imaginary or real. As a result, the houses that are the most admired reside in their own void: the Farnsworth House, the Villa Savoye, the House in Bordeaux, Fallingwater, the Glass House, the Eames House, Monticello, the Cien House. The list goes on.

While those houses are beautiful and contribute to the development of the architectural profession, the more intriguing and awe-inspiring houses tend to be homes filled with the small personal touches and a layout that can be navigated instinctively (in my case, the classic Chicago Two or Three Flat designs). This allows you to be immersed in the story-filled objects that reside there and not so much about whether a certain view is framed right, if the detailing is impressive, or (most frequently) where is the bathroom? By looking at someone’s art, bookshelf, or pictures, a sense of who they are begins to develop; a chance to ask a question and hear a story; to feel as if you are at home with them. When this condition is repeated on larger scales - blocks, neighborhoods - a collective people who hold certain things in common in turn, develops. A representation of community in the built environment. People’s idiosyncraticies appear in the small detailing that varies throughout the whole. So why does The Big Orange Splot push a narrative that compels the lesson that we are all siloed souls that are meant to be separate from one another? Why do architects push themselves to be “starchitects”? Why do we allow for such contention in the built environment? Where have those places led us and what places were we trying to go to? What will we do about it? 45




meri carrasco • london, uk




This is a proposal for a 405 sq ft studio space with two sets of walls. Four double wythe brick walls lean on the almost square interior building. Two different types of brick are used in this construction and the interior frame is built with steel. The front facade is ornamented with two awnings and three die-cast aluminium area lights. Natural light is allowed in through a two layer window system, passing through one opening and then the other. The main entrance sequence has three steps: opening first door, reorienting inside the vestibule, then opening the second door. The doors and window systems do a pretty good job at destabilizing interior and exterior space. There is also a small backyard.


david ramis • chicago, usa




D D Us (2016) noritaka minami

• chicago, usa

This photograph shows one of the few Dymaxion Deployment Units (DDU) that remain today. Designed by R. Buckminster Fuller in 1940, DDU is part of the famous inventor’s lifelong interest in creating affordable and efficient housing that could be mass produced.  It was initially promoted as a “home” accessible even to people with “lower income”, and a prototype was exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art.  However, the few hundred ultimately manufactured were commissioned by the United States Army Signal Corps during World War II and deployed around the world, functioning more as a “shelter”.



gianna sergovich /

by any other name : noon 51



gianna sergovich • new york, usa


by any other name I have my father’s last name and a stranger’s DNA. But I would still

need both hands in order to count the number of times someone has said that I look like my mother. As strange as it sounds, it’s even stranger that I understand. While we do not share a shred of DNA, her mannerisms have bled into my limbs and they move as if they are an extension of her own.

4.23 pm ← my mother’s hands 53



a ny

Growing up in white suburbia in an adoptive family, I always felt stuck in-between. As an adoptee I am physically at odds with my parents but culturally out of touch with my Korean heritage. These photographs attempt to illustrate and decipher my dealings with the Transracial Adoption Paradox, which concerns conflicting feelings about identity within an adoptee coming from a minority culture into Caucasian families. Thus began an investigation of my parents and the place we call home despite our ethnic differences. It deals with the exploration of a suburban space; its inhabitants, and my own navigation of this liminal space—both physically and psychologically.

In the last five years, my mother’s father has lost the last of his elevent siblings. It is a considerably smaller and sadder event than I remember. When a montage of our long lost relatives in Italy starts playing on the projector, all I can think about it how sad that plant in the corner is.

↑ 2 pm 4.15 pm →


o t he r n ame


She called me over the summer and asked me to come home for the annual Family reunion. She tells me to, “wear something nice”, and reminds me I haven’t been in five years. “If Mother was Sacrifice personified, then a Daughter was Guilt, with no possibility of redress” — which means on a 97-degree day in the middle of August, I’m wearing a long sleeve blouse to cover my tattoos. Entirely too hot and itchy, I greet the open bar before any of my distant relatives.

11 am

3.15 pm

my father the gardener

my father in my mother’s father’s jaket gianna sergovich • new york, usa



a merica who made it was

and for

image / patrick flood • chicago, usa poem / marianela d’aprile • [location] 56


They say there’s a place in Mexico where a man can cure you of all your ills without ever laying a hand on you. Cancer, smallpox, bad breath — they all fall out of your body through an invisible orifice, sift through as if by magic. It’s possible that I sifted through, too, but in the opposite direction, not magic at all. I wonder if my face would look different had it never known you, sea to shining sea.



n sla



t, 2

chicago, usa •

trissa dodson


12 x 12 in


also handmade collage on paper 58


12 x 12 in handmade collage on paper

I grew up in a military family and moved homes often as a child.

I’ve lived in the suburbs, in the city, and in haunted quarters built in

1870. In a constantly changing environment, my home has always

been my retreat to maintain stability. Each space presents a challenge to reflect my inner world outwards; to take in everything new and

different and make it mine. Arches and Slant are part of a collage series, which depicts surreal landscapes of familiar places I’ve never visited. Now more than ever, I find myself wanting to escape into these worlds.



sometimes teachers ask children to draw themselves. The image, tethered to a body, is supposed to betray psychological development.

e xe r c i s e I once drew myself in front of my house holding my mother’s hand, eyes too big for my head. I made my dress a triangle, the same shape as the spot now next to my right shoulder that is tender when pressed. I squeezed a sun into the corner above my father’s head and drew myself smaller than I should be.

My eyes are still too big for my head, and love still feels like a gift I am scared to unwrap.

marianela d’aprile • oakland, usa 60


View full film at :

mohammad kassem • chicago, usa

frame from • House-Home



These days I find myself in the schizophrenic position of working for the kind of large corporate office I loathed as a student while simultaneously making inroads on a career in academia. The way I spend my time alternates wildly between working on Revit, sitting in client meetings, teaching, scholarly pursuits, and activism. The result is emotional and intellectual w h i p l a s h . In the corporate spheres, stable employment and working on projects of massive consequence comes at the cost of enduring the lip service paid to the “power of design” while acritically serving clients. At school, financial precarity, a hyperinflated belief in the power of discourse and technology to effect change, and a head-in-the-sand imperative to maintain autonomy, all thwart a valuable readiness to ask the hard questions of architecture. Even most architectural activism fails to produce effective and active critiques, as it focuses on alternate modes of practice that, although righteous and intriguing, end up perennially relegated to the scale of the local. My experience is architecture as eye exam - a rapid succession of different lenses followed by an unanswerable “better, or worse ?”

This experience is at once deeply personal and extraordinarily typical. Students graduating today are ill-equipped to deal with the ways in which neoliberal economy coopts, limits, or erases the desire and capability to work for the public good. Attitudes in the academy and architectural media have favored unreplicable modes of practice that preserve intellectual purity in spite of the fact that by force of economy (including student debt) most students, especially in Chicago, will land at developer-centric large offices or boutique firms catering to the wealthy, whether they want to or not. The idea of home implies a place of stability, a place of neighborliness, a place someone can call their own. How can architects, particularly young ones, be expected to find a home in a discipline and world that is so thoroughly shot through with market logics? These logics defy and counter any notion of home by being thoroughly destabilizing and simultaneously unrelentingly public and alienating.



Home in Practice keefer d unn • chicago, usa

An escape from this log jam means being able to synthesize the fragments of architectural discourse and practice that have been shattered by the market. Given these logics, synthesis is by nature a left project - one that can ounterintuitively draw on the vicissitudes of theory and practice to build a center (a home?) for resistance from within.

In the context of practice, that means organizing workers for power to make demands of the system. In the context of education it means leveraging the relative autonomy of the architectural academy to equip students with the skills and theoretical heuristics to engage with the dominant modes and forces of architectural production while maintaining critical faculties and distance. In both cases, it means de-emphasizing the creation of untainted worlds-apart, or trying to do out-do neoliberals at their own game outside of architecture, as has been suggested by Keller Easterling or Jack Self. Instead we must prepare ourselves for a Gramscian “long march through the institutions� in an effort to take practice and politics seriously without simply indoctrinating ourselves into the neoliberal workforce or ignoring its hegemony.



noah frazier • chicago, usa

After graduating from high school in Singapore my gap year turned into two and a course correction was necessary. I moved out of Berlin to the countryside of Brandenburg and began helping a family friend renovate a house on his property. These photos show the stages of that project. The experience of gutting this building down to nothing but four walls made me rethink permanence and ponder on why we grow so attached to places. During the rebuilding process I realized what it was I wanted to do and so ended up as an apprentice to become a journeyman of masonry restoration here in Chicago.



Do not conflate a home with a house, These two are as separate As your heart is from your head. Home isn’t a building or spouse, Rather that certain feeling you get When worries and fears disappear. Always somewhere deep in memory, Home is harmonious resonance Waiting for you to remember. It is the emotion of familiarity, Gifted presence shared with another When you are alone together. And when you are alone alone, Absence is poignant but be diligent For you’re on your way home!



In Giudecca island,

south of Venice, the calli become corridors, the campi become rooms. With no cars on the streets people take over public space, to talk, to play, to do their laundry, even to cook.

Kitchen (left) Dining Room (below, left) Laundry (below, right)

this is a city who sleeps at night.

The night is silent,








t his

is my kitchen


dinin room g

h ous e living room

On this island, there are projects by Alvaro Siza, Aldo Rossi and Cino Zucchi, but there is no need for great architects, this island is already a home. With such a peaceful life, how could anyone leave? Gneca, as Venitians call Giudecca, is for life.




Vernanda (right) View from My Living Room (below, left) Gym (below, right)

venice, italy • images /

margherita muzzi • words / margherita delmonego



this home i


oscar alejandro • new york city, usa

When I moved to New York

and finally found an affordable place to live, I put this urge to build into the space I called home. Without any previous experience, the room was a blank canvas, and I began to create a livable space that I wouldn’t otherwise have in the city.




of my favorite pass-times is to sneak into construction sites to see how things are built. I find entertainment in discovering what type of tools and materials they are using on different builds.


used my body as a form of measure in order to make the most comfortable and efficient space in the tiny footprint I was given. The project was continuously evolving as I used the space, and understood how I move and utilize the room.



your it is very clean inroom

You keep a shelf of sweaters stacked thirty high, lint-free and washed with the soap that has never run out even though you yourself have never replaced it.

You wear a pair of pants that your sister hemmed for you. Your bathroom door doesn’t lock, They are green corduroy and, and there is a bald spot on the carpet like you, from your reluctant pacing, soft-kneed, stiff-waisted. which is impatience on a dark day eagerness on a light one. When you forget to lie, you wonder if you are happy.

Do you know what it is that you’re waiting for?


images / adva chernov • jerusalem, israel


r m

How much longer do you think you could wait?

Would you be in love even if your sweaters were not always clean

poem / marialena d’aprile • oakland, usa



a manda s hirlow 72

• coleraine, n. ireland


late-night television Between 9pm and 2am I typically steal a 1-3 second glimpse into the bedroom of a basement apartment unit visible just east of the entrance of my nocturnally expressionless apartment building, one of many identical buildings within a larger, enclosed campus. A single-pane window with pulled-back seafoam curtains permits this spectacle, sitting within a concrete wall recessed below an iron grate that’s necessary to walk atop to reach the only enclosed stairwell of relevance to me. As far as I can see, all that consistently exists in this bedroom, besides a young man living in it, are two-thirds of a twin bed and a radiator, arranged on a linoleum floor and illuminated by a fluorescent ceiling light. Often I’ll see only the man’s legs folded on the bed, or the bed covered in newly washed t-shirts and denim that are to be hung around the room to dry. Occasionally bowls of noodles manifest themselves on top of the bed sheets, or plastic take-out bags serve as temporary placemats for things ordered in. He seems to enjoy spending these hours lounging around in his underwear, playing video games on a laptop. Sometimes there is an additional set of legs with him. Sometimes there is a Pikachu pillow. We’ve never met, drawn seafoam curtains offer no such access after dawn, and I don’t know if I would recognize this man performing in some other place. But the theatre of this limited portion of a bedroom, in the basement of this building, becomes nearly-public as the day ends, through a window intentionally unobstructed at night. To consider Chris Marker, this spectacle is probably “voyeurizing” its voyeurs. I wonder what entertainment I’ve offered in passing.

c ameron c ortez

• beijing, china



In 2014, I moved from London to Shanghai.

I was broke and decided to live in a youth hostel. At first, as is the case with any new place one moves to, everything was exciting. But it soon became an uneventful bore, a sort of limbo I needed to escape.



never intended to stay there as long as I did, but I ended up being stuck there for a whole year, even after my fellow long term guests and close friends had left.

But I felt a strong desire to document this

time and show the world what it means to be a traveller, an expat or a foreigner living outside your native country, and how striking the unique space of the hostel is — essentially

a world society under one roof.

I was fascinated by the people who lived in

the hostel, particularly by the long term guests and the staff. It was like a secret society where you would constantly meet someone from another part of the world one day, only to never again see them the day after. But during that brief time you had with them, you shared experiences and conversations that were uniquely both mundane and


Now of course, living in a hostel for one

year means that you outstay almost everyone who visits. After all, everyone has a home to return to. And indeed, while some guests have remained close friends of mine, most have drifted on to other things and moved on with their lives. I don’t expect I’ll ever see most of them again.


The Hostel is a documentary

hostel, described by one guest as “ are on the well-trodden path of se lives. Here, guests from all over with both foreigners and native class or race. Brief friendships, lo the hostel space with its own tr door of intersecting lives, interw to be remembered ad forgotten. some of the events that took plac

The Hostel will be available for public viewing from September 2017 on:



h ostel r

a film by yan harding

y exploring the space of a Chinese youth “a well of lost souls” in which inhabitants earching for existential meaning in their r the world brush shoulder-to-shoulder e Chinese alike; irrespective of culture, ost loves, and chance encounters imbue ransient, collective identity; a revolving woven stories and intermittent anecdotes . This film is an attempt at preserving ce within its four walls.


for every farewell, there is something to reflect upon. And it was a time I still hold close to my heart; a major part of my development as a twenty-something Westerner living in an entirely different culture than I was accustomed to. Like most other long term guests, I realised that although I was running away from a life expected of me, nothing is permanent, and ultimately I was just running on the spot.


for whatever it was worth, I wanted to document the phenomenon of what it means to be a resident residing outside of one’s native homeland, and what the space of a hostel means to those that inhabit it, however short-lived their time there may be. So I decided to make a film about it. I didn’t know how much work it would entail and how I’d make a story out of it, and there many times I cursed myself for having started the journey, but it was my stubborn nature to finish what I’d started, regardless of the result.

ryan harding • shanghai, china 75


Home is an experience of place lived across time, and our memory is the cobbling together of all of these moments that look quite unalike.

The neighbor’s house full of life at night, each room a story.

The absence of a car during a noontime snow storm.


karl ochmanek • chicago, usa


A winter’s dusk, pink above and below.

A weekend morning as shadows curl around the house.

For the topic of Home I chose to address the view from the bedroom of my childhood home. At the foot of my bed there is a window with perhaps an uninspired view; but time spent in my bedroom has let me look out and see moments of beauty.


. . . m oh amma d . . in conversation with SPRING // ISSUE #4





What was your transition from Syria to the United States like? By 2009, I was so fed up with what was being dictated to us. I was struggling with the social fabric in Syria, because the government created this fear in people, everywhere. One moment that struck me the most was when I was walking down the street next to a police station. Because the whole city is ancient, you would not know it was a police station….I was walking down and I heard this man being tortured. Anyone who was walking down the street - this major street - could hear it. And then I stopped - the guy, he’s screaming. I stopped, and there was a barber shop next to the police station, so I turned to the guy standing there and asked if he could hear the screaming. The guy said, “Move on, don’t talk.” I felt that this was not right, we have this fear in us that’s not -- we cannot even express it. I went home and talked to my brother about this, and he said, “It’s fine. You’re going to hear it, so just walk away. Because, if you’re taken - you’re taken, you’re gone.” I always heard these stories. My dad’s cousins were both taken to jail, one was 18 and one was 20, for 20 years. They suspected they were part of the extremist group, which they were not… I remember my uncle once said, “If you want to live in this country, this is how it’s going to be.” So I was like, this is not home. I mean, it is home, but… it’s not the home that I expected. It’s not the home that I wanted, I’d always dreamed about; and I’d always had these nationalism, and patriotic views about … Like, Yeah, I’m going to be patriotic to this place, I’m going to give my hundred percent to it. It was not the same…


In 2009, I got my acceptance letter in Kansas City, I came here and sometimes I feel that it was a huge culture shock. I came from a place where everything is dictated, where there are a lot of rules, even socially. Kansas is relatively conservative, but in Kansas City I went to school with a big international center, with Mexicans, African Americans... It was an amazing experience, that I could express myself - this is great. It was mind blowing.

ata h et

c on t .


Then, I visited Syria, after one year in Kansas, and I realized the difference between the two cultures. How I was so open, and then felt again how controlled I country, my home is not what I wanted it to be. The only home that remains was the walls and the streets that can speak to the rich history of that place, but the people have changed. Then, I went back to Kansas, and I wanted to go to college. I couldn’t afford university, so my brother said I had to come to California. I moved to California after I established my roots in Kansas, and I had already established my roots in Syria, in Jordan, in Saudi Arabia, so was pulled out of all these places, and I was being pulled again from Kansas. So, I felt that I would be starting from zero again. I lived in California for two and a half years, and it was good because I felt that I was doing something. I was going to community college and was working day and night, perfecting my english, getting mistakes out of my writing... I got accepted to IIT, but when I left California, I didn’t want to leave. Because I was like, I don’t want to start over again. I was like, I’m looking for the space where I can settle down, and make home, but it never happened to me. I was like, I don’t know when home is gonna be home. You’re trying to get at something you didn’t have.

Exactly, my thought was that I’ve been dreaming about this place where I can stay for longer than 2 years without moving. And make it home. You know? So, I came to Chicago and I hated it the first 6 months. It was new studio work, new was a tough phase. When I met you guys, and started establishing roots in Chicago, I thought maybe Chicago is the place. When I started going around Chicago and started walking around the streets - man, this is Syria. When I would walk down the alleys, I thought, this is so much like home. The only difference is that people are speaking English. People are friendly, they talk to you. They have this welcoming feeling here. Chicago has this “antique touch”, like my old house [in Damascus]. I remember you started getting involved in demonstrations for Syrian Refugees, can you tell me more about that? Yeah, this started in 2011. After I saw people getting beaten up by police officers, Syrian FBI, back home, people being tortured, it flashed back to that people who was screaming in the police station. I didn’t want to be silent anymore - I was afraid for my family. I felt I had to say something because the world has to know. People have to know that where we are standing right now is a privilege and we should not take it for granted. If we do not stand up for people being treated unfairly, when are we standing up? One day, it might be us, and we will not find someone to stand up for us. There was a saying back home that was said by one of the most famous leaders in the Arab region, “When do you have permission to enslave people when they were born free.” That’s what it comes down to.

interviewed by amanda wills . . . in chicago, usa 79



haden miller • chicago, usa





You are understood.


june lee • seoul, korea


lyra jakabhazy • chicago, usa



and Love started from Damascus...



...because our ancestors loved Beauty and they flourished it.

m ohammad Hatahet • chicago, usa 85

[inside cover] Dan Harvey

Free Association Magazine Spring, Issue #4 // HOME // @freeassmag


Already on our fourth issue, it has been an incredible privilege to receive work from so many talented individuals around the world and crea...


Already on our fourth issue, it has been an incredible privilege to receive work from so many talented individuals around the world and crea...