Principia
SEPTEMBER
2025
Cultural Diversity & Accessibility
How Art Connects Communities
“Culture is not a decorative surplus; it is the infrastructure that shapes our communities.”
When we speak about a city’s future, we often point to its tallest buildings, its most ambitious development projects, or the amount of investment flowing through its streets. Yet beneath all this is a quieter, more enduring infrastructure—one that is harder to measure, but essential to a community’s vitality. This is the cultural foundation: the shared spaces, stories, and experiences that allow people to meet, listen, and create together. Without it, even the most modern city can feel hollow. With it, even a small town can thrive in ways that last for generations.
Cultural diversity is the first pillar of that foundation. Diversity is not simply the peaceful coexistence of different traditions; it is the active, sometimes challenging exchange where varied experiences intersect, question, and enrich one another. A city rich in diversity holds multiple narratives—a place where no single story defines the whole. But diversity, left on its own, can remain locked behind invisible gates. Without accessibility, diversity risks becoming a display case rather than a living, breathing part of the community.
Accessibility is the second pillar, and it is far broader than most imagine. It begins with physical openness: entrances that welcome rather than deter, and facilities designed with all bodies in mind. It extends to linguistic openness: guides, wall texts, and public programs offered in multiple languages so no visitor is left feeling excluded. It includes economic openness: pricing models and public support that ensure the arts are not a privilege for the few, but a shared resource for the many. And it demands psychological openness: curatorial choices and community outreach that invite participation rather than intimidate.
When diversity meets accessibility, culture transforms from a private luxury into a public asset. It becomes a commons—a shared ground where different lives intersect and new understandings take shape. In this way, art is not merely something to look at; it becomes something to live with.
Local galleries and cultural spaces play a unique role in this transformation. They are more than venues for exhibitions—they are public forums where neighbors meet, strangers connect, and communi-
ties begin to see themselves in new ways. They are safe spaces for difficult conversations, celebratory spaces for shared victories, and sometimes simply warm rooms where people gather on a winter evening. Over time, they weave networks of trust and shared identity. And those networks, in turn, strengthen local economies, deepen education, and inspire civic pride.
I have seen neighborhoods transformed not by the arrival of a factory or a shopping complex, but by the creation of a cultural space that became the heartbeat of the community. Sometimes it is housed in a renovated historic building; other times it begins in a modest storefront or a borrowed hall. The scale matters less than the intent—to open doors, to listen, and to invite people to see themselves reflected in the art on the walls.
This is why cultural spaces are more than amenities; they are strategic infrastructure. They embody the belief that culture is not an accessory to civic life, but a foundation for it. When cultural diversity and accessibility are woven into the everyday life of a community, they create the conditions for resil-
ience, innovation, and hope.
With this inaugural issue of Principia, we begin a monthly exploration of how art and community can sustain and expand one another. We will seek out principles and practices—both local and global—that make diversity and accessibility not just aspirations, but tangible realities. Because when culture is open and shared, it does more than enrich a city’s image; it builds the very framework on which our collective future rests.
by JunHwan Chang / Editor-in-Chief
Principia is a Monthly Publication on Art, Policy, and Cultural Economy, advancing critical discourse and shaping the cultural agenda of our time. It serves as a leading forum for ideas that define the role of culture in society and the economy.
The 2024 Venice Biennale, titled Foreigners Everywhere, underlined how accessibility and diversity are central to our contemporary art landscape.
By Jacopo Salvi. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia
An Interview with Andy Moses on the Legacy of Ed Moses
Q:
What was most distinctive about Ed’s artistic philosophy?
A: Ed never wanted viewers to interpret his paintings too quickly or easily. Instead, he believed a painting should reveal itself gradually, leading audiences to discoveries along the way. He saw art as a journey, one that could guide you through the labyrinth of your own mind, deep into the psyche, to uncover primal truths and profound insights.
Q:
What do you think is most important for the audience to understand about Ed Moses’s artistic journey?
A: The thing about Ed, as far as abstract painters go, is that he changed more than any other painter I can think of. His work in the 1950s was one thing, the 1960s looked different, then in the 1970s he began working with grids. By the mid1980s, he was even working outdoors. He would devote himself to one body of work, then move on to another that seemed unrelated, only to circle back to earlier ideas with fresh perspective. Over time, you can see a circularity in his practice. Above all, he was an explorer in paint, always
pushing into new places of discovery and sharing those discoveries with his audience. He continued evolving right up until his passing in 2018.
Q:
What themes, emotions, or ideas do you think Ed most wanted to express?
A: For Ed, painting was always visual first. He sometimes felt frustrated by all the language around art, because he believed painting is, at its core, a visual medium. Even so, his abstract works are deeply charged with emotion. He lived a long, somewhat haunted life, and that intensity comes through in the canvases. A turning point for him was visiting the Lascaux caves in the late 1970s or early 1980s. Seeing paintings created 30,000 years ago profoundly influenced him, their rawness and primal force resonated with him. From then on, he worked with a sense of
ATndy Moses, son of Ed Moses and an accomplished artist who has also exhibited with Gallery Chang, recently joined us for a conversation about his father’s extraordinary artistic journey. We thank Andy for generously sharing his personal reflections and stories. The following excerpts are drawn from that interview.
tapping into elemental, almost primitive ways of perceiving the world. That primal charge is what gives his paintings their emotional depth and power.
Q:
Ed’s work evolved significantly over the decades. In what ways do you think that spirit of evolution can inspire artists today?
A: I think the most inspiring thing is Ed’s fearlessness. He was never afraid to abandon one approach and move into another if it meant finding new discoveries. He showed that an artist’s journey doesn’t have to be linear, but it can be cyclical, exploratory, and ever-changing. For younger artists, that’s an important lesson: you can keep pushing forward, reinventing yourself, and still remain true to your vision.
hrough Andy’s reflections, we are reminded that Ed Moses’s legacy is not only found in the remarkable breadth of his work, but also in his restless spirit of exploration. His journey continues to inspire new generations of artists and audiences alike, encouraging us all to see painting as a living, evolving language.
Ed Moses with his son Andy Moses
Ed Moses and the “Cool School”
by Jinnie Kang / Editorial Coordinator
When people talk about Los Angeles art in the 1960s, the phrase “Cool School” often comes up. It was not an official academy, but rather a nickname given to a loose circle of artists who gathered around the legendary Ferus Gallery. This group, which included figures like Ed Moses, Billy Al Bengston, Larry Bell, and Ed Ruscha, helped define what it meant to make art on the West Coast, far from the dominance of New York.
The Ferus Gallery itself became a cultural landmark. Opened in 1957, it was the site of Andy Warhol’s first soup can exhibition and a gathering place where artists challenged each other to take risks. The “Cool School” earned its name not only for the youthful energy and rebellious attitude of its members but also for the way they expanded the idea of what art could be. In contrast to the solemn heroics of New York Abstract Expressionism, the artists in Los Angeles experimented with new materials, embraced sunlight and atmosphere as subjects, and created works that were often more playful, sensual,
and perceptual. Their studios became laboratories for testing how art could capture not only form but also perception itself.
Ed Moses (1926–2018) stood out in this circle as the restless experimenter. Born in Long Beach, California, and active for more than six decades, he built a career defined by constant change rather
(1926-2018) UNITED STATES
than a fixed style. Never satisfied with repetition, he reinvented his methods every few years, cutting and reassembling canvases, mixing paint with resin or metallic powders, or layering textures that shimmered under light. He was known for saying that painting was not about producing a masterpiece but about the process of discovery. This commitment to exploration made his studio feel like a true laboratory, and it set him apart even within a group already known for its innovation.
His career can almost be read as a sequence of transformations. In the 1960s, Moses explored stark geometric grids and minimal surfaces, testing how pattern could structure perception. In the 1970s and 1980s, he began to incorporate unconventional materials such as resin, sand, and metallic dust that reflected light and gave his canvases a physical presence closer to sculpture than painting. By the 1990s and 2000s, his celebrated Magma series revealed an elemental force, with fiery reds erupting against deep blacks and grays, evoking both volcanic energy and emotional intensity. Later works like Grid B (2017) returned to the familiar motif of the grid, but treated it with luminous layers of color and rhythm that felt alive and in motion.
Moses’s refusal to be pinned down to one style was not simply a matter of restlessness but a philosophy. Each shift in his work was a challenge to himself, a way of avoiding complacency and push-
ing painting into new territory.
While some artists become instantly recognizable for a singular image or technique, Moses became recognizable for his willingness to risk change. This made him both central to the Cool School and unique within it, a figure who embodied the experimental spirit of Los Angeles art while also charting his own course.
Today, his legacy reminds us that the Cool School was not just cool in attitude but groundbreaking in reimagining what art could be on the West Coast and beyond. To encounter Moses’s paintings in person is to see this spirit of experimentation firsthand. The works presented in our current exhibition in New York offer viewers an opportunity to stand before these bold canvases and experience their energy directly. Whether in the fiery ruptures of the Magma paintings or the vibrating structures of the late grids, Moses invites us into a dialogue with change, with risk, and with the possibilities of painting itself. His vision continues to resonate across time and place, reminding us that art, at its most vital, is never finished, it is always becoming.
Ed Moses
Ed Moses
Architectures of the Earth:
Stephen Robert Johns in Dialogue with Zaha Hadid
by Cynthia Penna / Contributing writer
Stephen Robert Johns, the American artist, has long focused his dialogue on what he calls “terrestrial architectures,” landscapes shaped by the natural morphology of the land or by the agricultural crops he first observed during his frequent air travels between California and Costa Rica, where he also lives and works part of the year.
Seen from above, the world reveals a horizon both broader and slightly curved, so different from the flat perspective we are accustomed to from the ground. The lines of mountains, rivers, and cultivated fields form a shifting topography that is at once natural and designed. Within this framework, Johns finds inspiration for paintings that transform aerial patterns into meditations on perception.
In the context of the Afragola station by Zaha Hadid, Johns’s work enters into dialogue with the architect’s dynamic vision. Organic forms, sinuous lines, and overlapping structures echo one another, creating unreal topographies that are less precise surveys of the land than projections of the soul. Johns navigates this dance of lines to propose new landscapes, at once real and imagined, where the Earth seems to breathe and expand beyond itself.
For Johns, these ideal topographies invite viewers to engage with questions, explorations, and discoveries in an atmosphere that remains light and unthreatening. His work moves from nature toward the soul, asking us to reconsider how we see the planet and our place within it.
(Text excerpted from an essay by Cynthia Penna)
Napoli-Afragola High Speed Train Station. By Zaha Hadid Architects
Piedadis Church IV Stephen Robert Johns | 1999 | Acrylic on Canvas | 20 × 28 inch
S-Curve Series II Stephen Robert Johns | 1999 | Acrylic on Canvas | 48 × 48 inch
Korea on the Global Art Map
Why International Galleries Are Coming to Seoul
by Jungeun Janis Park / Senior Editor
Walk through the streets of Hannam or Cheongdam today and it is impossible to miss: the names of the world’s biggest galleries now sit on Seoul’s doorsteps. Gagosian, Pace, Thaddaeus Ropac, Perrotin—brands once associated with New York, Paris, or London—have all planted their flags in Korea. What was once a regional market has become one of the most closely watched art capitals in the world.
The tipping point came in 2022, when Frieze Seoul debuted alongside Kiaf, Korea’s own longrunning art fair. The partnership was more than a scheduling convenience—it was a signal that Seoul had joined the global circuit. Collectors flew in from Los Angeles and London, curators from Berlin and Hong Kong, and for a week the city’s galleries and museums pulsed with an energy that has yet to fade. “There is a real sense of discovery here,” one international collector noted.
“Seoul feels like a place where things are happening now.”
Part of that appeal comes from Korea’s collectors themselves. Unlike markets that depend on a handful of patrons, Korea boasts a new generation of buyers in their 30s and 40s—tech entrepreneurs, finance professionals, creative industry leaders— who are building collections with both ambition and curiosity. They are as likely to acquire a painting by a canonical American minimalist as they are to champion an experimental Korean contemporary artist. This mix of confidence and openness has given international galleries the assurance that Korea is more than a passing trend.
The infrastructure helps too. Private museums like Leeum and major corporate foundations consistently support contemporary art, while public institutions are stepping up acquisitions. Add to this the country’s digitally literate audience, accustomed
Supporters’ Highlights
to navigating art fairs on Instagram and engaging in cultural debates online, and the market feels not only deep, but agile. For galleries expanding abroad, Seoul is a city that offers both a sophisticated base and a sense of momentum.
But the influx has also changed the landscape. Local galleries now share their terrain with global players, and competition for both artists and collectors has intensified. Some fear the city could tilt too far toward the international, risking a homogenization of voices. Yet others argue that this very competition is raising standards across the board, pushing Korean galleries to refine their identities and giving Korean artists new platforms abroad.
For now, the excitement outweighs the concern. Seoul has the attention of the art world, and the challenge ahead is not how to attract global galleries, but how to ensure that their presence enriches the ecosystem rather than eclipses it. As one gallerist put it, “Seoul doesn’t need to copy New York or London—it needs to show the world what only Seoul can be.”
The world is watching, and in the eyes of collectors and curators alike, Korea is no longer on the margins of the map. It is at the center of a new chapter in the global art story.
Seoul Snapshot
• Major global galleries in Seoul: Gagosian, Pace, Perrotin, Thaddaeus Ropac
• Korea’s market rank: Top 10 worldwide
• Rising trend: Young collectors shaping demand
For the third consecutive season, Alex Soldier X Gallery Chang will present a signature event during New York Fashion Week Fall/Winter 2025 Following the success of the Spring/Summer edition, this FW gathering once again promises the presence of leading celebrities and luminaries from the fashion world. This season coincides with Gallery Chang’s Ed Moses Retrospective, a landmark exhibition showcasing the artist’s lifelong pursuit of transformation and experimentation. The restless evolution of Moses’s art resonates powerfully with the ever-changing nature of fashion, creating a dialogue where contemporary art and high fashion meet. Adding a touch of sweetness, GoGoJang returns as a supporter, curating desserts with an artistic flair tailored for Fashion Week. Their collaboration ensures the evening will be as vibrant and memorable as the art and fashion it celebrates.
The VIP preview for Kiaf SEOUL 2024. By Kiaf SEOUL
Art as a Path to Connection:
Rothko,
Guffogg,
by Victoria Chapman / Contributing writer
Spirituality is an intrinsic part of the human experience—a vital element that offers solace in moments of doubt, depression, or a yearning for connection. It serves as a grounding force for joy, providing an anchor in life’s ebb and flow. Art, as a conduit for spirituality, invites viewers to step into a deeply personal dialogue, one that fosters stillness and contemplation. Both Mark Rothko and Shane Guffogg create works that resonate profoundly with this spiritual dimension. Their approaches and inspirations, though distinct, reveal a shared pursuit of transcendence through art.
Mark Rothko’s iconic bands of color demand a stillness from the observer, almost paralyzing the senses as one immerses in their vastness. The experience is transformative, as these abstract fields of color hold a certain truth, drawing the viewer into a dialogue with time and space. His work becomes a mirror for the soul, reflecting back emotions that range from despair to hope. Rothko’s ability to evoke profound emotion through pure color was groundbreaking. Shane Guffogg observed, “His ability to have pure color and be able to evoke those kinds of emotions, for me... it gave me permission to say, ‘Okay, how can I...’ I too wanted to make spiritual art. I too wanted to make art that, when I first stood in front of a Rembrandt painting, what I felt inside of me. When I first stood in front of a Monet Water Lily painting, what I felt inside. And to me, that feeling was—I equated that with a sense of spirituality.”
Guffogg’s work evokes a similar spiritual call, though through a distinct language of veils and light. His compositions, with their fluid ribbons of line, create a rhythmic dance that transports the viewer. These layers of translucent color and move-
and the Pursuit of Transcendence
ment beckon one to explore the interplay of light and shadow, presence and absence, form and formlessness. Guffogg’s work feels like a meditation in motion, inviting the observer to linger in the present moment and engage with the infinite.
Reflecting on his artistic journey, Guffogg admitted that his initial reaction to Rothko’s work was one of confusion: “In the beginning, when I first discovered Rothko, I didn’t understand it at all, and I thought it was a bunch of hooey, quite frankly.” This perspective changed as he grew older and encountered other artists. “And then as time went on, I began to have more of an understanding of what he was doing,” he said. “I came about understanding his work via three other artists. The first being Turner, the second being Monet, and the third being Kandinsky. So, once I learned about those artists, then suddenly his work made more sense to me, and I realized that what he was after was this idea of spirituality and art. The other artists’ works were pointing towards that, but he wanted his work to be that. A big difference there. Right?”
For Guffogg, spirituality in art is not about religions but rather a connection to something greater than oneself. When asked to define spirituality, he explained, “The feeling of being connected to something beyond myself... Something that I can’t even put my finger on. I certainly can’t put words to it. It’s just something that’s there.” He rejected the notion that spirituality in art must be tied to a higher deity, emphasizing instead a universal connectivity: “I feel a connection to everything. And I feel like suddenly I am a part of history, a part of all of humanity. And that’s a profound feeling to have, that you’re not all alone in the world.”
Guffogg’s practice bridges the classical techniques of past masters with contemporary sensibilities, much like Rothko bridged the legacy of artists like Turner, Monet, and Kandinsky. Guffogg cited Turner’s late works, with their atmospheric glazes, as instrumental in shaping Rothko’s approach to light and space. He remarked, “Turner was recreating how we look through the atmosphere and how we see light. Rothko couldn’t have happened without Turner doing what he did. I don’t think Rothko could have happened without Kandinsky exploring his ideas of spirituality... or without Monet making those water lily paintings because of the idea that there was no horizon line and the purity of color that he was pursuing as well.” Rothko’s abstraction took these influences further, reducing visual language to pure, emotive color fields. “What he was doing was sensorial,” Guffogg reflected, “He was pursuing his ideas of spirituality in a way that matched his time. My time is different, so I’m going to see it in a different way.”
Guffogg’s work, while influenced by Rothko, introduces his own unique language of veils and rib-
bons of light. His paintings, layered with translucent color and dynamic line, create a sense of movement and depth. These elements encourage viewers to linger, to explore the interplay of light and shadow, presence and absence, form and formlessness. For Guffogg, this exploration mirrors the human experience—a journey of discovering patterns, connections, and meaning.
In discussing his process, Guffogg revealed how personal rhythms inform his art: “If I subconsciously make a brushstroke and then consciously replicate that brushstroke and then mirror that brushstroke... out of this subconscious moment comes a conscious patterning. And that’s how we live our lives... These are patterns in our lives based on our movements, based on our emotions. And that’s what I was interested in, to find out what my patterns look like.”
Ultimately, both Guffogg and Rothko challenge viewers to engage with art as a deeply personal and spiritual experience. Through their works, they create spaces for introspection, connection, and transcendence. As Guffogg observed, “Art’s purpose is to maintain a connection to our humanness.” By embracing this purpose, both artists offer viewers a sanctuary where they can explore the infinite—a dialogue of color, light, and emotion that speaks directly to the soul.
Shane Guffogg “Remembering Our Future #1”, Oil on Canvas, 36”x28”, 2025
Shane Guffogg Working On “The Evolution of The Mortal Soul - AMOR FATI”. By VC Projects
Reviving a River Town Policy Lessons from
Hudson, NY
How cultural investment can drive economic renewal—and what to guard against
by Editorial Team
Hudson, New York, two hours north of Manhattan, was once a thriving river port and manufacturing hub. Over the course of the late 20th century, the industries that sustained it—shipping, textiles, manufacturing—gradually disappeared. By the 1980s, Hudson’s population had fallen, its storefronts along Warren Street stood vacant, and its economic prospects looked bleak. It was the familiar story of many post-industrial towns in America: decline without a clear path forward.
The turnaround began quietly in the 1990s. Drawn by the promise of affordable historic buildings and a slower pace of life, artists, designers, and small entrepreneurs—many of them displaced by rising rents in New York City—began to settle in Hudson. They brought more than their craft; they brought a new vision for what the town could become. Antique dealers and gallerists were the first to take root, transforming empty spaces into curated environments that drew curious visitors. Their success encouraged cafés, restaurants, and boutique hotels to open, creating a new rhythm of weekend tourism from the city.
Local leaders recognized the potential and responded with targeted support. Historic preservation grants helped restore key buildings, while zoning adjustments allowed mixed-use developments that blended residential, commercial, and cultural functions. Strategic marketing campaigns positioned Hudson as both a cultural getaway and a place to invest. Public events—art walks, seasonal markets, and food festivals—extended visitor stays
and turned one-time tourists into regulars. This symbiosis between private initiative and public policy created a momentum that was difficult to ignore.
For cities looking to follow Hudson’s example, the lessons are clear: the early stage of revitalization depends on lowering barriers for creative entry, making it easy and affordable for artists and small businesses to claim underused spaces. Preserving and modernizing historic assets is just as important—charm alone cannot sustain a cultural economy if buildings lack proper lighting, heating, or accessibility. The most successful revitalizations, like Hudson’s, integrate the local community at every step, ensuring that tourism and cultural revenue are reinvested in schools, parks, and infrastructure. Above all, protecting affordability must be part of the plan from the beginning, so that the people who shaped the revival are not later forced out.
Yet Hudson’s experience is also a cautionary tale. Rising property values—up more than 250% since the 1990s—have priced out many long-time residents and even some of the early creative pioneers who helped make the town’s name. Its economy, while vibrant, remains heavily reliant on seasonal tourism, leaving businesses vulnerable during slow months. The influx of high-end retail and luxury accommodations has fueled concerns about cultural homogenization, with some fearing that the grassroots artistic energy that defined Hudson’s renaissance is being replaced by a more commercial, less diverse identity. And as the number of visitors has surged, the strain on infrastructure—parking,
transportation, public services—has at times tested local patience.
Still, Hudson’s transformation proves that culture can be strategic infrastructure. When the arts are treated not as decoration, but as an economic and civic priority, they can reverse decades of decline and reimagine a community’s future. But growth without equity risks eroding the very foundation of that future. The challenge for policymakers, and for towns inspired by Hudson, is to design cultural investment strategies that balance opportunity with protection—ensuring that revitalization uplifts the community as a whole, not just the latest arrivals.
For places like Middletown, where The Bank project is taking shape, Hudson’s story offers both a roadmap and a warning. Anchoring economic growth in the arts can create jobs, attract investment, and spark pride. But lasting success will depend on making sure that, as the town grows, the community that made it vibrant continues to call it home.
Hudson by the Numbers
• Population: ~6,000
• Median Home Value: ↑ 250% since the 1990s
• Annual Visitors: 500,000+
• Core Sectors: Arts, hospitality, boutique retail
Warren Street in Hudson, NY. By ILovaNY.com
Born of Fire: Shirin Neshat and the Urgency of Iranian Voices
From Parrish Museum’s galleries to the world’s film festivals, Iranian stories claim their space.
by JunHwan Chang / Editor-in-Chief
The first thing you notice when stepping into Shirin Neshat: Born of Fire at the Parrish Museum is the quiet intensity. Black-and-white portraits gaze back at you—calm, resolute, unyielding. Lines of Persian script run across faces and hands like whispered histories. This is Neshat’s Women of Allah (1993–1997), a body of work that has come to define her early career: images born from the turbulent years of the Islamic Revolution and the Iran–Iraq War, images that question the intersection of faith, femininity, and resistance.
The exhibition, Neshat’s first museum show in the New York area in over two decades, unfolds not as a chronological survey but as a series of self-contained chapters. In The Book of Kings (2012), monumental portraits stare out from walls inscribed with the rhythms of Persian epic poetry, their silent defiance echoing the protests of the Arab Spring. In Land of Dreams (2019), the artist turns her lens toward the United States, crafting a surreal meditation on American culture from the perspective of an Iranian in exile. And in her recent work The Fury (2022–2023), the temperature rises—an unflinching portrayal of sexual violence against female political prisoners, confronting the viewer with a searing immediacy.
While Neshat’s visual language thrives on metaphor and allegory, Iranian documentary cinema speaks in a more direct register. Over the past year, several powerful works have emerged on the international festival circuit, chronicling women’s rights movements, the pressures of migration, and the tex-
Principia
tures of everyday life under political constraint. Together, they form a dialogue between the poetic and the documentary: the artist’s gallery as a space for reflection, the filmmaker’s camera as an instrument of witness.
These works matter not only for what they depict, but for what they make possible. They invite audiences into lives that might otherwise remain abstract, and they preserve memories that risk being erased. At a time when diversity is often reduced to a checklist, Iranian artists and filmmakers remind us that cul-
tural representation can be an act of courage, and that accessibility sometimes means survival.
Standing in the Parrish Museum’s quiet galleries, surrounded by images born of fire, you sense the urgency that underlies Neshat’s work—and by extension, the urgency of all voices fighting to be heard. These are not just stories from Iran; they are universal stories about power, memory, and the human will to speak.
Contributors
JunHwan Chang / Editor-in-Chief
Jungeun Janis Park / Senior Editor
Jinnie Kang / Editorial Coordinator
Hailey Cho / Graphic Designer
Contributing Writers Victoria Chapman
Cynthia Penna
Editorial Board Principia
Shirin Neshat: Born of Fire at the Parrish Art Museum. By Jenny Gorman.