Issue One: Vulnerability

humankind ISSUE ONE: VULNERBILITY

On the Cover

Editor’s Note

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Wildflowers

MAMAKAN STUDIO mamakanstudio.com

s of London

Selina Farazei

Growing up in the suburbs of Montreal Island, I found inspiration in shitty things; dead flowers, polluted river water, construction sites. Although I like to explore, experiment and share various forms of visual art, analog photography remains my favourite. I believe in limitless creation at a minimal cost, often using recycled or thrifted materials in my work.

You can find more of Selina’s work on Instagram @wackography or online at https://www.wackography.com

I am too insecure to correct those who judge me based on my physical body as a nonbinary person and how i may have dressed, so I tend to laugh uncomfortably to try to get through it.

Schnettler (@aj.schnettler) AJ S

Alexander Millington

Alexander Millington (@alexander.millington) is a Toronto-based interdisciplinary artist and professional fine art framer. Combining his passions for figurative illustration and the new craft of experimental mat cutting, Millington creates vibrant and absurd vignettes that explore the struggles of existentialism, the humour of human interaction and the interpretation of gesture. The characters and situations presented in his work confront common narratives of what it means to be human and how we connect with others.

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Writing and Collage by Gullu Kandrou from Hampshire, UK @gullukandrouart; website: gullukandrou.com

Headspace

a vertical comic

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Marwa Dulaimi (@ostomachion) from Bristol, UK

Ex Th Ta In Ou I Th pu my th I an I an In ca

xistence is uncertain he next breath never guaranteed ake this moment n ut am wind he fibers of my existence ull and push. y threads blanket the trees heir leaves riding on my back. am woven into the clouds nd the morning knows my name. weave with the birds nd I sing with them. n each breath I am born anew arrying new songs into the sun.

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he Wind, Gentle On My Face

Wildflowers

MAMAKAN STUDIO mamakanstudio.com

s of London

Vulnerability is an open book in the rain, swelling pages, wrinkled stories, running ink, and the only thing I won’t say: I’d let you in, but I’m afraid.

“Vulnerability is” by Adeline Gray (31) from Dallas, TX @adelinewrites on Instagram Painting by Mia Schoolman (16) from Stonybrook, NY @miaschoolman/@miavans on Instagram

Stop making it about money, let them grow and go after their passions.

Vivienne Casaletto (14) from Grand Rapids, MI @charlamxgne on Instagram

There are aspects and situations of vulnerability, which corners everyone in their daily life. ItĘźs simple, yet everlastingly daunting, the idea of giving yourself away to the unknown. To be the one that is set at the forefront, open to the world and the eyes of others, to be seen- at the risk of being hunted. Part of me likes to imagine our brains, with their primitive likeness shrieking at every simple situation that requires us to untether the unknown. Trying new food, confessing our love, acce accepting a loss, wearing new clothes, new hair, new things. ItĘźs all necessary I think. I hope. IsnĘźt the act of simply being born into this world an act of vulnerability, and life in itself a ladder of choices thrown upon you- the vulnerable, simply to create your being.

I cannot say to you without lying, that all situations of vulnerability end well, and without consequence. But I can say that the person who allows themselves to be seen, to be watched, to be hurt, to be hunted and to be loved is everlastingly gorgeous on this earth. The fun of love, happiness and life will always follow that person who seeks a life beyond their fears and vulnerabilities.

written and shot by Shanoya Allwood

HEidi MirANDa (@wEEpINgbluebERry) GaINsviLLe, GeORgia

vulnERabilITy glows AT night

When I touch you I feel the roughness of my fingers on your skin. It makes me want to stop pulling at my hands It makes me want to take better care of myself So the only thing that touches your cheek is The softness you deserve.

THE sunrISe takES INspirATION from yOU

and i hear it speak when we share the same bed and it says i love it when you're happy. you make my heart race. and it says let this warmth surround us always. bless us always. save us always. has anyone ever seen you vulnerable the way i do at 3am when i wake you and shake you because you’re hoarding the blanket? the sunrise is colored in you. in your fawn eyes i see a breath of summer. the creation of eden. marigolds. a sunflower. i see me the way you see me. that's enough. you are enough and abundantly More.

A moment of bliss Gabriele Jacobs (@guanciale_) from Capetown, South Africa

The ground we walk

I used to think I had to be ten steps ahead had to predict the unpredictable to write my fortune to survive I knew not where I had been Just that I couldn’t go back there again I used to think I would always be ten steps behind would always be trapped lost forgotten I knew not where I was going Just that I was slowing – if not already stopped As I searched forward searched backward searched all around me I tripped on the ground just beneath me so unseen If I am not with myself and my ground now, Where can I really be going?

If I am not with myself and my ground now, Where really have I been?

If I am not with you and our ground now, How will this space we share ever be seen?

I now know just where we are just as we are is not predicted is not forgotten is all you and I really need

Written by Francis Collins from Cleaveland, Ohio @temporarilysatiated

Image by Emily Kebelbeck from Long Beach, California @ghostgirlemily

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Erika Nina Suarez (@erikaninasuarez) from Austin, Texas www.erikaninasuarez.com Opening The Gate, 2019 Tiny Asleep In Mami's Bed, 2019 Aleigh and Asher, 2019 Lawn Chair, 2020

When They Think of You

by Laura Proctor I am nothing but lost tears.

You are nothing but soft memory.

I exist here, and you - exist elsewhere.

You are nowhere to be found.

It is painful not to think of you.

It is painful to think I may forget your face.

It is calming to remember the weight of your gaze.

I will crave; your hugs your scratchy jersey your big glasses pressing coldly against my face.

I shall miss chess games and your too many books.

Of course, I shall miss you.

I feel many things about losing you.

Most of all I hurt, because I am watching everyone else hurt, when they think of you.

Jen Mawson Boston, Masachusetts jenmawson.com @jenmeowson

Richie

Hand

A beautiful boy sways in the wind Still deciphering if it was you or the way you made me feel, but aren't those concepts intrinsically tied? One and the same– the trunk and the bark and the foliage all parts of the sapling, growing. _____ He looms, lofty in the distance– oscillating, branches waving, the leaves still rippling, all entangling.

What they repeat, "it will come again," is a myth a myth a myth– an invention designed to guide, a fable for the crying child.

Just when I think there is nothing left, the currents change and uncover yet another way of knowing.

I will not feel it again– in the same way, in the same shape. It is lost though I still try to find.

Here I am, forming wreaths Toni Maddocks from Vacaville, CA @just.open.honest.nothings on Instagram

PhotographY by Emily Kebelbeck from Long Beach, California, USA; @ghostgirlemily

“Life Below Water” The rate at which plastic finds their way down the river is alarming putting life under-water at many risk.

Ogbomoso, Nigeria. 2020.

Oke Oluwasegun

from Oyo, Nigeria

Phone Number(s): +234 703 4578 8

Email Address: shegzy100

Instagram: @okeoluwas

Facebook: shegzy1007@fa

Website: allosphotos.wor

“Do not touch, sit or sleep” An electricity adapter were installed on the classroom table with caution sign written on it.

Abeokuta, Nigeria. 2019.

Toil A craft man was wearing a slippers despite knowing heĘźs vulnerable to sharp objects on the ground.

Ibadan, Nigeria. 2019.

n Moses

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876, +234 705 7413 316

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The Coin.

Covid-19 and Sport

See, I have set before thee this day life and death, good and evil..

The world of sport has we know it was put on hold as WHO characterized Covid-19 as a pandemic.

Abeokuta, Nigeria. 2019.

Abeokuta, Nigeria. 2019.

Captured by Morgan Teal @moteel114

A fresh coat of asphalt, Fragile but it'll harden soon.

Smooth enough to glide, But concrete isn't concrete when cracks become craters.

Break it up, but you're only under the surface, Quickly repair it and restart the cycle.

The depths are concealed, questioning existence, Disregard them.

Layer more on the surface to harden the shell, The blacktop guards what's broken underneath.

A pothole forms.

Repair it, defend the fragility of the crust, Neglect the depths of the soul and restart the cycle.

Written by SC (@sylicaisom)

Growing old with someone creates a vulnerable state for both parties when so much of themselves are intertwined with one another. Ethics, memories, lessons, responsibilities, routines and even protection can tangibly and intangibly attach one person to the other. It puts some of these aspects at an increased risk of alteration and/or loss as both partners rise in age.

Deime Ubani from Nassau, Bahamas Instagram: @dafu242, Facebook: Dee A. Ubani, Facebook art page: Ubaniart

A Series of Its Own Beings

Candy Anthrasal

In unveiling its own beingness I’m trying to feel what the material wants me to do with it.

Then I made them made me.

To see more of Candy Anthrasal’s work and this full series, go to @candyanthrasal or @f_art_sy on Instagram and her website at https://tinglingperksoflife.wordpress.com/

Emma E. Shooshan IG: @emmashooshan and @ignitethemic a sinister hour engages poetry as autoethnographic collage. Throughout 2018 I wrote a series of short pieces in conversation with the memory of an ancestor-- my paternal great-grandfather's first wife, Paris Shooshanian.

She had fled the burning of her village in Armenia during the 1915 genocide, only to then die from a kitchen fire in Massachusetts. My great-grandfather later remarried, allowing my great-grandmother passage to America as his bride. For this reason Paris is revered as a Martyr by my family. I approached the process of writing as if from inside her grave, embodying what remains.

The title and subtitles are lyrics translated from Russian love song “Очи чёрные” or “Óči čjórnyje” meaning “Dark Eyes.” a sinister hour part 1: dark, burning this chosen subjugation suits me if i remain unmoving my perception becomes itself subjective objective reflective the light which once penetrated is now absorbed refracted spit out it finds my lips soft sweet my mouth harsh sharp unforgiving caught on calloused words far too coarse am i still supple comforting fortifying are you ready to reflect

part 2: passionate, splendid it is no small thing to hold yourself in the darkness and give away what keeps you warm cradle me in your arms until i am still and/or my heart can beat freely we are a patchwork of joy a representation of reclaiming destruction take the breath between my ribs if only to keep us afloat a while longer open my chest and find everything you need break me down tread on my holy ground my unwavering dedication to an unmoving god absolve me of this pain boundless and broken hand to the ground hand to god do you hear me coming do i rock hard enough for you does it reach you fast enough or is it my softness that scares you am i too tender to be touched what are you afraid of i might crumble or crease that your intrusion might reshape me more that my burden might burn you

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part 3: love you, fear you i lay to rest upon crooked earth where the only language spoken is silence sometimes tears i recall my final moments and what brought me here a kitchen the curtains butter on my hands rice in a pot simmering children’s laughter safety smoke smiles shame suffocation fear a shout silence i survived so much but you can only run from fire for so long i spent so long singed and soot-covered waiting to be swallowed and overcome by silence but sometimes on Sundays i hear laughter from children i do not know tears from a woman a wife much like myself and the air is clear my crooked earth realigns balance returns beneath me and i am at peace

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The piece I am submitting is called 1446 Lashes. This artwork consists of a series of portraits taken at an underground party in Shiraz, Iran. The portraits are accompanied by a text based work that quotes the penal code of Iran, in which it states various laws that enforce lashes.

Each portrait is stamped with the number of lashes they owe, and the title is the total amount of lashes owed within the 6 portraits. The remainder is the amount of lashings I am owed. All of the pictures have been censored using an analog method in the darkroom. I have chosen to censor the images to maintain the political security of the people involved.

Mixed Media by Amir Dehghan from London, UK @L_o_a_

"I am a first generation British/Iranian immigrant. My practice surrounds itself with political anti-regime topics within Iran. I have produced artworks exploring areas of the underground youth culture of Iran and current am focusing on work that documents the 2019 protests.

1) Memorial to the Essence that Devours Us (2017), coal ashe - About the work: The coal ashes were remnants of each burn

The honey, an ancient preservative, acts as a fragile binder

The ashes, a residue left behind, remains delicately preserv

- This is an installation piece and I included a view differ

2) The Space Between Us (2018), plaster, chickenwire, beeswa

- About the work: These somewhat gruesome forms lean tenderl

- This work comes from a desire for deeper connection betwee

es, honey, found wood, and bricks, installed at Pilotenkueche, Leipzig, Germany used to heat my apartment in Leipzig. They were formed into a clay using honey.

r for the small ash particles.

ved in honey. The piece depicts the fragility and the resiliency inherent in vulnerability; although delicate, the work stands strong.

rent views of it. Feel free to choose whichever images work best for the magazine's layout.

ax, and pigment, installed at GapGap, Leipzig, Germany

ly upon one another in a delicate and fragile balance.

en us, to share a deeper vulnerability as a means of strengthening our resiliency.

Dani Minuskin Montreal, Quebec, Canada @rusted.honey | www.daniminuskin.com

POEM on ‘Vulnerability’ A drip drip drip ... of doubt A lack of anticipation often sprouts We lived for minutes with Triumph We promised no misery till Breath!

- Unaiza Ismail UAE-Pakistan https://www.behance.net/iunaiza

Mixed Media by Ni www.nikolina-sc www.facebook.c www.instagram.c

"This series of the philosophic nature as a gro koans (ref. to z ground questio to confront the the sake

ikolina Schuh Netz (42) from Austria chuh-netz.at • com/Nikolina.Schuh.Netz • com/nikolina.schuh.netz

f more than 30 digital works picks cal and spiritual aspects of human ound theme in form from so-called zen-Buddhism methodology), the ons for self-investigation in order e deepest human vulnerability for e of self-liberation and love."

M

Du @m ww

My work is a series of image pairings suggestive of the theme. Kept minimal in terms of visuals and application of the colour scheme, for a more raw communication.

Technically, it's a combination of traditional illustration and photography, assembled digitally.

Maria Escorihuela

ublin, Ireland maria_escorihuela ww.behance.net/Maria_Escorihuela

Kate Bullock from Providence, Rhode Island IG: @kb_llock, katiebullock.com

Emily Kebelbeck from Long Beach, California @ghostgirlemily

Somebody asked me once, “Would you rather have true love, or $5,000,000?”

I said, “I would rather have the $5,000,000?”

They asked me why.

So I responded “I don’t believe in true love. I don’t believe that could last forever, at least not for me anyway.

I would rather have $5,000,000 because I have control on what I use it for. If I fall in love, I would have no control.

Maybe I haven’t found the right person yet, but I don’t understand how someone could love me.

Nobody wants damaged goods.

And I believe I am so fucking shattered that I cannot be replaced.

- Addie

Our bodies mingling, Moving together, Like the sea, rising, Lifting us both, That intense feeling, Our separateness vanishing, Our masks melting, Clearing the path, To our union, Our souls meeting, For the very first time, And finding, Ourselves, In fear of uncertainty.

Painted and Written by Labdhi Shah from Ahmedabad, India IG: https://www.instagram.com/gallery.lab26/

„the stroke Janina Lemparty @janinaedwardson Germany

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Consent as Exhibition

Allegra Shunk from Cleveland, Ohio @allegrashunk | www.allegrashunk.com

This piece, which invites the viewer to explore its fur-line exhibition. This applies both to art pieces, which are usua of power, consent, and exhibition. We are often confront do not automatically mean the person is fully consenting of consent as a sacred and ongoing agreement, the perfo power to initiate the fulfillment of their own desires.

ed interior by touch, considers the idea that giving obvious consent to touch can be a form of ally off limits to physical appreciation, as well as to human bodies, which struggle with ideas ted by the negative side of a performance of willingness/eagerness in sexual contexts which to the viewer’s sexual desires, but there is also a flip side. When the viewer is trained to think ormance of sexual openness can become a powerful state, where the performer claims the

My collage is about my family finally going through the process of grief after nine years.

“what we’re doing�

“At the moment I am looking at the concept of being Trapped, in a mental and physical space. The feeling of being trapped is from my perspective as a differently abled person who is also mixed race. ‘Trapped' is a metaphor which describes the struggles and the fights that continue to unfold in my life because of the way in which society has traditionally viewed those with so called disabilities and those who are black and mixed-race.”

Zaki from London, United Kingdom @Kingzakattack1995 | https://zakimaxw.wixsite.com/fine-art

Escapologis

st

Trapped

Poem by Cristina Patregnani (33) from Northern Italy She/Her, @francaramen and @r_i_v_i_s_t_a

Houdini in chains Technically, you push me towards depression / every cut deeper than before/ me, the pioneer on a desolate land of sense of humor melted with ice. I'm freezed by your smile, an incautious smile of plasticine.

There's no trick / said The Magician.

I’m Houdini in chains I breathe under water Under my invisibility cloak I was sleeping like a seed Technically/ it is supposed/ for self-pity.

I'm the voice of the mother / who lulls a doll/ who creates patiently a shield of sweetnesses in crayons The woman stares at the man outside her It's about me / that I was talking about Then you were talking about NOTHING/ he said.

Technically, I should have been burned by your assumptions.

But I’m Houdini in chains I live under water A butterfly has got beautifully shaped wings/ and her life lessens in twenty-four hours Technically she should have learn to hate all that abundance of time that runs without her/ outside in the world.

You push me on logic, but what is philosophy /without a hint of love nor compassion / what is it / if not a mad actor whom continues to act /even when other players are dead?

There's no trick / said the Magician Then the Assistant starts to bleed / without a whisper / cut in two by the saw / And Houdini still breathes under water.

Les

My th conte himself of an curren

Chambres du petit garรงon

hree artworks represent the vulnerability and solitude of the emporary man in the character of the young boy. He finds f isolated in an alien, surreal environment, completely empty ny other human presence. My artworks are therefore very nt regarding the vulnerability and uncertainty of the current era of lockdown and coronavirus.

Illustrations by Maximilian (50) from Paris, France IG: @maxartforever https://maxartparis.wixsite.com/maximilian, https://www.bougiegallery.com/maximilian

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Brecht Lanfossi from Belgium @nozem.art | https://www.artstation.com/nozem-art

1. Metanonia 2. Barmicide 3. Anxiety Attack Before Dawn

Seigar FROM Tenerife,Spain PResents

GUILTY A SERIES OF PORTRAITS 11302019

seigar.wordpress.com • facebook.com/jseigar •instagram.com/jseigar • flickr.com/photos/theblueheartbeat/albums https://www.instagram.com/123sinetiquetas/

Th mi the

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Thi tha is m

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his series consists of a recreation of mugshots that represent the idea of being guilty because of diversity. The inimalist police photographs work as an unexpected ironic twist of a terrible reality. Society judges and blames em because of being different due to their age, genre identity, sexual orientation, height, weight, overall appearance and other basic reasons for discrimination. This dark photo-narrative tries to bring some human light, making people conscious of the importance of acceptance through empathy. Its main purpose is to stop prejudices and social rejection.

is conceptual work is my personal response to the second part of a bigger project entitled “1 2 3 No Hashtags” at is against the labels to fight for equality. In fact, this also coincides with my last interest in photography that s documenting identity. In the first edition, I presented a page of an American Yearbook as a symbol of achievement and realization because of being diverse with female participants. For the second part of this project, we focus on male roles and the people involved have also suffered prejudices because of distinct issues. Guilty ortrays them sarcastically as arrested individuals as a sign of society’s failure to value differences and to break old rules. It’s time to change and to start the revolution of love.

HAIKU

Written by I The essence of haikus are represen Within each 17-syllable paint card, vulnerabil

UMAN

Iona Gibson ntitive of nature & human nature. lity is explored in its common, natural states.

“Rostro” Sandra Vega (22) from Tuscaloosa, AL @avalancheofdinosaurs on Instagram

“Amparo” Sandra Vega (22) from Tuscaloosa, AL @avalancheofdinosaurs on Instagram

A A N

Raw Sunshine raw sunshine and thunderstorms. tucked away in hidden acloves. trembling and tumbling, Existence. trickling silence. this we cannot break. for man cannot play, God. browse our empty answers. that make this beauty and tragedy. this is our existence, raw sunshine and thunderstorms.

Lara Proctor from Sydney, AU.

C A N

All the Time in the World, 2019.

Ariana Lucas New York | @ariannalucas

Caught in the web, 2019.

Ariana Lucas New York | @ariannalucas

Vulnerability became the word she first learned to block out.

As if it was humanly possible, growing into a rough-edged rock, capsized from viewing the first heartbreak from her childhood.

The slammed doors, the heavy voices, created what would be the only motive for a 12year-old girl to function – to hide every bit and piece of herself.

You would find her inside the warm welcoming closet, as her world became an impending igloo of wreckage from beyond. ʻTo not feel,ʼ encompassed the walls within her chambers, the doors to the heart eventually becoming closed…. until that goddamn, angel.

The blue-eyed warrior had ripped through the barriers and laid its blanket onto the grounded foundation without asking. So soft, so encouraging. Newly covered with a bed of daises but only this time unknowingly masked as a bed of nails. Cupid was played by Satan, but he threw the second arrow of fire right through its core.

The doctors attempted to try and take it out, but the nature to hide only grew.

Wounded, the heart became astray. Safe in a box, the key is thrown away, hidden emotions of which she learned to betray by putting on a show. First taught by her mother who closed her doors for years in efforts to never be discovered.

Weʼre only human. Only human.

To feel what it means to be here, the raw, tear-jerking emotion that mankind holds so deeply Years of fighting for her ability to stand the only defense mechanism she built “Donʼt cry.”

It goes without saying that there were times that was all she wanted to do.

Written by Dania @justbeingdani

P D

Paintings by Karina Brzostowski Dubai UAE | www.instagram.com/mademoiselle.karina.b

RYAN COURTIER'S

CONFINED SPACE @ryancourtier_artist

Confined space is an original collage depicting the feeling of being stuck inside a space or room during COVID times.

There is a woman with her eyes closed desperately trying to find a moment of tranquility in what feels like a suffocating space but some of the nature from the outside is coming in offering her hope.

The Window The window is open.

Look inside, milk skin and bone, I am a body.

Lace curtains over blank flesh, what could be behind the veil? Rose and ivy hang, do not pick them, let them be.

The window is open and inside is a body.

To look inside is to let myself be.

Kate Gough from Calgary, Canada @chamomidle | https://www.poetrybykateg.com/

Remind Me, 2019.

Arianna Lucas (@ariannalucas) New York

mahhima bhayanna ARTEMAHIMA@GMAIL.COM

1. Friendship. Kharia and Water Colour 2. Restoration or Perfectionism ?.

Portalis

Honolulu, Hawaii IG: @yoshimiteh | www.yoshimiteh.com

Portalis is an installation based on a personal reflection of the relationship that exist between myself and others. The installation attempts to connect the personal to the public through a practice of vulnerability to material. It is through the use of washi’s material vulnerability that I am able to expose my private emotional vulnerability. Exposing my humanity has been a catalyst for meaningful connection, for allowing the viewer to move beyond the physicality of the work and enter the emotional and psychological space that is alluded.

While reflecting on personal experiences that are inseparable from the broad backdrop of world events, I make in attempt to further understand myself through examining the complexities of our current human condition during this age of constant digital connectivity. We are more connected to one another today in a manner never before in human history, yet somehow, many of us are increasingly feeling more disconnected with others and most importantly, ourselves. As a young adult living in the digital age, I yearn for more in life than just an abundance of likes, views, comments and “friends� online. I have been slowly recognizing the darker side of technology and social media, and more importantly, at the cost of human intimacy and connection. The installation is primarily void of color other than the different values and opacities of white paper, this allows viewers to focus on the form and emotional impact of the paper objects without much distraction. Handmade washi is utilized to create the various 2 and 3 dimensional paper objects in the installation such as shoji screens, a print, a couch, a collection of mirrors, and a floor lamp. These handmade paper objects act as counterweights to an increasingly mechanized and industrialized society. These handmade paper objects are as much about humanizing the world as they are stand-ins or representative avatars of the subject matter I am seeking to address; the human connection that is so often missing in our modern lives. This is done most obviously by changing the function and reality of those objects, as well as by turning usable utilitarian and domestic objects into useless paper copies of their former selves.

In the fast-paced world we live in today that often reinforces a self that is out of touch personally, spiritually and socially, Portalis presents itself as a place of contemplation and as a doorway to finding value in vulnerability

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With all of this time spent in isolation I must admit that I have been doing my fair share of navel gazing. Looking back over my life, I came to an important realisation. Every time that something shattered my world leaving me vulnerable, it was followed by something equally as amazing happening. Not immediately, or on my timing, but eventually - every time. Each time my cup was emptied, it was filled with something more delicious, more potent, and more in line with the tastes that I had acquired but was not yet fully aware of.

Something profoundly wonderful happens when we open ourselves up to vulnerability. We make better art.

We make better friends. We are happier in love. Instead of the superficial, easily broken, fragile bonds of the ego, we forge deep soul connections that cannot be broken when we are truly vulnerable.

When I gave birth to my daughter, I remember the moment that I surrendered to the pain. I stopped fighting it and wishing it would stop and just accepted that it was going to hurt. Giving birth hurts. When I stopped resisting the agony of the contractions and embraced what they were trying to achieve - giving me my baby - each contraction felt closer to the ultimate reward. The most wonderful new creations and eras are usually preceded by a period of intense suffering. That is the nature of life on Earth. Through suffering we evolve and we create.

Suffering gives birth to new visions. It is only when we surrender to the pain, and allow it to hurt, and feel it to the core of our beings, that we can receive its blessing. When we are brave enough to be vulnerable, we are rewarded with visions so much bigger than our little selves could have ever imagined.

I remain hopeful that this period of suffering will give birth to a new era. The air has been pregnant with a desire for change for a long time.

carefully composed

mixed media by Karly VillaseĂąor (27) from Portland, OR

fragile potentiality

To see more of KarlyĘźs work, check out her Instagram @karlydoesartstuff or visit her website at karlydoesartstuff.com

U O Y

ry r a c o t n u u o s y r he t o in f r e e s t p r f o e t a h t e e h g n l t i n n i e m e o h n s f o m i o n s c r e s e n l lu g h a p p t n o gr ng re athi d a e e d r r h f i n t e d r a r n a a m b u l n d a f h a e w hese n r a a o r c a d s e u l t C t t o i i k h y r r c o w y t his lo o take y nig nost ming you l o t f t r m t u t r n u o a s u y o a y se old s o y w a i a c g g I w h, as g aw ant y m n u c n i u i h l o e , k t n y y i h f w i c y t i o m e I k w a t l s a d s e y n t e r r ie ca mide ing i t f s r u e n in n o o o i s u t t , y a s o e , ri l n m c h u b i e e s o c e i iu y h s y f t a r d s w i i e s , a h o n r t v u s t t m i e s e r o d e w w n ou d m ase y ur ea that o a l g y s f n y e alo omfre n cas u nee , in c in yo ds of white gave u o i of c llow, case y ber us shing groun bright e that ere I u h e o e r w wa t, in emem ry cra s and y t h t n e e o s h u i s r r r t t a o e i i e c y , o h a t e c os , in on ch e st d e i p d e r s d e t d e n n t s h n wan s of Po us in t e remi ed our right o ween u of flam , sleep t t e o r d a h e s v v e n r c e b i o z h o l s n t e w le d r is in ec a be t w n u k d l t o l e o o t n e r b a s ou ild and w y w n our e the ber th ts with odka e o s e te t t a i m c v s d r h le miss w ca e clim in ig ith a , s r n t e y a s f a w m u h u w j a e of t ode f you, at alw ase yo from pyar gile do h c f t a s ab with o r r n s f i e t s t gh dies, e let ad is the ht i o g f l u . es with lity fo s the d bo d h t n i o mis ntwine read girl, nerab our b u r l e o u g u y o r n v i y u e , n l o whi e from inder engthe m str c e n r a adv need a

O T S R E T T E L

JGeorge (26) from Pondicherry, India She/Her email: leaseofhope@gmail.com instagram: @leaseofhope

Jonathan: The name name that

It sits h _____ As an ado I learned question,

My body h know. _____ Try as I whether I comment o be, but t me, adore

Only once me feel t once I co tinged ev I felt se _____ Luckily f existence temptatio granted p attempt t in order

nothing a _____ I thought

Toni Maddock @just.open.h

:

my mother would have given me if I had been born a boy, a t holds so much more weight now − Jonathan, Johnny, John.

heavy in my mouth, and I hesitate every time I voice it aloud.

olescent I often felt the need to bury my femininity. d to walk without a swing in the hips, to speak with intention and without , to move in ways that would deter detection.

had other plans, other ways of being I could not yet

might to shield myself from the male gaze it always finds me, I ask for it or not. I deflect every time I undress and hear a man on my body − that I am beautiful, sexy, soft. I never mean to they take my silence as affirmation. They always want to spoil e me, envelop me.

e have I heard those words from a man and didn’t shy away from them. He made the truth of those words in those moments and for ouldn’t feel the familiarity of self-consciousness that has very other experience with intimacy I have ever had. een. I felt clean.

for my ego, that man has since refused to acknowledge my e, try as I might to figure out why. My body was too much of a on, or that’s what he claimed at least, ignoring my pleas to be personhood. Finally the truth: no matter how much I might to cloak my body and shed the lines and curvature, all I must do to be seen as a provocation, a seduction, a trap and a lure is...

at all.

t he saw me, but all he saw was a body

ks from Vacaville, CA honest.nothings on Instagram

MEN DON’T CRY

This picture was inspired by my journey through depression.

We have all heard the saying men don’t cry (or something similar).

Men are supposed to be a rock and show no emotions,this causes a lot of internal strife.

Emotions that are suppose to be let out and processed get bottled up inside.

Everyone does not need to know your struggles but you better have someone you can trust to vent to and also know how to cry in your room and not pretend everything is fine.

Maybe when we teach our boys to express themselves we will stop having angry bald men with high BP. Male depression is a disease.

SHOW NO EMOTION

CAMILLE DESANTOS

Washington, DC and Maryland camilledesanto.com @camille.desanto.photography

"Metamorphosis" - Photography by Louise Dechamps

Flowers in her hair Folded notes in her pocket And hope in her stare Not a silly girl For loving, she sees the best In overgrown worlds. untitled poem by Yasmine "Mimi" Bolden (17) from DMVÂ @yoursequoiasister. | bit.ly/thejoyousjasmine

"My work "Metamorphosis" is a sculptural face mask made with plaster and dried flowers, evoking scenes of interiors and still life, taking on the theme of the insects' metamorphosis."

Trauma and vulnerability seems to have very close ties.

Trauma puts you in a state of constant vulnerability especially when related to narcissistic abuse in childhood. It causes a lifetime of fear with your heart as an open wound.

Mixed Media by M. Thelma van Rensburg from Pretoria @thelmavanrensburg

Dear diary and world I know you are tired of me.

Believe me so am I I wish I could write about oceans and galaxies again.

I wish I can find better metaphors than hopelessness and death.

I wish I were a poet who'd write about love and become eternal but eternal seems too difficult right now.

I bet making it up to yesterday was an achievement and I'm not sure about fighting tomorrow.

I think I have become a walking trigger warning.

Or maybe the last stage is to blame yourself to seek refugee in your own home To know that you are your enemy is a coping mechanism, a revival to know that it is no obnoxious human but you, little you trying to be your own enemy.

It's easy to defend yourself in that way.

To harm yourself as a punishment for all the wrong done to you.

The satisfaction of punishments for self are comfortable in a way that it saves you from a war against your real enemy.

I wish real enemies were monstrous, alien and germane.

Modern day enemies live so close you barely recognise them, history tells you there have been wars between blood relations but I think my reasons might be considered trivial.

I think I'll lose the war.

Let alone fight with the inmate in another room.

If I were to be true to myself today I guess my living area would become a war zone.

It still is a warzone tho but a silent one. A closeted one, a familial one.

The one made of memories once cherished, now only used as reminders to not kill each other.

I haven't been able to sleep lately, which is to say that all the wrong in the world and my own home seen to collectively sit next to me every night to rage a war against my normalancy I try to convince myself how yoga and dinner table conversation of funny things will make everything fine.

I wish to love the inmates of this place called home for reasons more than biology, responsibility and universal truths.

Almost everything I do nowadays is a coping mechanism.

This one day I heard that if you constantly remind yourself you're happy, you gradually start feeling the same.

I have been forcing myself to utter all the synonyms of happy but I fear the day I will run out of words.

Which is to say that for me, happiness stays only until I don't forget to remind myself of its existence.

I wonder if I'm anything apart from a child living on reminders to survive for reasons I will never know.

Without reminders, I think, I'd probably forget to breathe tomorrow and die out of forgetfulness.

I think I will survive if I continue with the cycle of, I blame myself for not being able to survive To wake up and remind myself to survive.

"The perfect guide to survival" from "Underside of my Drowning Glass Bottom Boat"Â by Ridhi Bhutani

Gabrielle Shira

Los Angeles,CA IG: @gabrielleshira_

French Perfume

"I created this painting as an interpretation of my release of anger and fear towards a tra

no one isabella olmstead

thinking about being an angel for hire stardust eyes don’t care if he is a liar i’m used to goodbyes no tears in my eyes just looking at what i could be even if it means being an accessory for a while rhinestone studded heels on the cement sidewalk places i shouldn’t be babygirl, don’t you see? where your imagination would lead you none of your dreams came true so you’re dancing in the dark for him got no idea where he’s been out on the dancefloor

aumatic event in my life."

"Release" by Oli Ballinger (31) from Suffield, CT She/Her, Instagram: @oli.b.artiste

Poem by Isabella Olmstead (22) from Cape Cod She/Her, @shespeakshavoc on Instagram

Effervescent.

Not everything is effervescent.

Not everything is like a sunset, Painted skies and faded red lips and your skirt Riding too high up your thigh as you Leaned back, head tilted up As if you expected to swallow the whole sky in one big gulp. Not everything is like a full moon night, Silhouettes of pine trees breaking up the indigo Blanket of night, which wrapped up Your frozen whispers the way you Draped your arms around me As if we were the only two left in the world.

Not everything is like our early morning drives, With your window rolled down and mine up Too much air flooded in yet Not enough breath for the both of us So when I turned to look at you I forgot that oxygen existed.

Not everything is effervescent, though.

Instead, it is filled with Opaque skies and blank nights and Written by Josephine Wu Too much breath Randolph, New Jersey, USA For just the one of us.

POEM on ‘Vulnerability’ A drip drip drip ... of doubt A lack of anticipation often sprouts

We lived for minutes with Triumph We promised no misery till Breath!

Written by Unaiza Ismail UAE-Pakistan https://www.behance.net/iunaiza

Fluer Noire -Lavendula.

by Shereene Fogenay Las Vegas, Nevada https://shereeneart.carbonmade.com/

"Eulogy for the Girl I Had to Bury" i was soft smiled at strangers in the freezer aisle asked them who they were and tilted my head up at them: i wanted to know their names.

Yasmine "Mimi" Bolden DMV IG: @yoursequoiasister | bit.ly/thejoyousjasmine

"bathroom" by Taylor Wang (@yingshiart)

The Gifts of Vulnerability I’ve spoke so much of pain, Brewed brokenness, Buried in grief.

I forgot the only treasure pain held.

Love.

It would’ve never hurt, if you had not loved.

But it brings revelations.

Separating Truths and reality.

Really recognizing eyes bind in a moment, but it’s more than flesh for things to really stick.

True you may have loved, but did love love back?

Did you take your love somewhere else?

Gave it to someone else?

Lost it to someone else?

Truth above it all, you watched each seed arise.

The stems below sprouted outward in search for grounding.

Surrounded by active ears, and late night of sad stories.

You watched me, diligently, decompose before your sore eyes.

I sprang, like when spring, sprung.

Ran myself in circles til silence, drowned out each voice.

Left for solitude Let you into my solitude Pieces of me scraping against the floor, mending.

Mending reality, synchronized time with the worldly spin.

Merging the truth of who I am, From what they all saw and The path back to myself.

You watched me love myself, for the very first time.

And now I get to let you love me, Because I no longer fear the gifts vulnerability brings.

Poem by Alex Ann (23) from New York City She/Her, @_vlexvndriv

Jewelry by Ujvári-Zsiga Luca (25); She/Her; Budapest, Hungary, Instagram: @ujvari_zsiga https://www.behance.net/ujvri-lucakr This piece of jewelery contains a tiny piece of wood with beautiful green lichen in it. The wood wasn’t preserved in any way, it is still fragile, the linchen as an organic form is very vulnerable for every touch, for every move. That’s how we can feel ourselves a lot of time. Fragile, weak, vulnerable for the outside world. But vulnerability can be beautiful as well.

Our vulnerability is a unit of our humanity. In these hard times, when we have to face global isolations, pandemics and climate changing, vulnerability is a value as well. How much attention can we pay for each other? How careful can we move to keep this piece of wood safe?

How To Find Me I never thought that life would be this way Sometimes I imagine it was all a dream But of course, it was real.

Being strong is all I know Life threw hella lemons I made some lemonade and Some I was forced to eat.

Because everyone has there own life, Whose my safety net.

Who can I call on to save me.

Me I guess.

Who has my back.

Me I guess. Is it me, was I wrong for staying strong Not allowing people to make a fool of me.

Maybe I should just say ok sir how you want me sir But we all know That will never happen.

I could never conform to someone who isn't meant for me.

I won't have to conform he would want me to be me.

So, Wherever you are...

My protector...

My provider...

I'll continue to guide and protect myself Because how else will you know to find me.

Your Strong Queen!

Au Natural

by Maryanne McCollin @mauve.canvas

Art's Journey from Atlanta, Georgia IG: @Artsjourneyllc | Twitter: Artsjourney1 | Website: Arts-Journey.com

here I am the wind I'm someone who blows in with the wind at dawn and never leaves a raindrop hugging the earth with my whole body sending silent wishes to the people and when they don't answer, I'm battering on the roof you can hear the gasps from all the paper dolls in lines by the fence posts crying colorful green ink to fill in the patchy brown winter-flattened grass melted colors pooling like oil slicks oozing down the driveway and here I am the windy rain I blow in and I stay I wash them all away Elizabeth Adan from Washington, USA Instagram: @edgeofelizabeth | Twitter: www.elizabethdan.com

Joel Almeida from Agued, Portugal https://www.facebook.com/joelalmeidadesign/ https://www.instagram.com/joel_illustration/

"Jacket Girl"

by Yasmine "Mimi" Bolden (17) from DMV She/Her; IG: @yoursequoiasister., Website: bit.ly/thejoyousjasmine

Sweetie, I kno who didn't ha

I didn't give t and streaked why But we to

And when we ca everything, I too mind right now now to simmer i baby, I promise could have been

I want you to want to know in the right on one who does in the beating

I could warn y someone said going to look a

I want to pro places and int call you their the love of all

There are shin Love, You

P.S. We do get But it's okay b list, first danc now.

ow you loved that floral patterned winter jacket With the button missing And the boy ave his molars yet But I had to give them away

them up all by myself, I kept trying to wear that Ratty old jacket long past her prime d vaseline on my cheeks To make them shine, we did that, sweetie, and we both knew old our mother it was because our cheeks were dry That wasn't why

ame home with tears in our eye (have you gotten to this part yet? I don't quite remember ok an eraser to his face and tried to Unlearn his name one letter at a time so the date slips my but) When we came home we blamed bullies And it was only a half truth But I am telling you right in your youth You're going to have fiery rainbows in your cheeks And be so afraid to speak but, you'll do it anyway You'll do it anyway and it will pay off so good you won't even miss Him or the ns that came with your make believe makeup

o jack things up a little, trip over your words Because you're so excited to say them, w why? It's because you're going to learn to catch yourself and you're going to Draw nes with the way your eyes sparkle at the open mic night You're going to meet the sn't shove silence into your mouth But holds your hand, proud at how you cannot hold g of your heart

you all day long about how you're going to hit your head Or be worried about what d for far too long but I want to make you a promise I want to promise you that you're at your eczema-ridden arms one day And want to hug yourself anyway

omise you that the stars begging to go supernova in your eyes Will be what gets you to spaces where your voice is heard I want to promise you the found family who will nerd I want to promise you all of this and insist you let go of the Vaseline thing for l that is good

nier things coming

t a new jacket and it is plaid and very cute to boot and we wear it entirely too much because it's warm and has accompanied you to your First cheek kiss, first director's ce, first chance at far away, And first emergence of the voice you're hearing right

You hid in plain view With your normal face Your faults even your dog Your mask began to slip So I ripped it off and ran

You’ve gotten away With whats been buried But burned into the minds Of too many women

Tied to boat hooks With floating minds Salty tears streaming in the wicked current Of your bed With a gut feeling Of no way out But to give in It’s getting dark anyway

 �

Â?

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MASK

Girl With A Blindfold

by I-Lun Huang

www.ilunhuang.com|@elainehuang3122

“This piece depicts the connectivity a person has with themselves and their environment if they embrace their vulnerability. Being vulnerable is a human experience which can be both eye-opening and revelatory, which is what I was trying to emulate through this piece.�

Washington, USA @tri_bearart

TRISHA BEHER

“Mood”, 2019.

MOLLY QUINN

Denver, Colorado @mollyquinnart http://mollyquinnart.com/

Paintings by Gabriel Porto Loew from Porto Alegre, Brazil https://www.instagram.com/gabrielloew/

a letter to the all the children growing up today be tender. be soft. this world will try to snatch you off your feet. it will try to make you crumble and never allow yourself to tinker around the edges of the rubble so you can bask in its rupture. rupture that will turn ashes into seeds. it will tell you toughness is what you should aspire to. the kind of toughness where you’re not allowed to be sad for someone calling you ugly names. where you can’t cry because you were hurt by friend. where you can’t cry at all. not even when your heart is breaking. the kind of toughness that is always synonym for the indestructible. meaning, you’re never allowed to break. but i want you to know that destruction leads to beautiful things. destruction doesn’t have to be a synonym for terrible - it is just that we are taught that. destruction could be a synonym for beautiful. a synonym for softness. this world will tell you that being vulnerable is being ugly and that nobody likes ugly people. this world will tell you - that - vulnerability - it’s not good for you. but i want you to tell them it is, and then ask them to be vulnerable with you. i want you to tell them that there’s beauty in shards and pins if we let them trickle onto our skins. i want you to tell them that there is no need to run away from its pricks while pointing them at other people. i want you to tell them that it’s okay to feel. that feelings aren’t meant to be bottled up because they end up eating us away in ways they are not meant to. i want you to tell them that if we were all just a little more vulnerable, this world could be a much better place.

Written by Hansika Jethnani @hansikajethnani / website: www.hansikajethnani.com

photography by Linh Tran from Houston, TX @toast.linh

photography by Shanoya Allwood from Sykesville, MD

Adeline Huff

“As I sit here, I know I can trust the ocean.

The ocean is like me, constantly moving, never still. Always has to have purpose. The ocean is it’s own world. Everything coexists. There are no wars or politics. The sea is a constant movement. Each wave crashes with each purpose. Each little fish has a place. They all have a place and no creature is “right” or “wrong.” I’ve always felt more at home in the ocean “righ than I have in a house.

Each little wave does something incredible. The tide pulls in and out with ease.

The beach is my safe place. It’s where I get most of my thinking done. I come to the beach and in an instand, I’m calm.

I surround myself with the waves., with the smell of the saltwater ai air. The sand crunching beneath my feet. The shells and rocks I pick up each have a different story.

I don’t care where I am as long as I am able to get to the ocean.

And get a small taste of what I would call freedom.

Hearing the waves crash and the wind blow is like a whole symphony. I’ve never loved anything more. It is without a doubt the most beautiful music I have ever heard. It’s so raw, so unafraid to be heard. Some people ignore it, while I unaf choose to listen.”

Poetry by Adeline Huff Photography by Matto (26) from Grand Rapids, MI (@matt0berski on Instagram)

Gloria’s works are largely confessional, stories that words cannot reach. Her works are usually completed within a single sitting, unfiltered, and spontaneous.

Borne out of this immediacy would be an undiluted intimacy that reaches deep into the rawness of emotions. Open and vulnerable.

Things that catch in the throat

by Adeline Gray (31) from Dallas, TX @adelinewrites on Instagram

words on a page / weĘźll be okay / rain drops on eyelashes / the leaving moon at mid-morning / garlic sizzling in a pan / no need to apologize / tightropes in your living room / conversations with thumbtacks / a long night with no dark / all dark and no night / weeping willows / unidentified rustling / hearing you say my name / tender sheets / spaces you have been and should be / neon sleeping / pacifier in my work bag / hold me / donĘźt touch / that time I thought I saw my dead best friend in the bookstore parking lot / raw carrots / sunlight again / blistered skin / a deep knowing / the smell of cedar / clutching the moon / ownership / weighing / waiting / weightlessness / telling you the truth of nothing / muscle strain / synapses / broken sentences / how are yous / walking through wheat grass / a lemon on the countertop and under my palm / the power to hold my own breath / never admitting what IĘźve done / pressing my thumb to the bruise / wishing for bad news / long days without you / where I live / how I stay / his real name / dry gulps of water / freeing the cat / mirrors / speckled eggs / mottled leaves / pouring vinegar / lonely not alone / homesick at home

photography by Linh Tran from Houston, TX @toast.linh

JASMINE SHAW

1. GREAT WALL

2. SUNSET PASSAGE

3. BEIJING

4. PINJIANG HOUSES

As a Chinese adoptee, there are many unknowns. Piecing together intangible things such as identity and memory is difficult. Most people are able to recall stories their parents tell them that structure their understanding of personal and cultural identity. Growing up in the United States and separatedfrom the place of my birth, my identity is shaped by the mixed families, environments, and communities I live in.

When my parents adopted me, they documented their journey through photographs that were used to create and embrace memories. Those photos anchor my efforts to piece together memories of who I am and inspired my search for personal and cultural connections. Opening up about my identity and my past has always been a complicated task for me. Using photography as a tool to express the truth of who I am and a way of self-reflection is a main component of this body of work...

5. FROZEN SUMMER PALACES

I was fortunate enough to visit the major cities of China in the winter of 2020. Although I was not able to visit the specific orphanage that I was adopted from, my search for a sense of belonging in China revealed many mixed emotions. The broken pieces and misaligned images create a new personal history, while the scratches and light leaks are symbolic of how I process adoption. Visual harmony and connection are also found between different environments that may not relate at first glance. These images highlight the struggles I face in relating to my Chinese-American identity.

Chinese Jasmine Shaw (22) from Bellmawr, NJ To see more of JasmineĘźs work and this full series, visit her Instagram @jasmineroseshaw or her website at www.jasmineshaw.com

“It’s in that or m in their in

s a badass thing to be emotionally raw and vulnerable with people because t rawness exists an objective truth that no amount of perception can comfort manipulate: it just is what it is. And what it is, is pure poetry... They are true nfluence and hold weight that can sometimes be too much for someone to carry alone.�

- Ricardo Bouyett

Mixed Media Work by Ariel Raskin from Tallahassee, FL @burntpotatoart

What Matters Now It doesn’t matter why I’m here, why my heart is crushing, and my mind is light.

It doesn’t matter that I was hooked on a combination of dopamine and norepinephrine and that my heart leapt and beat with every moment filled with heat and a sense of fake passion.

It doesn’t matter that I was played like that song you just can't get out of your head, but annoys the hell out of you anyways.

And it definitely doesn’t matter that we were more one sided than a masterpiece hanging on the gallery wall for everyone else to see.

And none of this matters because the head my song was stuck in, his name was Ty. And I didnt even have to say what I thought, my glazed eyes and crooked smile spoke magnitudes.

The faded scars and long sleeved T-shirts scream that this guy’s been through things I couldn’t even imagine but it doesn’t matter now because what mattered was that you’d been free of sliding that silver paintbrush down your canvas for over a year.

That’s what mattered.

What mattered is that you never wore stripes when you were little because your mom forced you to wear stripes, and you would run around the house and joyfully scream “I’m not a tiger.”

What mattered was the late night talks cut too short by the rising sun.

And what really mattered were the times we spent running down the long hallways of the place we were supposed to learn And focus in when instead, we focused only on each other.

But that doesn’t matter anymore.

It doesn’t matter why I’m here, why my heart is empty and my head is full.

It doesn’t matter that I was hooked on the idea that we’d be together until the sun collapsed and the earth went black and there was darkness again.

It doesn’t matter that you play like a song I just can’t get out of my head even though I’m finally out of yours, and it annoys the hell out of me.

It definitely doesn’t matter that I still play our song “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol, and that your perfect eyes really were all I could see at one point.

And I still think about the faded scars and the long sleeves T-shirts, the glazed eyes and crooked smiles and I think to myself all too often that every stitch in his veins was just another aid in our unraveling.

Sara Burch, 16, She/Her, Glastonbury CT, @sarabportraits_ (instagram)

_

“vulnerability for me represen ts speaking up. having social anxiety, my greatest fear alw in public and sometimes in pri ays has been talking, vate too. i'm so scared of spe ak ing tha t when i do, it makes me feeL of all situations. without even the most vulnerable realising, i start to keep secret s fro m people. when i tell someo that's hard for me to talk abou ne something t, like my fears, wishes or dre am s, tha t's som eth and i know that for other pe ing that takes a lot mentally ople that might be dif ferent. from me, it's ha rd for me to open up, to be vulnerable feeling scared or ashamed, bu without t i hope in the future, i can ex press myself truly and not be afraid.�

Expresiรณn

Corporal

n

l

Sierra Sanchez from Providence, Rhode Island IG: @sierrasanchezart FB: https://www.facebook.com/sierrasanchezartist Website: www.sierrasanchez.com

Damaris Ruiz From College Grove, Tenessee, @damarisr.nino damarisnino.com

Sierra Sanchez from Providence, Rhode Island IG: @sierrasanchezart FB: https://www.facebook.com/sierrasanchezartist Website: www.sierrasanchez.com

�  ­ € ‚ ƒ ‚ ‚ƒ�

„

Having been told that she had to do undertake Sciences as opposed to Art at school, Eee has eme slightly later than most artists, and views herself as “mature.� Having viewed herself as a sketche of painter, she took up watercolour in 2019 formally a has been commissioned for several pieces.

Her style is loose watercolour on card or paper. Her style is abstract landscapes, inspired by regul

Recently featured in a book about women artists, Eee has also exhibited in London recently. And invited to exhibit at the Indian Embassy London. Eee has an aspiration to bea role model to Asian who may not have explored art as an avenue for escape from mundanity of at times what may seem live a suppressed life.

Her background is in project management and property development. She works part time and a recruiting doctors from overseas. She participates in a local drama group and enjoys walking and Nottingham was the first place she professionally ran way to as an Asian female.

erged er instead .

lar travel.

d has been n women

as a volunteer d horse riding.

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Igor Zusev

from Seattle, Washington http://www.zusev.art @igor_zusev

Refugee

painted on a 18x24 canvas

Visions of Loneliness painted on a 18x24 canvas

whatmakesussimilar

All of the pi vulnerabil flower mim long ste st showc Bouquet Burst

Freesia

dramaqueen

ieces showcase different aspects of lity through a burst of flowers, a micking human body language or em florals in black and white tem casing a sense of melancholy.

Mixed Media by Amanda Desiree Evelyn (27) She/Her, Seattle, WA; https://byamanda.design/gallery https://www.instagram.com/floralsbyamanda/

Weapons

I wonder how arms wrapped around my waist used to cause me terror, can now make me feel safe.

a body I feared could be brutal listens, is satisfying and soft. when love and trust release the tension is gone.

the weapons we raised to protect ourselves, weigh heavy with grief long after escaping hell.

I put down my knives and unclench my fists. the tools I used to survive, must rest so I can fully live

Renata SC from Oakland, CA @renatasc.jpg

Fitting Hemlines

Changing Dresses

Left Behind

KathrynGraham Armagh, Northern Ireland kathryngraham.org | https://www.instagram.com/kathryn_graham_/

Drink

Lips on mine As reality shifts Into awareness Of only pure ecstasy.

The sweet song Of my gracious joy Swallowed up By your hunger, Mouths pressed In desperation.

My song is only For your ears My darling.

Eat the sound, Swallow it whole In that sweet embrace Of tangled limbs And clashing lips.

Poem Poem by

by Honey Honey (19) (19) from from Indiana Indiana She/Her, She/Her, IG: IG: @queerhoney @queerhoney

photograph by Camille DeSanto (19); She/Her from Washington, DC and Maryland camilledesanto.com and @camille.desanto.photography

BOTTLED UP 2019 , Oil on canvas , 24in x 36in

Nail-biting is my coping mechanism for social anxiety. My recent work depicts the finger form as a representation of vulnerability and insecurity. The personified fingers morph into creatures representing me or the people that surround me. Relationships between myself and others while understanding and questioning the different versions of ourselves we curate for different interaction is the central focus of my practice.

This work is based on my personal experiences with social anxiety, the desire to hide from people and the need to remain bottled up in my isolated comfort zone. The

visual is an accurate

representation of me distancing myself from the people in my network. The other finger forms are morphed into multifaceted creatures to depict the ever-changing moods and behaviours of a person.

The Swiss army knife form in the painting is a subtle depiction of my defence mechanisms.t

Kashin Patel from Mumbai, India

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“There's this fear I often have that all I am is a body.

That's how I feel I've been viewed by society, how I've been viewed at times by those I trusted most, and sometimes even by myself.

This song is me taking my power back."

Natalie Christen aka Renaissance Woman’s album Accidental Wine is her most vulnerable piece of music she’s ever made, as she discusses her identity as a mixed-woman (which she’s never done in music), domestic abuse, etc.

Listen to her featured song, This Body, and the rest of Renaissance Woman on April 28th.

Ball of Confusion

HEATHER M. O’CONNOR DUXBURY, MA @HEATHEROCONNORDESIGNS

PANIC IN THE PANDEMIC! Jenny Turner painted Vulnerable and Miss Corona during the COVID-19 quarantine (top to bottom on right hand side).

Taiwo Aloba, 27, She/Her, New York, NY, amazon.com/author/taiwoaloba

Skywritten Animism in an Evil Forest by

by Taiwo Taiwo Aloba Aloba This fear of an unknown force I once loved is a tortuous route to build a religion from a mental litany of a stubborn dream, a sand-blind wandering on nothing,

a weightless frankness about unnamed things.

To lift my face out of dead-end streets unprompted is also to say slender prayers in a staccato pacing for a needle slice of kind wind.

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Photograph by Emily Kebelbeck (19) from Long Beach, California, USA; She/Her; @ghostgirlemily

SWAMPNIL MISHRA

SWAMPNIL MISHRA PEOPLE IN THE MANABI PROVINCE IN ECUADOR LIVING IN MAKESHIFT HOUSING WITH THEIR HOMES BEING DESTROYED IN THE 2016 EARTHQUAKE

BY SWAMPNIL MISHRA (@_SWAPNILMISHRA_) FROM WORCHESTER, MASSACHUSETTS

Irina Petrova (@artpetrova) from Moscow, Russia https://www.facebook.com/irina.petrova.1671

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Eunice Draw from New Paltz, New York @threedeezeens.

Photograph by Emily Kebelbeck (19) from Long Beach, California, USA; She/Her; @ghostgirlemily

Skywritten Animism in an Evil Forest

by Taiwo Aloba This fear of an unknown force I once loved is a tortuous route to build a religion from a mental litany of a stubborn dream, a sand-blind wandering on nothing, a weightless frankness about unnamed things.

To lift my face out of dead-end streets unprompted is also to say slender prayers in a staccato pacing for a needle slice of kind wind.

Taiwo Aloba New York, New York amazon.com/author/taiwoaloba

En memorium I am not strong enough to move.

The moment I started to live with I was forced to live without. Learned to fill the crevices left with gentle heavings of salt water.

I am a soft shell crab moulding myself inside of closed ribs, the expanse all consuming.

Too much to bear. Heave.

There he stands, the fisherman, casting tangled net to crawl to before the depths froth over.

I have waited my entire life to live a little death with each sunset.

I am not weak enough to let go and drift away to sea Toni Maddocks (27); She/Her; Vacaville, CA; Instagram: @just.open.honest.nothingsÂ

Hey Body, I Love You (now) poem by Melody Cheikhali from Brooklyn, New York, USA @harmless_melodies

"Ameya" - Illustration by Taylor Wang @yshingart

When I was younger I was not kind to my body.

I wanted to paint my skin a lighter shade, Hoping to keep my friends like this, Finding ways to erase The “exotic” off of my forehead, Attracting the men looking for a rare bird.

And how I wished My eyes were the color of the sky And not tree bark.

I hid my midnight curls In ponytails and not the hijab Of my grandmothers.

I was not kind to this body, G i v e n t o m e by “ t h o s e i m m i g r a n t s ” , An embodiment of who I was too scared to be.

But why did I let Hate Whisper in my ear to change?

How was I supposed to know that The people who rejected me Were the ones spending dollars To look like me.

Multilayered Elizabeth Adan from Washington, USA @edgeofelizabeth | www.elizabethdan.com

Once an Abuser, Always an Abuser He wrapped me in his lies Sheltering me from the truth As I begged to be set free He held on tighter Keeping me closer than ever Whilst visiting my dreams He whipped the tears that fell ever so suddenly down my cheek Falling to the floor Formed an ocean of regretful events Chosen one by one by trembling hands Letting each one take over his body Put out the fire in his heart that kept him alive Turning stone cold He lay motionless on the floor I awoke peacefully again Naulia Bennett @nauliabennett Maine, USA

Meghan Weinstein

Los Angeles, California www.meghanweinstein.com

Copy, Paste

megan Weinstein

Mathilde van Nuffel d'Heynsbroeck New York, NY, mathildevannuffel.com https://www.instagram.com/mathildevannuffel/

RED IS GOOD Holly Fitzpatrick Sydney, Australia | @sadbarney on Instagram

“The artwork I have made is based off of a nightmare I experienced when I was feeling unsafe and vulnerable. I hadn’t taken my medication that night which usually helps me ease my mind and I experienced a dream that was uncomfortable and confronting."

"Bloom—where it is impossible to survive even!"

Painting by Muneeba Rehman (25) from Lahore, Pakistan Instagram: @muneebamedium

I've I've taken taken your your finger finger and and traced traced over over the the parts parts of of me me that that are are in in healing. healing.

And And warily warily showed showed you you the the pages pages of of me me that that have have been been torn torn from from my my spine. spine.

II have have confessed confessed that that II am am not not unmarked, unmarked, but but also, also, that that I'm I'm not not frail. frail.

And And I've I've kissed kissed over over your your recovering recovering wounds wounds and and smoothed smoothed them them over over like like Shea butter because because II understand, understand, Shea butter that that scars scars are are not not exempt exempt from from affection, affection, when when you you love love someone. someone.

So So you you ask ask me me what what I'm I'm needing, needing, and and I'll I'll tell tell you you that that I'm I'm not not insisting insisting you you repair me, me, repair but that that you you take take care care of of my my vulnerability, vulnerability, but as II revive revive myself myself as — B. Elae, "Tendons" *featured in "girl with a shovel" by B. Elae (Instagram: @b.elae)

Radical Softness A Film by Emma Ericsson London | @emma_isabell_e

Radical softness is t political move and a a lack of emotions.�

Femme politics is abo ously been discarded tegically employ soft earnestness - as cont awareness about the s the (neo)liberal myth and un-affected, equa

the idea that sharing your emotions is a tactic against a society which prioritizes — Lora Mathis

out reclaiming and revaluing what has previand dismissed for being feminine. To stratness – vulnerability, caring, emotions, trast to hardness, is to raise political social structures that enable and perpetuate h that independence, and being un-attached als strength.

Pageant Barbie W

With Accessories

Emily Dodson (@filmingemily)

I have been working on a series this semester based all around vulnerability.

I currently live with 3 debilitating chronic illnesses that are based around my reproductive system.

While they are really serious illnesses they are disregarded by many in the medical system and I’m only 21 years old. Being young has been a huge disadvantage when ge ing treatment because I ’m constantly told “we’ll you look fine?” so I came up with “Chronic illness Barbie “ a concept where I took self portraits and created “Barbies”with matching accessory packs. The one I am submi ing for your zine is called “Pageant Barbie with Accessories” where I recreated wounds from a surgical procedure I had been through and the accessory pack portraying my symptoms that I deal with on a daily basis.

Traditional Oil Paintings by Cecil www.instagram.com

lia Caporlingua from Rome, Italy m/ceciliacaporlingua

Melanc Ava Brooks fr IG: @

choly Monday rom Bay Area, California @_sapphosrevenge

Dorina Diaz Philidelphia, Pennsylvania @thediazcollectionsllc |@dorianagdiaz https://www.thediazcollectionsllc.com/

Honey Hair Dorina Diaz Philidelphia, Pennsylvania @thediazcollectionsllc |@dorianagdiaz https://www.thediazcollectionsllc.com/

Hadaly Villasclaras Málaga, Spain @hadaly.villasclaras

I LOST A PICTURE I HAD SAVED is a project

about wanting and not wanting to be seen.

The common thread in these artworks is an absent image, recreated with different pieces taking the form of furniture and other objects found in a domestic camouflaged among them. These elements help to dramatize the room t of privacy, creating a fictitious setting where the viewer is involved to follo threat about the mystery of this non-visible picture. This way, the project f illusion of privacy in the domestic space and on the contradictions found ways to escape the regime of visibility we live in. Under this pretext, the a created by using different visual strategies in order to negate the image; t devices of representation or presentation thereof; and creating allegorica the visible and the overexposure from which the contemporary subject is the painting-object, has been the driving force of the entire project. It has possibilities—turning the canvas into curtains, a tablecloth or flowers peta intertextual codes; appealing to the historical notion of the painting as a w strategies of traditional conceptual art and memes—such as self-referenc

sphere—or to simulate a space ow a narrative focuses on the when proposing artworks have been trolling different al motifs about the condition of the access to s affected. The painting, and more specifically, been approached not only through its visual als—but also attending to its rhetorical and window and linking it to other formats and ce and surreal humour.

MY PROJECT IS FOCUSING ON THAT EXACTLY, PEOPLE ARE BULK BUYING PPE GEAR BUT NOT KNOWING HOW TO USE IT CORRECTLY SO IT BECOMES A WASTE. YOU MAY BE COVERING YOUR FACE AND HANDS BUT WITHOUT USING IT CORRECTLY YOUR WHOLE BODY IS STILL EXPOSING AND NAKED TO THE EFFECTS OF COVID-19.

I AM PRODUCING SELF-PORTRAITS DEMONSTRATING THE LACK OF AWARENESS ON THIS SUBJECT. I HOPE THEY AREN’T TOO RISKY FOR YOU AND I HOPE THE EXTREME STORY OF THIS REACHES THE CORRECT AUDIENCE. HEATHER BELL SALFORD, MANCHESTER WWW.HEATHERBELLPHOTOGRAPHY.CO.UK @HEATHERBELLPHOTOGRAPHY

"What's past is prologue" by Alice Marie Brig

This series of self portraits was made during a tempest. A strong and cold wind was blowing; it rained a lot, and the stones on the ground were sharp. I titled it "What's past is prologue", from Shakespeare's play The Tempest. Through emotions and narrative, I wanted to show human vulnerability in front of time, to figure the difficulty to cope with time and to resist time, together or alone. In French, there is a single word for "weather" and "time": le temps. I played with this polysemy to imagine the whole project.

Instagram: @alicemariebrigette

These pictures are self portraits I did with a friend of mine, thanks to the ten-seconds self timer of my camera. I used a Nikon FM2 with a 35mm 1.8 lens and with an expired HP5 Film.

itte from Paris, France; alicemariebrigette.art

Bricks of Competence I worry someone might not notice, through the kitchen strolling passively. Looking, then the sun shines through lazy eyes staining retina backs with large sneezing light to gaze upon my curious lack of mess.

Shifting everything could’ve of stayed the same if I’d tried a little harder at nothing, those days are hopefully ahead- somewhere far in the distance... an unsure destination consumed with aimless ambition, backlit by a supposedly warm horizon I am chugging water to feel clean again. Choking on wants, appeals to do something greatwashing down familiar words I wish I could take back

Limite, 2019 Exhibition

Hevelyn Villar Tampa, Florida http://www.hevelynvillar.com

Stuck on being capable, too competent a simultaneous less than... my will floats like a silent ghost the quietest fly on the wall zooms straight into productivity, she efficiently snuffs out creative fires and connection She makes my coffee too strong but I’d never say it. Honey tries not to gag when she sips it, I can see the writing on her kindest expression and in every one reflected, each spelling: some things are better gentle and calm, or honest, so I break like a toppling shore then pull back and worry I’m not doing it right.

I watch her soothe her loved ones, holding admiration and worry in my absence. I cough up phlegm and my needing help paralyzes, trapping me in laced yellow webs of wanting to be better stuck in my passages Flushing them clean with a pot I’ll drown in raging as I wait for calm, take cues and toss them, creating watery tornadoes for the sake of hurling...

I guess I’m far too competitive to see you.

Ainsley Meyer from Seattle, Washington @avalanchewords

D T

DISCOURSE TIN WAI WONG Brooklyn, New York tinwaiwong.com

“I’m impervious” Strong Resilience Independent Forceful Fearless I am unstoppable!-M “Behind closed doors “ I am emotional Embarrassed The overwhelmed Over thinker Anxious Depression I am fragile - M

When I think of vulnerability the first thing that comes to mind is myself.

I’m not used to showing a vulnerable side to others.

Milicent Fambrough from San Antonio, Texas @milicent210,milicent210.tumblr.com, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Svo99lX9_E

Remembering Remembering employs confessional performance to consider sexual trauma from an interior and psychological perspective. Vulnerability reveals itself in subtle and physical ways with this observation of personal trauma. Through a simultaneously soothing and painful ritual, we can visualize the stages of recovery from denial to acceptance and healing.

The project is a multi-channel installation with sound and sheer textiles. The arrangement of the installation takes on the form of a maze to mirror the complex human mind; around each corner, a new set of monitors can be seen Heather Olker Brooklyn, New York www.heatherolker.com | @heatherolker

“I'm praying for the best and that's what I'm working on Heart, Mind, Body & Soul Thoughts coming from a dark place Pain all over my body I wish I couldn't feel a thing, Cause my heart done been hurt plenty times”

♪

"Dark Place" is where raw transparency meets optimistic enlightenment.

The world is in a place where we dont want to feel alone and it needs to come from a place of sincerity they can believe in.

I pray you enjoy and learn something new.

@apawk| apcoley.com

“When They See Us” is a piec Park/Exonerated Five—five young b jail for a crime they did not commit truth and being completely expo

"When They See Us" by Nakia Capri (@na

ce dedicated to the Central boys who were accused and sent to t. Vulnerability means expressing the osed regardless of the outcome.

akiacapri2) from Chicago, Illinos

Tonight we saw a shooting star.

II smile as I gaze up at the night sky; peppered with planets and constellations; the whole cosmos sparkling

My partners hand is in mine, her head resting on my shoulder. I have never been happier in my life. But still, b my insides- making me want to clutch my churning stomach.

pick at a straggling cuticle on my left thumb. Tomorrow- life as I know it is going to change forever. Tomorro

to be honest with my family, admit that I’m in a relationship with another woman. Tomorrow, I could loose ev ever known.

Or I could gain the acceptance I’ve always craved.

Either way, the feeling of vulnerability floods my senses.

Am I ready to do this? She looks at me and smiles.

Do I have a choice?

Do I want one?

Meg Smith Instagram: @xSapphicWitchx

above us.

butterflies swam

ow, I am going

verything I’ve

I have always been heavily informed by histories, individual and collective experience intergenerational transferring of beliefs, values a

These interests were born from being a Korean-Canadian, as I long searched the tangible sto Korean War. With the stories passed down from my grandparents of their escape to the sout bring that to fruition. Since my family immigrated out of Korea when I was 6, and moved all my imagination, as there remains very little evidence, like photos, to refer to. In 2001, I lived i place across North Korea. Eventually, I made a journey into North Korea as a translator in grandparents’ pictures in the soil, as

Green

es, distorted and manipulated memories, altered perceptions of the world through the and stories, notions of truth, and sense of time.

ories of Korean diaspora left in lands without citizenship throughout Asia during WWII and the th, and their wishes to go back to see their childhood homes and family, I dreamed of a day to over, the ties and memories of the loss were heavily built around the transfer of stories, and in Mongolia for 8 months, travelling to Siberia, Inner Mongolia, Northern parts of China to the 2007, the year my last remaining grandmother passed away, and was able to bury both my s a gesture of “returning back� home.

Mihyun Maria Kim, 38 Mississauga, CA and Leipzig, DE website: www.mihyunmariakim.com IG: @singmariamaria

Mother and Daughter

Thanking Thanking Starlight Starlight

July’s July’s night night flies flies across across the the sky. sky. Its Its wings wings beat beat at at my my face. face.

by Aria Quesada (16) from Bath, Maine USA; instagram: @susxaria

Its Its urgency urgency shakes shakes me me from from the the fog fog of of aa dream, dream, The The fog fog shrouds shrouds itself itself around around this this body. body.

In In my my haze haze blooms blooms aa flower flower Leading Leading me me to to the the tarnished tarnished length length of of rope rope I’ve I’ve held held between between my my blistered blistered fingers fingers Looping Looping around around the the neck neck of of the the rose, rose, tighter. tighter.

The The pulse pulse of of aa beating beating heart heart A A shattered shattered status status of of lividity lividity The The flowers flowers thorns thorns cut cut the the twine twine And the water water rushes rushes in in And the The The waking waking dream dream ends ends II hold hold the the twine twine in in my my hands hands The The night night holds holds its its breath breath to to reveal reveal the the coming coming dawn dawn Leaving Leaving behind behind the the bleary bleary eyed eyed stars, stars, blinking blinking in in the the speckled speckled sky sky I’ve I’ve chased chased away away the the haze haze again again II stand, stand, thanking thanking starlight. starlight.

Written Written inin inspiration inspiration of of Chika Chika Sagawa Sagawa

Photograph by Emily Kebelbeck (19) from Long Beach, California, USA; She/Her; @ghostgirlemily

 ­€ ‚ ƒ „ ‚ …

- Incubation Sometimes, when a person has suffered extreme physical or psychological trauma (including massive stress), they will assume the fetal position: the back is curved forward, the legs are brought up as tightly against the abdomen as possible, the head is bowed as close to the abdomen as possible, and the arms are wrapped around the head to prevent further trauma.

This position provides better protection to the brain and vital organs than simply lying spread out on the ground. It is clear as to why it is an instinctual reaction to extreme stress or trauma when the brain is no longer able to cope with the surrounding environment and, essentially, “shuts down” temporarily.

It all starts with the analysis of a certain process. There is a subject - surrounded by liquid, enclosed in a safe environment. It continues to grow. Closed but secure. Isolated but protected.

It’s a natural condition. The embryo eventually develops and begins to experience. Explores, feels, love.

Sometimes the subject experiences too much, dissociates. Puts the body back into a fetal position, looks for safety, protection. It incubates. It’s capable of basic needs. To create a closed, safe environment, not letting anything or anyone in. In this cycle, a disease that is under the control of the tissues slowly repossesses the host. The subject is falling apart.

The skin fragments are ruthlessly imprinted in plaster. A testimony of separation from the world under the influence of gradual breakdown. Emotional apprehension, stagnation. Plaster shell, on the one hand, seemingly easy to shatter; on the other, reinforced with bandages.

A plaster cast is used to heal fractures. To secure fractures against external factors and at the same time reduce interior movement.

- Mixed Media by Aga Gabara (24) from Poznan, PL, She/Her, agagabara.pl

Tavaris Brooks from Charleston, South Carolina @tavaris.art | tavarisbrooks.com These diptychs are inspired by our inner thoughts and the way they form, layer, and merge.

When looking at the abstracts on the right, multiple layers of paper. of different transparencies. were drawn/painted on, then glued on top of each other to represent layers of consciousness. The first layers form a base that deconstructs and simplifies the portraits on the left down to their materials. This deconstruction provides a blank slate for the thought layers to form upon.

The portraits on the left also reference the idea of layering. They were created through layering different drawing and painting media. Watercolor for the first layer, then pencil, then oil pastel. These layers blend and merge as our thoughts do to create a singular complex point of view.