KNACK Magazine #69

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KNACK Magazine is dedicated to showcasing the work of artists of all mediums, and to discuss trends and ideas of art communities. KNACK Magazine’s

ultimate

aim

is to connect and inspire e m e r g i n g a r t i s t s , w o r k i n g a r tists and established artists.

We strive to create a place for artists, writers, designers, thinkers, and innovators to collaborate and produce a unique, informative, and unprecedented web-based art magazine each month.

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES PHOTOGRAPHERS, GRAPHIC DESIGNERS & STUDIO ARTISTS: 10-12 high resolution images of your work. All should include pertinent caption information (name, date, medium, year).

WRITERS: You may submit up to 3,000 words and as little as one. We accept simultaneous submissions. No cover letter necessary. All submissions must be 12pt, Times New Roman, single or double-spaced with page numbers and include your name, e-mail, phone number, and genre.

KNACK seeks writing of all kinds. We will even consider recipes, reviews, and essays. We seek writers whose work has a distinct voice, is character driven, and is subversive but tasteful.

ALL SUBMISSIONS: KNACK encourages all submitters to include a portrait, a brief biography, which can include; your name, age, current location, awards, contact information, etc. (no more than 250 words). And an artist statement (no more than 500 words). We believe that your perspective of your work and process is as lucrative as the work itself. This may range from your upbringing and/or education as an artist, what type of work you produce, inspirations, etc.

If there are specifications or preferences concerning the way in which your work is to be displayed please include them.

Please title files for submission with the name of the piece. This applies for both writing and visual submissions. *PLEASE TITLE FILES FOR SUBMISSION WITH THE NAME OF THE PIECE. THIS APPLIES FOR BOTH WRITING AND VISUAL SUBMISSIONS.

EMAIL: KNACKMAGAZINE1@GMAIL.COM SUBJECT: SUBMISSION [PHOTOGRAPHY, STUDIO ART, CREATIVE WRITING, GRAPHIC DESIGN] ACCEPTABLE FORMATS: IMAGES: .PDF, .TIFF, OR .JPEG WRITTEN WORKS: .DOC, .DOCX, AND .RTF

REVIEWS

KNACK Magazine is requesting material to be reviewed. Reviews extend to any culture related event that may be happening in your community. Do you know of an exciting show or exhibition opening? Is there an art collective in your city that deserves some press? Are you a musician, have a band, or are a filmmaker? Send us your CD, movie, or titles of upcoming releases which you’d like to see reviewed in KNACK Magazine. We believe that reviews are essential to creating a dialogue about the arts. If something thrills you, we want to know about it and share it with the KNACK Magazine community—no matter if you live in the New York or Los Angeles, Montreal or Mexico.

All review material can be sent to knackmagazine1@gmail.com. Please send a copy of CDs and films to 4319 N. Greenview Ave, Chicago, IL 60613. If you would like review material returned to you include return postage and packaging.

Entries should contain pertinent details such as name, year, release date, websites and links (if applicable). For community events we ask that information be sent up to two months in advance to allow proper time for assignment and review.

We look forward to seeing and hearing your work.

EDITORS & STAFF Andrea Catalina Vaca Co-Founder, Publisher, Editor-In-Chief, Artist Coordinator, Digital Operations, Photographer, Designer, Circulation Director, Production Manager, Business Manager Jonathon Duarte Co-Founder, Creative Director Ariana Lombardi Co-Founder, Executive Editor, Artist Coordinator, Writer Chelsey Alden Editor, Writer Fernando Gaverd Digital Operations, Designer Benjamin Smith Designer

Front & Back Cover Design: Andrea Catalina Vaca First & Last Spread Photography: A.C. Vaca Photography Magazine Design: Andrea Catalina Vaca

CONTENTS 10

Artist Biographies

FEATURED ARTISTS 26 38 16

Janaritta Armooti

David Whitemyer

Seigar

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58

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Kregian Vareare Miral

Joseph Etchingham

KNACK Magazine, Issue #69

Nuha

ARTIST BIOGRAPH Janaritta Armooti is a visual artist from Jordan. She obtained a bachelor’s degree from the University of Petra (Amman, Jordan), and a diploma from the Institute of fine arts-ministry of culture. Armooti then taught art at the University of Petra for some time. She has been selected as a jury member in many global competitions and has also won international competitions. She opened her solo exhibition “Black to White” in 2021 and her art has been exhibited in Jordan, Lebanon, Austria, Algeria, Tunisia, Morocco, France, Syria, USA, India, Mexico, China, Korea, and more. Armooti is currently the president of the Indian art foundation and the American art foundation: Jordan chapter.

Facebook & Instagram: janarittaart

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HIES David Whitemyer is an amateur self-taught photographer who has been exploring modern ruins since the 1980s in the U.S. Midwest. In addition to his photographs, his passion for history and architecture is demonstrated through his twenty-five years of work in the museum and exhibition planning profession, as a designer, architect, writer, and graduate instructor. Whitemyer is author of Abandoned Massachusetts: Lost Treasures of the Bay State, which includes photographs and narratives that show readers the history and beauty of crumbling buildings.

Email: whitemyer@gmail.com Website: www.dwhitemyer.com Instagram: mahikerbiker

Seigar is a passionate travel, street, social documentary, and conceptual photographer based in Tenerife. He is a philologist and works as a secondary school teacher. He is obsessed with pop culture, reflections, saturated colors, curious finds, religious icons, and documenting identity. Seigar has participated in several exhibitions and his works have been featured in many publications. He has collaborated with different media such as VICE and WAG1. Recently, he received the Rafael Ramos García International Photography Award. Seigar currently writes for Dodho Magazine, The Cultural Magazine, and Memoir Mixtapes.

Webpage: www.seigar.wordpress.com Galleries: www.flickr.com/photos/theblueheartbeat/albums Facebook & Instagram: jseigar

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Portrait by Jhunry Etang

Kregian Vareare P. Miral is a storyteller who manifests the vast human experiences, ideas, and emotions onto paper. His method of storytelling is poetry. Miral won 1st place at Palm Grass Hotel’s “Bahugbahug Balak” in 2018, and 2nd place at Terasaz de Flores’s “Poetry Night at Garden” in 2017. He works with The Stray Poets, a Cebu-based collective made up of poets, spoken word artists, musicians, and like-minded individuals who are looking for a home for their creative work.

Joseph Etchingham is a photographer and filmmaker based out of Bozeman, Montana. He began with portraiture a few years ago and is currently focusing on street and documentary photography.

Instagram: onehandwavingfree

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Nuha is a digital artist from Bangladesh who started using social media during the lockdown phase of the pandemic. She has a bachelor degree in architecture. After graduation, she started exploring graphic design and digital platforms. Then Nuha started to practice painting digitally, at first as a hobby, then it became her passion.

Behance: www.behance.net/nuhanotion Artstation: www.artstation.com/nuhanotion/prints Facebook: nuhanotion Instagram: nuha_notion

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Janaritta ARMOOTI Control the colors instead of letting them control you. My artworks deal with deconstruction theory and binary opposition theory and they are also related to contemporary art/post contemporary art. I focus on mixing more than one art school into my artworks, in addition to reconstructing the configuration and composition.

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YELL

BLUE

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TWO SOULS, Acrylic on Canvas, 90x90cm

I mixed surrealism, post-impressionism, and abstract art for this piece. There is opposition: black & white, man & woman, the spiritual & physical body. Two portraits appear in front of each other in a transparent manner, closer to the spiritual portrait than the physical one, and the whole face represents a planet. Souls can meet others on any planet even if the physical is not presence.

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ORANGE

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David WHITEMYER Alice in Wonderland begins with innate childhood curiosity when Alice chases a talking white rabbit into a rabbit hole.

Like Alice, I was pulled towards mysterious passageways as a child. Growing up in the U.S. Midwest, I explored empty buildings and unbeaten paths. On camping trips out West, I’d plead to stop at roadside ghost towns and rusting service stations. This urge continued into my adulthood and I continued to search for abandoned structures which I could explore, and like Alice, never considering how in the world I’ll get out.

With centuries of history, the U.S. is littered with the remains of factories, hospitals, theaters, churches, and military sites.

They were once vibrant centers of activity in people’s lives, and then one day they were gone. Through my photos, I share spaces once hurried with activity, now hidden and inaccessible to most, illustrating how time and solitude have given them a grace and allure. I’m particularly interested in creating minimalist, ordered compositions from cluttered, chaotic settings.

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See Sharp

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Bump In The Light

Chair Pollution

In The Seat Of The Night

Out Of The Blue

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Break On Through To The Other Side

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Frame And Fortune

32

Counter Strike

Once In A Blue Room

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For The Record

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Sink Outside The Box

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The Joy Luck Tub

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SEIGAR The Plastic People project focuses on the humanization and dignification of mannequins found in shop windows all around the world.

It has become a study on sociology and anthropology. This series shows the Plastic People project with a live model: Tenerife-based, Cuban model Shira Tellechea, wearing artistic jewelry from Belles Curiosités. The photographs are inspired by voguing, and Grace Jones’s powerful music inspired the attitude.

Team Credits: Creative Director & Photographer: Seigar @jseigar Model: Shira Tellechea @shiratellechea Jewelry: Belles Curiosités @bellescuriosites Attire: Yue London Evening Gown, Vintage dress

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MY REAL PLASTIC PEOPLE

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Kregian Vareare MIRAL I am more of a storyteller rather than a poet.

After all, isn’t poetry supposed to have this unique finesse about it? I often fail to embody that in my poems. My poetry is about capturing the height of an emotion or experience and translating that into a story that maybe people can relate to. My work revolves around the negative emotions and experiences humans undergo but they provide some form of catharsis, some epiphany.

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Pale Bird

A man sat on a rock at Mango Avenue.

His lips lightly clamped on a nicotine stick, His lungs inhaled the smoke they’ve been craving.

A thundering voice roared overhead.

He looked up and was greeted by the sky’s blinding, soft blue canvas.

He regained his vision and that’s when he saw, a pale bird (anomaly of nature), ripping through cotton fluffs with its wings of steel and flapping turbines, drunk on petrol and diesel.

“Sacrifice,” he told himself; then gobbled it all up.

Every—Single—Letter scraped his throat with every forced gulp.

The heart that once crackled with flames and spat sparks, Now a hissing ember covered with burn marks.

A man sat on a rock at Mango Avenue.

Looking at the pale bird that swallowed his woman— Taking her to distant lands where his feet cannot touch.

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For Every Thump Your Heart Makes

Hi, it’s me again. How have you been?

Have your nights been filled with pleasant dreams?

Or has it been haunted by the past screams Of pain and misery that still echo in your brain?

I know how difficult it has been for you lately.

I know you’ve lost a loved one and it hasn’t been that easy.

I know you miss their smiles, I know you miss their laughs.

I know you miss their quirks, I know you miss their voice.

I know school has been tough And that your whining is no bluff.

It’s been one heck of a semester, And it’s just the start of the year.

I know the bullies make things harder, And I know that what you call a “home” is no better.

I know work has been hell, And I know you wish you were doing really well, So that your boss would stop grinding in your ears, Shouting orders around like “Do this!” and “Put that here!”

I know you wish that you could spend More time with your family, And how you’d want for time to bend, So you could be there for your newborn baby.

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I know rock-bottom is unforgiving, And I know you haven’t been eating, Because the pesos aren’t there And your pockets are empty; You don’t even have jeep fare, Let alone bread when you’re hungry.

I know life has been brutal; murderous even.

I know you’ve had more than your fair share Of cries and tears when you’re grieving, As the pillows cry with you in your despair.

I know things have been unfortunate, But don’t you dare forget; That pain and joy alternates And things get better if you let it.

Your soul is so much more than the sorrow it carries, And you are so much more than all of your miseries.

Remember that for every thump your heart makes, There’s a spirit that refuses to break.

No matter the number of bruises and aches, Or wounds and scars it has to take.

So go on and shine despite the clouds, And keep that flame burning in you, Don’t let the darkness shroud And dim the light down making you blue.

Remember that for every thump your heart makes, There’s a part of the real you who refuses to break.

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Chicaron (Pork Rind Cracklings)

The Chicharon is tasty, salty, crunchy, cheap; and I hate it.

It reminds me of a girl who was walking home after school on a hot afternoon.

She passed by her classmates playing Chinese Garter on the sidewalk.

Oh, how her body could have glistened with amber sweat as it reflected the tangerine-lit skies,

Sweat, blood, and tears later, she got 100 pesos and a bag of Chicharon as the grand prize.

It was tasty, salty, crunchy, cheap… …and I hated it.

but she couldn’t.

Mother needed help with the chores, a 3-month old baby needed lullabies and to be swung from the cradle made of malong —tube skirt—and Blankets.

While walking a motorcycle man came and asked “What’s your name, young lady?”

“Pia,” she told him.

“Would you like to come with me and have fun, Pia?”

What Can It Do?

It’s Raining Again

The pocket is empty.

The wallet is empty.

On top of this painted black lamesa, whose paint has been scratched off by time, sits a plate full of sweaty rice whose body odor reeks sourly, and a pouch of salt.

“It’s raining again,” her voice tip-toed to my ear, as the dark clouds used raindrops as tiny mallets and the tin roof as a xylophone.

She was seated near the glass window with palm under her chin.

Her eyes were fixated on something I couldn’t find amidst the clutter of houses.

The salt shall be sprinkled and mixed with the rice by a spoon.

Her bags were packed and she was simply waiting for the rain to stop crying.

The same spoon will carry the salted rice towards the needy mouth;

For me to stop begging.

It has been a year since then and just like any other July in Cebu;

And that is brunch.

For what can an empty pocket, and an empty wallet, do for a hungry belly?

It’s raining again.

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At 7 in the morning, I see Patricia putting on makeup and adorning her lobes with earrings.

Some might say it’s a pretty normal thing to do, women should always look beautiful.

Patricia

I see this happening every day.

I see her put herself up on display for the world so she can feel good about her looks; consumed by wanting to be the pretty face that people see in books.

Patricia couldn’t stop what was a habit.

She continued to paint her face pink and blue.

She wore less fabric to show more of her thighs, and let the perverts undress her with their lustful eyes.

This whole thing with Patricia got me asking: Why do women want to look pretty and sexy?

Why can’t they just jump out of bed and leave the house without worrying about beauty?

Some say that “it’s vanity.”

A few say that “it’s self-love and prosperity.”

Others say that “it’s to seek attention from everybody.”

In the end, I was unable to get a direct answer, and what started out as a quest to clarify, ended up with me trying to understand why women go to such lengths to look prettier.

But then it got me thinking again: What if Patricia is just half of the equation?

What if something else is causing this distortion of views and definition, especially in women?

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So I turned my eyes toward society, where being “pretty” and “sexy” is a hallmark of “beauty”.

The same society that tells everyone “to be who they are”, but is quite good at brainwashing little girls.

Telling them “no one will like you if you’re unattractive!”

In Patricia’s case, despite having a loving husband who sees her beauty for what it is and gets to tell her every day: “You’re the most beautiful woman from every corner and shore.

None can equal your beauty, you’re what I’ve wished for and more.”

Patricia simply couldn’t see with her husband’s eyes, so she just smiles, turns around, and lets out a sigh.

I still see Patricia at 7 in the morning, Putting on makeup and adorning her lobes with earrings.

I still see her every day—putting herself up for display, because being beautiful is what women do.

But no amount of powder and lipstick can ever make her feel lovely, and no amount of sexy clothes will ever showcase her true beauty; and as long as she keeps on asking validations from me— a mirror who only reflects what her eyes wants to see— she will never be free from her chains and truly be happy.

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i saw your phone light up last night

i saw your phone light up last night. you were holding it in both hands, furiously typing quick replies to a familiar name. a name that reminded me of your friend from far away, whom you consider to be the best. but, since it was a common name, perhaps it was just one of your coworkers, asking about something, which they often do. i was about to ask you who it was and what the two of you were talking about. instead, i stopped myself and fortunately, my stomach grumbled and demanded it’s need to dispose of today’s meal. while i was sitting on the porcelain throne, i realized why i stopped myself from snooping and from caring who it was. i was reminded of when you said that you’ve grown insecure and unconfident with yourself because of my constant jealousy, doubts, snooping, distrust, and unpleasant remarks. i was reminded of a decision i made, in hopes of helping you

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get back some of the confidence you’ve lost. a decision to stop being jealous, to show no doubts, to stop snooping, to stop asking or caring, to show no distrust, and to stop my unpleasant remarks. a decision to hold back some of my love and to keep them for myself. i saw your phone light up last night. and instead of asking who it was, or what the two of you were talking about— i simply walked away.

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I felt drunk, but sober.

It was a weird mix of walking upright, and losing balance, as if the black, asphalt streets suddenly turned mushy, like a sponge giving in to the weight of your finger.

It felt like stepping in quicksand, and the ground begins to swallow your toes, feet, legs whole.

It felt like my hands weren’t mine I told them to grip my phone properly but the device would just slip through, as if my hands were air.

It felt like my bed was a boat trapped in towering waves, whose salty mouths opened to show its foamy, white teeth.

My bed rocked and swayed, while maintaining its stillness in the dead of the night.

It was really weird.

I felt drunk, but I was sober— a dizzy concoction of woozy vestibular and wobbly knees, shaped into a man whose world spirals uncontrollably.

Vertigo

Shut Up “shut up!” you hear them say. “shut up!” you don’t matter anyway. “shut up!” you’re so noisy. “shut up!” you’re so angsty. “shut up!” your opinion doesn’t matter here. “shut up!” your noise is senseless and so are your tears.

they like to pose as individuals who have gained composure and control, like stoics who remain calm under pressure. but don’t confuse their cowardice as being stoic or mature. the truth is they’re afraid of upsetting the ones up top, that’s why they just opt

that is what oppressors want you to believe. that your voice is meaningless and it can’t change a thing.

to lick their boots and suck their cocks because that’s all they’re good for—

enablers and supporters also want to drown out your voice, in an attempt

as footstools and cinder blocks for the greedy oppressors— as tools and pets

to stop you from shaking the world and changing what they’re used to—

for tyrants and thieves. they’re willing to stay like that, as long as they get some cheese.

because why would they want to change things when it doesn’t inconvenience them?

“shut up!” you hear them say. “shut up!” you don’t matter anyway.

because why would they want to change the world when they’re not being bothered by anything?

but “speak up!” is what I suggest. “speak up!” and don’t let your voice go to waste.

My

L ie

fe i s a Li

i’m stuck in a miserable loop and i refuse to believe that my life is precious my life is a lie because it makes no sense to think that i should go ahead and try

My Life is a Lie is a mirror poem. It’s meant to be read from top to bottom and then bottom to top. By reading it this way, you’ll be able to read the two meanings in it.

i should accept the fact that before my eyes run dry i should let myself cry for the wasted efforts and retries i must accept the truth that “the world is painted with a blue hue” —not— not painted with bright yellow i can see that this world is making me miserable and —is not— everything i wished for i have to believe that my dreams are easily broken i’ll give it my best —but— I know I might fail like the rest the world is messed up and truth be told

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(“)i’m letting go of my faith(”) because people say (“)God doesn’t exist(”) —because the truth of the matter is— whenever a voice whispers to “take heed” whenever someone does a good deed whenever somebody helps a person in need whenever you allow courage to lead God is there, —however— “God is only a figment of our imagination.

A result of writers and their novel; Therefore, I say God is a fictional character.

If God is real, why can’t He fix everything?

If God truly exists, why am I suffering?” these were thoughts i had in the dark and eventually i realized that they were all molding me

My

L ie

when God converted my view to make me see i saw my trials’ true meaning and beauty.

fe i s a Li

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Joseph L. ETCHINGHAM I strive to make the mundane artistic. A photo can be many things, but above all else it is a snapshot, a look into our daily lives.

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Green and White

Downtown

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Eighth Avenue

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Under Construction

New Day

Better Think

Winter Blue

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Cafe

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Summer Sky

Hoop

Ducks On Campus

Winter Night

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NUHA Obsessed with elements from nature like sunsets, moon, and sky, I try to connect them with human feelings and thoughts. Not abstract, but sometimes a fantasy or dream featuring strong colors and silhouettes. I love to explore different color palettes and even add animation. I hope to see my tutorials and style as a useful resource in the future for self-taught artists like me. My work is an expression of life and the feedback I receive from the people around me inspires me to continue.

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DEPARTURE

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SCAVENGE

ALLEY OF ANXIETY

RIDE TO THE MYSTIC TREE

TREE OF LIFE

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SUNSET BLISS

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THE READER

SUNSHINE Animation Loop: www.youtube.com/watch?v=baqYpmxv93o

SPORSHO

TEDDY FROM DREAM

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