404 NOT FOUND. I GRACE I BELFAST I @FAIRLEY_DECENT
This edition is dedicated to those who live on in our memories.
COVER: 404 NOT FOUND.
All work is the property of its original artist. Thoughts and opinions expressed in the works of Issue 15 and Postscripts podcast belong to each individual and independent author.
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EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Rebecca McLaren | @babygotbecs
SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER
Emily Callahan | @em_callahan
ISSUE 15 - MEMORY I VOLUME 2
MEET THE TEAM
MANAGEMENT
PODCAST MANAGER
Taniya Sheikh | @taniyaxsheikh
MARKETING MANAGER
Nina Stoiber | @ninastoibs
DESIGN
SENIOR TEAM
Andrea Valdivia | @nea.au
Kirin Xin | @kirixin Astrid MacDougall | @atsrid.img
Dina Baxevanakis | @dinadraws36
JUNIOR TEAM
Layan Dajani | @in_an_alternate_universe_
Maggie Rose | @maggierosecashman Danni Wright | @ladyshipcannabis Alessandra Crupi | @allycrupi @designbyinternos
Ingrid Zijlema | @ingridzijlema
Nathalia García | @naths.jpg Celeste Alvarez | @itsscelestee
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
VISUAL ART
404 NOT FOUND., GRACE…COVER, 2
THE GREEN LIGHT DRAW
THOUGHTFUL FLOWERS, AMIRA ALSAREINYE…14
LAMBOURN…64
TODAVÍA ME ACUERDO DE TI, CURTIS BERGESEN AKA
GROVE HOUSE DAYS, MO
PEACE, CHAHAT SONEJA…
COLLAGE THE WORLD…18
SEIZED, VALERIE DREW…20
STREET, CHAHAT SONEJA
SCRAPED FOR MY MOTHER, MAURA WALSH…21
PORTRAIT OF DAD, LIBBY
NEURONAL MAP, FLAMINIA CELATA…24
BARBIES BEHEADING C.2
WHO ARE YOU MEMORY?, FLAMINIA CELATA…25
SANDS OF SPACETIME, SO
MEMORY OF SITTING, MAURA EALSH…27
CHILDHOOD, HALEY STAL
VITA, RÉNA KING…29
INNOCENCE, ERHAN US…
MEMORY, MILA GVARDIOL…30-31
DREAM, ANU AHUJA…77
DO NOT ENTER, KAT MAROTTA…32
FACE OF PEACE, NEETA…
MY HANDS PRESSING ON HER FOREHEAD, REBECCA
LIGHT OF HOPE, NEETA…
KAEBNICK…35
THE PAST, JARED SCHWAR
PIECE TO REMEMBER, ANNA SAVINA…37
VALUATION, DINESH MAN
PORCH, KELSEY SMITH…37
PLACID REFLECTION, JEN
CONNECT TO HEART AND MIND, AMIRA
BABY SUN, ROSE SILBERM
ALSAREINYE….38
NEW BABY BLANKET, AM
BEST TOYS I’VE EVER PLAYED WITH, MEGHAN
AT HOME AND AWAY, AM
LEVAUGHN…39
ATTENTION, NIKOLAY DM
PORQUÉ A VECES NO HACE FALTA SALIR DE CASA PARA HISTORY CALLS, ARPITA B
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IRSE DE VIAJE, MARTINA POZZI…45
AN ODE TO MY FATHER,
AN ITCH INSIDE MY BRAIN, HALAH KARACHI…46
THE THOUGHT OF YOU, D
OMI OBI (THE KOLANUT RIVER), ADEYEMI RAMON
NOSOTROS SOMOS DE LA
OMOLAJA…48
ART…105
ANCHOR, ADEYEMI RAMON OMOLAJA…49
NIGHT RIDER, JANICE HA
RECESS, 2019, ANGELA CANNATELLI…52
VARIOUS SCULPTURES, R
INSATIABLE SPACES, MIA CINELLI…53
WORSHIP, PIOTR KUSZYNS
2010S PLAYLIST ARTWORK, KIRIXIN…56
CELEBRATION, SUSAN PO
UNDECIDED, RÉNA KING…62
ABUNDANCE, SUSAN POR
WS ME TO YOU, MOLLY
OVER THE MOON, JANICE HARDACRE…115 THE SECRETS WE KEEP, ERICA CAMPITELLI…119
OLLY LAMBOURN…65
…66
TOGETHER | APART, JOSH CONRAD…128 THRESHOLD, JOSH CONRAD…129
A…69
THE QUANDARIES, DINESH MANRAL…130
Y SIPE…71
CONNECTION, ANASTASIA VIAZNIKOVIA…131
2000, KAYLYN PICKERING…72
FAMILY TREE (REDUX), JONATHON DOWNING…132
OPHIE JACOBS…73
FAMILY TREE, JONATHON DOWNING…133
LFORD…74
RANDOMLY ACCESSED MEMORIES, VANESSA ESAU…135
…75
DREAMSCAPE, ANU AHUJA…136-137 AGEING BUT GRACEFUL, ESINULO CHIMAKA PRAISE…137
…78
LOOKING BACK: IS THIS A FORGOTTEN FRAGMENT OF
…79
ME?, GABRIELA KUCURUZA…138
RTZ…83
WITH FORCE, HEATHER BJORNELIE…139
NRAL…96
UNTITLED, KATERINA TSITSELA…140
NNIFER WILLOUGHBY…97
THE WALL, KATERINA TSITSELA…141
MAN-GORN…98
THE MATRIARCH, ANINDITA MATURI…143
MY PEARL LANG…99
UNTITLED (WORK ON PAPER), JOE KLAUS…144-145
MY PEARL LANG…100
AQUARIUS, JOHN DELFINO…146
MITRENKO…101
NOT FROM HERE, JENNIFER WILLOUGHBY…147
BAKSI…102
“U SURICI E VECCHIARELLU” OR “THE CHURCH MOUSE”, ALLY CRUPI…148-149
ANINDITA MATURI…103
DIPTI B…104
PUFFY POLLOCK: RED & WHITE NEBULA, JAC ALVA
A MISMA SANGRE, JAC ALVA
ART…150-151 BLOOM AMID VIOLENCE, LEE HAU YI,
ARDACRE…106
HONGKONGER…156-157
ROSE SILBERMAN-GORM…110
DEMENTIA, IOANA BERTRAND…159
SKI…111
ORTER…112
RTER…113 7
POETRY
TIMES BEFORE WAR, FIDAN AKHUNDOVA…166
WHEN YOU GET LOST IN
JUST CALLED, KELSEY SMITH…167
LI…19
“FUNERAL DISCUSSIONS, SHE AND THE MOON”,
NO MORE PILLOW HUGS,
ASPHALT, KAIT QUINN…33
TABLE OF CONTENTS
VISUAL ART CONT. 2000’S VIBE, ANDREA VALDIVIA…164-165
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ANGELIKH VELENTZA…168
FOUR STANZA, GUNA MO
TRUE COLOURS, ERICA CAMPITELLI…170
ROYAL YORK BLUES, MICH
CAFÉ FEUERBACH, FIDAN AKHUNDOVA…176
THE EVERLASTING IMPRE
ECSTASY MACHINE, J.P. CALABRO…179
REPLAY RUT, PALOMA JAU
BLOOM JUST FOR YOU, J.P. CALABRO…179
I CAN’T DRINK RUM, SEN
THE FOOL, HANNAH KAPLAN…180
IN CASE YOU WERE WON
THE PUBLIC GARDENS, HANNAH KAPLAN…182
DRIVEWAY DOWN, NINA
HALLUCINATED CORROBORATION, SAHIL
PLAYWRIGHT, SHRIYA BAJ
MATHUR…184
HER, KATHERINE VARGAS…
THERE’S A FLY IN MY BEARD, SAHIL MATHUR…185
THE THING ABOUT GOOD
MEMORIES, ARPITA BAKSI…186
PRE PANDEMIC BAYAN G
PERFORMATIVE ORGAN, AMBER SYNNETT…187
THIS IS MY YEAR, NURIA T
WATER RESERVOIR, KARINA PUUFFIN…189-190
FADING 01, JULIA GACZEK
ALONE WITH HER THOUGHTS, JARED
FADING 02, JULIA GACZEK
SCHWARTZ…190
PASSENGER, KAIT QUINN
UNTITLED 2 MY HB, DREW MCLAUGHLIN AKA
A FRAGMENTED WOMAN
M IS FOR MOURNING, MI
0PTICAL ARTIFACTS…193
COUNTRY ROAD, COLLAGE THE WORLD…194
TO ALL THE PEOPLE IN M
HERE AND NOW, ALESSIA ANGELINI…195
LACSA…154
UNTITLED, PAULINA DENTI…196-197
EASY DOES IT, IZOSCELES
PLUNGE, NATALIE BRADFORD…198
*POETRY IS NOT A LUXUR
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KITTY!, NATALIE BRADFORD…199
FROM THE VOID, JUSTYN
SURVIVOR, IOANA BERTRAND…201
AMYDGALA, VALERIE DRE
OVER THE HILL, JON P….204-205
THE UNREQUITER & THE
LIES & TRADITIONS, ERHAN US…208
LONDON, SOPHIE J
MUSTACHIOED MAN, LIBBY SIPE…209
YOU ARE PERFECT TODAY
ORAN…15 YOUR OWN HEAD, STEPHANIE
, PLEASE, DIPTI B….26
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HELLE DE FREITAS…45
ESSION, G LAVERN…47
UNCEY MCKIM…51
NECA SIMS…54-55
NDERING, ELIZABETH ADAN…63 HANZ…70
JPA…76
…104-105
DBYES, ZORA LEWIZ…114
GLORI, LORHENZ LACSA…116
TOVAR AKA NURIA MIN…117
K…126
K…127
N…134
N, MAHIRAH SYED…136
ICHELLE DE FREITAS…152
MY SPAM FOLDER, LORHENZ
S…155
RY, KAYCEE HILL…158
NA SOLNICA…160
EW…169 UNREQUITED MEET IN
JACOBS…177
AY AND YOU WILL BE PERFECT
TOMORROW, ELIZABETH ADAN…178 LIGHT FALLS IN, ZORA LEWIZ…191 UNNAMED TWO, SACHIN RANA…192 MY HEART, KAYCEE HILL…200 THE TEACHER, ASHLEIGH CATTERMOLE…202 NOSTALGIA HITS YOU LIKE A RAINDROP, NHYLAR…206-207 9
TABLE OF CONTENTS
WRITING
THERE’S A STORY, COURTNEY WZ…28
THE PERIPHERIES, JUSTYN
10CM, GULLU KANDROU…34
ORCHIDS, MAYA BERMAN
NAUSEOUS: A (PRE-PANDEMIC) LOVE
SKY WALTZ, MAYA BERMA
TRIANGLE, GALADRIEL WATSON…67-68
BREAK, PIOTR KUSZYNSKI
IT’S ALMOST SUMMER, MADI GIOVINA…82 I AM SICK OF RED WINE AND OTHER BULLSHIT,
CATHLEEN KERRIGAN…107
VIDEO
HUA CHANG HUA “花窗花
MUSIC
MAGGZ…80-81
HEART BEATS, COLLARS…40-43
SKUPNIEWICZ…94-9
2010S MUSIC PLAYLIST, CALEB STAPLES…57
YOU DON’T HAVE TO TAK
BROKEN HEART, PILOT HAUS…108-109
ALONG SANTE FE DRIVE, PILOT HAUS…108-109
I’LL REMEMBER YOU…, K
ZA ŠCIANĄ (BEHIND THE
JAINA CIPRIANO…1
NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL VE DAY - PLAYLIST, VINCE BLACKALL…120-121 LIE AGAIN, MARLOUNSLY…122-123 DANCE WITH ME - 2000S PLAYLIST, MARCIA
GREEN AND GREEN, YILIN
K-L…164-165
RETURNING, YILIN LI…23
“FUNERAL DISCUSSIONS, SHE AND THE MOON”,
ANGELIKH VELENTZA…168
PHOTOGRAPHY
TIŠINE/SILENCES, IVANA SLUNJSKI…22 STAGE I: PURE MEMORY., CHADCHOM CHESKHUN…58-61 A PLACE WITH NO LOCATION, SEIGAR…84-93 DISTORTED, CHAYA FEINBERG…118 FROM THE VOID, JUSTYNA SOLNICA…161-163 FADING, CHAYA FEINBERG…171
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OTHER
NA SOLNICA…172-175
N…182
AN…183
I…203
花 (WINDOW DECOR)”, WALL), DOROTA
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KE ORDERS FROM THE MOON,
124-125
KATHERINE VARGAS…142
N LI…16-17
PLUS MORE IN VOLUME 1 11
2:14-10:37 - Aimilia Efthymiou @art_vulgaris
9:48-17:12 - Chadchom Cheskh @w_43417
10:48-17:12 - Molly Lambourn @mollylambourn
10:48-17:12 - Kaycee Hill @glittafairyx
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hun
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GREEN AND GREEN | YILIN LI | CHINA | @YILINLI28 | LINDALIYILIN.COM
Performative Sculpture (a person, grass, blanket, pillow, price tag) Dimensions Variable
Green a produc 16
and Green is a performative sculpture focused on how we often make manufactured cts to mimic nature as a way to create an illusion saying that humans and nature perfectly coexist. 17
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NEURONAL MAP | FLAMINIA CELATA | ROME, ITALY | @FLAMINIA_CELATA | FLAMINIACELATA.COM
WHO ARE YOU MEMORY? | FLAMINIA CELATA
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THERE’S A STORY I COURTNEY WZ I VANCOUVER, CANADA I @COURTNEYNEUE
t o S r y a s T here’ There’s a story about the time we ate nectarines over the sink. It would tell you how we picked them from the farmer’s market stall, from the old woman with the Yorkie whose head rested on the leeks. How we’d held the fruit, weighing their worth. How our hands selected them together. How we were together. It would tell you how we ate them: over the sink, elbows brushing, sweet juice dripping down our joints and licking at each other’s skin. How the fruit’s flesh was a gradient. How the pits were split like the cerebellum of a brain. How we dissected our days through dripping chins and slippery tongues. There’s a story about you. Lately I’ve been writing everything in direct address. Like I’m trying to make up for all the years I spent trying to get you to just listen. Even in writing, my words are swallowed by you. Not because you are the one everything amounts to, but that you are the one everything leads back to. Like I’m trying to re-write our past, or just write over it. This story would make blackout poetry of our memories until the only part left is I. It would redact the space you took and reclaim it as mine. You are in everything I am, but we are a story I cannot start. The more I reflect on us, the more the details change. There are memories where our bodies are one, when you still felt like an extension of myself. When our limbs were inseparable. There’s a story about memories. There’s a place in my memory that is a kaleidoscope. There’s a place that’s shattered colours, moments, times. Stories like this fall from barges like logs, cut from their roots, dropping into the sea to wash ashore. It would be a collection of fragments, the hairline fracture of subjective and objective truth. This story would be a broken timeline—the ticktickticktick above a parallel beginning and end. There is a story that is a circle—Venn diagrams of intersecting lives. There is a story that will fill the page that is the future that is me.
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VITA I RÉNA KING I NEW YORK CITY, USA
@RE_CREATES_ART
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memory
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MEMORY I MILA GVARDIOL I BELGRADE, SERBIA
@MILA.GVARDIOL
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DO NOT ENTER I KAT MAROTTA I BOSTON, USA I @KATMAROTTAART
And when seven years starts to itch, I think about that first night on the road, how I cried in your arms in our hotel room in Amarillo, so afraid I was making a mistake— leaving everything I’d ever known. And you just held me in your arms, letting your warmth and everything-will-be-alrights seep out of your skin into mine, until my breath slowed, my heart settled, and I’d cried out all my lingering ghosts. I’ve never slept as soundly as I did that night, and to this day, I still don’t know if that hotel lobby served the best damn cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted or if it was just the mountains calling. What I know is that you will always be my greatest adventure, even when we’re taking a moment to stand still. And if I could go back to that yellow-lined, black-top, middle-of-panhandle-nowhere road, I would, if only to kiss the asphalt that stretched north out of Texas, taking on more than just the weight of our load and the scars of our tire treads.
ASPHALT I KAIT QUINN I MINNEAPOLIS,USA I @KAITQUINNPOETRY I KAITQUINN.COM
It’s been almost seven years since I jumped off the cliff of comfortable and familiar into the unknown crater, formed from a dart we threw at a map, with only each other, a car full of boxes, and a hope for the best.
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PIECE TO REMEMBER I ANNA SAVINA I UKRAINE I @CEANNECELINE
PORCH I KELSEY SMITH I WINNIPEG, MANITOBA, CANADA I @KELSEYANNNSMITH I KELSEYANNSMITH.COM
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CONNECT TO HEART AND MIND I AMIRA ALSAREINYE I SAN ANTONIO, USA I @ARTIST.AMIRAA I MINDPOPART.COM 38
Although our thoughts may be mesmerizing and absurdly beautiful, my work seeks to acknowledge the concept that we are not our thoughts. 90 percent of my works are based off of intense memory fueled visualizations that are scientifically termed as frequent semantic memories. These memories may present themselves as random text, images, sounds and more suddenly coming to mind. Many times these visualizations are contrary to natural order, like a dream, they are odd, fantastic, vivid, and sometimes frightening. Because they are memories, some of them may be exclusive to my perception of the world, which is very unique, because I am a first generation American with Immigrant parents from very different cultures. My father, Syrian and mother Mexican, resulting in my global idealistic worldview. I seek to ground these vivid memory mixtures in the present, sharing them with the world, to reflect on the amazingly ridiculous qualities of life. In 2014 I graduated with a degree in biology, adding to the constant representation of anatomical figures within my art.
BEST TOYS I’VE EVER PLAYED WITH I MEGHAN LEVAUGHN I USA I @MEGHANDREAMDESIGNS
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COLLARS | MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, CAMBRIDGESHIRE, UK | @COLLARSTHEBAND | COLLARSTHEBAND.COM 40
In the wild, flat lands of rural Cambridgeshire, UK, not a lot happens. Thick mists often settle (the likes of which Emily Brontë was well acquainted), piles of potatoes larger than houses are grown yearly, and the growing dog population far out numbers the locals. So far, so boring. But in one house, a fuss is very much being kicked up by two people. Dan, a writer and singer, and Kane, a multi-instrumentalist (although that’s putting it mildly, as he plays his instruments at the same time). The pair have set up a DIY studio called the Laundry Rooms in the middle of nowhere, in which they create their own brand of indie. Driven by guitar and beats – played simultaneously thanks to some self-modded drums Kane negotiates with his feet – their sound is surprisingly big and wholesome. As well as singing, Dan occasionally jab at a synth, but Collars are otherwise pleasantly pared back and raw.
At the tail-end of last year, the duo released their first single “Heart Beats”. The track is an energetic, pop-fuelled confession of lost loves, weaving guitar-led rhythms that veer toward the poppier side of indie, with a vocal reminiscent of Florence Welch. Alongside it came a homemade video that the pair knocked up during lockdown in the early days of the pandemic. This neon-dappled fit of nostalgia took three days to film with just one camera and three projectors. Why three? Well, it turns out retro projectors aren’t the most reliable…
“Heart Beats” is an infectious debut offering from an exciting new act – a thought also reflected by the BBC in the UK and various local radio stations. Right now Collars are gigging as much as is feasible in the slowly recovering economy and working on new releases: a follow-up single and “EP 1”, both of which are due by Spring 2021 Here’s hoping enough normality resumes to allow this emerging duo to really get out there, get some traction and give the Cambridgeshire countryside something lively to be known for.
DAN
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COLLARS | MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, CAMBRIDGESHIRE, UK | @COLLARSTHEBAND | COLLARSTHEBAND.COM
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ROYAL YORK BLUES I MICHELLE DE FREITAS I TORONTO, CANADA I @ITSALLMETA 44
Came to the city to find Some peace of mind Or just a way out of my head. Aiming for exhaustion I rode round And around Until I found Myself lost, Cursing the cold for arriving sooner. I passed by the subway station— The one by your old place. The one I used to drop you off at Before work, where we’d spend too much time Kissing goodbye. We were never good at goodbyes. I rode on And on Until I lost sense of time And space. I found myself at the place We had been together last, Where you said you’d miss me After leaving to another city—another country I find myself in Day dreaming about your days And what it would be like With me in it.
But you left me And the city. Now I am left with the city Empty And vaguely how I remember it to be. This Monday morning doesn’t feel the same In the rain Without your hand to hold. The days are turning cold This city is getting old I want to run away too. But what do I do When I can’t shake the blues Since they always seem to find me When I find you.
PORQUÉ A VECES NO HACE FALTA SALIR DE CASA PARA IRSE DE VIAJE I MARTINA POZZI IBARCELONA, SPAIN
@mp_collages mpcollages.com
It’s a handmade collage made during the lockdown during which I revalued the importance of good travel memories to make a trip in my mind, without going outside of my home. Feeling the world I’ve visited, inside me. 45
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OMI OBI (THE KOLANUT RIVER) I OIL ON CANVAS I ADEYEMI RAMON OMOLAJA I ABEOKUTA, NIGERIA I @ADEYEMIR3
ANCHOR I OIL ON CANVAS
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REPLAY RUT I PALOMA JAUNCEY MCKIM I UNITED KINGDOM I @POETRYBYPALOMA
REPLAY RUT REPLAY RUT
REPLAY RUT
Retelling the story of how we met The repetition plays like a sore attempt to bring the moment nearer but only Adds distance. We’ve put the needle back to the beginning too many times. In fact I forget. It feels like we’re lying About it. ‘Oh instantly. I saw him in my train seat and I just knew we were the perfect fit.’ Did I? And what do I mean by that? That you fit in me well when We’re two pets in heat? That your fit rolls my moan to its critical point Then we deplete We wake up the next day To greet some friends And relay the event of how we knew for each other no others were more meant. A clunky job. The sentences bent. On the phone later that day I got a call from one distant friend ‘A boyfriend, who is he how did you meet?’ I’m not sure, do you know? ‘Yes, well, funny story really... and two months later here we are. But two months Sounds wrong on my tongue, is it really that long?’ ‘Yes well These things are so lucky’ I didn’t think so. Perhaps a bit But not ‘So lucky’ And ‘so’ I hung up.
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RECESS, 2019 I ANGELA CANNATELLI I BOSTON, MA, USA I @CANNATELLI.CREATIONS
INSATIABLE SPACES I MIA CINELLI I LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY, USA I @MIACINELLI I MIACINELLI.COM
Engaging with the archetypal form of a house as a metaphor for the safe and familiar, these miniature sculptures explore the physical manifestations of yearning. As emotionally functional objects, they serve to address, alleviate, or activate our longing. Here, nostalgia and homesickness are similar as insatiable desires. These tiny spaces are sardonic faux-confections — simultaneously delightful and disappointing.
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it’s been awhile since I thought about it at least in the way I’m used to thinking about it as an it rather than a you an event rather than a relationship a sorry rather than an apology I worry it was too easy to do that after months of remembering in ice cold detail and shivering at the mention of your name too easy to follow your leader and simply not remember should I have buried that t-shirt in the back of my closet deeper? deep enough that I couldn’t have found it again and worn it like it was nothing like it was just the tie dye souvenir from georgia it is not what I was wearing when should I have burned it? instead of smiled when i realized it fit looser than the last time I wore it the last time I wore it I don’t remember what with I don’t remember what you wore either I used to I don’t remember what you smelled like my guess would be meant-to-be-blueberry maybe mint pure nicotine most likely you smelled like someone else’s rum but it’s been a while and you smell different these days you smell more like the seven eleven we both frequent always missing each other because your parties start later than mine and Olivia buys my cigarettes 54
should I have ignored it? instead of you? should I have pushed down my incessant need for self indulgent self pity for once instead of vaguely describing your skin into every ear that would listen every silence I felt I needed to fill every microphone I could find? why didn’t you write me anything? was it that I meant that little to you? was it that that meant so little to you? Was it that it was little? and I am prone to blowing things out of proportion or are you just prone a chronic case of writer’s block I don’t laugh at your jokes anymore not because of but because you aren’t funny I don’t remember exactly what you said but I remember laughing because it was easier than screaming and I didn’t want to ruin a good night I remember you laughing too
I CAN’T DRINK RUM I SENECA SIMS I KANSAS CITY, USA I @SENMAKESART
Zach stopped buying mine too when I stopped asking through either your friends or you a lot of things stopped when I stopped responding to your halfhearted hellos and self-conscious “did I do somethings” stopped prompting invitations to places we could be alone together stopped letting us be alone together should I not have? should I have tried harder to work past it? to get over it?
I’ve been told my laugh sounds like crying maybe I was and maybe you were too maybe you knew what I’d turn whatever that was into I don’t know it’s been a while since I thought about you - Sen 55
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STAGE I; PURE MEMORY. I CHADCHOM CHESKHUN I BANGKOK, THAILAND I @W_4317 I CHADCHOM.COM
PODCAST FEATURE!
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STAGE I; PURE MEMORY. I CHADCHOM CHESKHUN I BANGKOK, THAILAND I @W_4317 I CHADCHOM.COM
PODCAST FEATURE! 61
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THE GREEN LIGHT DRAWS ME TO YOU | MOLLY LAMBOURN | CANTERBURY, UK
PODCAST FEATURE!
I use ceramics as a vessel to explore memories from my past relationships and childhood. They allow me to cathartically release any anger or sadness felt towards those moments and to understand them with a new perspective.
GROVE HOUSE DAYS | @MOLLYLAMBOURN | MOLLYLAMBOURN.WIXSITE.COM/MOLLYLAMBOURNARTIST
*Trigger warning: This piece mentions trauma and sexual assault
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PEACE I CHAHAT SONEJA I GURUGRAM, INDIA I @CHAHATSONEJA I BEHANCE.NET/CHAHATSONEJA
I had forgotten how churning a bus ride feels. I am a small-town person now, having lived six years on the outskirts of Nakusp, a mountain-rimmed lakeside village of 1,500 people in British Columbia’s Kootenay region. There are no local buses at home; even the out-of-town bus to the nearest city, nearly two hours away, only runs twice a week. I have never taken it. Once upon a time, I was an inner-city person. Some 20 years ago I lived in Montreal for a decade, close to downtown (the corner of Côte-des-Neiges and The Boulevard), smack-dab in the middle of bustle. Buses and the metro were a regularity. Weekly, if not daily, I would emerge from underground malls beneath churches and skyscrapers. Now the tallest buildings in town have only three floors. It is easy to lose touch. Just as I now remark upon the bite of the Kootenays’ -10 degree winter freezes, laughable by Canadian standards, I no longer feel casual on a bus. Here in Vancouver for a two-week university course, I selected a side-facing seat so no one can hem me in and make me miss my stop. I have located the nearest buzzer. I watch how people command the doors to open with the press of a hand. I observe whether I should exit from the front door or back.
NAUSEOUS: A (PRE-PANDEMIC) LOVE TRIANGLE I GALADRIEL WATSON I CANADA I @GALADRIELWATSON
A thickness rises in my throat. The city blurs. My eyes try to catch a sign—a bakery, a bistro, a bank—but as soon as the letters crystalize they’re whisked away. I sit on a side-facing seat on a #99 Vancouver bus so long it accordions in the middle. Knee tucked in against the press of my neighbour’s, I careen down West Broadway. My gaze flicks from the slice of window across from me, to the sparsely haired legs of the guy below it, to the blotchy rubber floor, hoping to find a restful place that will allow my stomach to settle. There is none. The rumbling beast lurches to a stop, then re-lurches to a start. Again and again, the city jerks into motion.
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NAUSEOUS: A (PRE-PANDEMIC) LOVE TRIANGLE I GALADRIEL WATSON I CANADA I @GALADRIELWATSON 68
I could sneer, What a life! Who lives this every day, as the proverbial sardine? Who takes their toddler to this corner-lot playground delineated by chain-link fencing, fast-food cups strewn across the entrance? Who lays their fist so adamantly on the car horn? Who requires the services of that many stores? At home, life is simple, serene and visually stunning.
Then I get off. Across Granville Street from the bus stop is a bookstore—a repository of my passion. The bookstore has an escalator. The bookstore gives the illusion of having more books than all the bookstores of the Kootenays combined. While I love all bookstores, this place dazzles. No matter how anoxic the bus, this oasis blooms within my lungs. I am full. I am calm. I am replete with possibility. Best yet, I can shop. My next target is yoga supplies, a block and a strap I can’t buy at home. As I walk from Granville to West 4th Avenue, traffic zooms by my elbow. My usual laid-back haziness diminishes behind bursts of noise and awareness and adrenaline. I laugh inwardly to observe a guy in black, the back of his jacket embroidered with DEATH, wait at a crosswalk amidst a gaggle of 20-somethings inexplicably sporting Hawaiian leis. At my destination yoga store, I easily buy the items I need.
Still, when done, I am not sore to leave. My back aches from standing, yet the return bus is standing room only. My jacket hangs too heavily. My bags of purchases inflate in awkwardness and inconvenience. Outside I catch curious snippets: a summertime runner in a toque, a grey-haired woman sniffing peaches on an exterior grocery store rack as intensely as a dog. There are kids at a kid-sized picnic table on an apartment-building lawn. Further down the block, an arrow points back toward them, scrawled on the sidewalk in pink and yellow chalk. Lemonade, it says. 50¢.
My neighbourhood kids sell lemonade too. Back there, sheep graze across the road and chickens occasionally escape. Here, it is me, stifled and queasy, and dozens of others blank-faced on a bus. -30-
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STREET I CHAHAT SONEJA I GURUGRAM, INDIA I @CHAHATSONEJA I BEHANCE.NET/CHAHATSONEJA
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DRIVEWAY DOWN I NINA HANZ I LONDON, UK I @NINA.LAND I NINAHANZ.COM
so close to the end of my childhood you’ve gone. Slipped away through my fingers, while I chased back time. In the south by the dogwood, you taught me how to cycle and swim / by always moving backwards and when I scraped my knee & scarred, you said my body might remember but my brain would soon forget so walk it off baby. And away over time (through time) we kept going— Sweet America, that driveway down. When I was a child (before memorial became memory) and you were still my father we’d worry mom might someday leave us. But metaphysics and memory tell us between the mind and all that matter, there is space amid potential and the actual
like you and the cancer.
And now we regret never having written it all down. In the driveway we skated, we painted with chalk, made memories to forget them because we never saw them leaving, driving away, down.
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Nina Hanz (RCA MA Writing 2020) is a writer, poet and critic based in London. Recently published in Vogue CS, Map Magazine This is Tomorrow and The DoubleNegative, her prose and poetry explore human and geological trauma, its many forms and recoveries. Hanz is also the director and editor of My Daughter Terra, a forthcoming anthology of emerging artists and writers whose works rethink our relationship with Earth.
PORTRAIT OF DAD I LIBBY SIPE I MAINE, USA I @LIBBYSIPESTUDIO I LIBBYSIPESTUDIO.WEEBLY.COM
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mixed media collage 2020
BARBIES BEHEADING C.2000 I KAYLYN PICKERING I WINDSOR, ONTARIO, CANADA I @KAYLYN.PICKERING
SANDS OF SPACETIME I SOPHIE JACOBS I JENNER, CA I @SOIT.FLOWS @DOODLEFRY
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CHILDHOOD I HALEY STALFORD I SAVANNAH, GA, USA I @HALEYSTALFORD
INNOCENCE I ERHAN US I ANKARA, TURKEY I @ERHANUS I ERHANUS.COM 2019 / 7 x 16 x 0.3 cm / Silver, metal, mirror. On lies; which we prepare legitimate statements with excuses, rather than facing them
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Acrylic on Canvas 42” in diameter each
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FACE OF PEACE I NEETA CHANDRA | MUMBAI, INDIA
LIGHT OF HOPE
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HUA CHANG HUA “花窗花 (WINDOW DECOR
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HUA CHUANG HUA “花窗花 (WINDOW DECOR)” | MAGGZ | MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA | @MAGG._Z
R)”
“花窗花 (window decor)” is honouring nostalgia, my experience as a Chinese woman living on foreign western land and the hybrid in betweenness of my cultural identity. I’m exploring and communicating my heritage presently through my work - it’s definitely been a journey of locating myself and my sense of belonging to my cultural heritage. In the past I have often found myself alone and belonging to nowhere; only recently have I started to make a conscious effort to unfold these cultural layers within myself, hoping to be open, honest and to embrace my vulnerabilities. As much as I love the excitement and adrenaline of creating, it’s also very much therapeutic and healing, especially in relation to my cultural identity.
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ITS ALMOST SUMMER I MADI GIOVINA I PHILADELPHIA, PA, USA I @CYBERINSECURITY I PERENNIAL-PRESS.COM 82
it’s may, and so you finally say yes, because school is over, forever, or as long as you want, and it’s a thursday, and he doesn’t have work tomorrow, and you don’t have work at all yet and you don’t tell your friends, not that they asked, but you don’t tell them, and instead you drink two cups of coffee so you won’t be too tired to talk to him, and instead you’ll be too nervous to talk to him, too nervous to ask him to dance in the rain because it rains, it does, and it’s the first time you’ve felt rain in four months, and since it’s almost summer; it’s may, the cool rain feels nice on your sun-parched skin, and you imagine it feels nice for the trees, too and he compliments your shoes, your favorite shoes, that you won’t admit but you wore them because you thought he might like them, and even though they’re drenched & you’ll have to throw them out later, you blush and say thank you and then four blocks, a bridge, and some awkward silences later you finally find shelter, in a different neighborhood in a dive bar called something like smokey joe’s and you take two towels from the bartender and you (try to) dry off in the bathroom, but your hair is still soaked and this is a disaster and you can’t believe this happened the first time you’ve hung out in four years, and you don’t like how you look when your hair is wet, and you’re afraid he won’t like it, either but when you come back to the bar counter you find him with a pitcher of beer & a glimmer in his eyes, and he pays for the pitcher, so that means it’s a date right? and at the end of the night, two bars and one party later, when you’re several drinks in and not nervous anymore, when he says he’s cold, you hug him from behind & that becomes the beginning and the end of everything and you’ll be here until august and no strings attached and his fingers will be stained with menthol and yours with anxiety the whole time, but especially the first few times, and you won’t know it yet but you’ll miss these days, these long almostsummer may days, before you knew what was coming and everything felt new and his hands would soften like sunscreen into your sensitive skin and you never had to worry about getting burnt
THE PAST I JARED SCHWARTZ I LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, USA I @JAREDS_SKETCHES I JAREDSART.COM
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A PLACE WITH NO LOCATION | SEIGAR | TENERIFE, SPAIN | @JSEIGAR | SEIGAR.WORDPRESS.COM
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A PLACE WITH NO LOCATION | SEIGAR | TENERIFE, SPAIN | @JSEIGAR | SEIGAR.WORDPRESS.COM
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“This series tries to show a state of mind rather than a place. It ad the unknown. Exploring the images without the location's name e and sensations based on contemplation rather than the stereotyp creativeness to make up their own setting and plot. I understand viewers and this series is another step in that direction.”
Seigar is a passionate travel, street, social documentary, conceptu sessed with pop culture that he shows in his series. He is a fetishis icons. He also flirts with journalism and video. His main inspiration camera, creating a continuous storyline from his trips. His most am thropology and sociology that focuses on the humanization of the and his Tales of a City, an ongoing urban photo-narrative project ondary school teacher. He is a self-taught visual artist, though he one in cinema and television. He has participated in several exhib He has collaborated with different media such as VICE and WAG1 photography and pop culture, and for Memoir Mixtapes about m interest is documenting identity. Recently, he received the Rafael
ual and pop photographer based in Tenerife. He feels obst for reflections, saturated colors, curious finds, and religious n is traveling. His aim as an artist is to tell tales with his mbitious projects so far are his Plastic People, a study on ane mannequins he finds in the shop windows all over the world, taken in London. He is a philologist and also works as a sechas done a two years course in advanced photography and bitions and his works have been featured in many publications. 1. He writes for Dodho Magazine and for The Cultural about music. Lately, he has experimented with video forms. His last l Ramos García International Photography Award.
A PLACE WITH NO LOCATION | SEIGAR | TENERIFE, SPAIN | @JSEIGAR | SEIGAR.WORDPRESS.COM
ddresses the imagination and the psychological attraction to emphasizes the intention that viewers invent their own feelings pe of the place itself. A place with no name points at people's photography as a way to communicate and interact with
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A PLACE WITH NO LOCATION | SEIGAR | TENERIFE, SPAIN | @JSEIGAR | SEIGAR.WORDPRESS.COM
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A PLACE WITH NO LOCATION | SEIGAR | TENERIFE, SPAIN | @JSEIGAR | SEIGAR.WORDPRESS.COM
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ZA ŚCIANĄ (BEHIND THE WALL) | DOROTA DOROTES SKUPNIEWICZ | BELFAST, UK | @PSYCHONOTACJE 94
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“Behind the Wall” is a collage animation, mixed technique that combines elements of stop-motion painting, classical and computer drawing, photos and film. The story is presented by a one-man narrator, drawing the viewer into the difficult world of emotions and experiences. It is not an easy story. The darkness and psychedelia of personal experiences are illustrated realistically and surreally. “Behind the Wall” shows the viewer what is happening inside an exhausted mind which, however, seeks liberation.
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55 x 75 cm. Charcoal on paper. 2018.
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VALUATION I DINESH MANRAL I GHAZIABAD, UP, INDIA I @DENNY_MANRAL
PLACID REFLECTION I JENNIFER WILLOUGHBY I WESTMINSTER, USA I @WILLOUGHBY_JENNIFER I WILOUCREATIVE.COM
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AT HOME AND AWAY I AMY PEARL LANG I CHICAGO, IL,USA I @AMY.P.LANG I AMYPEARLLANG.COM 100
Painting where I gesture to the bodily sensations I feel when I am living at my parent’s house vs. when I’m away.
ATTENTION I NIKOLAY DMITRENKO I ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA I @NIKARTACADEMY I NIKARTACADEMY.COM
Oil on canvas, 130 x 108, 2020. Humanity is on the move. It goes up or down. This is a question. How should I develop to overcome my instincts? A sharp, clear yellow dividing line warns of danger. Before you take the next step, you need to think.
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HISTORY CALLS I ARPITA BAKSI I RANCHI, INDIA
AN ODE TO MY FATHER I ANINDITA MATURI I VADODARA, INDIA
Anindita Maturi (b. 1998) lives and works in Hyderabad, India. She is currently studying for her Bachelor’s in Fine Arts at the Department of Painting, The Maharaja Sayajirao University of Baroda, India. Memory and figuration run deep in her works, relaying a sense of nostalgia and ephemeral thought. A prominent feature is the recurring animal motifs throughout her work, arising from her love of animals. Working across media like drawing, painting and
printmaking, she explores themes of the mundane and the continuously evolving aspects of the everyday. This work pays homage to my father who passed away in 2017. The year was one of the hardest times of my life, but by moving past it, I realised that I can only cherish the memories and the good times that have transpired. This image is one of the last memories of my father as we took a trip to the mountains and beaches of Bali, Indonesia. As we trekked the mountain, the rain started to fall heav-
ily and only stopped when we reached the top. The sun broke through the clouds and lit up the mountains in hues of green and red, depicted through the bright colours of this work. It is a highly personal work, of whose intimacy lies in the memory captured, of a nostalgic, intangible time that cannot be experienced once again but can only be seen. Layers of paint and faint brush strokes capture the exotic landscape that only grows more beautiful with time. (Watercolour on Fabriano Paper, 30cm X 50cm) 103
THE THOUGHT OF YOU | DIPTI B | NEPAL | @THE_BIRDY_ARTS | HER | KATHERINE VARGAS | NEW YORK CITY, USA | @B0DEGAKAT 104
Her
I wanna be that bitch again.
I wanna be able to love myself enough to show it through my skin. I wann
enough to hug my fat thighs, I wanna show em im sexy while still knowin
at the bad looks. Dance to the songs of env
I wanna be
evoking it throu
I wanna let them know
@THE_BIRDY_ARTS
ng I am more. I wanna smile
vy that try to degrade me.
e that bitch,
ugh my sexiness, @JACALVAART
w I am beautiful. That I am free because I am me. That I am much more but enough for myself. I wanna be her again. I wanna be me. - Katherine Vargas
NOSOTROS SOMOS DE LA MISMA SANGRE | JAC ALVA ART | BREA, CA, USA | @JACALVAART | JACALVAART.COM
na wear mini skirts big
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NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL VE DAY - PLAYLIST | VINCE BLACKALL| UK 120
Now that’s w I call VE Day May 7, 2020 So, Big day tomorrow, particularly for my UK friends. This lockdown has left me with too much time on my hands and, as a result, I felt the need to share favourite WWII songs as defined by my parents. They had many more than this but I know patience is finite. x #NowPlaying
The Sun Has Got It’s Hat On - Ambrose & His Orchestra There’ll Always Be An England - Harry Parr-Davies, Ross C. Parker, Alfred Piccaver Could You Please Oblige Us with a Bren Gun - Noel Coward Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy (Remastered 1990) - The Andrews Sisters Bless ‘Em All (The Service Song) - George Formby Whispering Grass - The Ink Spots Goodnight Sweetheart - Al Bowlly Run, Rabbit Run! - Flanagan & Allen Adolf - Billy Cotton, Alan Breeze, Billy Cotton Band Powder Your Face with Sunshine - Donald Peers The Umbrella Man - Sammy Kaye Till Then - The Mills Brothers Chinese Laundry Blues - George Formby Mr. Wu’s An Air Raid Warden Now - George Formby The Three Caballeros - Bing Crosby, The Andrew Sisters Hush Hush Hush Here Comes the Bogey Man - Henry Hall And His Orchestra Don’t Let’s Be Beastly to the Germans - Noel Coward Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall - Ella Fitzgerald & The Ink Spots It’s a Lovely Day Tomorrow - Jack Payne Band, Jack Meskill Blaze Away - Josef Locke London Pride - Noel Coward
what Playlist Puttin’ On The Ritz - Ella Fitzgerald, Paul Weston And His Orchestra Roll Along Covered Wagon - Harry Roy and His Orchestra Chattanooga Choo Choo - Glenn Miller Deep in the heart of Texas - Horace Heidt, Horace Heidt And His Orchestra Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive - Bing Crosby, The Charioteers G. I. Jive - Louis Jordan Who’s This Geezer Hitler? - Amelia Bayntun & Company Maybe It’s Because I’m A Londoner - Flanagan & Allen We’ll Meet Again - Vera Lynn, Sailors, Soldiers & Airmen of Her Majesty’s Forces, Roland Shaw & His Orchestra
LISTEN ON SPOTIFY
“Lie Again” is about how one lie could be someone’s breaking point.
“I FELT LIKE I WAS DIRECTING A MOVIE WHEN I WROTE THIS!” Marlounsly is a singer-songwriter who has garnered attention from countless media outlets such as MTV, Flaunt Magazine, ELEVATOR Magazine, UPROXX, RESPECT. Magazine, HotNewHipHop, Sun Sentinel, and The Palm Beach Post. She has performed live and been featured on MTV’s Instagram. She was interviewed and performed live on FOX SOUL, which is owned by FOX Television Stations. Her music is on rotation on Roku TV. She has also acquired a sizable social media following. Marlounsly has opened up for acts such as Ella Mai, H.E.R and Summer Walker at major music festivals and tours. Marlounsly has amassed millions of views and streams. Marlounsly’s hit single, “Honey,” got a ton of buzz. So much so that it got the attention of MTV, prompting MTV to post Marlounsly on its Instagram page and MTV had Marlounsly perform on their Instagram Live. “Lie Again” is a funky R&B jam produced by Noden that showcases Marlounsly’s powerful, silky vocals that fans have become accustomed to hearing from the songstress. Marlounsly continues to demonstrate her musical prowess and proves that she is on par with the greats.
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LIE AGAIN I MARLOUNSLY I WEST PALM BEACH, FLORIDA I @MARLOUNSLY I FACEBOOK.COM/MARLOUNSLY
LISTEN NOW! SPOTIFY YOUTUBE SOUNDCLOUD APPLE MUSIC
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FADING 01 I JULIA GACZEK I NORWAY I @COLLAGEDEJUL
FADING 02 I JULIA GACZEK I NORWAY I @COLLAGEDEJUL
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30 X 40 inches. Charcoal on paper. 2019.
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THE QUANDARIES
THE QUANDARIES
THE QUANDARIES | DINESH MANRAL | GHAZIABAD, UP, INDIA | @DENNY_MANRAL
CONNECTION | ANASTASIA VIAZNIKOVA | NOVOGRUDOK, BELARUS | @ANASTASIA_VIVAART
SAATCHIART.COM/ANAVI
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FAMILY TREE (REDUX) I JONATHON DOWNING I OIL AND INKJET PRINT ON CANVAS. 24” X 36”
FAMILY TREE I JONATHON DOWNING I WESTLAND, MI, US I @JONATHONDOWNING
Digital photo montage
A recent graduate of the Penny Stamps School of Art and Design, Jonathon Downing’s digital montages and physical paintings deal with themes of memory, family, grandeur, mental health, and the human condition. His photo montages depict the many sides of each individual in an image, creating almost superhuman versions of the human portrait and form, while still keeping them honest and grounded in reality. The paintings he creates based off these montages demonstrate the unreliable nature of memory and the transience of emotion and human relationships through the recreation of an image that is already a complete work in its own right.
PASSENGER I KAIT QUINN I MINNEAPOLIS,USA I @KAITQUINNPOETRY I KAITQUINN.COM 134
At fifteen, my sister’s red VW bug—packing her, Brittany, my niece, and me into a space fit only for clowns—got side swiped by a red light runner. At thirteen, the thunk thunk thunk of a blown-out tire sent the school van full of middle school cheerleaders swerving across the highway and stuck to my memory like tar. At five, a bright orange eighteen wheeler knocked my mom’s car clear across the intersection, rounding my mouth into a stunned “O” as I shook fear’s hand—an introduction. At sixteen, I passed my driver’s test with flying colors. But I couldn’t bring myself to take the wheel without the second set of brakes the instructor had to use more than once. I grew up in a city where tailgating is the norm, where there’s a notorious on-ramp drivers use as an exit to escape the crawling traffic that snails to and from the airport. This isn’t a choice; it’s a fear that took root in the deepest pit of me when, as a child, I watched a car spin across and off the freeway in a downpour. It’s a fear that leaves me stranded, dependent, stuck. I take a forty-minute bus ride to work when I could get there in ten by car. I lack a certain freedom— to leave whenever I want to wherever I want, damned if anyone wants to come with me —and there’s so much I want to explore: Antelope Canyon, Adirondacks in October, the miles of trails just twenty-five minutes south of Minneapolis, unreachable by bus. I can’t do anything alone. I can’t road trip to Milwaukee. Can’t pack up and drive west to the Rockies. Every so often, I get a sharp pain in my right arch, like I’ve just stepped on glass. I couldn’t move my pinky toe for two years. Think it’s from walking ten minutes up hill and ten minutes back down between the bus stop and university in my converses for four years. I’ve been caught without an umbrella. Spent an entire school day soaked. I’ve been lost in the middle of a city I didn’t know. At night. With a dead phone. Because I hadn’t yet learned which bus lines run where. That some electronics can’t handle the Minnesota cold. And now I’m an ever present pin on my partner’s Google map, every step recorded, every movement monitored, just in case I get stranded and need someone to save me.
RANDOMLY ACCESSED MEMORIES I VANESSA ESAU I GEELONG, AUSTRALIA I @ARTFULDABBLING
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A FRAGMENTED WOMAN | MAHIRAH SYED I TORONTO, CANADA I @SLEEPYY.PIXIE | DREAMSCAPE | ANU AHUJA I INDIA I @ART_HOMEPAGE
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A Fragmented Wom * Trigger warning: This piece mentions sexual assault and rape. You asked me to fight back against those who had and would again desire to hurt me and I replied
Dreamscape
“I’ve never been a fighter, it’s not in my nature. Not in the flat of my palms or the alcove of my collarbone or even in the bend of my toe. but eventually I will be 30 and there will be another girl that is 20 and I will be finally allowed to exhale” You look at me with almost disdain as you marked me a deafeatus And maybe I am. I have felt conquered, demolished and devoured by all the men that have shared my body and my womb Rape and the eating of women is as old as father time himself Taking my supple and tender flesh and stowing it between their wretched fangs and gashing until I am the rabbit inside the frothing mouth of a cocker spaniel Chewing and chewing and chewing. Absorbing all the pieces of me where hummingbirds warbled, otters tread upstream and where the gypsophila’s grew with the willows in my uterus. My tendons are mawed and mangled, as my fuselage of flesh convulses on pavement I know the honey of my breast and cinnamon of my pate will never suffice the yearning void in the bulging empties of the fiends The hard sharpened dagger poking through their denim which they bequeath to me just as the greeks bequeathed a stallion to the men of Troy But I know that eventually my body shall ache wrinkles will be etched onto my cheeks and into the furrow of my brow And there will always be a new girl with flushed cheeks and bright
@
scintillating eyes who has yet to know pain She is the girl I weep for She is the girl I once was I weep for my imaginings of faeries pirouetting amongst the limbs of the
With your desire, you demolished me t
cherry tree mermaids plunging beneath lapis lazuli seas
So you tear me in half after half
and mushroom circles adorning even green patch of land
A fragmented woman left to piece her
I weep for how I can now only imagine the numbing grip of your hand on my waist and vampire bites on my hymen
You can only stitch someone back tog
The one thing that is mine was my flesh and you took that too In a single swipe I was left alien in my body and alien I remain
I am so tired and devastated by memo
Fatigued from the memories of beasts knew not how to love
@_PRAYZCONCEPTS
@ART_HOMEPAGE
AGEING BUT GRACEFUL | ESINULO CHIAMAKA PRAISE I NIGERIA I @_PRAYZCONCEPTS
man
Ageing but graceful
to assert yourself
rself back together part by part and hope her stinging glass edges do not accidentally slit the veins in her wrist
gether so many times and my aching joints and gashed fingers are so tired of working
ories of you
s who now have also become part of me A personal graveyard in my mind indebted to all the foul creatures who
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LOOKING BACK: IS THIS A FORGOTTEN FRAGMENT OF ME? I GABRIELA KUCURUZA I RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL
Looking back: is this a forgotten fragment of me?
WITH FORCE I HEATHER BJORNLIE I SHELLEY, IDAHO, USA I @HEATHART_MESS
With Force
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UNTITLED | KATERINA TSITSELA | THESSALONIKI, GREECE | @TSITSELAKATERINA | KATERINATSITSELA.COM
THE WALL | KATERINA TSITSELA
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I’LL REMEMBER YOU... | KATHERINE VARGAS | NYC, USA | @B0DEGAKAT
Hyderabad, India. She is currently studying for her Bachelor’s in Fine Arts at the Department of Painting, The Maharaja Sayajirao University of Baroda, India. Memory and figuration run deep in her works, relaying a sense of nostalgia and ephemeral thought. A prominent feature is the recurring animal motifs throughout her work, arising from her love of animals. Working across media like drawing, painting and printmaking, she explores themes of the mundane and the continuously evolving aspects of the everyday
THE MATRIARCH | ANINDITA MATURI | HYDERABAD, INDIA
Anindita Maturi (b. 1998) lives and works in
This work captures the essence of my grandmother: a strong feminist whose ideals have always set her apart from the rest of the world. The chair and the hanging lamp are an almost perfect setting for a person in power to generally be seen in. This is usually a man. It also plays upon the ideals of portraiture of the royal families, where kings were often the focus of painters and women were shown as soft and mellow. The work rendered in warm tones of red and yellow is inviting and evocative of the early months of summer. It is a highly nuanced work, drawing inspiration from several memories of mine - of various people sitting in this particular armchair, but no one being puissant enough to take command of it, other than my grandmother who occupied it with an air of grandeur and elegance. (Oil on Canvas, 92cm X 62cm)
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UNTITLED (WORK ON PAPER) | JOE KLAUS | QUEENS, NY, USA | @JKLAUSART @JOEKLAUS_ | JOEKLAUS.COM
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PUFFY POLLOCK: RED & WHITE NEBULA I JAC ALVA ART | BREA, CA, US | @JACALVAART 150
NEBULA What’s the story behind this painting? I watched an unusual amount of TV as a kid. Sometimes it was unsupervised and other times it was with a relative or one of my siblings. Regardless, a good amount of TV time was divided towards the news and tabloid TV. When a child starts to watch enough disturbing stories from the media it’s easy to think that the world is a dark and unsafe place. It led me to perceive the 90s in America as a violent decade. I recall countless instances where the media fear mongered viewers about cult leaders, serial killers, child molesters, and terrorists. The news also exposed me to riots, high profile court cases, and acts of police brutality. I still remember the moment that news broke out about the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995. Why I was home in the middle of the day and not at school, I don’t recall, but I remember being surrounded by my toys while coloring when the news shared the story. Then there was the OJ Simpson trial, and the nonstop broadcast of the court case interrupted my regularly scheduled cartoons, which forced me to constantly flip the channel for other options. The trial seemed like it would never end. At night we watched “A Current Affair” to get the scoop on other American crimes. I was exposed to many strange and horrifying stories through the news: the Waco siege, the LAPD beating of Rodney King, the LA riots, the Menendez brothers trial, and the kidnapping of Polly Klaas, just to name a few. How could a child feel safe when there were constant news concerning people being victimized? I think this left a massive imprint on the way I perceived people for the rest of my youth into adulthood.
M IS FOR MOURNING I MICHELLE DE FREITAS I TORONTO, CANADA I @ITSALLMETA
M IS FOR
MOURNING
Memory burns like a candle. Wax dripping, Reducing itself each time—becoming Less of what it was. Memory is the candle I burn, for you For us, For the death of what we were and never Will be. I mourn the days of the past And the version of myself I’ve left behind—It’s almost been a month Since you left And I only have my memory To console me. Turning over in my mind, Each thought Image Feeling Takes on a new shade. Each time, it’s different. And just like that I lose bits of you, The more I filter experience Through retrospection. I lose you to the past, Because the present no longer holds Places for the both of us. I don’t know the bed you sleep in, like I used to. I don’t know the city you live in, like I used to. I don’t know how you like your breakfast in the morning, Like I used to Make for you. There is a space Between the last time And the next time, That I’m still trying to work through. And in order to ensure my peace, I cannot keep building your home In both places at once.
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THE LOVERS I NURIA TOVAR AKA NURIA MIN I MEXICO I @NURIAMIN_ART I NURIAMIN.COM
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TO ALL THE PEOPLE IN MY SPAM FOLDER | LORHENZ LACSA | PHILIPPINES | @LORHENZLACSA 154
Know that I almost— almost— responded. Almost is the word. Like when I almost picked up a newspaper When I know I could read the news online, Or when I almost got hit by a car In Kalayaan Avenue last year. I remember my friend being so infuriated That he almost hit the vehicle back. An explanation or two won’t suffice, But know that I hold accountable To those moments that I almost Type in my brand of sardonic quip. I almost would have taken responsibility To the damages they almost call forth. See, I almost did. And I appreciate the gravitas— You know when to stop and enjoy The solace that I enjoy too When I start to distribute My end of the day leftover energy— One for some unpaid bills, One for tens of business scams, One for that creepy guy, And one for a friend that’s still Waiting for my share of intelligent reply
So if one day you started wondering, Just remember that we had a mutual agreement. Telepathically, that is; Two adults who know that we’re not Entitled of anyone’s time and space. Be reminded that I am just a smart mouth With an exaggerated— yet loose— sense of I. I am not important. I am busy daydreaming. I am out with my friends for another drunk night. I am definitely not sending you a lewd pic. I got tired of existing. And even if I really want to get past the terse walls Of almost-ness, I can’t even get out of bed, So technically, I can’t.
THEFREAKSPEAKS.WORDPRESS.COM
EASY DOES IT | IZOSCELES | UNITED STATES | @IZOSCELES | IZOSCELES.COM
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PODCAST FEATURE!
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DANCE WITH ME - 2000S PLAYLIST I MARCIA K-L I LONDON, ENGLAND I @MKL_POETRY 164
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.
(2000’S PLA
I hope you dance Dance with me Army of two Whenever, wherever Don’t stop movin’ We need a resolution Lose yourself Here I am Here to stay Me against the music Calling all the angels Flying without wings What you waiting for? Flap your wings Live like you were dying You and me Lonely no more Let me hold you When the sun goes down The saints are coming Waiting on the world to change Do you know What I’ve done Good girl gone bad I kissed a girl So what Shut up and let me go Evacuate the dancefloor Bad boys Break your heart Dancing on my own This ain’t a love song Dance yrself clean
LE ANN WOMACK DEBELAH MORGAN DUM DUMS SHAKIRA S CLUB 7 AALIYAH EMINEM HANS ZIMMER KORN BRITNEY SPEARS TRAIN RUBEN STUDDARD GWEN STEFANI NELLY TIM MCGRAW LIFEHOUSE ROB THOMAS BOW WOW ARCTIC MONKEYS GREEN DAY JOHN MAYER ENRIQUE INGLESIAS LINKIN PARK RIHANNA KATY PERRY P!NK THE TING TINGS CASCADA ALEXANDRA BURKE TAIO CRUZ ROBYN SCOUTING FOR GIRLS LCD SOUNDSYSTEM
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2000’S VIBE I ANDREA VALDIVIA I MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA I @NEA.AU I NEA.MYPORTFOLIO.COM
AYLIST)
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angelikhbelentza.wixsite.com/website
“FUNERAL DISCUSSIONS, SHE AND THE MOON” I ANGELIKH VELENTZA I ATHENS I @99PERCENTANGEL
bloodshot eyes ground into cement vodka spiked with battery acid and love hogs with their bellies soaked in piss water filling grime infested sinks let my brain rot and slither with the shadows of parasites and those who drank blood in the pursuit of their rebirth.
AMYDGALA I VALERIE DREW I STONEHAM, MA, USA I @HELLGAPZ
pie filling with knotted intestines rodents covered in vomit and gasoline forks that scrape at rotted burgers teeth plastered with dog meat
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Graphite on Paper, 4 X 5 feet, 2020
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HALLUCINATED CORROBORATION | SAHIL MATHUR | NOIDA, INDIA | @MATHURHOONMAIN
THERE IS A FLY IN MY BEARD I SAHIL MATHUR
Graphite on Paper, 11 X 8 inch, 2020
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I ARPITA BAKSI I RANCHI, INDIA 18TH BIRTHDAY I LIZZY YARWOODIMEMORIES BERLIN, GERMANY I @LIZZYYARWOOD
PERFORMATIVE I AMBERI TORONTO, SYNNETT I UNITED STATES I @MANALALA67 UNTITLED IDINAORGAN BAXEVANAKIS CANADA I @DINADRAWS36 I DINA-BAXEVANAKIS.COM
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ALONE WITH HER THOUGHTS I JARED SCHWARTZ I LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, USA I @JAREDS_SKETCHES
Perhaps they are silhouettes of the lives I lived before this one. Lives in which I was one with myself and the world around me in ways I now can’t imagine.
LIGHT FALLS IN I ZORA LEWIZ I WIESBADEN, GERMANY I @FEUERZORA
Light that falls in from the window, Inside the car, onto my skin, casts shadows.
Maybe I’ve already met everyone I’ve come to know in my short life before. Maybe it was here, when here looked very different, and we did too. Maybe that is why there are so many I can’t leave behind, no matter how hard I try. Maybe the shadows know something I don’t, a tale that has yet to be told to me again. 191
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Paper Collage. Rest In Peace Toots Hibbert
LINKTR.EE/COLLAGETHEWORLD
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COUNTRY ROAD I CURTIS BERGESEN AKA COLLAGE THE WORLD I DENVER, USA I @COLLAGETHEWORLD
HERE AND NOW I ALESSIA ANGELINI I LONDON, UK I @ITSALESSIAANGELINI I ALESSIAANGELINI.COM
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PLUNGE I NATALIE BRADFORD I KALAMAZOO, MICHIGAN, USA I @NATALIE.BRADFORD
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KITTY! I NATALIE BRADFORD
linktr.ee/natalie.bradford
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MY HEART I KAYCEE HILL I SOUTHAMPTON, ENGLAND I @GLITTAFAIRYX
My Heart
its valves are held with rusted rivets, PVA glue & thumb printed blue tac to hold in place, your Year 7 photograph.
Today is your birthday – 23 years on English soil, nine months spent under it. I try to find you in the warmth of my lid
& trip over the lost tapes blunt wraps, shot glasses, loose change. A piece of you is stuck in my ribcage turning every bone to chalk
limestone, ash.
How unusual, for one so young to be buried!
they remarked, as that peckish hole demanded dirt snapping at our fingers like a gaggle of geese, cavernous 6 feet deep.
stag beetles raise their pincers maggots unearth themselves bellies exposed whiskered brown moths rest in my lap
as the crickets sing their hymns. Botflies fall buzzing from both cheeks &
suck up the tears like sap.
PODCAST FEATURE!
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of my mother, who never let the many challenges of her life bring her down. Celebrating her drive, persistence, generosity, reativity and love. Mixed Media on birch panel, 50” x 26”
IOANABERTRAND.CA
SURVIVOR I IOANA BERTRAND I CANADA I FACEBOOK.COM/IOANA-BERTRANDS-ART-492467170837465
Done in memory
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LIES & TRADITIONS I ERHAN US I ANKARA, TURKEY I @ERHANUS I ERHANUS.COM
MUSTACHIOED MAN I LIBBY SIPE I MAINE, US I @LIBBYSIPESTUDIO I LIBBYSIPESTUDIO.WEEBLY.COM
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BLACK MATTE
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ADEYEMI RAMON OMOLAJA AIMILIA EFTHYMIOU ALESSANDRA CRUPI ALESSIA ANGELINI ALEXIS AGBAY ALLY CRUPI AMBER SYNNETT AMIRA ALSAREINYE AMY PEARL LANG ANA LOUREIRO ANASTASIA VIAZNIKOVA ANDREA VALIDIVIAS ANGELA CANNATELLI ANGELIKH VELENTZA ANGELINA RUIZ ANINDITA MATURI ANNA SAVINA ANU AHUJA DINA BAXEVANAKIS ARPITA BAKSI DINESH MANRAL ASHLEIGH CATTERMOLE DIPTI B ASTRID MACDOUGALL DONNY ELECTRIC ATHALIA ALTMANN DORA VON GROSSKAROL BIANKA CHLADEK HARSHAL DESAI DOROTA DOROTES SKUPNIEWICZ BOOTZ HEATHER BJORNLIE DREW MCLAUGHLIN AKA 0PTICAL CAILIGH WORKENTIN HELOÍSA DE MELO ARTIFACTS CALEB STAPLES INGRID ZIJLEMA ELIZABETH ADAN CALUM STAMPER IOANA BERTRAND EMILY CALLAHAN CATHLEEN KERRIGAN ISABELLA RUFFATTI EMMA CHADCHOM CHESKHUN IVANA SLUNJSKI ENIGMA CHAHAT SONEJA IZOSCELES ERHAN US CHANNING VICTORIA GRAY J.P. CALABRO ERICA CAMPITELLI CHAYA FEINBERG JAC ALVA ART ESINULO CHIAMAKA PRAISE CHELSEA SUMMERS JACLYN HUDAK FIDAN AKHUNDOVA CHINYERE AKACHUKWU JAINA CIPRIANO FLAKOROJAS CHRISTOFOROS BOTSIS JANICE HARDACRE FLAMINIA CELATA CLAIRE KIESTER JARED SCHWARTZ G LAVERN CODY CUPMAN JASMINE TAYLOR GABRIELA KUCURUZA COLLARS JENNIFER WILLOUGHBY GALADRIEL WATSON COURTNEY WZ JOE KLAUS GRACE CURTIS BERGESEN AKA COLLAGE JOHN DELFINO GUILHERME BORTOLUZZI THE WORLD JON P. GULLU KANDROU DAGUE JONATHON DOWNING GUNA MORAN DANIEL HUBBARDE JOSÉ CRUZIO HALAH JOSH CONRAD / SLOW STUDIES DANNI WRIGHT HALEY STALFORD JOSHUA SHANE FLORES DIMPLE B SHAH HANNAH KAPLAN 212
PZINE ISSU
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IBUTORS JULIA GACZEK JUSTYNA SOLNICA KAIT QUINN KARINA PUUFFIN KAT MAROTTA KATERINA TSITSELA KATHERINE VARGAS KATRINA PETRAUSKAS KAYCEE HILL KAYLYN PICKERING KELSEY SMITH KIRA-RASHIDA BÖLKE KIRIXIN KRYSTAL MARQUEZ LARA BUFFARD LAYAN DAJANI LEANN CARLSON LEE HAU YI LIBBY SIPE LORHENZ LACSA LORI KHADSE LOVISA FRANCES MADELINE BUGEAU-HEARTT
MADI GIOVINA MAGGIE ROSE CASHMAN MAGGZ MAHIRAH SYED MANYA MARCIA K-L MARLOUNSLY MARTINA POZZI MARY ROUNCEFIELD MATHEOS & GEORGIOS MATHEW SCHWARTZMAN MAURA WALSH MAURICIO SANHUEZA MAYA BERMAN MEGAN CARRERA MEGHAN LEVAUGHN MIA CINELLI MICHELLE DE FREITAS MICHELLE VASQUEZ MILA GVARDIOL MILICENT FAMBROUGH MOLLY COLLINS MOLLY LAMBOURN NATALIE BRADFORD NATHALIA GARCIA NEETA CHANDRA NEOWYSE NHYLAR
NICOLE PONESTK NIKOLAY DMITRENKO NINA HANZ NINA STOIBER NOEMI GIOVINAZZO NUO NURIA TOVAR AKA NURIA MIN PALOMA JAUNCEY MCKIM PAULINA DENTI PILOT HAUS PIOTR KUSZYNSKI PIOTR KUSZYŃSKI RAJESH EKNATH PATIL REBECCA KAEBNICK REBECCA MCLAREN RÉNA KING RITA CASTANHEIRA ROSCOE ROSE SILBERMAN-GORN SACHIN RANA SAHIL MATHUR SANAA EL HABBASH SARAH GORBAN SEIGAR SENECA SIMS SHRIYA BAJPAI SKY DAI SOFÍA HURTADO MONTES SOPHIE JACOBS SOUBIRIUS STELA MARTINS STEPHANIE LI SUBHASH MASKARA SUSAN PORTER SYLVIA BREMER TANIYA SHEIKH THERESA PASSARELLO TYLER YADE VALERIE DREW VANESSA ESAU VIKTOR HERRMANN VINCE BLACKALL YILIN LI ZOE STATIRIS ZORA LEWIZ ZUCINNI-CHAN
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ISSUE 15: VOL. 2 FEB 2021