Distant Memory Zine - Issue 1

DISTANT MEMORY ZINE

issue #1

EDITOR

’S L ET TER

When the pandemic began, there was no

way one could have predicted the tremendous impact that COVID-19 would have on

the way millions of people across the world approach daily life. Whether it is having to put on the armor of a mask and gloves when you leave the house or connecting with loved ones and colleagues over Zoom, our typical

I curated the Distant Memory Zine to connect

routines have been disrupted by the threat of

a multiplicity of unique experiences, prac-

an invisible enemy. However, there has been

tices, and discourse of creatives in the art

a pandemic going on since before the first

field during the pandemic by exploring art

reports of COVID-19. Systemic racism and

as a means of organizing, healing, and

discrimination are public health concerns that

coping during a crisis. The zine challenges

have plagued the United States of America

what cultural production looks like under the

since its founding.

sociocultural influence of a dual pandemic,

In 2020, we have all faced the adversity

artists explore these contemporary issues in

COVID-19, and social injustice. In this issue of navigating life during a pandemic and

their submissions by confronting themes such

historical political moment. The past year

as time, movement, and memory.

has taken a toll on many industries including the visual arts. Museums are closing their

Producing this zine has not only kept me busy

doors, artists across the country are facing

these past few months but has motivated me

financial difficulty, and the creation of art has

to keep creating everyday in the midst of an

been challenged in numerous ways. None-

ever changing social and cultural landscape.

theless many creatives have been inspired

I hope that this zine not only inspires its read-

to express their experiences during these

ers but also provides support for them during

uncertain times through art.

these isolated times.

Zindzi Harley

3

DISTANT MEMORY ZINE

CURATED by ZINDZI HARLEY

issue #1

DESIGNED by CHAYA ARABIA

FUNDED by UNIVERSITY OF THE ARTS FUND FOR EXCELLENCE IN COLLABORATION with PAST PRESENT PROJECTS

TABLE

OF C ON TE NTS

EMILY CARRIS-DUNCAN

6

JENNI MILTON

10

ZEINAB DIOMANDE

16

BREJENN ALLEN

20

ABBEY LAKEY

24

MONROE ISENBERG

28

COLIN PEZZANO

32

MEAGAN ROLDAN BARI PALLARINO

36

40

E MILY C A R

6

RIS-

DU

NC

AN

Emily Carris-Duncan created Wisdom while quarantined during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Using the format of an improvised geometric quilt, Carris-Duncan engages the history of Black women’s roles in craft production.

Interested in plant-based dyeing processes, the silks in Wisdom are dyed using cutch, walnut, chestnut, and eucalyptus, their muted tones the result of an experimental mordant or chemical binder used to fix the dyes to the fabric: iron liquor derived from slave shackles.

@carrisbears

7

Wisdom 32� x 34�

Hand-dyed silk, cutch, walnut, chestnut, and eucalyptus, iron liquor derived from slave shackles

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A Stitch In Time Saves Lives

There has yet to be justice for Breonna Taylor, Rammie Fells, and

I find that cutting up and quilting

countless others.

hand-dyed fabric soothing. Working with earth colors and botanicals is

Over two hundred fifty-thousand

the most engaging. The therapy of

deaths and counting as COVID-19

dyeing from the earth and getting

surges again.

to know the plants helps ease stress and anxiety by allowing

Twelve million may lose their

me to be fully in relationship

unemployment by the end of

with the plants our early genetic

the year.

ancestors, if only for a little while. Stitching feels like

The current president won’t

surgery. Suturing my wounds.

concede the race meaning still no

Suturing historical wounds. A

coordinated effort to fight the

mechanism for prayerful repetition.

pandemic, racial injustice, and social unrest.

This work was made at the beginning of the COVID-19 crisis. At that time like so many, I was trying to find a place for my fear, stress, and anxiety. I found it in cutting up and quilting silk dyed in cutch, chestnut, tannin, goldenrod. Allnatural plants from the earth. The therapy of dyeing from the earth and stitching helps if only for a little while. It feels like surgery. Suturing society’s wounds.

But the wounds haven’t healed.

@carrisbears

9

JENNI

10

M I LTO

N

Jenni Milton studied at Connecticut College, Oxford University, and the Columbia Publishing Course and then spent a few years working in book and

Ever since, she’s been back in her

magazine publishing — at One Story,

beloved Brooklyn, working in — of all

Oxford University Press, and Grove

things — pharmaceutical advertising

Atlantic. She then went on to earn her

as a copywriter to pay the bills and

MFA at the Programs in Writing at UC

carving out as much time as she can to

Irvine and was the Fiction Editor of the

work on her fiction. In her spare time,

Pushcart Prize-winning journal Faultline

she mentors a young writer at Girls

in her final year of the program.

Write Now and (when we’re not in a global pandemic) plays with the New Amsterdam Symphony Orchestra. She has published a couple of stories in Juked and is seeking representation for her first novel while hard at work on her second.

@jennimilton

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WI L

L

O

UR GRIEF

GI

V

E

WAY TO CHANGE?

June was a season of weeping, though

either one of the pandemics we’re talk-

I know my tears were powerless, not

ing so much about these days. He died

needed, stupid, easily scorned—even

of addiction, a heart that beat so loud

and especially by myself—slick, salty,

and so hard it just couldn’t anymore.

composed of the exact same material as George Floyd’s, or Breonna Taylor’s, or Ahmaud Arbery’s, or the countless others whose lives have been brutally taken because of the color of their skin.

Skin is supposed to protect us—a permeable layer, thin but elastic, strong.

My skin has protected me, often not in the way it’s meant to.

12

At a stoop-side vigil with the family, the pain in Iris’s heart radiated out from her like a fire-red sun. “It’s so painful, very painful,” she said. Sometimes it was all she could say. She gestured toward the prayer candles clustered by the entrance to our building and begged my girlfriend Gabi and me to make sure the candles stayed lit in her absence over

One night, my tears came as a sudden

the coming week. When the flowers

flood, as I sat on the toilet, peeing,

begin to wilt, we should bring them

drunk, a little high, and swiped through

inside. When the candles eventually die

images in my mind’s eye of my neighbor

out, we should take those in, too. She

Iris’s dead son. Christopher didn’t die of

didn’t want to leave Christopher; she

would feel better going with her family

Iris must have been trying to hold on to

to North Carolina if she knew we would

every last bit of him, perhaps, even his

keep watch and make sure the super

last moments. I sat with her and sobbed

didn’t throw away the candles and the

silently, tears spurting, snot drizzling.

flowers and the lights until it was time.

She didn’t seem to mind or notice. Still,

“Please, please, please,” she said. “I

I was angry with myself for crying. Shit!

can’t let him be alone.”

Get it together. I sat with her for a long

“We will, we promise,” we told her.

“We won’t let him be alone.”

“God bless you,” she said.

And then, a few minutes later, she repeated her wish, how we were to watch over her son: “The candles—put a tarp over them when it rains. When the wax is down, throw them out. When you see the flowers wilting? Throw them away.

He wouldn’t like dying flowers. Nobody

time, and eventually we moved on to other photos: her wedding day, her granddaughter’s sweet sixteen party.

Meanwhile, Gabi was racing Iris’s youngest grandsons up and down the sidewalk. It was past curfew, and I eyed the police cars as they cruised by.

They left us alone. Maybe they saw the prayer candles and decided to let us mourn. It wasn’t until much later, when Gabi and I were back in our apartment,

likes dying flowers.”

scarfing down burritos, that I realized

No matter how many times we reas-

She’d had to keep explaining to some of

sured her, still she said, over and over,

Iris’s sons that she knew Spanish. She’d

“Please, please, please.”

say something and they’d guffaw, as

I ached with her and for her, though I couldn’t possibly feel her pain. Anyone who hasn’t lost a child goes slack-

the toll the night had taken on her.

though it was the most amazing thing in the world — a Black woman speaking Spanish!

jawed when faced with someone who

“It’s so stupid,” she said. She was crying

has. I sat close to her, leaned in toward

now. One of the sons had given her a

the fire-red sun of her heart as she

lethal concoction, something like a Jä-

told me stories about him and showed

gerbomb, and a few sips of that plus a

me photos of him on her phone. Pho-

bunch of Coronas on an empty stomach

tos of him as a baby, curly-haired and

were all it took to push her over the

wide-eyed. And photos of him dead

edge. She’d been wrestling silently with

in a hospital bed, of her clutching his

her own grief. Juneteenth was fast ap-

body to her. I’d never seen photos

proaching, but for Gabi that date was

like this—a mother, too in shock to be

not cause for celebration. It was

stricken by the grief that’s yet to come.

@jennimilton

13

significant to her because it was her

you. How many photos did Iris take in

mother’s birthday. This year, her mother

the hospital?”

would have turned 50. “I don’t understand why I had to keep telling them I grew up speaking Spanish. It was like…it did not compute. To them, I’m just some Black girl. Do I need to recite my fam-

Gabi shook her head. “No one should be remembered that way.”

ily tree? Hey, fun fact, I’m Dominican,

At the vigil, I extracted myself from Iris

Black, Native American, Italian. Why

only when the pulsing of my bladder

does it even fucking matter? Why can’t I

became unbearable. I stumbled inside

just be…be…be?”

my apartment, sat down on the toilet

I reached for her, but she wasn’t in the mood to be comforted. She shrugged off my embrace, went to the bathroom, ran a bath and closed the door.

In the morning, she was confused when I asked her if she wanted to talk about what had happened. She’d browned out, we realized. She didn’t remember crying. She barely remembered eating her burrito. Perhaps it was for the best that she didn’t remember being in so much pain.

and bawled all over again. I cried for her, and for her son, and for the sons and daughters who were murdered, the sons and daughters of people who were not free—who still are not free.

None of us are free. We might never be. Though there have been meaningful conversations over these last few months, and though I try to remind myself how change tends to happen incrementally, state-by-state in this country, and though I try to remind myself that change is never linear, still I feel warier than ever about the future.

“I’m sorry—” she started to say, holding

Because while white people are busy

me tighter under the blankets.

wringing their hands over the “riots,”

“No,” I said. “I’m sorry. You know what’s the most terrible thing? I didn’t even know that any of that was happening.

That whole time, we were with the same people, at the same vigil, and we were having completely different experiences. I wonder how many times that happens?”

“Well,” she said with a wry grin, “can’t say I would’ve switched places with

14

“It’s her way of grieving, I guess.”

or how there are good cops too; while we see the virtue signaling of June 19th as an official corporate holiday, or BLACK LIVES MATTER emblazoned on the streets, a revolution is beginning.

The question is how far it will go, and how many more lives will be taken in the process. I’m tired of the hand-wringing and the virtue signaling, equally.

Giving people a day off won’t solve the systemic racism on which everything in

this country, including and especially

generational violence won’t ever have

corporate America, is built. We can

that trauma erased. But we can move

paint BLACK LIVES MATTER on the same

forward, embracing change in whatever

streets on which they absolutely do

forms it takes. We can cry today—and

not matter, but we still need to actually

in fact we should never stop. Finally,

do something to radically change the

we are allowing ourselves to feel the

way this country operates in order for

great failure that is America. That’s the

those murals to mean something. For all

first step toward true change, isn’t it?

those insistences I keep hearing of how

Acceptance. Funny how that’s also the

peaceful the protests are—and it’s true,

final stage of grief.

anyone paying attention can plainly see that it’s white supremacists, some of them undercover cops, inciting violence—I hope we also remember that no significant change has ever been brought about through peace. Indeed, the only language white supremacy responds to is violence. It’s probably the only language it knows.

The night following the vigil, I walked hand-in-hand with Gabi, whose skin does not protect her in the ways that mine protects me. It was just past the hour of our absurd curfew. We were drawn toward the fierce purples and blues and pinks of the setting sun. We wanted to go into the park to take pictures, but there were cops patrolling.

Most of us were already in some stage

Tonight, with no visible signs of grief to

of grief when we heard the inevitable

protect us, we didn’t want to risk it. We

but still harrowing news of Ruth Bader

turned back, and I walked around to the

Ginsberg’s passing. Why are there not

other side of her so that my body was

more people like her in our government?

closest to the street.

Why does it feel as though we’re tottering on the edge of a precipice, and all it would take is one more foul breath to blow us all back into a time when Gabi and I could not be seen together in public? We’re a lot like Iris when she held her son in her arms in that hospital room and had her husband snap a photo. We’ve only just begun. Perhaps 2020 will be the year that finally brings momentous change to this country, and we’re going to be proud to have

She said, “What are you doing—protecting me?”

I said, “Yes,” and we laughed a little at this. But then we stopped laughing.

“Yeah, I am,” I said. “As much as I can.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“I know,” I said. “If it came down to it, I might not be able to, anyway. But I can at least try.”

lived through it. Iris won’t ever have her son back. Black people who face

@jennimilton

15

ZEIN

16

AB D

DIOMAN

DE

Zeinab Diomande otherwise known as ‘Z’ is a 21 year old artist based in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania but originally from the Ivory Coast, West Africa. Zeinab’s work revolves around herself primarily but generally speaking is about everyone. She documents and explores ideas such as mental health, particularly Bipolar disorder and this idea of two poles, being an immigrant and a black woman in America.

@ztheratt

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And It All Went Downhill From There 18” x 14” Oil and acrylic on canvas

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This piece was made in a moment where I needed to be reassured.

This year has been a lot for everyone and sometimes it feels like I’m headed somewhere without a clear exit plan. This summer made me realize how much community was important to me. I value this a lot, this idea of protecting one another and standing up for one another: those who are here, those who are gone and those who did it before us. This piece is about the idea of a safe space and keeping it as secure as possible.

@ztheratt

19

BREJ

20

ENN

ALLEN Brejenn Allen is a painting, fibers, and design artist. Her work’s theme centers on the interactions between race, politics, and social media/internet culture. Brejenn’s award-winning work

In between projects, you will find

has been featured in publications like

Brejenn hosting Paint & Sips, completing

Syzygy Magazine, Kemper Messenger,

commission work, doing freelance

and the Meridian Star. Her notable

projects, or volunteering with area non-

exhibitions include the Siragusa Gallery,

profits. Brejenn has an Associates of Arts

San Jose Museum of Quilts and Textiles,

Degree and a Bachelors of Fine Arts with

and the DeKalb Regional Railroad

a Studio concentration from the School

Museum. She currently operates Happy

of the Art Institute of Chicago.

P’ Jappies Designer Hospital Gowns, a charity that manufactures and donates uplifting gowns to hospital patients across the world.

@brejenn

21

You’ve Heard of Elf on a Shelf, Here’s a...

24” x 48” Oil and acrylic on canvas

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With the pandemic and threats to our democracy in the pending election, humor is much-needed. Our quarantine go-to for quick doses of laughter is social media. The artist takes a found image from social media and uses the title to ask an open-ended riddle. She immerses this meme into a European classical background blasted in contrasting colors; it asks us if this is “fine art� enough.

@brejenn

23

ABBEY

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LAKEY Abbey Lakey is a multidisciplinary artist living and working in Philadelphia, PA. A recent graduate from the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, Abbey works in sculpture, installation, video and printmaking. Her work focuses on the ephemerality of material, the body and time.

@abbeylakey

25

Dream Sequence�, stop motion animation, 2:46, 2020 y Lakey

://vimeo.com/469580712

Day Dream Sequence Stop motion animation (2:46)

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@abbeylakey

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M O N RO E

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ISEN

BE

RG

Monroe Isenberg’s work engages minimalism, light, space, sound, and reacts to phenomena natural to our world. He holds an MFA in Visual Arts from the University of Maryland in

His artwork has been exhibited

College Park. Isenberg is the recipient of

internationally and is held in public and

multiple awards, grants, and residencies

private collections across the United

including the 2019 Trawick Emerging

States. Most recently, Isenberg was

Artist prize, and the 2017 International

invited to participate in the fellowship

Outstanding Student Achievement

program at the Lunga School in Iceland

Award. He was also included in the 2020

in fall 2019 and is currently an adjunct

Aesthetica Art Future Now anthology

professor at Minneapolis College of Art

in the UK.

and Design.

@monroe_isenberg

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Sefer (detail) 72” x 72” x 4” Cast mulberry paper, ink The sculptural drawing is slightly concave and warps perception.

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Sefer is the Hebrew word for book

The change we feel is real and

with roots in the word sifriyah

slow, but the system is guided by

or library.

momentum and what has come before— 400 years of white supremacy.

Through repetition and cyclic movement, I work and spiral

But the current movement for

outwards. A small accidental shake

humanity is building momentum of

of my hand compounds and creates

its own. This new reality reveals

waves that undulate throughout the

itself through collective and

paper. By embracing my mistakes

individual suffering, pain, and

the work unfolds and grows in

resistance as well as moments of

unimagined ways. The ripples expand

communal joy and healing. Fueled

exponentially, slowly fade, or die

by a pandemic, it’s rooted in

quickly. They create a fluid-like

practices and questions that

landscape made of valleys, peaks,

inspire care, solidarity,

and plains. The mark takes on its

and protection.

own will which I must balance with my own. Working with the medium of potential, I may passively

Togetherness in this way expands outwards and inscribes in our futures new peaks, valleys, and

let the mark guide itself or actively interfere with the cycle’s becoming. This act dissolves my sense of self.

plains. These respectively resemble hopeful changes and progress, loss and setbacks, and a whole lot of nothing. Although it appears

I glimpse traces of wisdom in the

invisible and at times hopeless, we

space that was once my self.

are in the process of collectively

Our

reality creates itself and forever

writing a new chapter in a human

expands outwards through time and

book that resembles Sefer. Through

space. Yet, we have a role in its

active co-creation of this world,

formation. It becomes more clear

we maintain hope and power to make

how solidarity inspired through

ripples of our own. It just begins

the current social movement and the

with one small shake.

pandemic are rattling oppressive and self-perpetuating systems.

@monroe_isenberg

31

CO L I N

32

PEZZAN

O

Colin Pezzano graduated from the University of the Arts in 2014 with a BFA in Crafts. Pezzano maintains and relies heavily on craft practices mixed with humor and pathos to define his

During his career, Pezzano has

work. Upon graduation, Colin received

participated in group shows, juried

the Windgate Fellowship Award. In the

exhibitions, and attended residencies in

spring of 2015, Pezzano had his first

the USA and Sweden. Pezzano maintains

solo show Contain You at Bridgette

his practice in South Philadelphia out of

Mayer Gallery. In 2018 Colin had his

his basement studio.

second solo show Still Life With Dead

game at the Allen’s Lane Art Center. In 2020, Colin worked with the group Past Present Projects on a store-front window installation titled We’ve Never Met.

@colinpezzano

33

Covers 8” x 5” Woodblock print on recycled paper

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@colinpezzano

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M E AG A N

36

ROL

DA

N

Meagan Roldan was born in Manhattan, New York on October 22, 1993. At the age of eight, she moved to Philadelphia and started her journey towards following her passion. It started with

She then became a part of a show in art

anything that had to do with the art

Basel Miami with a company called The

realm from doing hair and make-up,

Body of arts that was based out of New

making jewelry; you name it. In high

York City. Then later, began retailing her

school, she took an art class and fell in

work at a gallery in Old City located in

love with the subject. She learned about

Philadelphia named Philly Art collective

abstract art and gravitated towards

Gallery. Meagan is currently residing

it. Staying in the creative interest, she

in the Spring Arts area of Philadelphia

went to beauty school to become a

where there is no shortage of inspiration.

cosmetologist and then college. After doing hair and make-up in salons for a few years, she decided to go back into the world she was so fond of and began to paint again.

@hotgirlspainttoo

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Light IT UP Fluorescent tempera paint and metallic acrylic paint

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During the pandemic, I thought it was important to put some light when the world was in a very dark place.

@hotgirlspainttoo

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BA R I P

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PA L LAR

IN O

Bari Pallarino is a photographer and multidisciplinary artist from the suburbs of New York City. Currently, she resides in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and will be completing her BFA in the spring of 2021 from University of the Arts.

She is trained and works in both digital and analog photography while also utilizing other Fine Art techniques. Her work revolves heavily around color and using the still image to create a narrative. She is interested in the splendor of everyday life and how the beauty of memories (real or fabricated) touches us.

@b.pallarino

41

Untitled

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This image is currently untitled, but it is the first in a series I’m working on. This work is about celebrating the little victories in life. I think especially in a time like now, a lot of us have been getting down on ourselves for not accomplishing nearly as much as we would like to, but we need to remember that we accomplish so much without even realizing - and that needs to be celebrated.

@b.pallarino

43

jan 2021