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TEDAZINE VOL. 2

TEDAZINE VOL. 2 VOL. 2

TEDA Zine Vol. 2 January 2024 Printed in Gĳón, Spain Cover: Katrina Dutt Fonts: Helvetica and Baskerville All rights revert to contributors upon publication.

TABLE OF CONTENTS 1

Observe, Practice, Relax | Katrina Dutt

In the Hacksaws | Nap Prentiss

Your Cup of Tea & Cosmic Love | Keziah Dutt

Desert Soul | Katrina Dutt

Dripping with Drama | Katrina Dutt

The Jerryatrick Show | Sebastien Moulton & Emmett Moulton — with artwork by Liam Silverman

ABOUT / CONTRIBUTORS TEDA ZINE, created by Katrina Dutt, is a collection of her photography, poems, art, and reflections on life. She expresses her love for savoring life and enjoying moments of beauty through the work in this volume. This second edition also features contributions from close friends and family, enriching the diversity of perspectives. Climb into the mountains with Nap Prentiss’ fifty-year-old poem that still resonates today. Immerse yourself in the whimsical world of Keziah Dutt, whose imaginative paintings effortlessly convey emotion with carefree yet delicate brushstrokes. Emmett Moulton adds depth and balance to this zine with his mesmerizing computer-coded digital artworks that are best experienced through prolonged contemplation. Sebastien Moulton encourages philosophical musings with his thought-provoking poems that explore the profound huh? of existence and push us into the liminal space between understanding and confusion.

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OBSERVE PRACTICE RELAX Katrina Dutt

cheeses and the earthy smell of the nearby goats ensured that I was fully aware that we were somewhere I'd never been before. While Diego didn't have the overflowing warmth that many Italian men have, we felt welcomed into his world. It felt like we were getting an intimate look into his life, complete with his children's bikes and swing set, the farm dogs, the unusual chickens strutting about, and the farm equipment. Diego is unpretentious, and he is also unafraid of boldly being himself; he told us that he went against his

“THERE’S NO PUSH PUSH PUSH HERE!” Diego said emphatically, gesturing with his hands. Like many of the Italians I've met so far, Diego has an understanding and appreciation for the natural cycles of the earth and our place in them. Diego is a cheese maker in Umbria, Italy, and while he showed my colleagues and me around his house and farm where he produces his goat cheeses and natural wines, he explained some of his life philosophy. His ideas about life and work are intimately informed by his connection to nature. For instance, he puts bird boxes in his vineyards to attract certain birds that eat the pests that ruin the grapes. When the soil needs nourishment, he takes manure from his animals to feed the earth. Vegetables are organic because "why wouldn't they be?” And, during the two-month dry spell when Diego's goats don't produce much milk, he uses that time to “be free.” His life philosophy is to observe, practice, and relax—something that many of us could learn from. When we arrived to Diego’s rural house, the hot humidity mixed with the sour scent of the fermenting

TEDAZINE

the goats for their milk, and then family’s wishes when he left his Diego was off to pick his kids up accounting job to pursue cheese and from school while we sat wine making. Fifteen years down for a "light lunch" later, he has begun to “THE HOT HUMIDITY prepared by a local chef who reinvent himself once again MIXED WITH came for the afternoon. It by teaching middle-schoolers THE SOUR was far from light, and we at a Waldorf school three SCENT OF started with freshly-sliced days a week. He's a dreamer FERMENTING and maybe a bit of an CHEESES AND sourdough (a treat in a THE EARTHY region that primarily idealist, and I admired his SMELL OF THE consumes unsalted white heart that is unwaveringly NEARBY bread) and some of Diego’s beating to its own rhythm. GOATS Merlot. Then, the chef Diego gave us an informal ENSURED brought us eggy soufflés, tour of his cheese-making THAT I WAS FULLY AWARE which were a delightful operation; since we were THAT I WAS alternative to the typical there in the dry milk season, SOMEWHERE antipasta of cured meats and the cheeses were already I’D NEVER cheeses. Then she served an made and were being aged. BEEN ancient grain pasta with He showed us big rounds, BEFORE” summer vegetables, most of logs, pyramidal shapes, and which had been harvested in the small disks of various types of garden behind the house. The pasta cheeses. Without the hairnets and was different from the normal tender, booties that I've come to expect on a pale pasta: it was a shorter, rolledtour, it felt casual and homey. Diego’s shape and tasted nutty, slightly sweet, passion for his cheeses was evident in and chewy. This pasta was the chef's the way he handled them with such "prototype," as she is still working on pride and care. creating these biodiverse wheat pastas After the tour, we went to thank in a more affordable way. This dish tasted of summer and a home kitchen, and the vision and passion behind it only added to its complex flavor. I write about its “complex” flavor, but that is only because I am not Italian. In fact, I am still trying to understand the simplicity that reigns here. Italian food, I’m realizing, is really quite simple—only a few quality ingredients are typically used to create a dish. Italians know simple quality whereas I know complexity,

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Ancient grain pasta with summer vegetables

quantity, and scale. It’s no wonder the food seems different here: many people in rural Umbria only have to look down into the valley and hillsides to see the fresh food and products that will end up on their tables. They are far more likely to know where their food comes from than I am in the United States where I feel disconnected to my food and lost at the end of a long, obscure supply chain. Plus, I’m less likely to know what’s actually in my food because of the many additives that have become common ingredients. While the US food system and its products are complex and confusing to me, they’re what I know best. That familiarity felt like simplicity, and so when I first arrived in Umbria, the food system seemed complex because it was foreign; after

a few months here, however, I began to understand that it’s actually far more straightforward. Of course, there are industrial food systems in Italy, but the national pride for quality ingredients and local foodways is upheld. It’s relatively simple, but simple isn’t always easy. That’s why it’s important to learn from today’s small-scale producers like Diego because they can teach us how to live more simply. It’s a way of life that relies on observing what’s around you, intentionally responding, and knowing when to reflect and rest. As Diego showed us, we all need to see what's truly important in life, respect the natural cycles, and acknowledge that most things are connected. I still have so much to learn, but for now, I'll observe, practice, and relax.

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IN THE HACKSAWS Nap Prentiss

The trail climbs steeply between tall pines, twisting, forks and peters out, forcing either a double-back or break a new trail; lizards scurry, squirrels scurry, halt, scurry again; hoisting yourself at each step up the trough ... fragments of cracked rock crunch and wobble under foot; flies follow you up the trail in relays. A chickadee calls C'mon D D C'mon D D and waits; in a cut, pass under big roots overhanging flagrantly, hands that have lost their grip; dirt dropped, and rocks, in slides and heaps in the way; deep dust pockets, and sooner or later one shoe shovels it into the other. Insects keep up a constant sizzling, ringing –circumferential!–; here and there pines down down the slope; toes clutch; grit got into them rubs them raw. Stones to sit on, or trunks; wind sweeping in through the tops of trees in waves, sieved overhead, filling the ears with the rush of water heard, not felt, in the understory spaciousness ... Ruined pine cones everywhere, lying about loose in the shade, collected in shallow places or around obstructions; ants clambering through pine needles, advancing on all fronts– Shrug up the pack, mount a torrent of sliding rocks, cross high open places with a touch of wildflowers now blue, now red, boulders thrown about under the sky, a long view of hazy valleys or the opposite ridge; then sea breaking on pines again, Ponderosa, Douglas fir, a surprise cedar –and find water at last: COLD! instantly numbs bones and refreshes the feet. The soft swush of pine tops swaying in the current that rushes around the globe soothes; the boughs swish, they seem to be saying something, but what? At night the stars come through in their customary places behind the clouds, but innumerably clearer. *

YOUR CUP OF TEA

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COSMIC LOVE

KEZIAH DUTT

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DESERT 6

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DERELICT SCHOOL BUS

INTO THE HEAVENS

KATRINA DUTT

SOUL

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DRIPPING WITH

DRAMA Katrina Dutt

he lights dim, the audience slowly quiets, and three men dressed in black take the stage. A talented guitarist, practically a kid with only fuzz for a mustache, and two singers, both with thick, dark hair and mystical eyes. With the first strum of the guitar, the show begins. The dancer comes out, flirting, toying with both the shadows and the stage. Finally, she steps into the light, wearing a dark dress that fits her body perfectly. She’s a classic Spanish beauty with shiny black hair and darkened eyes and lips. At first, you’re afraid she’s taking herself too seriously. She’s dripping with drama, and all eyes follow her every movement. She whirls, clacks, and stomps her way through the first act, all the while keeping taut the string between her body and her audience, between her body and the men sitting behind her. It’s extremely intimate. The second act is a continuation of the story. This chapter is floral, sweet, and bright. She smiles. She wears a dress with a light flowery design, and her face has transformed: mirth and humor light up her eyes and lift the corners of her mouth. She dances as much with

her eyes as with her feet, and you feel like she’s letting you in on a secret. Her eyes offer a special invitation to be transported into her realm of perfect rhythm and flair, or, perhaps, a barely-concealed dare to imagine her naked. She’s a master of the beat, flowing together in an intricate dance with the men playing, singing, and clapping behind her. Her entire body becomes a percussion instrument: tongue clicking, heels flashing, fingers snapping, hands clapping. At times, a look of madness overtakes her and you feel the passion, pride, and determination seeping from her pores. These emotions are apparent in the sheen of sweat on her brow, her labored breaths, and the way her hair escapes from her braid and goes wild in front of her face. This performance is a labor of love. Later, as the third and final act climaxes in a fury of motion and sound, everything pauses just for a moment. Then, a final ¡olé! and a rush of applause. For the last hour, she’s devoted her entire being to this performance, to being here and now. With a bow and a kiss, she leaves the stage, yet her presence lingers.

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THE JERRYATRICK SHOW An improv comedy podcast by Emmett Moulton and Sebastien Moulton

Jerry and Patrick come together as geriatrics, or as they like to say, Jerratricks,

to tell you their old-folk stories whilst forgetting what they just said. They give unpredictable and unreliable glimpses into their lives inside a retirement home where strange shenanigans occur more often than you might think. Do they live in a magical home, are they really imaginative, or are they just old farts relying on their few remaining brain cells? That, dear listener, is for you to decide.

GIVE IT A LISTEN FEEL YOUR FEET IN THE MORNING; THAT’S WHEN THEY’RE THE SOFTEST GOOD SOUP BUILDS GOOD CHARACTER

@theJerryatrickShow

I THINK THAT THE RECORDING IS HAPPENING

I HAD TO TAKE A NAP AFTER OPENING THE EMAIL

DON’T FEED THEM OATMEAL WITH RAISINS CHARLOTTE!

Si lv er

m an

THEY’RE AFRAID OF VISITING THIS RETIREMENT HOME

WATCH OUT FOR MITCH !

ENJOY EVERY POOP. IT MAY BE YOUR LAST TAKE YOUR PILLS!

Li a

ARE WE RECORDING A PODCAST?

by ork Artw

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EMMETT MOULTON

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ECLIPSE

Sebastien Moulton

Greetings penumbral beings You small terrestrial things Round and round you I swing Most times, light I bring But tonight your darkness is king It slides over us, enveloping The farther it goes, the more I see Faster and faster my reflection flees My sight is finally free

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A LOST WANDERING WONDERING PONDERING Sebastien Moulton

Which is better? Respectfully disrespecting or disrespectfully respecting? In the pursuit of freedom, Who is to say? In the pursuit of ponderings, Who is to say? In the pursuit of life's wanderings, Who is to say? Not all who wander are lost In my wandering, I've become lost Marooned in a fog of faux failure Left with a panoramic view Of the gory shipwreck of innards Dashed against the skeleton rocks of being Floating in a sea of imposter syndrome, into nothingness Wondering why none can see what can only be seen from inside. Not all who wander are lost. Which is better? Lost wandering or wandering lost? In the pursuit of freedom, What is lost? In the pursuit of ponderings, What is lost? In the pursuit of life's wanderings, What is lost? Who is to say?

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EMMETT MOULTON

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14 OLD TOWN SUN | KATRINA DUTT

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