(SOME)TIME - Woo Spring 2021 Issue

(some)time now

Woo Publication

Woo Publication

Woo Publication

(SOME)

(some)time ago

T H E YE A

(SOME)TIME in the past. (SOME)TIME in the present. (SOME)TIME in the future.

R

O F WO O

BROUGHT TO YOU BY

some·time /ˈsəmˌtīm/

2021

Spring 2021

DEFINE: (SOME)TIME

adverb at some unspecified or unknown time.

YEAR OF

Spring 2021

Spring 2021

YEAR OF

Spring 2021

☺ SPRIN

WOO PU

ICATION L B

021 ☻ G2

)EMOS(

TIME

Letters from the Directors Today? Tomorrow? Or was it yesterday? It was (some)time ago that Nicole and I came up with this issue's theme. So much is happening every day, yet we feel like we are doing less. Staying within our confined space(s) has altered our sense of time. A week sometimes feels like a day or sometimes a year. Graduating during this time and finding a career makes me nervous, but when or how it happens doesn’t seem to matter much anymore. (Some)time, we will all figure it out.

I am so happy to have had the opportunity to meet and work with my team this 2020/21 year. It might have seemed hectic at times (or maybe it was just me) but we did it, folks! Thank you so, so, so much to the whole team, and especially all the directors for leading so well and for doing some cool new stuff.

Finally, we’d like to respectfully acknowledge that the land which this was printed on is situated on unceded, traditional and ancestral territories of the xʷməθkʷəy ̓əm (Musqueam), Sḵwx ̱ wú7mesh Úxwumixw (Squamish) and səl̓ilw̓ətaʔɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) peoples. WOO Publication stands in solidarity with the BIPOC communities and our DMs are always open for feedback, concerns, and suggestions.

AVIVA DAVIS Editor-In-Chief (SOME)TIME… someday… somewhere… but today... I am happy! Because that means this issue is now in the hands of the WOO readers. When I think about how I would best describe (SOME)TIME, I would illustrate it as a nostalgic trip. A dreamy journey through eras that have been. The feelings of now, as well as the goals for what’s to become.

I am so proud to have been the Creative Director alongside the best Editor-in-Chief, Aviva, to lead such an impeccable, talented, hardworking team that successfully created two superb publications during an extremely challenging year. The response we received from our Fall issue, SPACE(S), was beyond what I had imagined, and am excited to take everybody on another astronomical expedition with (SOME)TIME. This issue is designed to have no particular order. Have fun re-organizing the pages!

NICOLE YAMAMOTO Creative Director

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Aviva Davis

CREATIVE DIRECTOR Nicole Yamamoto

MEDIA DIRECTOR Kin Godwin Chua

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR Monique Germain

EDITORIAL TEAM

DESIGN TEAM

MEDIA TEAM

Diego Cruz Madeleine Salomons Megan Randall Nani Gonzalez

Aily Nishioka Amanda Sherin Carrie Braybrooks Dory Xu Paula Burbano Ruby Pang

Aamir Ullah Aiah Gonzales Joshua Louie Shannon Ruth Dionne Miller

THE TEAM

Selected Works Aily Nishioka / To Unfold Time Andrea Bollen / 2020 Mood Anna Ivasyshyna / Be close even if you are far away Carrie Braybrooks / Trash Nostalgia Celina de Leon / catch me if u can Dung Ta Hoang Nguyen / Memories Under The Pomegranate Tree Georgina Hawitt / Red Series Guillaume Saur / Aluminosilicate Delights Heather Yip / Can I Play Too? Jordan Utting / 12am to 5am Jourdan Tymkow / Rooting Julia Chang / Icelandic Time Khim Hipol / Inscription of Hope Kin Godwin Chua / (Some) Time Ago Kosar Movahedi / And Memory Lance Pan / hatagallery1998 Liam Racz / Keedy Sans Type Specimen Megan Randall / The Boggle Monique Germain / Ghost of Hamlet’s Father Nam Le / Gen3 Natalie Robinson / A deck built by dad (close enough) Novalynn Diguistini / EYE ROLL Pascale Jean / Lonely Hour Paula Torres Urzua / Pensante Rowan Doucette / home alone Ruby Pang / “her” mixtape Vee CR / Just what is it that makes yesteryear’s taverns so different, so appealing?

Yejin Park / GOOD FORTUNE Ysabel Owen / Edited Memory

Woo Editorial OMEN AND THE THREE SISTERS Diego Cruz

LOOKING BACK Madeleine Salomons

IN RETROSPECT Megan Randall

COATS Monique Germain

THE LABYRINTH CALLS FOR FAIRIES Nani Gonzalez

aluminosilicate delights

Aluminosilicate Delights

At a time where we trade and market ourselves across cyber spaces and timelines, the grid has become a fixture that supports our singularity. The emergence of new digital flesh, made for the consumption of social media platform users, foretells a post-human future in which bodies are seen as parts of a distant whole subjected to be tuned and augmented.

Guillaume Saur

Master of Fine Arts Digitally Manipulated Images 2020 @guillaume_saur

(some)time

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This series intends to make a connection between the data and metadata of images that embody the glitches and artifices of corporeal presence in digital time and space.

By anticipating the potential form of tomorrow’s bodies, these digitally manipulated images envision new fabricated beings trapped between past, present, and future realities.

Gen3

gen3

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IN EACH ASIAN HOUSEHOLD, WE ALWAYS HAVE AN ALTAR FOR OUR ANCESTORS WHERE WE LIGHT UP INCENSE EVERY FULL MOON. DURING THE PANDEMIC, I PAID MORE ATTENTION TO THIS EVENT AND I AM EAGER TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE SPIRITUAL IMAGE THAT IT REPRESENTS.

3neG Gen3

Nam Le

New Media & Sound Arts Acrylic on Canvas 2020 @nam3.samba (some)time

and memory

And Memory Exploring memories and identity, the piece integrates Persian alphabet characters with photographs of Stanley Park in Vancouver BC, as well as an image of First Nations’ carvings in Writing-On-Stone Provincial Park in Southern Alberta. The letters used from the Persian alphabet hold significance as the character “‫ ”ه‬alludes to the words “nothing” and “everything” and the letter “‫”و‬ means “and”. The use of tracing paper resembles the vague, overlapping and non-linear nature of remembrance.

Kosar Movahedi kosar.ca Scan the QR code to view their website.

Photography Mixed Media 2020

(some)time

home alone

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Rowan Doucette

Visual Arts Pen on Paper 2020

rowandoucette.com

home alone

I am nervous to put my heart out there, and it will most likely come as a surprise when it does. I finally like my own company.

I like being in my basement suite in the ground, listening to the drip and knowing I am alone in this home. My heart and mind may play or fight without distraction. Will it ever not be a distraction? Is that something I want anymore? Why don’t I spend this January listening to my voice and looking inward when bored, sad, and empty. I know I have the strength to guide the boat, so why don’t I give myself a chance and let my heart and mind be. At the end of the day, my company is a gift. Some may say it’s meant to be shared, so who says I can’t take this share?

(some)time

Looking

kcaB

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Back

Madeleine Salomons

Communication Design Editorial 2021

@artichokeluvr

(some)time

I have a funny relationship with memories. I am not one to keep track of things — to meticulously mark each event off with a neat checkmark; to recite my days, line after line, spilling out onto pages in heartfelt recollection. Things pass through my life, without staying, and I let them. I reserve my sentimentality for more valuable possessions.

As time has passed over the past year in particular, I’ve started to think about memories as a salve. I found an old journal of mine from around four years ago, mostly full of notes from classes or disorganized thoughts jotted down. I wasn’t in the habit of keeping a journal, but I spent some time writing three or four full-length spreads, spanning several pages. Apparently, when I did devote time to writing, I wrote a lot. These musings were not particularly well-written, nor were they pertaining to some life-changing event. Instead, they were a form of therapeutic release; some words were hardly legible from the speed at which I was writing.

I remember what I was feeling when I wrote those entries. I remember what it was to be that age, to feel as though I would never have anything figured out, and to be unable to imagine

what the future might hold. Reading those from where I am now, I obviously could never have guessed what lay in store, but there’s a type of fondness that blooms in my chest when I think about my younger self. I look back on her with love, and a bittersweet desire for the trivial things she was so intently focused on.

Of course, therein lies the value of memories of our past lives. I can’t say I vividly remember the job interview that I spent a week worrying about, and I don’t often think about the person I had convinced myself I was in love with in my senior year of high school. The things I am able to recall are things I long for, more often than not — a glorious week spent backpacking in the mountains with my closest friends; reading under the apple tree in my backyard on a summer evening; one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had in my life, shared with my sibling in a tiny Korean restaurant.

I do not imagine there will be a time in the near future where we are able to predict what tomorrow will look like, or next week, or next year. I can only trust that my memories will guide me in the direction I need to go.

The things I am able to recall are things I long for, more often than not.

good fortune

GOOD

FORTUNE

PACKAGES LIKE THESE ARE CAREFUL, PATIENT, AND SLOW IN THEIR MAKING. THE ACT OF WRAPPING AND UNWRAPPING HAS ITS OWN PROCESS. IN A YEAR THAT HAS FELT BOTH IMPOSSIBLY FAST AND IMPOSSIBLY SLOW, I AM BEING TAUGHT PATIENCE.

Yejin Park @sh0tze

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Illustration Digital 2020

(some)time

memories under the pomegranate tree

Memories Under The Pomegranate Tree

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THOSE MEMORIES ARE AS VIVID AS THE SOURNESS OF THE POMEGRANATES YOU GAVE ME THAT DAY.

Dung Ta Hoang Nguyen

Illustration Digital 2020

littleschwarz.com

(some)time

to unfold time

To Unfold

ime

How do we experience time?

T

Scan the QR code to view their website.

Throughout the process of creating this experimental bookmaking project, I reflected on the experience of time through observations of my everyday life.

Noticing gradual changes in the environment through different senses, like feeling the left-over tea becoming cold, seeing the sun slowly set to welcome the night, and hearing the autumn leaves fall outside of my window, all inspired me to incorporate materials and visual representations of my daily life. Its carousel book form also illustrates the circular and continuous rhythm of time.

Aily Nishioka

Communication Design Mixed Media 2020

@aily_026

(some)time

the boggle

The

Boggle PART OF A SERIES OF ILLUSTRATIONS ABOUT THE NOSTALGIA OF CHILDHOOD SUMMER HOLIDAYS AND THE SEARCH FOR A CREATURE OF BRITISH FOLKLORE: THE ELUSIVE BOGGLE THAT LIVES ON THE YORKSHIRE COAST.

Megan Randall

Illustration Digital 2020

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@artlark

(some)time

eye roll

Visual Arts Pen on Paper 2020

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s star e sh /a

re ye se sca pe

novalynn.ca

g n i t ea w s / from her face (some)time

nu mb ers

Portrait of a girl crying

Novalynn Diguistini

/ se ething with impatience

R O E L R O Y L E L R O EEY L E L R O Y L E L R O EEY L E L R O Y L E L EEY L

in

Critical and Cultural Practice Editorial 2021

@nanigg

(some)time

Scan the QR code to view their website.

Nani Gonzalez

“Hello, you have reached an automated phone service.

For love, press one.”

The dial tone screeches in your ear for help You hang up defeated by the loops in communication A stranger asks to light your cigarette— “Where are you from?”

Carelessness causes fire and this may take a while so you begin to recount “i may be from near here, but i am from nowhere” Walked down a putrefact alleyway and got stranded in the liminal The negative space, cut out from a frame, where there is a path awaiting to become undone from the masterpiece of archetypes The paradigm of saboteurs and where is the shift?

Your fault is that you killed all surviving sea urchins Their entire body works as a compound eye Billions of years of memory scooped out of ocean thorns perfectly symmetrical, while the guests were looking.

It was normalized for profit but the value is questionable. “i may have lost the plot”— you confess to your new lover You inhale the toxic gas and exhale a piece of your mortality The inner intricacy of the maze of mind melting to the sound of a sigh When you’re exhausted of air your diaphragm spasms body twitch And like the click of fingers you are transported into another echo In the darkness of the cave you meet a dead end and another and again So you share a skeleton kiss before you succumb to the “only” option— void This may be an autobiography for no one or maybe they see the patterns The shape shifting engravings on the ceiling of who you’re supposed to be After you surrender to drop you realize you were always too afraid to look down.

“And that’s when i landed on a sleeping bear and lost my dignity” Your now enemy giggles and shakes their head with despair.

You reminisce of your sweet escape, throwing yourself at the forest The cryptic touch of leaves, the branches that snapped you out of it The moss that licked your feet and the lichen that aided you to breathe An enchanted liberation met the fraud under the name of devotion Some magical dust was spat at your face and you began to hallucinate “i still never flew”— your servant listens carefully and weeps for you Survived by the layers of suppositions and assimilations Veils of secrets pulled back, exposing the teeth at your neck The wicked feed from your vitality, the divine put it to rest Held at whatever depth you are breast stroking through The latent bud, a rippling droplet, the gripping of a lost child Your sidekick brushes away the strand of hair that disguises your fate Your lips part perfectly to say one last thing, but compassion stops you. “aummmmmmmmmmmmmmm” “Is there anything else i can help you with today?”

This manipulator really knows how to make you feel better You spilt all your guts, you’ve never had sewing thread or steady hands The exit portal isn’t remote, you wonder whe— You are now walking that way.

Hold on long enough, you can later cauterize trauma, scars are sexy Unhealed reactivity isn’t and you have learnt not to take shortcuts Intentional solitude reveals why you were held in glass jars and shook The overspilling of manifesting wouldn’t allow for intellectual thriving The price of gold would drop and they wouldn’t feel any lucky So you decide to stay present and grateful and wait till it rings again.

†

trash nostalgia

Trash Nostalgia Carrie Braybrooks

Communication Design Analog Photography carriebraybrooks.com 2020

(some)time

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You know you love it.

12am to 5am

12am Jordan Utting

Visual Arts 120mm Film 2020

jordanutting.com

THIS PHOTOGRAPH IS A LONG EXPOSURE THAT LASTED THE DURATION

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OF MY SLEEP.

to 5am

(some)time

edited memory

e t i d d Mem E ory Edited Mem ory e t i d Me d E mory Ysabel Owen Visual Arts Watercolour 2020

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@ysabelowen

(some)time

Rooting I’m remembering the power of crones and goddesses when I walk past diasporic Dandelion who reminds me that medicine is at my footsteps, travelling and nestling near bodies that need healing. Dandelion are masters of survival, thrival, existing in plentitude against attempts to uproot. And if severed, they grow many limbs like a chthonic, pluralistic feeler, spreading 5000 seeds per flower head a season.

I’m a Euro-blended settler yes, but diasporic to Grandmother Callechan who holds me in her megalithic arms, the Mother Witch of Scottish Peasantry. She knows me through the many lives and deaths and births of big time and small — the time it’s taken from before Fir Bolg to my writing you. And as a goddess of landscape, she reminds travellers to wash mud off their feet before moving on, to thresh trauma and old wounds that do not belong to this body, my body, nor the body of the land I now walk through.

Scan the QR code to view their website.

and Callechan’s Callechan’sroot root lives Dandelion and lives livelive on on years, for years, living in cycles, refor living and and dyingdying in cycles, remindminding me are we are always learning, learning me we always learning, learning, ing, learning, unlearning, forward, back, learning, unlearning, everever forward, back, in

loops.

AsAs thethe səl̓səl̓ ilwətaɁɬ in loops. ilwəta say, “time out of mind”, we are learning. And I am learning that there is goodness in my blood, behind layers of colonial harm. There is goodness in the roots of my ancestors. When my ancestors were serfs, peasants, nomads, folk peoples, land lovers, and Earth-honouring.

Before tongues were ripped out of the wise ones, before screws were drilled through thumbs that passed down culture. Before Dandelion’s image was sprayed with glyphosate and sterilized Anglo-lawn aesthetics.

Before Callechan was on the losing end to men and warriors who insulted and defeated her in matrilineal-turned-patriarchal stories.

The stories of amnesia and dominance.

But despite the thousands of attempts to try to mythically kill off the deathless Callechan, she lives on in memory, in the land, in my body. And Dandelion’s presence will return again and again on sterilized lawns, no matter how much chemical warfare ensues. They are messengers, prophets, and visionaries whose bloom and memory reminds me that sunnier days are coming.

And Dandelion, when made into a salve releases tension, stuck muscles, and stories.

Jourdan Tymkow

Critical and Cultural Practice Practices Writing Prose Poetry 2021 @pearly__moon

(some)time

,

. , I m beginning to be released by stories held by Callechan She who is the Daughter of the

, , Little Sun is the elemental power of winter cold who turns the ground to frost with her . staff This wakeup call to crunchy iridescent lawns is telling me to invest in my root life

. and to wash this sticky mud off my being before sunlight’s return

, Callechan tells me that my Celtic peoples were buried in earthen mounds Loughcrewand

, , Bru na Boinne among others covered in stone and spirals and vulvas ,

whose remains would gradually sink into soil , . gestating in the Earth womb arriving back home to be born again new

, , In morning’s frosty light I am transforming my roots underground being buried in

, new and remembered configurations of being as Dandelion reaches their hairy .

conductors for nutrients in compacted silt and clay , Together we transmute harsh conditions into a more viable place for many beings to

. thrive

We aerate the soil , ,

creating gentler spaces

nourishment

and crumbling . of compacted programming ,

Transmuting aerating , decompacting ,

we are preparing for sunnier days ahead

rooting

.

“her” mixtape

“her” mixtape

Ruby Pang

Communication Design Multimedia 2020 rubypang.com

(some)time

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“HER” IS AN EMBODIED EXPERIENCE, E X P LO R I N G THE M U LT I P L I C I T Y OF I N D I V I D UA L I D E N T I T Y. E AC H P L AY L I S T I N T H I S T H R E E - PA R T M I X TA P E I S O L AT ES A N D PAY S H O M AG E TO P E R S O N A S T H AT T H E A R T I S T H A S TA K E N O N D U R I N G C E R TA I N P O I N T S I N T I M E .

just what is it that makes yesteryear’s taverns so different, so appealing?

Just what is it that makes yesteryear’s taverns

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Vee CR

Master of Fine Arts Digital Collage 2019

so different, so appealing?

This artwork features Gladys Marybottom and Phann Oakwood engaged in some silly flirting while Phann’s friends argue in the background over money. While the collage depicts a scene from my D&D campaign, my goal was to integrate this world into the framework of art history and contemporary collage culture. The title refers to Just what is it that makes today’s homes so different, so appealing, a famous collage with a lot of baggage surrounding appropriation. As a collage artist, appropriation is almost unavoidable — I wanted to showcase that both through the use of Shutterstock hands and a Last Supper homage in the background.

The composition also seems to reference Gabrielle d’Estrées et une de ses soeurs, which wasn’t my intention, but I love the connection as it is a seriously silly painting. My work is situated in a liminal space in (some)unknown-time and (some)unknown-place with (some)basically-unknown-people, working to blur the distinction between the past and the present.

@vincent.chorabik

(some)time

trying to think of something else than what is...

lonely hour

Lonely Hour This transitional stage in which you should feel eager to move towards your future career while slowly finishing school makes yesterday, today and tomorrow all merge together. Questions about what one loved in the past emerges, so that an enjoyable future can be contemplated, while the stress of today makes it hard to remain present.

This time is in constant motion, yet incredibly still at the same time, months flying by but minutes feeling like years.

Pascale Jean

Visual Arts Digital Photography 2021 @pascale.papercut

(some)time

Scan the QR code to view their website.

Especially now, this period feels incredibly lonely and static. Spending time in front of a computer all day and night in search of what could be, trying to think of something other than what is — should I look back in order to look forward?

Diego Cruz

diegocruz.site

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Visual Arts Editorial 2021

Omen and the Three Sisters (some)time

Omen

A

long time ago, there lived three sisters in a hut at the edge of the village. They had little to sustain themselves, only being able to feed on the fish they caught at the stream across the forest. The sisters were not exactly old, but the youths would certainly not consider them their own. The sisters did not originate from this village, which looked down upon strangers from another land, none of them would ever offer them any sustenance, a kind word or a warm embrace. Left to fend for themselves, there were nights when the three sisters yearned for a community, but they were always grateful to have each other. One morning, as the eldest sister sat by the stream throwing her net out into the water hoping to catch some dinner, the unexpected would occur.

A grand pull made the net taught, “I’ve caught a huge one!” exclaimed the eldest sister, but as she pulled the net towards her, the shape she saw was not of a fish, but of a babe.

The eldest sister left the child tangled in the fishing net by the shore to run and get her sisters so they could help her think of what to do with the corpse. Once they arrived at the net, the sisters discovered the baby was very much alive, and was struggling to get back into the water.

“Oh my! It’s moving!” said the middle sister. “What will we do with it?”

The youngest sister, as daring as she was, walked up to the baby and picked it up.

“He’s beautiful, we can’t just leave him!”

The baby really was beautiful, he had glowing skin, which reflected the light in all kinds of ways and after the three sisters took him to their hut and dried him and fed him some fish, they noticed his hair and skin stayed wet no matter how much they tried to keep him dry. While this perplexed the sisters, they decided to keep him, they couldn’t let him fend for himself like the world had let them.

Three months into caring for this baby, the village folk started to pay more attention to the sisters, bringing them grand baskets of food to their door and inviting them to lavish events in town. The sisters did not know why this was, but they were happy to accept all these lavish offerings from the people that once cast them out. And so, the sisters aptly named the baby “Omen” due to the great luck he brought them. One year into caring for the baby, the sisters had been enjoying a work-free life, eating well and enjoying the gifts the villagers brought them, but in all this time they were never given an explanation for this.

“Don’t you think it would be nice of us to ask somebody why they are giving us so many things?”

Asked the middle sister.

“Why bother? they’ll just stop if we think we don’t want them!”

Said the eldest sister.

Weeks passed, and the sisters kept getting richer with

and

Thre

ters

the

Sis

undeserving gifts from the village people, who had built them a huge house at the heart of town. One day, an old man brought the sisters a very large fried fish, enough to feed a whole family. This reminded the youngest sister of the humbler times in her life, and so she dared to ask the man why all these gifts were being given to her and her sisters.

“These gifts are not for you usurpers, they are for the babe, for he is a sea babe, the offspring of Staraya Roza.”

The sisters knew about the story of Staraya Roza, a powerful witch who travels the world in search for her sea babes, the many children she bore with the ocean god Poseidon who are scattered across the lands.

“Are you really saying these gifts are due to silly superstition?”

Said the eldest child.

“Who are we to call their beliefs silly? If they want to make sure the baby, and we have a good life, I say let them!”

Exclaimed the middle sister slyly.

That night, the sisters were awakened by Omen’s loud cries.

When they went to check on the babe, they found their lavish mansion had become a wreck. “Give me my child or die!” said a loud voice. “Staraya Roza!” Cried the middle sister.

“Don’t be daft, it must be the village people wanting to take back all their stuff!” Exclaimed the eldest sister.

When suddenly, the three sisters were thrown across what was left of the mansion by a force so great it must have been a miracle they were all still alive.

“What was that?” Screamed the youngest sister, “Sorcery!” Yelled a figure which had stepped into the light.

Her voice was obnoxious, like the cry of a chicken trying to escape the inevitable jaws of a fox. She was an old woman, dressed in fine clothes and even finer jewels. “Give me my child or you will all be turned into loaves of bread so I can feed my babies!”

Omen’s loud cries could be heard coming from his chamber. The witch flew across the rubble, and at the sight of her baby, who appeared fat, happy and healthy, she let out a sigh of relief.

“For taking such good care of my babe, I will bestow upon the three of you great magical gifts!” Cheered the witch.

Suddenly the mansion around them had not just been rebuilt, but it had been made three times its size.

“And for ignoring my child, the rest of this village shall be punished.”

After that, Staraya Roza and the babe had vanished. Loud screams could be heard from outside the sister’s grand mansion, roaring fires enveloped the village, ridding the land of every living thing. The next morning, the sisters woke up in their grand home, but the village around them now seemed like the page of an old book, gray, withered and lifeless. Only the fish at the stream had survived the witch’s fiery vengeance.

-

red series

Red Series e

This work references my time during quarantine and the emotions I was forced to face during isolation. Authenticity is important to me, so I play on these ideas with references to clowns and the colours related.

How do clown and quarantine relate? Before lockdown, I was on the go and suppressed things like we all do. Put on

a happy face. I think quarantine was helpful in facing certain things. I thought the topic of (SOME)TIME related to this specific series in regards to when I (or any individual) decides to face adversities.

Time is an interesting thing and the idea of “bad timing” doesn’t really exist because neither does good timing.

Georgina Hawitt

Visual Arts Acrylic and Oil Paint 2020

@georginahawittart

(some)time

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How d o

?

t a l e r n e i d quarant n a ns w clo

hatagallery1998

hatagallery1998 hata gallery1998 Visuals and storytelling of Showa and Heisei-era automobilia of West Japan.

This piece is 35 mm film shot from Osaka and Hiroshima to Fukuoka.

Inspired by true Japanese car culture.

Industrial Design Publication Design 2019

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Lance Pan

@hatagallery1998

(some)time

icelandic time

1 y e ar, 6 months, 12 days, 19 hours.

Icelandic

Time

is a set of vessels used to examine the overlapping duality of physical and mental realities; the way we move back and forth in time to experience something in the present. Personal familiarity and future anticipation of vessels are challenged through unusual activation. This further questions the function, definition, and the space in which the objects reside. The vessels are responsive to and hold my photograph of ice, frozen in ice — generating a lapse in memory-time and real-time whilst being situated between the conceptual and factual. Time thaws; a dialogue takes place between the physicality of image and object which are mutually in touch.

Julia Chang

Master of Fine Arts Porcelain, Glaze, Ceramic Decal 2020

(some)time

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julia-chang.com

pensante

Pensante EXPLORING PIECES OF THE INTIMACY BETWEEN THE FOUR WALLS I HAVE EXPERIENCED FOR THE PAST YEAR. CONTEMPLATING SPACES WITHIN THE SAME PAGE.

Paula Torres Urzua

Industrial Design Digital 2019

@paula.mtu

(some)time

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AN INSPIRATION FROM MY AUNT’S PIECE.

a deck built by dad (close enough)

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Natalie Robinson

Visual Arts Oil Paint on Canvas 2020

@natart.acct

u i l t b b k y c d e a d d A (close enough)

“A DECK BUILT BY DAD (CLOSE ENOUGH)” IS FROM MY ONGOING SERIES ENTITLED “LIMINAL HOME,” WHICH DRAWS INSPIRATION FROM THE DOMESTIC SPACE OF HOME. THIS SERIES IS AN EXPLORATION OF TIME SPENT IN AN OVERFAMILIAR SPACE. IN AN ERA OF REGULAR SELF-ISOLATION, THE SAFE SPACE OF HOME HAS BECOME MORE IMPORTANT THAN EVER.

(some)time

It’ll take

. e m ti Monique Germain

Illustration Editorial 2021

@monique_germain

Scan the QR code to view their website.

Coats (some)time

I wish you’d se en

m

eg row into them.

I think that you lived on borrowed time— Years broken-in by your parent’s grime Hanging like curtains over your frame, Tags embroidered with another’s name.

You wore your age as small children do Their mom’s heels and hats, soaked in mildew— Making your way through society, Stumbling and unable to see.

You taught me how to dutifully don What’s handed down to you to put on— Passed me your carefully folded coats And buttoned them tight up over my throat.

Young and thankful to lay them to rest, My hands find these clothes tidy and pressed.

They sit in my closet— respected— While years of struggling’s rejected.

Untouched, they sit and quietly sleep Patched, stitched and darned in a tired heap Their purpose and power stripped away Just fabric— loved, but left to decay.

My own clothes are still full of loose threads.

Too thin, too stiff, too long for my legs— But mine— mine alone, my choice, my style What bound you once, now only textile I wish you’d seen me grow into them.

Wearing out my own elbows and hem— In the years that they’ll carry me through I’ll wear them, and I’ll remember you.

inscription of hope

o f n H o i o t p p i e r c s r i p c s n tion n I I o Photography 120mm Film and iPhone 2020

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khimhipol.com

“INSCRIPTION OF HOPE” is a personal exploration of feelings and how they can be translated through the usage of objects and spaces. Often, we associate ourselves with our comforts that could allow our emotional state to connect within either domestic or institutionalized areas. “INSCRIPTION OF HOPE” has a stillness — freezing of moment. An absence of human presence has allowed me to focus on the object and space. The space used in these photographs is where human activity often occurs, but as mentioned, since the pandemic started, this place has not been used. The mundane is present but more so still. Moreover, The light has added comforts to contrast the stillness.

The warmth of light has given hope. (some)time

pe Ho

Khim Hipol

f

ghost of hamlet’s father

Ghost

of Hamlet’s Father

Monique Germain

Illustration Mixed Media 2020

@monique_germain

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This is part of a series of illustrations I made for the story of Hamlet — it shows the pivotal scene where Hamlet encounters his father’s ghost and first sets down the path of revenge. It’s a meeting of the generations — the passing of a grudge through time and the family line.

Without this scene, Hamlet could have lived a full life.

Frankly? I wish the King hadn’t shown himself. You snooze (and have your brother murder you in your sleep) you lose. Come on man, let your son listen to his MCR and wear his studded belts in peace. I want the play to be exactly three scenes long and just end with Hamlet going back to Wittenberg university with Horatio. Give me that rom-com rewrite. No need for things like… IDK… a hundred senseless deaths.

(some)time

2020 mood

Foundation Year Charcoal, Chalk, Conte on Grey Paper @an__boleyn 2020

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Andrea Bollen

2 0 0 2 Mood

It was my first year at ECUAD and due to the pandemic I wasn’t able to experience live figure drawing. To complete my final figure drawing I had to improvise — I put this model pose image from croquiscafe.org up on my TV and I sat on the floor doing this large drawing. To describe the model pose: a side view of a person

sitting on a stool with their elbows propped on a table beside them, resting their chin in their cupped hands, their legs crossed. Gabrielle’s body posture struck me with the mood I had felt in 2020: it is a solo mood, being alone. To me, it is an image that represents 2020: disappointment, listening, waiting, wondering, thinking.

(some)time

be close even if you are far away

Be close even if you are far away This is the concept for the application LDR. During my time in Boston, I spent most of my time studying while in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend (who is now my husband). We spoke on the phone and exchanged a dozen pictures daily, so the purpose of the app is to analyze my photos and have AI sort them out into categories.

THE VIDEO BELOW GIVES YOU A WALKTHROUGH FOR THE APP:

Anna Ivasyshyna

Communication Design App Design 2019 @jsai.me

(some)time

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https://youtu.be/C7Mr8ZYwmlU

catch me if u can

16MM FOUND FOOTAGE SCRATCHED, BLEACHED, HOLE-PUNCHED, AND DYED WITH ADDITIONAL USE OF TEMPORARY TATTOOS, MARKERS, GLITTER, FEATHERS AND NAIL POLISH. catch me if u can WARPS TIME AND IMAGE, MERGING OLD FOOTAGE WITH NEW TECHNIQUES IN A HYPNOTIC WAY.

catch me if u can Celina de Leon

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Film and Screen Arts 16mm Film 2020 @celinebean2000

(some)time

In Retrospect Retrospect Retrospect Megan Randall

Illustration Editorial 2021

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@artlark

(some)time

Said Student One, “It seems to me You focus on the strife — I aim to look back fondly on The best years of my life.”

Said Student Two to Student One “It’s funny, but I think The last four years I’ve spent in school Have forced me to the brink!”

Said Student Two, “You’ve got it wrong!

That viewpoint’s far too glum, You talk about ‘the good old days’: I think they’re still to come!”

Said Student One to Student Two “I don’t think that’s quite fair; We’ve had an education here We couldn’t get elsewhere.”

Said Student One to Student Two, “I’ll have to disagree, Though future plans may suit you well, They only worry me!”

Said Student Two, “Some classes here Have left me somewhat spiteful: The deadlines harsh, the teachers snide; The coursework truly frightful!”

“Enough of that,” said Student Two, “I think you’re being daft.

I’m ready to get out of here And cultivate my craft.”

“It seems to me,” the first replied, “You’re simply being dense, We’d hardly have learnt much at all Had class not been intense!”

“A chilling thought,” the first one said, “At least here it’s been steady.

To think we’re heading out so soon — By god! I’m hardly ready!”

Said Student Two, “You can’t defend The cruellest of critiques; The cutting words among your peers Maligning your techniques.”

“We can’t predict what’s next,” said Two, “It isn’t ours to know.

The more important thing right now — We’ve still two months to go!”

“I’ve had good crits,” the first one shrugged, “And poor ones I’ve had many, But school would have been much more dull If there had not been any!”

So Student Two and Student One On pleasant terms departed With little time to reminisce Once postgrad life had started!

ha db rm

“And what about,” the second said, “Our current situation?

You can’t tell me you’re happy with An online graduation.”

e gu n .

Said Student One to Student Two, “With fourth year nearly done It seems like only yesterday Our first term had begun.”

te t rs i f r It s u o eem y a s like only yesterd

can i play too?

Participatory artwork inviting the audience to create drawings with mud — 35 x 35″ floor container with dirt, toy cars and trucks (my son’s), paper, and a spray bottle with water.

Heather Yip

Visual Arts Participatory Artwork 2020

@heatheranneyipart

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Can

I

T o y o a ? l P

(some)time

keedy sans type specimen

Communication Design Digital (Processing) 2020

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Liam Racz

@liamracz

Keedy Sans

Type Specimen Keedy Sans was Jeffrey Keedy’s embracement of the computer, and expression against modernism. Design isn’t about making things elegant and modern. Design is about critically thinking about context and form; creating something new. Keedy Sans’ letterforms are consistently inconsistent. It is formally unpredictable, wilfully contradicting expectations.

Inspired by Jeffrey Keedy, this was my way of embracing the computer and the laws of chance. I developed a program that would generate a glitched typographic composition at random.

Out of the infinite compositions available, these were my favourites. (some)time

(some) time ago

(Some) Time Ago

(SOME) TIME AGO, WE VISITED A PLACE THAT WAS NEW BUT NOT SO NEW. THROUGH SPACES BENEATH AND STREETS ABOVE AND WATERS BEYOND WE WENT.

Kin Godwin Chua

Communication Design 35mm Film @kingodwinchua 2019

(some)time

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SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE, I HOPE TO WANDER TOGETHER ONCE AGAIN.

A

g Ta

w @ s u

oopublic

ati on

+

h ooc #w allenge for a f e at

e! ur

A. @woopublication #woochallenge

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Woo Challenges are unique weekly prompts that encourage the Emily Carr University community to exhibit and showcase their work online, no matter the medium. Challenges also give students the opportunity to share pieces from their lives, such as music and fun photographs. This platform expresses the diversity, talent, and creativity that inhabits the school.

Tag #woochallenge or @woopublication in your stories or posts to be featured on our Instagram page every Friday. Our DMs are always open!

Woo Challenges

Faces

of

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Emily Carr

B. @facesofemilycarr Faces of Emily Carr captures the stories, perspectives, and lives of the people at Emily Carr University. Interviewing students, faculty and staff, FEC highlights the diverse backgrounds and cultures individuals come from and how their practices have been formulated. The goal of this student-run project is to share people’s stories, familiarize faces, and help create a community in and outside the campus (even during a pandemic)!

B

S

Emily Carr val Gu i v r i de u

Emily Carr University Survival Guide is an expanded archive of Woo Challenges responses that we’ve found particularly insightful. It is a participatory blog that hopes to encourage reflection and share casual advice that is relevant to students, creatives, and Vancouverites. If you’d like to learn some new life hacks or read snippets of the community’s thoughts from certain points in time, you can access the guide in woopublication.ca or search #ecusurvivalguide on Instagram!

Colophon WOO is available at Emily Carr University and woopublication.ca.

The views expressed in this publication do not reflect those of Emily Carr University or the editors and publisher. © 2021 including all content by the artists, authors and editors.

All images are reproduced with the permission of the artists.

WOO assumes all work published here is original and the work is the property of the submitting students. All artwork titles and student names are trademarked or copyrighted by their respective owners.

WOO gratefully acknowledges the support of students, alumni, faculty, the Emily Carr Students’ Union, and the Administrative Board at Emily Carr University.

Inquiries can be addressed to WOO’s directors at woo@ecuad.ca Printed with Hemlock Printers.

The typefaces used in this publication are: IvyPresto Display designed by Jan Maack from Ivy Foundry Nimbus Sans designed by URW Type Foundry Mamba designed by Gaspar Muñoz from W Type Foundry This issue is limited to 200 copies.

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WOO PUBLICATION

SPRING 2021

(SO ME) TI ME

(SOME)TIME

2021 By Woo Publication

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