Letter from the Managing Editor of Copy
art by Jenna Clare Trinidad, words by Evelyn Pak
Dear Reader,
Guided by the fixed gravitational pull of the moon, the ocean’s waves are a constant in this world of ever-changing variables. In this ekphrastic issue, our writers—our waves and tide—are guided, pulled, and inspired by the creative cool light of our artists—our moon. Waves carry away sediments of time and sand; washing away regrets and wishes alike. Though they may erode and break down the old, the cyclic rising and falling of the sea births new lands yet to be seen.
We see waves in our communities and ourselves. Through the shaping of different identities and beliefs over time, they are all molded by the inevitable incoming tides of change. From generation to generation, some rituals are lost and some ideals are forged from the weight of labor and love. Each day, we mourn the us of yesterday and pray for the us of tomorrow.
We ask you to accompany us as we start from the beginning of this cycle, from our youth and childhood. This issue opens with a piece by Sana Friedman as she takes us into the world of fantasy and innocence, a brief escape from reality told through the eyes of a child in her poem, inspired by artist Angeline Phan’s “Crest.” Whether it be the sounds under our beds or our fates beyond, fear follows us no matter our age. Ayat Younis’s piece, “Ripples of Time,” inspired by Angeline Phan’s art “Trace,” the narrator explores the push & pull of life and death as their time ends. Despite being haunted by what was and what could have been, we can only continue forward.
Navigating the uncertainties of everything around us, Justin Kim’s poem “Jesa,” inspired by Sana Friedman’s art piece “Just Tell Me Where To Go,” ruminates on the cycle of life and the anchors we seek to steady through rough waters. Some find it in the form of hushed whispers in sacred corners, while others find it through the bonds they share with the people surrounding them.
Family, for instance, often becomes the lighthouse guiding boats home. Mia Tan and Bhavyasri Suggula describe the weight of sisterhood and the different swells in growth and emotions over time. Mia’s “Footprints on the Moon,” inspired by artist Mariam Seshan’s “As It Washes Away,” attempts to understand the fleeting nature of life and the suffering of a sister. In “a lived drowning,” inspired by Hannah Nguyen’s animation “drowned out,” Bhavyasri describes the turmoil and pressure an older sister must endure.
To carry the burden of unfulfilled dreams and hopes of those who came before you sometimes demands you withstand the cracking of your spine and ignore the tears that are shed. The shackles of suffocating expectations are continued in Adrian Alora’s poem “relinquish,” inspired by Ananya Saraiman’s art, where they are torn between the life they want to live and the life that is imposed upon them.
Memories of families come and go; regardless of how pleasant or bitter they may be. And yet, we seek out the warmth and familiarity that ebbs and flows throughout our daily lives. Helen Do’s poem, “Lunar New Year 2024,” inspired by Tori Ochave’s animation “What Do You Do With It All?” infuses traditions and endless promises with the yearning that grows with distance.
From family to strangers, a bond exists that connects all humans, through the push and pull of time. Evelyn Pak and Melanie Chuh both explore these unseen tethers tied to grazing fingers that may never interlock with each other. In “neighbors,” inspired by Tori Ochave’s art, Evelyn captures a glimpse of shared, ubiquitous moments within a sea of strangers. Melanie breathes life into these faces, sharing the most precious and vulnerable thoughts of unnamed figures in “Wishes Unanswered,” a poem inspired by Katherine Shi’s art “Opposite Shores.”
As Evelyn and Melanie muse over the hypotheticals of those we have yet to meet, Vaidehi Bhardwaj dives into the sincerity and intimacy that can be offered between two people. In her piece “red wolf called love,” inspired by Jolinna Li’s film photography series “remember the wolf,” Vaidehi ventures deeper into the chaotic and visceral experience of loving and aching for another.
Cayla Celis probes the idea of isolation and the anatomy of the body through a chilling tale in “Thread,” inspired by Katherine Shi’s art “Cycles.” As the narrator struggles to find herself in the thousands of masks she puts on, Alisa Susatijo also contemplates loneliness and identity with her piece “pulsar,” inspired by the art of Ananya Saraiman.
Though the high tide floods the shoreline and sinks lost trinkets and shells to the bottom of the sea, the low tide reveals new treasures and untouched paths. And it repeats, every day and every night. The same cycle and the same principle, yet slightly different each time. Our artists and writers tread topics both novel and dear, hoping these messages in bottles make their way to you.
As a final farewell and thank you, I would like to thank the members of {in}Visible Magazine for allowing me to work with such talented and great people. As managing editor of copy this past fall semester, I had the great privilege of witnessing the hard work that our members put into their pieces. I will always be rooting for the success of {in}Visible as well as everyone involved. Thank you again for all the memories you have gifted me and I hope our magazine will continue to be a source of inspiration for all those who come across it.
Good luck in all your future endeavors, readers and creators!
Evelyn
