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knack magazine / issue sixteen
KNACK is dedicated to showcasing the work of new artists of all mediums and to discussing trends and ideas within art communities. KNACK’s ultimate aim is to connect and inspire emerging artists. We strive to create a place for artists, writers, designers, thinkers, and innovators to collaborate and produce a unique, informative, and unprecedented web-based magazine each month.
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WILL SMITH Co-Founder, Digital Operations ANDREA VACA Co-Founder, Photo Editor, Production Manager, Marketing ARIANA LOMBARDI Executive Editor ARIANNA SULLIVAN Editor JONATHON DUARTE Design Director spread art by EMILEE LORD
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ARTIST BIOGR APHIES
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EMILEE LOR D
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MATT BEDNAROWICZ
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KILIAN SCHÖNBERGER
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CHAR LES COCHR AN
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SUBMISSION GUIDELINES
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EMILEE LORD
MATT BEDNAROWICZ
Emilee Lord is a visual and performing artist that combines her love of language, her experiential movement practice and the seductive and absurd nature of repetition to create quiet, sparse and often odd works on paper, installations and multi media performance events. She received her BA from Bennington College, in sculpture and dance - 2004 and her MFA in Fiber from Cranbrook Academy of Art – 2007. She has been an artist in residence at Vermont Studio Center, Santa Fe Art Institute, and Jentel Artist Residency. She explores the places in between movement, image, language, material, object and abstraction.
Matthew Bednarovicz, 23, born, bread and breathes Chicago, Illinois. Through his journey to being a poet many paths of self-discovery have jarred his perception of the world in which we live. Educated at a young age in the art of self-expression, Waldorf School, Chicago has helped him flourish and keep connected with his soul, from which his inspiration comes. In a perpetual battle of addiction and social expectations, his work reflects the internal struggle of man.
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KILIAN SCHĂ–NBERGER
CHARLES COCHRAN
Kilian SchĂśnberger is a photographer and geographer from Cologne, Germany. His aspiration is to cut his path as a photographer despite being color-blind. He recognized that he could turn this so-called disadvantage into a strength and developed his own unique photographic view. His photographic work concerns a range of topics from natural landscapes to cityscapes. Remote rural areas are photographically as interesting to him as the lifestyle and architecture of urban melting pots. Both worlds fascinate him and so, he tries to capture his individual view of these changing and challenging environments. He especially likes the harsh beauty of remote areas and the peculiar melancholy that surrounds them.
Charles Cochran was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, in 1985. He currently resides in El Paso, Texas. He had a happy but uneventful early life. His mother was Mormon and his father, a human. Though he did not paint until his 26th year, he attributes his unconventional style to his bland formative years and mixed religious background. Having only painted such a short time, under two years, his acrylic work is sold mostly online or to local restaurants and bars. With no formal art training he grows by experimentation.
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EMILEE LORD STU DIO ART
Multiples: The repetition creates a flock. Aesthetically I prefer things that are broken, tiny, smudged, burned, torn, empty, forgotten, mislaid, fallen over, or sorry. These objects carry their own weight, but like a thread into a tapestry or a word into a novel when repeated they gain greater meaning and greater experience. The singular sorry thing is given power by virtue of it being among a multitude, and yet flirts with a sense of absurdity and further misplacement. Form: Deconstructed maps, abstracted landscape and the architecture of ruins combined with reference to gesture, momentum, timing and sound quality create a layering of surfaces and an abstraction of our paths through and our place within this contemporary environment. Language: I spend a lot of time reading. I read for the words, their rhythm and the way they work together. In the dictionary, with words and the web created by their definitions, their synonyms, etc. I find help when talking about my work. Also, perhaps more so, it is one of the places the work comes from. The work is referential but non representational and words, their meanings, the way we use them and what they contain become the objects whose portrait I’m drawing. The repetition creates a flock.
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Emilee Lord, is this issue’s featured studio artist. She is slated to attend two artist residencies this summer. DRAWInternational in Caylus, Southern France is a residency that focuses on professional development and cultural exchange in relation to drawing, action and the body as a tool for drawing, as well as exploration and research into the contemporary practice of drawing. They offer accommodation, private studios and weekly in-studio feedback.
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SIM, in downtown Reykjavik, Iceland provides studio space and accommodations. As with DRAWInternational there are only a few other artists-in-residence and a lot of uninterrupted, private time for work.
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an interview with emilee lord Someone asks you, “What kind of artist are you?” Your response is… Honestly, on the spot I probably stutter, shuffle my feet, wince and say something about drawings and dance. Horrific. What I wish someone would ask is “what kind of work do you make?” The categories of what kind of artist someone is are at once vague and restricting. I am a visual artist. I am a choreographer. I am a quiet artist. I believe in beauty. I steeped myself in the minimalist tradition and then rejected most of their philosophy. I edited my way into abstraction - preferring reference to representation. I make dances that sometimes rest near stillness and are always twisting and uncomfortable. I make drawings like one might design a textile that is already fraying before it is made. I approach absurdity with seriousness and intention. I believe in futility and ritual. How do I connect the dots between the facts that when I was little I looked at things and never spoke, and then I played the pipe organ, and then I read too much, and then I learned to weave, and now I make dances about nothing and drawings about solitude? What mediums do you like to create within? Primarily I make drawings and dances. My installations, while heavily site specific and object oriented are also what I consider to be drawings - in space, through space, with material.
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It’s all drawing. It’s all line and layer and shade and breathlessness.
What does each respective medium offer you to express the ideas/artistic impulse that you may have? Drawing and dance share a sense of immediacy. They both use qualities of line making and gesture. They share also a sense of time. Drawings are less in the now than dance but there is a sense of the timing of the making of it; the gesture of the maker - the sketching hand. In dance, however much in the now it can exist and however much it is predetermined through choreography and structure, there is also a sketching hand, or body; a play with gesture and the nuance of the body within that. The places where these two media differ, and why I might choose dance over drawing, or vise versa, is that drawing to me is an abstraction very much like language. There is something I experience, or feel or know or see that I want to convey, and like with words, I draw this thing and it communicates to a viewer through a language of mark making, which is inherently abstract. While dance may seem at first an abstract way of conveying meaning, it has an immediate relation. We are all bodies in motion. And beyond the character of who we are as individuals and a society, beyond the story of us, the big us, there is the fact of us. And that fact is that we are here in bodies and moving. So to communicate through dance sometimes I think is allowing for a direct link between my body and yours. It is my body and then yours with its different actuality but its very similar nature. If I’m looking for language I draw. If I’m looking for direct links, I dance. And then there are the places in between that I fill in with the other. I might add that I am not particularly interested in things directly relating to each other but in the referential nature of things, so the images you see and the words you hear may not relate in real time, but over time or because I am asking you to look at them simultaneously. There is great space for imagination and wonder. I play with that. I do not always believe that we can only make from our own experience. We can also, perhaps, make from our collective experience and from the things we imagine but do not own. That being said, we are, as makers, always obliged to placate those things we have always been in love with. There are things that each of us has always found totally engaging on some inexplicable level, and that’s where art is made, as far as I’m concerned; In a place of inexplicable obsession and wonder. For me, some of those things are wastelands, tiny
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details of texture, fog, hollow sounds, frailty, delicate almost broken things, forest floors covered in pine needles, the horizon, snow, and solitude. they are also, on a material level, fabric, ink, paper, needles, and thread. What colors most represent the way you feel when you are dancing, drawing, weaving? I operate very little with color in mind. I am more likely to have a sense of light or darkness or perhaps a sense of space or lack of space. I am truly obsessed with lines and the tension you can build in them. The content or meaning somehow inherent to color is distracting to me and unnecessary to the work. How has your relationship to creating art and art itself changed or morphed throughout the years? I haven’t thought about this really. I suppose my work creates the timeline of this morphing and if I looked at it I could say I went from literal to precious to the need for the virtuosic to qualitative to obsessive to edited to gentle to quiet to scattered to painful to full. Does that make sense? No. In the 15 years I have been making I have learned to let go of the preciousness of things. I used to not know how to work through something because the facts of the materials and the objects were already too precious to me. In time I learned to interpret why this was so and allow myself to change, destroy, manipulate, cause. I have also gone through periods of working with and being influenced by certain artists or movements and then others. I had to glean everything I could from them. A sort of copying of the masters to learn a technique. I also think that I am becoming more specific about what I intend and I am learning that it’s ok to shift those intentions from time to time. What was your defining moment as a professional artist? Should it have happened already? I think it hasn’t happened yet. But really, is there this one moment? I just said “it” twice referring to this thing I imagine is like lightening or power. And then I remember stomping silken hand woven tapestries in a mud puddle to force myself to get over being precious and risk ruining something for the sake of the exploration. That was defining. I forced myself once to make only the ugliest movements I could manage, to get over the need for perfection or virtuosity. That was real. When I was reviewed by Baz Nichols for WhiteLine Reviewing Minimalism Internationally 5 or so years ago
that was huge. It felt great to read that someone had actually witnessed part of what I am after. I made a dance once that was, I can say with 100% confidence, totally true and exactly what I meant. that never happens. That’s the goal, but it never happens. So the moment that it did was something real. In the beginning of my life as a artist my friend and mentor, Stephen Siegel, asked me this: “What would you do if money was no concern and no one had any demands of you?” and my 18 yr old self had no idea how to answer this. But it was a moment I will not forget and allowed me to dare to answer that question for the past 14 years. What impression or new perspective would you like someone interacting with your work to take away? I’m not sure it’s a new perspective - like news. I think I am asking people to see what’s there already. To really look. To notice the futility and beauty and absurdity and mass of the world and its people and its pathways and its layers. I want to ask people to look harder, to stay longer, to slow down, to pay attention. I want people to question what’s around them. There is oneness and a strangeness and a playfulness I intend to expose. There is also a pain and a sorrow and a loss that I intend to frame. The unseen and unspoken details of humanity. The traces of who we are here and now. I want that we should pay attention to these things. The traces and pieces of our collective self. My work is non narrative - perhaps anti narrative - and often people add stories in, because we are programmed to do so. If someone could see without narrative and feel a thing, that would be one of the points of all this. What teacher(s) and technique(s) have been your most influential? The great thing about all the dead masters of art is that they cannot refuse me when I ask to be an apprentice. I have spent a large portion of my life - my day - in books and looking at pictures and reading about the how and why of the artists before me. And I have tried to understand these things. I spent time with these makers. And that kind of study has a way of placing me within the context of art history. I apprenticed with several weavers over the years and some of my professors have been truly influential. Amy Putansu, Jon Isherwood, Susan Sgorbati, Jane Lackey. And then sometimes I have learned the most from writers,
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I stare at things, I look at pictures, I flip through art books and magazines, I read poetry, I feel things between my fingers, I play with string, I fall in love with paper, I read the dictionary.
gain perspective on one because of the other, or at least from the time away from it. And I can make things that require time without going mad watching plaster dry - which is an interesting activity unto itself but one I don’t freely admit to engaging in that often. What does your workspace look like? I have been accused of having the most orderly studio ever seen. This I can’t argue. It makes sense given that most of my time is spent making things that deal with order, linearity, and grids. I am meticulous. Details matter entirely and that extends to the way the books are stacked on my desk and at what angle I place them. So my work space is tidy. And somehow also cluttered. There is an intense amount of notes, quotes, and doodles in front of me. Everything I am working on or thinking about or reading or looking at has to be visible at all times, so there is a lot of stuff all over the walls and floor. I like to think I’m absorbing and solving things through my periphery but actually I’m just afraid I will forget the things that matter; the things I love. What peaked your interest most about these summer residencies? Besides the opportunity that a residency allows for you to have uninterrupted time and space to focus on your work without the small business of life to worry about, is the collaboration that occurs when you get a group of creative people together. Whether it happens in the studio or around the dinner table, it happens, and it feeds the flame, it challenges your current state of being and knowing, and ultimately pushes you beyond yourself. This is what excites me about residencies in general. Specifically, I have always wanted to go to Iceland and I am certain that there is something there I need to look at that will help grow my work. In France the mission of DRAWInternational is so very much in line with the work that I do and the questions I have that I felt also like there would be something there, some word, or gesture or conversation or sunset that would teach me something I need to know. Something I will be afraid to forget, I suppose.
I like to be standing when I draw, so my ideal studio space has high tables and wall space for pinning things up and working out installation sketches.
Are these the first residencies you’ve done? No, I’ve been to residencies at Vermont Studio Center, Santa Fe Art Institute, and Jentel in WY, all of which were very different and very intense experiences.
I usually have a few projects going at the same time. Something about switching between them helps me focus. I
What do you hope to work on while abroad? DRAWInternational - Here I will have the opportunity to
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work on a new series of large scale physical drawings, and explore new forms of graphic score making for performances to be held in 2015.
How can a drawing communicate to the body or communicate something about the body? How can the body communicate/generate a linear two dimensional composition in space? How long can you repeat something before it wears down? Can a physical action generate a drawing that can then be read back into a physical action? The program directors are artists in their own right and I am interested to hear feedback from them during this process and gain valuable knowledge from their experience, which is very much in line with my own explorations. SIM - at this residency I will have use of a large studio space and will be concentrating on a stack of installation sketches and ideas that I have not had space to experiment with in my current situation. The installations will explore the nature of repetition and pattern, the absurdity and banality of daily objects, and the ritual of ordering things. In terms of content it will largely deal with my feelings, thoughts and writings on the mass of material and objects in the world and our relationship to them. I will also be working on creating a series of site specific mini dances (4 minutes or less) and figuring out how to use the video footage from that. Thoughts for what’s to happen after Europe? I have no idea. And I know that I need to establish myself in a studio for a year or so at least after this traveling. I have been on the move or moving for a the past 4 years and I need a space I can make in and a place to really entrench myself in long term projects. I have no idea where this studio is or how I will find it, but that’s the plan. I know what it looks like. Maybe that will help locate it. I’ll worry about it when I get back, I think.
In an effort to support our featured artists and spread the word on their efforts KNACK wants to support Emilee’s upcoming ventures. Go to: http://www. indiegogo.com/projects/drawing-and-dance-in-icelandand-france and check out Emilee’s fundraising efforts.
The questions I have in my current studio practice and those I would like to answer while at DrawInternational are:
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MATT BEDNAROWICZ C R E AT I V E W R I T I N G
I write as a form of release—to be empathetic. I am often overburdened with the emotions and problems of others. I can’t lash out at the world, what good would that really do? I write so that people can read it with guards down, and see the similarities between my struggles and their’s so that they may help themselves
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NOV. 9 the battle with self-deception Riddled with fear, Sorrow and doubt, I wish I could have discovered What life was about. When everything shifts for a second, It all seemed so right, But the maze that we stacked Has blinded my sight. So eager to believe, So willing to agree we slowly climbed This deception tree But once in the branches, Not even to the top, We start falling and falling Back to that spot. And once I land, With such furious force, The walls seem shattered,
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My heart is coarse.
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Stripped of everything, naked I stand. I look to the mirror, but do I even know this man? He stands before me and takes me with him, But soon engulfs my soul and I’m lost within. The mind, like a maze, then builds up walls, Trapping that little guy behind a persona of fear. With he said or she’ll think running from ear to ear. These thoughts then build, with each lie being told, Walls higher than Everest; the wind is quite cold It blasts upon you, remorse and regret. Too scared to climb up, what if you fall, yet? All of things they couldn’t understand, Are actually what builds this naked man. The worst part of all, is that you know how to be free. Just break down those walls, and through the valley you’ll ski But you know that you’re naked so you sit in a crack. Too scared to do much, at least the wind’s at your back? Its been so long, since you were happy free That you’ve completely forgotten how nice the outer walls could be. A beautiful breeze coasts those plains You COULD be naked and experience no pain. But you don’t know that for sure, so you sit and you wait For the walls to grow higher and seal your fate. So I stand before you and I look and say, “We cant be builders, anymore today.” He smirks back, and soon he replies, “What would you do without all these lies?
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Your world would shatter, your company would be gone. Then not only mentally, but physically you’d be alone.” While the possibility is true, I must be strong, To keep these walls broken, I must press on. If they be true companion, they’ll understand, And if not I need no fake friend to hold my hand. “And when your hands are bare and you’re all alone. With no one to share with or call your home? When the walls are down and no ones around, Could I finally assist you in filling the ground? If none understand then your life is for not. And soon, in a box, we shall both rot. All by yourself, the way you came. The only company you’ll have, is inside of your brain.” At first I am stunned. It all makes so much since. But then my voice had a message, this was what sent. “I came in with someone who loved me and certainly understood, The best gift given was motherhood. With complete understanding I came, and so shall depart; We sift through the chaos, only to find art.” Taken aback, he paused then said, “It’s a really long journey, sure you wish we weren’t dead?”
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Thinking of the road, I started to pout.
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Would you rather be fucked up and cold through life or could you go the whole life without? While the road is uncertain, all I can say, “One day at a time, ill see you in N.A.”
NOV. 10 she loves me not. Woke up with a fresh mind but empty heart. What should I do today? Most important, where do I start? Deep in my soul, my existence seems flawed, If this shit could happen, is there even a God? How could I believe, to the core of my being That life and all this bullshit had some form of meaning. For an hour or so this bliss cradled my heart, But as the confusion set in, it was all blown apart. But why has this happened, and who is to blame? For believing myself, I couldn’t feel more shame. But when I look up and I see the sun, With almost 2 days completely sober, the battle feels won.
NOV. 12 i think she loves me. The dawn is so bright After darkest night, With few complaints I proceed I gave the truth, it was accepted indeed! Now the hand waits As it was told, Day in and out
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For that other to hold. Tired it may be, When his mission is done, But for the greatest good, The battle is won. There is so much excitement, Within this new mind I am so happy, This person to find. But in my excitement I must try to remember. The chaotic path From the 7th of November. Because if I forget, Oh, the potential costs, Her feelings are fragile, And all could be lost.
NOV. 14 Strength vigilance determination, The Plan in the sky. These demons wont rest, why should I? Fight back I say. Things can always get worse, yes, that’s true. But the thing is its impossible to perpetually ensue.
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Soon enough change will find me and then ill see why. These demons that face me, have my colored eye
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I stand with myself, hand in hand. Alone? Never. I’m my own man! As I think of the future, tears fill my face. Why am I a part of this pathetic human race? Too bankrupt for coherency, I lay hand in hand. My demons and me forever we stand.
LATER THAT DAY emotional betrayal Heavy heart and tired eye I lie in my bed and start to cry. These emotions I’ll deny ‘Til last breath is paid. That I was so weak I once had it made. Why bother sharing If not one person cares? “Why not,” I reply, “God listens to prayers.” So I ask of thee, Please keep my heart true. Don’t let me loose the vision, I once saw with you. Please keep my feet firm And my mind sharp and free. Fill it with visions Of how good life can be. For if you don’t do this, My world will be torn. What’s delusion or destined?
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Til I wish I weren’t born. And even though I Wanna give up this fight I remember that dawn Comes after darkest night.
personal thoughts. Non - acceptance breeds dishonesty. Which then breeds non acceptance in the dishonest. Then we’re back lost again, perpetually confused by our own existence.
russian roulette with a derringer, most exciting coin flip ever. NOV. 18 the true friend With clear mind and purpose in heart, I get out of bed, this day to start. Truest of friend are hardest to come, So I must weed them, one by one. The deeper the root, The more painful the tare. So its best do it now, Then wait one more year. Expectations too high? No not at all. When uttered by name, They should answer the call.
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When my path is shown,
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It must be followed Even when I know I’ll be left empty and hollowed So without question I rise, Brow not even furrowed. Disappointment is nothing when You have the pain of the world. My only goal for the day, Before it is gone, Is to match the compassion, Of friend, Sterling Long.
LATER THAT DAY When you finally let go, And things are out of control, You might smash a wall, You might hit a pole But if its your hand on the wheel, That leads you astray Let go and strap up, That’s what I say. For Knowing the end wont show you the way The road is uncharted And filled with dismay Close your eyes if it helps To cope with the fear. But know in your heart The end isn’t near.
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Too many times You could have seen death ‘Twas thrice Just this week And yet I draw breath When the darkness came Like blackest of skies As I fell into abyss I saw those beautiful eyes. When I came to, My heart bleeding out I cried and I cried, But I wanted to shout I picked up the phone, And I made the call Just basic instinct But led to nothing at all. With anger and betrayals Gripping my soul An ultimatum was made With respect as its goal. No more can I be honest When full trust isn’t there Doubt breeds more doubt It just isn’t fair. So the ball’s in your court, You make up your mind. Risk it with me Or be left behind.
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(When my friends turned on me, choked me til I blacked out, and I called the girl who meant the most to me, she seemed not to care.
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I kind of at least, the other about the
felt it would have happened that way, with the friends but I went any ways to show one friend what a scumbag was. The next poem describes that act, the first is more girl)
Sacrifice for the greatest good Though seen Is seldom understood. Forgive thy brother Turn thy cheek, He turns and runs, Addiction pumps deep. The path I’ve shown My hand, reached out. But he chose D’evils And I’m filled with doubt. Hurt and taken For granted, I hoped That my hardships gave strength And they helped him cope. I’ve been the greatest friend Anyone could ask for. Without a doubt, when its done I fell like a whore. So hurt, So used, So sad, And abused I wake this morning Nothing else to loose.
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NOV. 19 to the girl who wasn’t there. I will not hide, Nor shall I lie. And can only hope you’d do the same Through thick and thin The man within Will come out and show my brain Without my walls I’ve exposed my balls And pray I don’t get hurt With deceit and mistrust My heart would bust No feeling shall be covert. Be true to thyself I’ll build my health And when you’re ready to stand I’ll be here to me it’s clear you’ll grab my outstretched hand. Until that day I will not stray though lord knows I could For I see my line Is intertwined with yours so I do what I should.
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And while you doubt I’ll sit and pout and do my best not to get mad
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when you retract and try to act that these truest of feelings are bad. It hurts me. How could this be? Crazed it very well may seem. Just ask my friends How wrong I’ve been About anything necessary I’ve deemed. They will say To your dismay That wrong is not how I do. Ahead of my time My heart on the line Trustful, lovely and true. If you stick with the plan You’ll understand That - my vision is gold. Follow Matt, He’s a wonderful cat At least, that’s what I am told. But you must decide So I must hide My feelings are strange to you I can not push, Nor force your tush Your desire must be true. I am still hurt If I may be overt
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That when I begged your call You thought it best Not to address Mine or your feelings at all. So I stand firm And though I yearn I will not break resolve. Apologize And I will rise With you I will involve
NOV. 21 overthought Insomnia creeps in, Like dust in the wind Through the air it flies Mind numbing light, Through the night Attracted to my eyes I rub and rub I bathe and scrub And yet, to no avail My head it pounds, With slightest sounds Like golf ball sized hail. Inspiration fled Through my head And left as easily as it came
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And now I lie
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With greatest sigh And hold my achy brain.
NOV. 23 underthought If love be your water, Let my heart be your cup, I’d fill it forever So you could drink up
NOV. 26 “word is bond.” Master of deception, I have truly been It was far too easy; I see your desire within. Your intent and motive Was so painfully clear That you could be manipulated easily To my will, you’d adhere. So its marvelously baffling That though I tell MAN this They think their white lies Could be easily dismissed I tell them I see And that I will be true So They take me for fool And the deceit ensues These simplest of beings Just don’t understand Because I ALLOW their own decisions To me they reprimand
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So why am I punished? I ask unto god “Thou taketh, so giveth, Break down your facade” With that I realize I have no control Over this universe Nor over my soul. What will happen shall be And has always been this way. Trying to control it Will result in dismay. But for the sake of my heart I ask unto you If my word is bond Then let yours be too.
NOV. 27 new love Belle, beau She speaks to the soul Drugs start To rip it apart But, then I see it again One, glimpse And my heart goes limp
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Chaos, art Worlds torn apart Knowledge, compassion Hate’s only assassin
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Soul, addiction Mans great opposition Moon, sun The battle’s not won Greed, sin Tragedy within Strength, love The heavens above. Pursuit of soul Mans ultimate goal Once, found Follow without sound
NOV. 28 cliché thanks Above all else, Thanks to my mother, For compassion and love Like no other. And for the rest of my Fam Who will keep me safe Through thick and thin, In my heart you’ll have place. I’m thankful for And strength of For so long I’ve One would think
wisdom spirit avoided I fear it.
Especially I am thankful For the courage of soul To stick with me on this journey, Though death was my goal.
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I thank the compassion And love of all others When I see it in you, We are eternal brothers. Lastly I appreciate The youth I possess And the timing of enlightenment I am truly blessed.
DEC. 1 newly inspired. Committed to thrive For greatness I strive The battle is never quite won. What more can I do But keep my heart true And follow the path of gods son. But when this path splits And I’m at the end of my wits And there are three that stand before me One is yet blocked The other, unlocked But then there’s number three This path is long But I know when its done I will be so satisfied.
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So I grab the reigns And in spite of the pain I say, “come on, I’m down for the ride!”
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Through thick and thin The journey within Can be an arduous one But what more can I say At the end of the day the battle is never quite won.
DEC. 2 The lessons of life Often seem trife Filled with twists and turns The more you try The less you fly Toward what your soul does yearn If only I could see The end journey perhaps I could steer away From pain and sorrow And darkest tomorrow Id have light throughout the day. But low and behold Through my heart of gold I understand what no one saw The purpose of life Through pain and strife Is to mend the inner flaw.
DEC. 3 I HOPE ALL IS WORTH IT Emptiness fills, like cold steel mills
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Hollowed, I walk, seemingly alone. The path that chose, needs layers of clothes But naked, I walk on home Through twist and turn, how I yearn, That I have listened to heart And in the end, after last bend My soul is not torn apart. Suffer through, this lesson true To karma I pay this price So with my despair, my soul will repair And worthy I will see this life. Scream at the world, or cry balled or curled Is what id much rather do. But I stand strong, for this journey is long And if not the pain will ensue. So with nothing left, I hold my breath And pray that I pass out collapsed But I turn the bend, as is the trend I am on the final lap Embrace the pain, and soon after, gain The wisdom that once was hidden And then its behind, no need to rewind The knowledge has already been given.
LATER THAT DAY The pain is too deep for me to think I wish I could die in a ball This world is too depressed, it leaves me stressed For so many don’t even know it at all.
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“Lets get hammered” I heard as he stammered To cope with this or that he must do
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“To, lets get wired, I need to be hired At this next job interview.” Simple it seems to follow these dreams And therein lies the greatest fall. For one day you’ll stop, and your spirits will flop And you’ll realize that you’ve hit that wall. My was high, that’s why I cry For those who still face this task I see them lost, and at greatest cost For the right help, they’re unable to ask Nearly everyone’s an addict, and everything, an addiction Drugs, sex, possessions and women, and power And no one could question, accept the weak, in aggression Helpless against these, we wither instead of flower. I’d speak of the soul, and of its main goal But today even my fait was broken For I listened and acted, but my love she retracted And with near fury was how I had woken. I accept it as just, as torturous lust Karma coming round from the past. But the pain is so deep, into darkness I creep How long could this possibly last? Self-doubt and depression, my bout with aggression I have anger for people I don’t know Judgment is for the weak, it’s compassion I seek for how else will I learn how to grow? “Pick yourself up,” I say, “what the fuck?” If only I could believe All I’ve been saying, the pain’s been delaying So crushing, you couldn’t conceive.
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DEC. 4 confusion with loves The opportunity of life Is magnificent gold. Like an endless rose bud It ever unfolds. My heart, like a bee I zip from petal to petal In search of that one That it can finally settle. But in this perpetual fluttery, Its energy is exhaust So my heart chose the wrong one But what was the cost? Regret? Never that, Learning I was Which petals to avoid And where I could buzz. But this bee is tired And has almost depleted So I think that this stem Is where ill stay seated. The rose looks so enticing From so far below But here I must wait For both of us to grow.
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For The And For
when I am strong, flower has bloomed I will zip up a view from the moon.
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With all petals laid out Then I can see Which one is just right That is destined with me.
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KILIAN SCHÖNBERGER P H OT O G R A P H Y
In an increasingly enginieered world I’m searching for the small surreal sceneries one wouldn’t expect in our everyday environments. The places seem to be familiar but yet enchanted and mysterious. Although being a portrayal of the real world my photos smudge the border line between reality and artificiality. I am fascinated by the fact that something real is more familiar to us through virtual media than through our own experience of the real environment.
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CHARLES COCHRAN STU DIO ART
My work is mostly acrylic on canvas and can be described as unconventional. That is to say most of my work would not hang in a Christian household. The subject matter is often violent or sexual, but never explicit. The adult-themed human moments depicted by these snapshots are meant to grab the viewer for much longer than it takes to catalog its contents. While lots of images fit this description, I don’t waste my time painting anything that is also not exciting. I paint things that fascinate me—ninjas, the occult, science-fiction, beautiful women—things that keep my interest while I paint. I try to represent real images with a surreal twist, just to keep it fun.
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PHOTOGRAPHERS, GRAPHIC DESIGNERS & STUDIO ARTISTS Up to 10 high resolution images of your work. All must include pertinent caption information (name, date, medium, year). If there are specifications or preferences concerning the way in which an image is displayed please include them.
WRITERS K NAC K se e ks writing of all kinds . We will eve n conside r re cipes , reviews , and essays (although we do not prefe r any thing that is ac ade mic). We se e k write rs whose work has a distinc t voice , is charac te r drive n , and is subve rsive b ut tastef ul . We are not inte reste d in fantasy or ge nre f ic tion . Yo u may submit up to 2 5 ,0 0 0 words and as lit tle as on e . We acce pt simultan e ous submissions . N o cove r let te r n e cessar y. All submissions must be 12pt, Tim es N ew Roman , do uble -space d with page numbe rs and include your nam e , e - mail , phon e numbe r, and ge nre .
ALL SUBMISSIONS: KNACK encourages all submitters to include an artist statement with their submission. We believe that your perspective of your work and process is as lucrative as the work itself. This may range from your upbringing and/or education as an artist, what type of work you produce, inspirations, etc. If there are specifications or preferences concerning the way in which an image is displayed please include them. A brief biography including your name, age, current location, and portrait of the artist is also encouraged (no more than 700 words).
*Please title f iles for submission with the name of the piece. This applies for both writing and visual submissions.
ACCEPTABLE FORMATS IMAGES: PDF, TIFF, or JPEG WRITTEN WORKS: .doc, .docx, and RTF
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EMAIL: KNACKMAGAZINE1@GMAIL.COM SUBJECT: SUBMISSION (PHOTOGRAPHY, STUDIO ART, CREATIVE WRITING, GRAPHIC DESIGN )
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KNACK operates on a rolling submission system. This means that we will consider work from any artist at any time. Our “deadlines� merely serve as a cutoff for each issue of the magazine. Any and all work sent to knackmagazine1@gmail.com will be considered for submission as long as it follows submission guidelines. The day work is sent merely reflects the issue it will be considered for. Have questions or suggestions? E-mail us. We want to hear your thoughts, comments, and concerns. Sincerely, Ariana Lombardi, Editor
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ISSUE 19 3.16.2014 ISSUE 20 4.13.2014
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ISSUE 21 5.11.2014
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KNACK is requesting material to be reviewed. Reviews extend to any culture-related event that may be happening in the community in which you live. Do you
All review material can be sent
know of an exciting show or ex- to hibition opening? Is there an art
knackmagazine1@gmail.com.
Please send a copy of CDs and
collective in your city that de- films to 321 Tesuque Dr., Unit A, serves some press? Are you a
Santa Fe, NM 87505. If you would
musician, have a band, or are
like
review
material
returned
a filmmaker? Send us your CD, to you include return postage movie, or titles of upcoming re- and packaging. Entries should leases which you’d like to see
contain pertinent details such
reviewed in KNACK. We believe
as
name,
year,
release
date,
that reviews are essential to cre- websites and links (if applicable). ating a dialogue about the arts. If
For community events we ask
something thrills you, we want to
that information be sent up to
know about it and share it with
two months in advance to allow
the KNACK community—no mat- proper time for assignment and ter if you live in the New York or Los Angeles, Montreal or Mexico.
review. We look forward to seeing and hearing your work.
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