a note from the editor 04

by Ishan Benegal, Editor-in-Chief

Volume 4

zero | play | practice

A note from the editor

“Beyond the edge of the world there’s a space where emptiness and substance neatly overlap, where past and future form a continuous, endless loop. And, hovering about, there are signs no one has ever read, chords no one has ever heard.”

– Haruki Murakami


Step 1. Step 2. Step 3. Step 4. And repeat.
Practice. Practice. Practice.
Performance.
And repeat.

The notion of performance, presentation, exhibition, opening, or match day always comes with the subconscious parallel to perfection. We’ve come to this collective conclusion because of the public nature of these final days. Your performance is now open to the public; your presentation is to a group of people; your exhibition is finally on show; your restaurant is open to customers and critics; you’re playing in front of thousands of fans. You are subject to these public thoughts, responses, interpretations, and opinions.

Our inherent focus is on these days of performance. But what is crucial and non-negotiable for such a day to exist is the commitment to practice, until the very last moment.

For the person making work, the feedback loop between practice and performance is outweighed by practice. Whereas for the person viewing the work, it is outweighed by performance. This creates a constant struggle to determine which balance works in favor of those striving to make work.

For each hundredth day of performance, there are ninety nine of practice that precede it. It is during our practice that we are able to experiment –play, pause, wonder, and then to start from scratch and reset. These are the quiet comforts of our practice, that center us and we return to regularly. The euphoria of performance is wonderful, but fleeting.

Practice makes not perfect, but practice makes work and through our work, we tinker, test, recalibrate, learn, and strive towards progress.

We ground our focus in these thoughts for this volume and know you will resonate with the work that comes from it.

Welcome to Volume 4.

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editor's note

Volume 09

clay | chlorophyll | crimson

Grass is green where you water it. LC’s words float along over Misch’s guitar. It’s a phrase that feels so obvious, and I’m sure those who tend to gardens know this more than most, but it seems to land more than before. The impact noticeable, memorable, echoing through my being. Perhaps we’re ingrained to think it’s greener elsewhere. This patch is the problem and not whether we’re watering it. The key is in the watering. How we go about this practice is what defines our patch of grass. No matter where we go, our patch is, perhaps, the same. Some attributes and characteristics have been changed but the essence is the same: Us.

Stepping into Volume 09 of imprint, marks our third year. I am learning that this patch of green that we have been tending to for the last several years will mould, shift, and sculpt. This depends on how we water it and allow it to take its own shape. It has already happened in wonderfully unexpected ways. There is only so much structure or shape we can predetermine. Beyond that, it will absorb what it needs and reject all that is unnecessary. And perhaps, in this practice, we are changed. Our grass is watered as we water that of our writing, our image making, our practice, our magazine.

From light to dark, rigid to supple, new to old, there is so much in between that is bright and vibrant and unexpected. The practice of our magazine has focused on being open to what we receive; being open to deeply listening to what is shared; being open to work taking us to new journeys. This volume, and this year, will be no different. We will continue tending to it as we have done, learning along the way, from past seasons and present ones.

And yet, I know it will be entirely different.
But still.
It will be watered.