a note from the editor 08

by Ishan Benegal, Editor-in-Chief

Volume 8

pause | collect | sustain

A note from the editor

It’s been some time since we published the last volume. A lot has happened in that time and with the magazine, clearly a lot has not. Sometimes you plan a break and sometimes it’s planned for you. In our case, it was more of the latter. As some things change, develop, build, others need to be looked at differently, reassessed, and perhaps recommitted to.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the practice and cycles. We are in an age where, more so than before, we look at the final product; we look at the final presentation; our attention comes together when the curtains part and it feels as though the show is about to begin.

What of the moment before?
What of the moment after?

It is a cycle. 
We take all the steps to reach that moment where the performance begins,
then the performance is over,
and the day ends, all the same.
You wake up the next morning, all the same,
to do it all over again.

This has been percolating over the last several months as we’ve been working to re-engage with the magazine, to bring it back from an extended pause, and it has been different. It has had a different feel. Moving into the eighth volume and moving into the third year feels distant even though it is not. Because of this break, it feels like a lot of things have to be relearned, rewritten, reframed, and yet somehow the magazine must remain the same. Its core intact.

I think the break was necessary, albeit unintentional, but necessary to reflect and understand how we must move forward in this landscape. I’m reminded of my previous note and thoughts on the word ‘edit’. It feels ever relevant today. But in thinking of cycles, I remind myself that all we can do is take the next step. No matter the outcome, the steps are in our control and that is what we must focus on.

Having stepped back so that now we can step forward.
Into, Volume 08.

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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.