catch-22

Illustrations by Era

Quite often in life, when there is a goal, destination, or experience that we seek, it is put on a pedestal. This allows us to endure an endless number of obstacles, setbacks, and efforts to achieve them. It becomes a landmark that is constantly in our sights, letting nothing come between us and our quest for it. 

For me, everything but the end result is black and white. I am unable to resist the pull and urge of this result and can only shift my focus after I have reached the destination.

But once I do, suddenly the landmark and destination that was so clear and distinct blends in with my surroundings and I am unable to distinguish it from everything else. This has more often than not, left me with questions: how can something that has been so important and vital, feel almost insignificant so swiftly? And what does that say about our need to explore? Our need to discover new things? Maybe it is saddening that we let go of something that has been such a big part of our lives so easily, once it has been achieved. But if we don’t, maybe we will stop exploring?

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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.