space; noun./speɪs/

Haiku by Kriti Dhanania

1. [uncountable] the area outside the earth’s atmosphere where all the other planets and stars are (also outer space)

humans gaze above,
aim to conquer the expanse—
tearing home apart


2. [uncountable] an amount of an area or of a place that is empty or that is available for use

so much has been said
over eons and lifetimes.
how much is enough?

3. [countable] an area or a place that is empty

the stranger in the
mirror looks on while you dance
the harsh night away.

4. [countable, usually singular] a period of time

the past keeps calling
as if it’s a forgotten
lover. don’t pick up

5. [uncountable] the quality of being large and empty, allowing you to move freely

memories wander,
a phantom seizes your arm
echoing what was.

6. [uncountable] the freedom and the time to think or do what you want to

you chose solitude,
the calm state of withoutness…
a pyrrhic triumph

7. [countable, uncountable] a large area of land that has no buildings on it

everything you build
will turn to ash. so make it
something beautiful

8. [uncountable, countable] the part of a line, page, or document that is empty

a new day is like
a blank page, full of promise,
waiting to be filled

9. [uncountable] the whole area in which all things exist and move

an unending field
dandelions fill the sky—
you can breathe again

About the work: The Oxford English Dictionary has 17 recorded definitions for the word ‘space’, some of them now obsolete. The term has been used in various capacities by people all over the world – spatium in Latin, espace in French, espacio in Spanish and spazio in Italian. I composed haiku using those definitions as a starting point and the feelings or memories they evoke. All the definitions have been taken from the Oxford Learner’s Dictionary.

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.