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an anti-disciplinary publication

antidisciplinary (adj.)

a rejection of the idea of the “interdisciplinary,” as disciplines are

not only interconnected, but interdependent, wherein no system of

thought can contain the fullness of the human experience



Dear Reader,

As I saw the pages of this volume come together, I found myself in awe of the

dimension and complexity with which our featured creators have presented their

worlds to us. As with every preceding volume, the works included in this issue

illuminate the pockets of existence that cannot be found without the vessels of

shared experience–artwork, prose, poetry, film, photography, and even more–

brought forth by our creators. Too easily we look upon the world and search for

the next best thing. On this Winter Solstice, I invite you to consider our world in

all the beauty she has already laid out before us.


As we wind down our year, Sienna Solstice approaches its second year as a

journal. In these two years, we’ve had chances to explore the founding question

of our project: what do we lose when we draw strict boundaries between mediums

of expression and exploration? From interviews with artists, creators, and

academics through the countless pieces we’ve received from our community,

we’ve been able to interact with individual projects highlighting the margins.

This issue features computer generated art, music in conversation with neurotransmitters,

photographs investigating the self, and a multitude of other permutations

of mediums. In this dialogue of mediums, we hope you continue to

see the multiplicity of life and our world’s interdependence between the different

disciplines of expression.

Thank you for celebrating with us this Winter Solstice.


Kate & Lea

table of c

06 08

An Interview with


The Editors


To Forget You

To Become No One

Stephanie Alishan

Opening Image

Robert Fanning

The Waiting

Stephanie Alishan


Only When I Forgave

Stephanie Alishan



Morgan Rondinelli


Kinetic Tapestry

Aaron Lelito


10 12


J. Villanueva

Paradigm shift of

body recognition

Mina Hyeon

Junhong Cho

Peace Choi

18 20

NeuroKnitting Beethoven

Varvara and Mar

Gagarin in the Trees

Andre F. Peltier

Personified River

Linda Dallimore

West of the Milky Way,

South of the Clouds

Emerald Liu


Franklin Carmichael Of The

Group Of Seven Using Duct

Tape For The First Time

Colin James

Song for Standing Bells

Robert Fanning



Edwin Evans-Thirlwell

Selections from

‘Other Seasons’

Edward Lee

The Tiniest Suns

Maija Haavisto


An Interview with Melodysheep

John D. Boswell, known by his artist name as Melodysheep, is a composer,

filmmaker, editor, and VFX artist whose work has spanned the depths of the

internet and the entertainment industry. Known particularly for his viral compositions

centered around space and the natural world, Melodysheep’s work

evokes questions regarding the interactions of music and scientific wonder.

Pursuing such an ambitious passion like musical science is rare and not everyone really understands

it. What challenges did you encounter on this journey? How did you overcome this

and what advice would you give people who want to pursue something similar?

MELODYSHEEP: The biggest challenge in what I do is in trying to relate the information

clearly, but also impactfully & creatively. The scientific worldview is beautiful, but can

be hard for the average person to wrap their head around, just because of how detailed

and deep the picture is. Cut-and-dry explanations are simple, but creative approaches to

relaying information can be much more stirring and impactful. So it takes quite a bit of

care to figure out the best way to relay the information in a compelling way anyone can

understand, but also with fresh new approach. It helps to share works-in-progress with

people who are unfamiliar with the subject, and get their take. Is the information clear?

And is the emotional impact there? Very important to strike the right balance. And the

music should always support the storytelling, not get in the way of it.

Take us through a step-by-step of where your mind is when you are creating music for science.

How does science translate to a score in your mind?

MELODYSHEEP: My step-by-step process begins with asking: how do I use music to

help convey these ideas? What genres best serve the subject, and what moods can

reflect the knowledge I’m sharing? Once I have a script, I map out crescendos that add

suspension while taking in preliminary information, and climaxes for when you receive

that pinnacle piece of information. The rest is shaping the music into the right mood and


On your website you write you “strive to evoke a sense of awe” in your music. How do you

come across evoking those grandiose feelings of awe with such grandiose subjects such as

space and nature?

MELODYSHEEP: I like to let the music take center stage often; too many words or descriptions

can be distracting, and the audience needs breaks to process what they’ve

heard. Music can help steer your mind in a direction while stewing on those thoughts;

exultant music will make you feel inspired, while creepy music will lead your mind to

more questions and imagining stranger possibilities.


What was your experience working with Protocol Labs? How did you foster this connection?

MELODYSHEEP: Juan Benet from Protocol Labs reached out to me directly and expressed

interest in supporting my work. We discovered that our interests were clearly

aligned, and that it could be a natural partnership. With their support, I can focus more

on creating science content for public consumption, and less on working side jobs to

pay the bills. For that I couldn’t be more grateful, and they have been amazing partners

the last couple of years.

What was the research process for the project like? Considering you have a non-STEM educational

background, but a strong passion for the sciences, how did you go about obtaining

the theories you incorporated and how did you decide on which theories to feature?

MELODYSHEEP: The research process was continuous throughout the year-long journey

it took to make the video. It was mostly done through reading articles and watching

lectures, taking notes as I went and continuously tweaking the timeline to make

sure everything fit correctly. There’s really a lot you can learn this way, and when you

get stuck, it’s easy to reach out to scientists and ask them questions; they are usually

happy to oblige.

We have a bit of tradition with every artist we feature where at the end of the interview we

ask them for what advice they’d give to our audience (of mostly college-aged students). So

following with tradition: what advice would you give to yourself when you were our age?

MELODYSHEEP: Keep doing what you love! I never thought this would be my career,

but when you’re passionate about something, you get good at it, and people will pay




Robert Fanning

—after Arve Henriksen

Even Spring’s early work: operose—


Dull light

through shattered green

windows of a long-abandoned factory

in a winter city

no-one visits—

a column of sleet

falls through

a hole in the roof

—a slate grey sky.

Something flaps up above

the rusted beams and pillars, broken

chain links, massive iron hooks

on frayed ropes and cables—

everywhere, ghost music

of machines

that once held everything together.

When she comes,

dragging her yellow gown

across grit and glass,

across tufts of feathers and shit—

her voice crackles —at first—

a muted trumpet

in the mist

before throwing herself

open— her impromptu aria

a wide beacon sweeping

over the stone avenues,

the empty city.


The Waiting

Stephanie Alishan



J. Villanueva

When you take a heavy motorcycle, that’s not meant

for offroad use, through dirt trails filled with shifting sand,

mud, and rocks—after some time there comes a sweet

moment when you stop noticing all of those things. Your hands

no longer feel the vibrations on the handlebars.

The arches of your feet no longer feel the pain

brought by the digging of the two spiked footpegs.

And you float on dialed-in suspension as if your weight

meant nothing at all, like I assume it means

absolutely nothing in the vacuum of outer space.

I remember feeling that, as a boy, when I would take

an old beat up Huffy through areas I would

call trails. Through rows of toronja tree labores

and up on top of canal levees is where that hand

me down would go. Whether it was fixing flats,

stealing a grapefruit for lunch, or rearranging the old

bike’s chain, I was able to handle anything. Even the

horse sized dogs, from that one house near the

monte, that would chase me were nothing. Whatever

those trails put in front of me and that bike, didn’t have any

weight at all. Sometimes, when I felt extra brave,

I would stay out there ‘til nighttime and watch the stars appear.

Scattered like grains of salt across the black table that

is the night sky. I wondered how long I would have

to pedal to reach one of those specks of light. As always,

some noise from the void would smack me out of my

stupor, and I would fly straight home. Standing tall regardless

of my fear, tears in my young eyes, weightless on

my pegs. I learned in astronomy class, once, that

the nearest star to us, Alpha Centauri, is


around twenty five trillion miles away. On a oneto-one-billion

scale of the universe—if the

size of the sun was around the size of a grapefruit and

you set that fruit sun down on the west coast—the

nearest grapefruit would be Alpha Centauri, twenty

five hundred miles away on the east coast. I

still dream of one day getting on my spaceship and

riding to the nearest star where another boy,

on his spaceship, might have a trail for me to ride.

And perhaps, a grapefruit for me to munch on.


Paradigm shift of body recognition

Mina Hyeon (Generative Art + Writing),

Junhong Cho (Choreographer + Dancer),

Peace Choi (Cinematographer)


This work is an experiment in observing and expressing how the body is

perceived and how several relationships constantly change in virtual but

‘real’ environments.

Choreographer/dancer Junhong Cho, whom I met on a dance project NAMU

in 2018. This artist’s movements coexist with lightness walking on calm water

and powerful energy when a massive ice wall cracks down.

—Mina Hyeon


To Forget You


To Become No One

Taken over the last couple years, these works are images of the ‘other’. The other in

terms of another body: a strange physical form or our own form on days we feel at

war within, as well as the other in nature: the all encompassing presence of systems

so much bigger than us. It is within our own vessels we experience the other, it is

within the body we find the husk of what differentiates and connects us to the earth.

These images are not just an ode to the beauty of the earth but of the naked figure,

acknowledging the isolation and despair our residing within them can cause. Intimacy

with the self comes from time with ourselves alone, and peace comes from our

time alone in Nature. When we return to the body: we return to the earth.

—Stephanie Alishan


Only When


I Forgave


NeuroKnitting Beethoven

Varvara and Mar

Credit: Nabi Art Centre

NeuroKnitting Beethoven celebrates the 250th anniversary of the great composer

Ludwig van Beethoven by re-imagining his music through the creative application

of brain waves and knitting. In a classical music concert, we hear the interpretation

of the composer’s piece by a musician. What if we could also see and manifest in

the knitting processes the musician’s state of mind when performing?

NeuroKnitting Beethoven project re-visits Beethoven’s music by offering a novel

experience of classical music at the interface between neuroscience, music, and

media art. During the concert, we recorded the brain waves of a pianist (in Seoul

we recorded Buddist monk’s brain waves), which affected Circular Knitic’s (our circular

knitting machine) pattern and knitting speed. The first one is composed of the

peaks of attention level, and the second corresponded to the meditation state. In

other words, the higher was the attention, the denser was the pattern. And higher

was the meditation level, faster knitted the machine. And all these processes were

in real-time and took place simultaneously.

For full project documentation see: http://var-mar.info/neuroknitting-beethoven/


In addition to the affective knitting

with brain data, the performance had

also visuals that represented all data

that was received from the EEG headset

and had thematic videos that were

generated with AI algorithm (Style-

GAN2) and that reacted to the audio

input (music in this case), too.

The project was initially planned as an

on-site interactive performance-concert

that was transformed into a telematic

performance due to Covid-19,

which added an additional twist to the

project. Meaning, the concert, capturing

brain data, and visuals were happening

in the physical space of the

performance with the audience. Knitting

happened in our studio and was

streamed to the performance place,

and at the same time, brain data from

the performance place was sent over

the internet in real-time to our studio

that controlled the knitting machine.

Also, the entire performance was

streamed online.


Gagarin in the Trees

Andre F. Peltier

The ghost of Yuri Gagarin

floats down the hallways

of the International

Space Station.

The resident astronauts,

cosmonauts, uchū-hikō-shi

salute as he slides by.

They tell him their deepest secrets

while flushing their filth

into the void.

“Dear Yuri,” they say,

“It’s been eight hours since

my last evacuation.

I have eaten two portions of

dehydrated chocolate pudding,

and I spent twenty minutes

on the tread mill.

I really miss morning coffee

overlooking the

Hollywood sign

and the Kiselyova Rock.

I miss lazy Saturdays

in my garden.”

“Поехали,” he replies.

The vacuum of space

greets the spationauts

and the spationauts wave

to Gagarin while falling

27,000 kilometers per hour.

When the falling station

misses the curve of the Earth

again and again,

the spationaut says

a brief prayer,

thanking the engineers,

those great rangers of

the atomic age.

Claudie Haigneré said

her prayers to Gagarin also

and in return,

he blessed her saintly


eases around the trees

in my back yard

and climbs the tallest

to get a better view.

He climbs the tallest

to recall his vantage

point in orbit.

The ghost of Yuri Gagarin

returns to Клу́шино

and reminisces with his

Muscovite brethren.

They recall

the good old days.

They wait patiently,

and they see what

the future


Personified River

Linda Dallimore

The ghost of Yuri Gagarin


West of the Milky Way, South of

the Clouds

Emerald Liu

A silhouette reclines in a worn-out retro webbed chair

tracing kinetic shadows

scattered across the abandoned terrace tiles

As the scenery of dusk sets into a jade studded

lacquered night

Lemonade sips leave a fugitive tang on the tongue

knowing the time zone you frequent comes closer to a rising dawn

where dew drops osculate the soft to deep pink petals

of wild camellia shrubs

that brush beside assorti swirls of polka dots on your chiffon dress

as you drink your sweet Azuki shake

gazing over Yuan Yang rice terraces’ liquid mirror surfaces

that reflect abstract fragments of the night

Separately we find ourselves sharing the same celestial scene

as the Milky Way cuts through the Summer Triangle

like a voluptuous barrier

Stimulating a thirst for saline drops

that touch the curve of your cupid’s bow

more intimately

than any simple tangent could

Pressing your lips to the glass’s edge

The venation of its imprint leaves an all too familiar pattern

of taste and touch tied in stardust



Morgan Rondinelli

You have mites on your face. Yes,

you. Nearly 100% of humans do. We are

inoculated shortly after birth, by our mothers

or those otherwise in closest proximity

to us. This gift of mites has been given for

thousands of generations, likely since before

we were considered modern Homo

sapiens. The mites are called Demodex,

species names D. folliculorum and D. brevis.

If you take a plastic slide and scrape

it along your nose or eyebrows, and then

put the oils and dead skin under a microscope,

with a good eye and a bit of luck,

you can see these mites for yourself. They

have eight legs, like all mites, which are

technically arachnids, cousins of spiders

and ticks. But rather than thin, long legs

like a spider, Demodex have fat, stubby

legs attached to their fat, little bodies.

They use these to grasp onto a hair, the

rest of their body sticking slightly out of

the follicle. They’re honestly kind of cute.

I know this, not from seeing Google

images of Demodex, though I’ve seen

plenty of those too, but from seeing my

own Demodex mite. We did this as a lab

exercise in my undergraduate Ecology of

Human Parasites class. We had dissected

worms and fish, but this is the lab I

remember most. Dr. Chelsea Wood stood

at the front of the lab room showing us

images of what we should be looking for

amongst our own skin. Then, she walked

around checking everyone’s microscopes

when they thought they had found one.

We all stayed hovered over our microscopes,

only taking breaks to scrape more

dead skin onto a slide, both excited and

disgusted about the prospect of seeing a

mite from our own faces. Suddenly, I saw

legs. Eight legs and a tube-like body. And

then I excitedly bumped my microscope

out of focus. I had likely found Demodex,

and then I had lost it. Carefully, I zoomed

out. I scrolled back and forth and back and

forth, and was able to relocate the mite. I

sighed with relief, though more carefully

this time so as not to hit the microscope

again. I raised my hand and ushered over

Dr. Wood. She looked down the lens for

a few seconds while I waited anxiously.

So often, we thought we had identified a

specimen, but when Dr. Wood checked,

really it was just an air bubble. But Dr.

Wood then confirmed, “Yep! You found

one.” She brought my slide up to her more

powerful microscope to take some nice

pictures. My classmates each took turns

looking at my Demodex. Though the prevalence

rate on humans is estimated in the

upper nineties, I was the only one in my

class to find a mite. It’s a bit of a blind

search to go through random dead skin

on a microscope slide. But finding one of

my own Demodex mites earned me ten

bonus points towards the final exam, so I

didn’t mind. My classmates insisted that I

name the lone mite. We named it Jimmy.

As a biologist, I know there is life

on me and within me, and I mean that

literally. Besides mites like Demodex, I am

home for a multitude of bacteria. They live

in my gut, between my teeth, on my skin.

My microbiome is everywhere I am. The

bacteria in my digestive system are part


of my digestive system. Like a termite

relying on its protozoans and the bacteria

within those organisms to digest the

wood it eats into sugar, I need my own

bacteria for successful digestion. An infant’s

gut microbiome and immune system

development can be influenced by

whether they were born vaginally or by

Caesarean section, and what initial bacteria

they encountered during birth. As

soon as we enter the world, we are bombarded

with bacteria fighting to make us

home. And all those years later, we can

still see the early signs of worlds colliding.

Demodex mites live in a world different

from our own though. It is a scale of

giant hairs and deep pores. That is their

food, the dead skin and sebum coming off

our faces. And, I don’t know how to put

this poetically, but Demodex mites don’t

have an anus. They eat and eat these

pieces of you and then die full of you, full

of your cells and your being. Until they

explode and now your face is covered in

mite poop. Or I guess, parts of yourself

turned into mite poop.

To my microbiome, I am a great

home. I provide them food and shelter,

and the bacteria in return provide things

like digestion and protection from harmful

bacteria. The same goes for larger organisms,

like my Demodex mites. Some biologists

argue Demodex mites aren’t even

parasites since they hardly affect me or

my fitness, aside from being suspected

to occasionally cause skin conditions, like

rosacea. Perhaps it’s just commensalism,

a positive-neutral relationship. The Demodex

benefit, and I, the human, am unaffected.

Ecological relationships and terms

like parasitism are less clear cut than you

would think. Still, the Demodex mites are

always with me. When I crack open a new

book or when I lie down on my pillow for

a nap or when I snuggle against my cat

or when I put in a load of laundry or when

I reach up to scratch my face, they are

always there. (I bet you’re scratching your

face now.) The vastness of it all makes me

feel a bit powerful though. Suddenly, rather

than a small, lonely human on a vast

planet, I am the world for a small, lonely


As scientists, we are often taught

to remove loveliness from our work. This

is true in writing, especially. Though there

is creativity in the research process, the

written word must be bland, straightforward,

explicit. Loveliness can be distracting,

so get straight to the point. This

conflict between my two selves, one analytical

and one who wants more loveliness

in the world, constantly meets its

maker. Science is lovely though. And scientific

words can roll with pleasure off the

page and tongue: Pathogen; prehensile.

Osmosis; organelle. Gamete; guanine.

Deciduous; Demodex. Dēmós meaning

fat. Dēx meaning wood worm. In the Domain

Eukaryota. Kingdom: Animalia. Arthropoda,

Cheliceria, Arachnida, Acari,

Trombidiformes, Demodicidae, Demodex


Science is lovely when I smell

freshly cut grass, or hear the buzz of a

honeybee. With cut grass, you are really

smelling airborne green leaf volatiles, a

carbon-based compound. It’s the individual

pieces of grass using pheromones to

communicate with blades and plants farther

away. Fortify yourself, danger is coming!

Though the messengers cannot run

away or save themselves, grass still try to

warn their compatriots. The mental image

of these floating pheromones is both

heroic and sad. The distant grass is only

expecting insects, and time to prepare a

defense, not an all too nearby gas lawnmower.

Their efforts are futile, and they


too will soon smell of freshly cut grass.

The buzz of a honeybee brings to

mind their complex social structure. There

are numerous rankings and jobs within a

hive, the most basic division being into

female queen, female workers, and male

drones. But even deeper, workers have

countless jobs, from raising young bees

to doting on the queen to cleaning the

hive. All members are geared, or at least

all the female workers, towards protecting

the queen and the longevity of the

hive. This makes sense if you look at their

genetic makeup. Unfertilized eggs, only

one gamete, develop as males. These

drones have two goals: eat and mate. On

the other hand, fertilized eggs develop

as females. Worker females, sister bees,

share far more genetic material with one

another than biological human siblings.

Sister bees are 75% related, to our 50%,

so they are even more inclined to protect

one another.

Scientists rigorously debate if altruism

exists. Like sister honeybees, nearby

blades of grass are closely related, so it

makes sense that they would try to warn

their cousins. If I can’t survive, maybe you

can, and you will carry on our common

genes. Of course, grass does not have

a brain. No blade has ever thought this

through. It’s simply that those historic

grass blades who warned their cousins,

passed on their genes. Bees do have

brains, but I highly doubt they run a probability

calculation when feeding their

queen. This is all merely a statistical game

for scientists to play. Many scientists assert

that there is no such thing as true

altruism, that all acts of care stem from

this game of still trying to ensure the longevity

of your own genes. Whether bees

or grass or humans, it is a selfish act. We

must expect an act of care in return. I help

you, you help me. But I don’t buy this for a

minute. Maybe we are sometimes unconsciously

helping blood relatives for this

reason, but that can’t be the only reason.

And help transcends families, species

even. Dolphins have been known to circle

and protect human swimmers from nearby

sharks. Surely, our genetic relationship

to dolphins is distant enough that it’s just

out of compassion. I will even settle for it

being curiosity. What could the dolphins

possibly expect in return? Even among

organisms less developed neurologically,

care must be innate.

Sometimes in science we are inclined

to remove loveliness from the

world. We can lose the forest for the trees,

so to speak, and see only trees trying to

ensure their genetic survival. Or only the

species diversity makeup of a forest. Or

only the chemical structure of a yellowing,

fall leaf. Science is lovely though. The

unwavering presence of Demodex mites

on my skin provides an odd form of reassurance:

I am never alone. There will always

be a mite munching on me, helping

recycle the cells I shed, probably until the

day I die. I merely give the mites food and

a warm home. They give me a constant.

Isn’t that just a more obscure form of altruism?

Maybe only to a poet.


Kinetic Tapsety

Aaron Lelito


Franklin Carmichael Of The Group Of

Seven Using Duct Tape For The First Time

Colin James

Tuesday was essentially a washout.

Can’t say enough about

those student volunteers.

I just sat there dreaming

in vernacular strokes.

From the side rhetorically,

I may appear thoughtful.



Robert Fanning

What’s left of every word is bone and shell.

Etched husks, wind-hewn, deserted instruments

we ring with breath. The body’s empty bell

brims. A tunnel of hum, we rim and spill

through syllables, skimming lines to animate

what’s left. Every word. Bones, shells,

feathers, wave-worn stones. This windfall

hour. The song you hold this moment’s

wearing breath. The body’s empty bell

resounds the notes, vessels cast to spell

what’s missing. Unveiling the whole in fragments.

What’s left if the very world is bone, a shell

drained dry. Your voice divines, a word-drawn well

to reach the remnant sea. To swell the absence

we ring. With breath, the body’s empty bell

flows through interstices, fills every hull

and carapace. Toward nothing. Toward resonance.

What’s left of every word is bone and shell;

we ring with breath the body’s empty bell.



Edwin Evans-Thirlwell

assume waver and full

baring of parts sufficient to avoid

unnecessary friction,

don’t forget to describe

the protuberances:

albedo pop-up a crop, fresh

no listless or tangible function,

even the defunct to belong

to an intimate and acceptable


fragments and components

to be objects in themselves,

a catalogue

of orbits and a diverse range

of ends,

reparation to be conducted

within a scope adequate

to avert cascading

snow or wet sand,

dynamics of loose material,

graze of use,

sidewind and bones

angst upon marble,

voluptuous and insular -

a frill and a thrill

festooned with toggle switches,


from high life

in milk and honey,

striking the hatch

A Day Refusing To End

Edward Lee


The Tiniest Suns

Maija Haavisto

it starts by introducing tiny crinkles

on the tops of cookies

some dislike the effect

while others make them

crack intentionally

the ridges spread into faultlines

and continue opening into sinkholes

at that point it’s much too late

you might lose a limb or two

but you don’t even care any more

you’re too busy staring at the static

it’s easy to get lost into it

the intricacy of the blooming pixels

you’re static and it’s not funny

but you laugh anyway

tires pop, eyes pop

once you ...let’s not go there

look mom! no limbs! no head!

the spherical limb fully severed!

no body! no me! just static

that goes bzzzzzz

like a swarm of angry bees

no one’s driving this bike

(but bees! so many bees!)

as it heads into a ditch

where unmanned bikes tend to go

that is where I’d go look

but yeah, there’s nothing to be found

the circuits still bubble up sparkles

and you could stare at them

all day, I think you do

I think that’s where you’ve been

all day

orbiting the tiniest suns

Edward Lee

Another Day, Another Chance

Aaron Lelito is a visual artist from Buffalo,

NY. In his photographic work, he is primarily

drawn to the patterns and imagery of nature.

His images have been published as cover art

in Red Rock Review, Peatsmoke Journal, and

The Scriblerus. His work has also appeared in

LandLocked Magazine, EcoTheo Review, About

Place Journal, and Alluvian. He is editor in chief

of the art & literature website Wild Roof Journal.

See more of his work on Instagram @runic_ruminations.

Andre F. Peltier (he/him) is a Lecturer III at

Eastern Michigan University where he teaches

literature and writing. He lives in Ypsilanti,

MI, with his wife and children. His poetry has

recently appeared in various publications like

CP Quarterly, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Version

9 Magazine, About Place, Novus Review,

Wingless Dreamer, and Fahmidan Journal, and

most recently he has had a poem accepted by

Lavender and Lime Literary. In his free time, he

obsesses over soccer and comic books.

Colin James has a couple of chapbooks of poetry

published. Dreams Of The Really Annoying

from Writing Knights Press and A Thoroughness

Not Deprived of Absurdity from Piski’s Porch

Press and a book of poems, Resisting Probability,

from Sagging Meniscus Press. Formally

from the UK he now lives in Massachusetts.

Edward Lee is an artist and writer from Ireland.

His paintings and photography have been exhibited

widely, while his poetry, short stories,

non-fiction have been published in magazines

in Ireland, England and America, including The

Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen and Smiths

Knoll. He is currently working on two photography

collections: ‘Lying Down With The Dead’

and ‘There Is A Beauty In Broken Things’. He

also makes musical noise under the names

Ayahuasca Collective, Orson Carroll, Lego Figures

Fighting, and Pale Blsond Boy. His blog/

website can be found at https://edwardmlee.


Edwin Evans-Thirlwell (he & him) is the London-based

peddler of cardboard solar systems,

playable gardens, boxed cats, poetic FAQs and

bad fables about the ugliness of eating. His longer

projects include a verse response to NA-

SA’s Golden Record. He also writes videogame

criticism for places like Edge, Wired and Heterotopias.

One of these days he’ll realise that

this was all a terrible mistake. Any day now.

Emerald Liu is a Sino-Belgian writer who has

previously written for The Millions, Drawing

Matter, and Far-Near amongst many others.

Her poetry has been featured in group art exhibitions

in Antwerp and NYC, you can find her

poems in Verses Magazine, Superfroot, Giallo

Lit, etc. She is currently the Poetry + Prose editor

of Asians In The Arts.

J. Villanueva is a Chicano writer/poet from

deep south Texas. When he is not agonizing

in front of his computer, he is building and riding

his motorcycles. He currently has work(s)

forthcoming in Alebrijes Review. He is currently

an MFA student at the University of Texas-Rio

Grande Valley. You can follow him on Twitter @


Linda Dallimore is an emerging composer and

flutist hailing from Auckland, New Zealand. She

loves writing music for orchestras and chamber

ensembles. Her music explores textures,

colours, and often draws inspiration from personal

experiences, the environment, and social

and political topics. Linda’s music has

been played by the New Zealand Symphony

Orchestra, Rhode Island Philharmonic, Albany

(NY) Symphony Orchestra, Auckland Philharmonia

Orchestra, Ensemble Klangrauschen,

B3:Brouwer Trio and the Aspen Contemporary

Ensemble. Linda completed a Master of Musical

Arts in composition at Yale School of Music

in 2021, studying with Christopher Theofanidis

and Martin Bresnick. As an alumna of Berklee

College of Music, Linda majored in composition

and flute performance. She is a member of the

Composers Association of New Zealand and

represented by SOUNZ centre for New Zealand

Music and APRA AMCOS.

Maija Haavisto is a poet, novelist, medical

writer, artist and disability activist. She has had

17 books published in Finland, including the poetry

collections Raskas vesi (Aviador 2018) and

Hopeatee (Oppian 2020). In English her poetry

has appeared or is forthcoming in e.g. Cosmospen,

Topical Poetry, Littoral, ShabdAaweg Review,

Asylum, Eye to the Telescope, Shoreline

of Infinity and Kaleidoscope. Find her on Twitter:

http://www.twitter.com/DiamonDie She

also has poetry readings available on YouTube:


Mina Hyeon was born in Seoul, South Korea,

and spent years in the States. Her early experience

of diverse cultures became a seed for

her to understand the world better. She has

loved playing video games and reading sci-fi/

detective novels since she was seven years old.

Enthusiasm in understanding humans and storytelling

led her to major in film&theater, and

after years of field experience, she started her

MFA study in multimedia at Korea National

University of Arts. Working in the XR industry

as a co-founder/producer of GiiÖii immersive

storytelling studio, she won awards at global

film festivals such as SXSW with her XR projects.

She is developing her art in the theme of

a ‘multiverse traveler,’ which aims to seek the

potential of the virtual environment as a physical

space and an extended sensory receptor of

ourselves using AI, XR, generative art form.

Robert Fanning is the author of six poetry

collections, including four full-length collections:

Severance (Salmon Poetry, Ireland, 2019),

Our Sudden Museum (Salmon Poetry, Ireland,

2017), American Prophet (Marick Press, 2009),

and The Seed Thieves (Marick Press, 2006), as

well as two chapbooks: Sheet Music (Three

Bee Press, 2016), and Old Bright Wheel (Ledge

Press Poetry Award, 2001). His poems have appeared

in Poetry, Ploughshares, Shenandoah,

Gulf Coast, THRUSH, Waxwing, The Atlanta

Review, and many other journals. A graduate of

the University of Michigan and Sarah Lawrence

College, he is a Professor of Creative Writing

at Central Michigan University. He is also the

Founder and Facilitator of the Wellspring Literary

Series, and the Founder and Director

of PEN/INSULA POETRY, a site for Michigan

poets. He lives with his wife, sculptor Denise

Whitebread Fanning, and their two children.

Stephanie Alishan is a London-born Armenian

artist and writer working primarily in film,

photography and immersive installation. With

a background in Veterinary Science, Alishan’s

work is rooted in the physical form: desolate

contorted bodies and immense natural landscapes.

Exploring themes of intimacy, sexuality

and loss, her work centres around the need

for confession, especially in terms of the female

experience. Having exhibited work internationally

between London and Guatemala, Alishan

produces work in a variety of traditional media,

always pushing the limits on what can be

achieved through solely analog materials such

as film, photographic emulsion and projection

integrated with her writings. @stephalishanstudio

Varvara & Mar is an artist duo formed by Varvara

Guljajeva and Mar Canet in 2009. Often

duo’s work is inspired by the information age. In

their practice, they confront social changes and

the impact of the technological era. The artist

duo has exhibited their art pieces in a number

of international shows and festivals. Varvara &

Mar has exhibited at MAD in New York, FACT in

Liverpool, Santa Monica in Barcelona, Barbican

and V&A Museum in London, Onassis Cultural

Centre in Athens, Ars Electronica museum

in Linz, ZKM in Karlsruhe, etc. Varvara (born in

Tartu, Estonia), holds the position of Assistant

Professor in Computational Media and Arts at

the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology

(GZ). Previously she has held a position

at the Estonian Academy of Arts. Mar (born in

Barcelona) is a Ph.D. candidate and Cudan research

fellow at the Baltic Film, Media and Arts

School in Tallinn University, focusing on AI and

interactive art. Link: www.var-mar.info

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