v.1 is RISD’s student-led publication. Its form and content change from year to year (it’s always “volume 1”).

Info & Submission Guidelines ︎

Pandemic Publishing ︎

  1. Call for Submissions, SOS Edition
  2. 3.29.20 Irina V. Wang
  3. Let Yourself Be Lifted Jackie Scott
  4. Art Is Everything Jen Liese
  5. Two Poems Ella Rosenblatt
  6. Living Room Dance Party Ariel Wills
  7. On Walking When Walking Is Advised Against Keavy Handley-Byrne
  8. Untitled Cita Devlin
  9. Ads in Corona Hannah Oatman
  10. COVID-19 and Communitas Elaine Lopez
  11. A Time for Pie Elizabeth Burmann
  12. How to Stay Motivated When You’re Stuck at Home Clarisse Angkasa
  13. Coerced Harmony (A Tour) Hammad Abid
  14. Zooming In and Out Tongji Philip Qian
  15. [Form] Ciara Carlyle
  16. Hi.txt Dan Luo
  17. A poem about boredom, a composite Maixx Culver-Hagins
  18. Eyewitness News Tristram Lansdowne
  19. Distance Maps Marcus Peabody
  20. Therapeutic Suggestion Maria Aliberti Lubertazzi
  21. Keep Your Heart Six Feet Away From Mine (and other moments) Arielle Eisen
  22. Twenty Instructions for COVID-19 Charlott Isobel Dazan
  23. Cuerno 1 y 2 Yan Diego Estrella Wilson
  24. A Monolith of Grief Regarding the Absence of Touches, or Letter to a Future Lover García Sinclair
  25. Coronavirus by the Thousands Drew Dodge
  26. Two Poems Kathryn Li
  27. Beds Are Burning Aleks Dawson
  28. Still Lifes Yidan Wang
  29. Fragments of Seva Jagdeep Raina
  30. Packing Up and Staying Woojin Kim
  31. Chronic Pain and Fermentation Ralph Davis
  32. Quarantine Letters Hannah Moore
  33. Sounds of Silence: An Isolation Soundscape Dara Benno
  34. 14 Day Detox for Designers Erica Silver

Winter 2020

  1. From the Editors
  2. The Phantom Audience, or How to “Really Do It” Asher White
  3. Some Dry Season(ing) / 5 Tales in an Embryo Room Yuqing Liu
  4. Throwing Salt, Constructing the Homeland Ariel Wills
  5. Infinity Balloon Man Jack Zhou
  6. Texas Triptych Ali Dipp
  7. Phenomenology of Bones Chris Shen
  8. Erlking Yiqun Zhou
  9. Trouble in Reality Elena Foraker
  10. Family Stories Gina Vestuti
  11. Treasure Reilly Blum

Fall 2019
  1. From the Editors
  2. Architecture and Its Ghosts Xuan Liu
  3. Fit/O!de Jeff Katz
  4. Desde La Chinaca y La China Poblana Ariel Wills
  5. Ballast Tiger Dingsun
  6. Love Letters Brenda Rodriguez
  7. The Anxieties of Plant-sitting Carol Demick
  8. Zadie & Teju Ariel Wills
  9. Smooth Stones Ali Dipp 
  10. Kantha’s Melodies Michelle Dixon
  11. Glory West Megan Solis
  12. The 50 Best Albums of the 2010s Asher White

Spring 2019

  1. From the Editors
  2. A Room without a View: Reflections on Studio Practice from a Privileged Poor Chantal Feitosa
  3. Between the Battlements Jeremy Wolin

  4. Accessing Color: Dissecting the Harvard Art Museum’s Forbes Pigment Collection Makoto Kumasaka
  5. British Club Tattoos Nasser Alzayani
  6. Making Space: Creativity and Resilience in War-Time Sri Lanka Elizabeth Dean Hermann
  7. How to Become Trans: A Proposal for the Modern-Day Gender-Agnostic Asher White
  8. Making It Up: A Conversation with Kent Kleinman Wen Zhuang
  9. “In Peace”: A Conversation with Matthew Shenoda Mays Albaik
  10. Suburbia_hours.mov Nora Mayer
  11. Negative Spaces Emily Wright
  12. Centerfold: Urgency Lab
  13. Rise Up: The Sunrise Movement Takes Root in Rhode Island Irina V. Wang
  14. After Strand Nafis White and García Sinclair
  15. Soldiers of Love? Karen Schiff
  16. Decoding Ghosts Molly Hastings
  17. An Annotated Bibliography Eli Backer
  18. Jesus, Marilyn, and Britney: Relationships between Religion and Celebrity Culture Nina Yuchi
  19. The Social (Antique) Network: Empathy in the Age of Digital Antiquing Zola Anderson
  20. My Little Episodes Michael Brandes
  21. Seeking Fair Game on Hidden Fields Reilly Blum
  22. The Should Be Here Is Not Here Joss Liao
  23. Index of Agency Sophie Chien
  24. Don’t Eat the Models Barbara Stehle
  25. Hypothetical Drink Personality Test: Who Said What, and When? Eliza Chen
  26. Dear Arabic Mohammed Nassem

Fall 2018 

  1. From the Editors
  2. How to Make a Person: A Recipe Mays Albaik
  3. Providence Votes Marcus Peabody
  4. Encounters with the Codex: Redefining Forms of Publication June Yoon
  5. How to Encounter a Puddle Anny Li
  6. A Brief List of Premises from a Maker Stuck with Paper, Politics, and Performance Yasi Alipour
  7. Art Writing and the Place of the “I” Randy Kennedy
  8. Written in Stone: Lineage, Legacy, and Letterforms Irina V. Wang
  9. The Unbearable Whiteness of Being (a Graphic Designer) Tiger Dingsun
  10. Colliers/Necklaces Théïa Flynn
  11. When One Door Closes: Examining Issues of Space and Student Curation on Campus Wen Zhuang
  12. Addressing the Empty Plinth: Lessons from Gallery Shows and Public Art Jeremy Wolin
  13. Modern Usage: In Conversation with Remeike Forbes Eliza Chen and Tiger Dingsun
  14. Dangling Threads: Remaining Unclear in Capital Everett Epstein
  15. A Vagabond Viking Voyage and Midsummer Daydream Mike Fink
  16. Everything is Interdependent Angela Dufresne
  17. La Bolita Elaine Lopez
  18. Bread Day Olive B. Godlee
  19. Against the Archive Satpreet Kahlon

2017 - 2018 

  1. Birds, Bees, and Beyond: The Nature Lab Evolves
  2. Concrete Mixer Drum Solo
  3. Negative Spaces
  4. “Printer Prosthetics” at NYABF
  5. On Writing: Nader Tehrani and Katie Faulkner
  6. On Writing: Marie Law Adams and Dan Adams
  7. On Writing: Kunlé Adeyemi
  8. Connecting Food and Design
  9. Remixing Architectural Discourse
  10. Genesis : 1: Beret Shit
  11. “No voy a actuar en el mundo antes de entenderlo”: Una conversación con Alfredo Jaar
  12. “I Will Not Act in the World Before Understanding the World”: A Conversation with Alfredo Jaar
  13. Imagining Irmgard
  14. Afterwords: Bite
  15. Afterwords: Portals
  16. Afterwords: Calendar
  17. Seeking Drafts

Bread Day

Olive B. Godlee (BFA SC 2019)
Photographs by Shterna Goldbloom (MFA PH 2019)

Shterna Goldbloom, Friday Morning Waiting, 2016.

I’ve spent the past several months making bread. I am no great talent, but even when a loaf of bread does not succeed the way I hope it to, it almost always teaches me something new about the variables of the environment, the materials I’m using, and the way I move my hands. And it’s almost always still edible.

Bread is easy to make, but has an infinite number of alterations and specificities. To achieve a certain crumb, crust, flavor, color, or texture, each aspect of the bread must be considered. Today, I measure 1,000 grams of flour, then 780 grams of 94°F water, and then I mix them with my right hand in a large bowl until they’re just combined. I’ll do all the mixing by hand; it’s much easier to listen to the dough by touch than by sight. I mix to combine and fold to add strength. Twelve hours later, the dough is twice as big as when I started and is nearly spilling out of the bowl, large bubbles at its surface. From there, it will need to be halved and shaped and placed into two smaller bowls covered in linen towels dusted with flour, and the knowledge that it needs this care is the only thing that gets me up with the first of many alarms that ring every morning. And even though I think I’ll be able to go back to sleep, I always end up waiting at the kitchen table, in the company of the proofing loaves and preheating oven. If all goes as planned and the house is warm enough and I don’t do any of the math wrong, there are two loaves of bread on the table by 9:30 AM. Their crusts are dark and they steam and crackle as they settle in a 70ºF room after being in a 500ºF dutch oven.

I have considered all the variables in my kitchen. I have thought about time and temperature and the way I move my hands. I think this is good bread. It smells like good bread. It tastes like good bread. But if I make bread from flour that is void of nutrients and unsustainably produced, is it good bread? If I want to learn to make good bread, shouldn’t I be considering variables at every stage of the process—from care of the soil to distribution—not just the ones in my kitchen?

As I became immersed in bread-making, I was reading Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower. Written in 1993 but set in the 2020s, Butler’s imagined near-future dystopia was informed by injustices of her present, and what might happen if oppressive forces such as capitalism, mass incarceration, and environmental damage continued unchecked. The heroine, Lauren Oya Olamina, responds to the societal collapse by creating her own religion, called Earthseed, which prioritizes community and education. Reading this novel as a cautionary tale rather than a fictional dystopia, I embraced Butler’s solutions. In order to combat forces of inequity, oppression, and prejudice, we must learn how to learn, how to adapt, how to ask questions, how to listen, and how to embrace fumbling.

In learning how to make bread, I was overcome by the magic of a rising dough, the beauty of a scored crust, the air pockets in the crumb created by gaseous bubbles, and the ability to make delicious, nourishing food from just flour, water, salt and (sometimes) yeast. Quickly, though, I became self-conscious about the quality and was overwhelmed by how much more I had to learn—it seemed once I figured out one thing, I would lose my grasp on the previous technique. At the same time, bread-making felt like the only aspect of my life that didn’t have real consequences. Even if I made a loaf I thought had failed, it would still be eaten, and I still would learn from it.

Trying to do something you don’t know is emotional and fraught; fumbling while bread-making is learning how to learn. A practice of fumbling can aid in becoming more comfortable with being uncomfortable, stretching the muscle needed to be humble and engaged rather than defensive and resolute. Making bread requires looking around yourself, being aware, asking questions, sharing extra loaves, and bringing others into the fold. We think better when we’re fed, anyway.

Shterna Goldbloom, Can you?, 2016.

For the past two years, Anya Talatinian has been building a bread oven in the courtyard of Mass Art for the annual Green Arts Festival. The same fire bricks are used each year, and each year they blacken and warp with use. Based on the design of Peter Schumann of Bread and Puppet, the bricks stack in such a way that enables them to support themselves, trap heat, release smoke, and create a pocket for fire and dough.

Anya and I met through a mutual friend a while ago, and I’ve always liked them—they’re the kind of person who lets you know they see you. One of the first few times we hung out was with a large group of people. We were on our way to the beach and I wasn’t wearing the right clothes and everyone but me knew all the words to the album we were listening to. Sitting in the passenger seat of our friend Lid’s car, they took out a keychain-sized purple notebook and started writing in it—they had to scrunch their entire body to be able to write so small. They ripped out the page and passed it to me in the backseat. On one side it said, “Would you like a coconut bar?” and on the other side, “It isn’t your birthday, but you deserve a treat!”

Since then, Anya and I have had many late night calls; even after a long day, we’d get really riled up—about bread. At our respective kitchen tables, only a city apart, we yelled about dough and community and compassion to each other through our computers. We’d both been thinking about bread for a while, and there was so much information to catch up on and share.

These conversations felt like finally sharing a secret you’ve been holding onto with someone who thinks it’s as chewy as you do. These conversations felt like finally sharing a secret you’ve been holding onto with someone who thinks it’s as chewy as you do—tripping over your words because you discovered something connected to everything you’ve been thinking about and you can’t even get a sentence out because it’s just too exciting that someone else has had a similar half-thought and maybe those half-thoughts make a whole when you put them together?? Or maybe you can figure out how to translate each other’s words into something shared beyond the table/computer/oven? And isn’t it exciting to revel in the idea that sharing half-thoughts is okay?

The most exciting thing about bread, which I discover and rediscover with every conversation, is that everyone has a connection to it. Everyone has a story about it or knows someone who makes it; or they make it themselves or they remember a damn good loaf they ate once; or they know someone who knows someone who mills their own flour or lives near a wheat field or has built an oven.

And so gathering with Anya during this year’s Green Arts Festival, we attempted to build this oven with bricks that didn’t fit quite how they should’ve. We asked a whole bunch of people to help us, all who had brilliant half-thoughts or nearly-whole ones or even a smudge of an idea about bricks or building or fire or bread. On one of the first real cold days of this fall, thirty or so students in Anya’s program formed a brigade to haul two hundred fire bricks out of the basement, through a window, and into the middle of the courtyard at Mass Art. They then stayed with us outside for nearly five hours, all of us underdressed for the unexpected cold, figuring out how to stack two hundred bricks to make an oven.

Fumbling through the process of stacking eventually allowed us the means to get warm, and the next day the means to fumble through bread with some of the same (and a lot of new) people. Watching people mix ingredients, spill flour, knead dough, shape loaves, split wood, and stoke the fire in the brick oven, I imagined how this space could grow.

Shterna Goldbloom, What’s the time?, 2016.

My mother bakes her famous challah every Friday; it is a full-day process. When I am missing her I think of her warm challah smell and being wrapped in a bear hug.

Olive B. Godlee is wondering where all the dyke bars went.
Shterna Goldbloom is a feygele who wants free flight for all feygeles.