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

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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


Yiqun Zhou (BFA IL 2020)

I’ve probably seen more standup in my life than most people have eaten salt. Before I saw this one comedian’s standup act, I never took them seriously. I always thought comedy is like salt. Some like it, some don’t, purely by chance. It’s the cosmic gift, the ancient energy that, like salt, cannot be created by men, only collected and harvested, like salt. You consume it and no meaning has been generated. Until I saw this comedian’s act, I realized even silly things could possess the power of Camus, giving me the strength and energy to pass on hope in the midst of winter. So I wrote this poem.

Took my son in town with me for a cabaret
Hiding from my mother cause she’s mad
for she can’t shift the beer stain on my shirt with Tide.
Her trousers were always ready, that’s where she keeps her panties.
How can I compete?
With her impeccable image of me?

Do not go gently into the bold bold night,
as none of the entertainers can see a clear punchline in sight.
I wish them all the good luck,
though my son mutters:
I wish I could have a gun for my 7th birthday,
so I can give it to the host to wish him a chance to die,
no, it’s not too late.
Very nice of him,
to consider the offer of assisted suicide.
I thought,
but the venom of his glee,
is distasteful like the blue spot on cheese.
I asked him, aren’t you afraid
The holy punishment might smite thee?
“I don’t think so.”
But speaking of the devil,
my son is instantly struck by a lightning bolt.
My parental instinct kicks in and I shout:
Oh shit we should go.
I stride my pony,
with my son under my armpit.
Heading towards the black forest,
with the promise of a cure on the other side of the city.
“Mother, mother where am I going?”
“You are going to shut up
and we will see,
if we can cross the forest without losing my key,
to my Ford Elite.
Cause riding this pony is a bad idea, it’s faster to drive a car.”
Without the shelter,
of the modern metal monster.
My dear’s son’s eyes are wide open,
to the horror of passing tree figures.
“Mother, mother there is a weird king behind us”
“Don’t be ridiculous it’s just gas.”
“I ain’t joking ma,
and I ain’t farting.
The weird man has yolk for eyeballs, cheetos for fingers,
and is wearing a shiny suit of armor.”
“Kid don’t be rude, kid! that’s called leper.”
“Mother, you really ought to take a look.
for I know the fancy on funny shits you took.
I remembered you laughed
when egg bombs attacked
the judgmental cook.”
With a thundering shock
I can hear the sound
of the king rolling his eyes to the back of his head aloud.
“Can’t believe you watch programs with a taste of a fucking cock,
and that’s Simon Cowell you are talking about.”
I was awestruck by the austere sound

as I once only heard the tempting offer
from my so-called birth mother.
“Did he promise you land?
Did he promise you garments made out of diamond,
Or did he promise you what you always wanted,

the love juice from a mammary gland?”
My son shouted at me,
Watching as the attention drained worryingly from my face.
Oh my dear friends,
Have you seen the face and body,
of a whole man?
He has his mind straight and life goal set
and a pair of legs that was destined to measure the           unknown terrain.
Are you jealous of these four limbs on a piece of meat?
Or have you seen what I have seen,
the weird man behind him,
who is my leper king?
He has his eyeballs back rolled,
blindness doesn’t obstruct him from conquering his road.
His fingers feed the obese,
for salvaging what the National Healthcare System has failed was never his goal.
What are you fending with your armor,
my leper king?
Is it noble to protect the normals from your leprosy?
Or are you preventing what once happened before,
jubilant leeches stealing your genius, your illness,
trying to function on borrowed madness?

I followed him as he was not leading,
to what this whole man he was feeding?
From a cemetery the homeland where he was coming,
Amongst nothing but a forest of withered white bones he was walking.

At the gate of the barren cemetery,
gathered a herd of eager fairies.
The wholesome man did a fantastic act,
a pull-back reveal joke, a delivery with the precision of a sledgehammer.
Surrounding him was all the cheering.
Following him was the second part of the act, the king, the mad man
He stood perfectly still as the laughing became jeering
As he determined in his refusal to entertain, for he seeks no compliment.
As the squeezed dry fairies began to accuse, to leave, to seal his failure,
Only now has the real fun been discovered.
My mad man, my king,
“If you refuse to use your brain to think”
he shouted as he turned all his innards into pus into stink
oozing out of his mouth like laughter—this crazy man,
“I will bestow you one last thing!”
He then shed his armors,
left a mist in the mid air.
The wholesome man shot up like a puppet
as the whirlwind of stink pulls the threads like a puppeteer.
Another perfect act was performed by the wholesome man,
and the wholesome man collapsed as the mad king throws away the threads,
left laughters fermented into a bad taste in the fairies’ mouths.

How can I not wait,
to offer my dancing body?
Let the leprosy inhabit me
a vacancy for the mad king who charmed me silly.
He will wear my skin as an armor,
and fend the world of normality with my bones,
finally, a man as though a mother takes me home.
So you ask me,
wait a minute, what about your ill son,
who might die young?
He was already across the forest safely,
whilst I was cured for this motherless disease.
The lightning strike was not the scar,
as the real pain was the birthmark.
He was now on a journey,
to break the inherited curse
of the bondage by blood to the birth mother.

Yiqun Zhou is the co-founder of a poetry society with a membership of two. Both founders believe Icarus was the greatest stalker.