Spring 2026
—Letter From the Editors
Dear past v.1,
You’re not going to believe it. Honestly, there were moments when we didn’t either. But answers rarely show up the way you expect them to. What started as a search for something clear slowly turned into learning how to sit with uncertainty. Over this year-long journey into nature’s publication—and the nature of publication itself—we found that not knowing where something is going is not the same as being lost.
We asked our contributors to take the corners of publication, to stretch them apart and see what shapes might unfold. We recieved work whose rhythms moved from image to poetry to prose, each searching for what it wants to say: reimagined essays, reflections on trees in all their glory, and, for the first time, illustrated comics. By treating format as a question rather than a constraint, we begin to wonder if it was ever a container at all. It shifts with our own unfolding—experiences, desires, and all that we thought we could not say out loud—into the page’s columns. Like pollen finding new geometries of flight, v.1’s words alighted on gallery walls, radio waves, recycled paper pulp, and a nonsequential constellation of posters.
It is from this outpour that our new “Special Projects” came to be—a booklet of artist statements, a laser-cut compendium of Loop Lab projects, spotted lanternfly tattoos—and we displayed them all, along with eleven years of v.1’s archives and artworks sprung from our pages. In an exhibition succintly called “. , ...” (a.k.a. Period Comma Ellipses).
Sincerely,
v.1‘s editors and designers