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

Texas Triptych

Ali Dipp (BFA PT 2022)


‘If a river could speak...What would it say? And furthermore, how would we hear it?’ This piece is a window, painting, and portal into the many voices that converge in our Southwestern borderland.

This introduction includes a set of suggestions to coax a river, the Río Grande, into speech. While the stage uses language, humans as they stand between rivers, embankments, and regions, tell the story of the place between people.

As it contributes to the ever-evolving stage, Texas Triptych meditates on changing tradition. Set on a fringe, this is a play devoted to mavericks. Texas Triptych confronts conventions by breaking and reforming meaning over and once again. As so, this piece
examines the proximity between two words: bounds and boundless. Between these two words exists a paradox of how we commit to our medium over time, history, and an unbeknownst future. How does this work inform what came before? What ramifications are to follow? With a threshold as probing, we can humor the theatre’s use of metaphor
and its serious play. Hopefully, in time, the limits, both reconsidered and kept, can bring to light a ‘playful’ play.

In this work, there are fecund borders:

Freedom’s bounds: What definitions are ramparts, what walls are bridges? How does each player find their emancipation? What unexpected matrimony reveals itself between freedom and bondage?

Metaphorical bounds: This play confronts allegorical traditions. Characters symbolize forces that govern the borderland environment, breaking interior situations and forming larger stances. With this in mind, the play asks its ensemble to find what is personal to each character. In the balance between broad symbolism and considered specificity, the actors make myth out of individual truth.

Dialogue (a)bound: The piece expands across rivers, houses, rooms, people, and times. Lines refer and converse beyond intimate and domestic space in this play. The player gets to decide who will receive their line in its path of travel. Participants are encouraged to perform the dialogue as open and intentional as possible.

Stage bounds: Throughout the lines, parentheses imply a choice delegated to the player. Exercising impermanence on both ends, the player and script can change. Only when declaring, and taking a side, can the potential of language take form. It is imperative to note that there is a heavy emphasis on wordplay in this script. As on the frontera, humor and sadness collide in perpetuity. Perhaps the distance between ‘hysterical’ and ‘hysteria’ can serve as a concept to humor.

Player List:

TIERRA: The matriarch that is both everything and nothing. She is as undefinable as a river, as crucial as water. 

SOL: An older sister. She questions the many definitions of freedom in the words ‘bound(less)’. Throughout the play, she writes a theory on time.

LUNA: Her younger sister in fraught fidelity with Bull Rider

MOTHER: The two sisters’ earthly matriarch.

BULL RIDER: A dreamer without feet and gambler of words, hopes, and ideas. He is Luna’s partner.

SHADOW: Two performers orchestrating the music and conducting a shadow puppet show.

An excerpt Texas Triptych (Act Two, Moonrise):

When you look at the moon from the ground, you try to chase it with your car, to meet it in orbit. A fool can only cherish what betrays him in the night passage.

What the wind feels like. Tombs rest without air.

Tombs rest without air. A permanence we once had. But as the terrain, I can’t show mercy for my dweller. It would be a paralyzing declaration. I would have to retire. And work is never done in this shifting cycle.

Why can’t you?

I have always been as restless and itching as a scorpion bite. Tombs rest without air.

This time I am not running away. I am retracing. I can’t write what has been hammered into stone. But now and forever is a thin paper. As open as the sky in June—an empty unforeseen.

What makes this any different than what you have already done to us all?

You have sought life in the vessel of my valley. The arroyo must evolve again. And so, must you.

Turning, turning, towards the spinning irrational.

Why can’t you? Wait? That’s all I’ve done.

If I do, the fall will never end. I would turn into no man’s land.

But if you leave again, you can only be a nomad’s land.

Decaying with the seasons. Swelling with the summer. Sitting and lying between the ebbing, the swelling.

(A beat of undisturbed silence.)

Sometimes when you look outside in the dark time, it can look like a sea separates you from the mountains.

There is a nothingness resting between the now and the forgotten.

Only lies between, as it only lies within the in-between.

This vastness holds a previous eternity. I must walk towards the shadows.

If you leave this land, we will be nothing but a territory severed in half. A stitched abrasion without a heart’s blood.

Before me, there were many earths. I am only the fifth. You see, all worlds must know that they were born to die. A martyr cannot love in the wake of closure. That is betrayal.

Betrayal is here. More abandoning.

Betrayal, abandonment, the weight of trespassing waters. We are sisters. Vessels who break in the heat of hush.

(Sol memorizes her next four lines so she can walk across the bridge)

Must all sisters turn their backs?

It is our inheritance. Before us, mothers learned that rain heals the damage inflicted by rocks.

What came before you? Who is your mother?

I am the fifth world. At the end of every earth, a party commemorates the ground. And the world dies in a final flame. Tossing towards the sky. Like an agave extending its arm to the heavens before collapse.

Where is life before this?

Maybe it came long before our mother knew what she looked like. Before even the soil made ground, composing country.

She sounds like a god.

But you are not a god, so incapable of feeling ground.

No, I am under all paths and cuts in the crust of this earth. Tremors...my breath is all but the traveler’s thunder.

Why satisfy the moving walker? Why not the loyal here? As I wait.

I have to withstand the comfort of staying. My channels are being kept by weight.

When you contain the air, it just becomes stale. Tomb without air.

It’s a pity men give an oath to an orbiting moon. Gliding across the sky, no intent to ever touch.

I would. In another time, or maybe life, I could.

Your departure will ring with an arrival.

Birth begins in death, remember that always, my Sol.

If you cannot be my mother, then to what land do I belong?

No man’s land...nomad’s land.

Can the air be the land? Can the water be the air? Where can I drink water, when the arroyo is the emptied drought house?

These questions I cannot answer when gone. You will have to ask them to the sky of a place beyond this soil.

What does your crack after the earthquake tell?

It speaks a different language from your tongue.

We just speak different languages. In the lapse between words, peace doesn’t come. Not within this silence.

This silence, a void. In it, an absence. We have to remember, even in the broken tongue, there can be a whole ground.

(MOTHER looks at the clock.)

How long has this clock been broken?

I forgot the time.

Go get a new one before Luna comes.

An arrow through space, time cannot reverse.

How do we collect the period lost?

When you have lost, you can’t look back, so our salt myth goes.

Into the waters, the still river travelers. They can’t see a bank, no markings recalled after the flood.

In this distance, there is something we have known. Only in this miscommunication can there be a language shared.

It’s understood now.

When you put oil into the water of my river, you cannot take back what you threw. It expands into and through my body, and soon enough, what was added becomes a part of my blood.

When you throw a penny into a fountain, and it overflows...

There’s no turning back.

Like the threat of becoming a pillar of salt, we have all to lose.

When turning back.

(LUNA turns back to BULL RIDER, lights change to blue. BULL RIDER sits on the
chair. LUNA follows and rests her head on his lap.)

We had to go through troubled rivers to find this?

A tremor in the earthquake.

Making metaphors and pursuing paradigms between theater,
writing, and visual arts, Ali Dipp believes in bridges.