[issue one excerpt] White Canvas

by Rachel Hwang

cover photo by Natalie Kim

I live on a white canvas. Not blank, but white—like the paintings that sell for millions, ones

created by contemporary suprematists, where white is not the beginning but the finished product.

And I am a drop of pitch-black ink that has landed upon it, dripped by a careless hand, a mistake

in a pristine coat of white, a juxtaposition of bright and dark, right and wrong.

The void-like shade primed with layers of white, an attempt to erase the imperfection, applying

coats of concealer upon discoloration, pasting foundation to patch the crevices of disparity.

Personality eroded, blown into oblivion; individuality weathered, carved by despair. I fray,

fading like words on a page burdened with time. Alas, I give in to the tide, drowning in the

currents of conformity.

Reduced to tempera, a lattice of linen, strokes of glaze. An individual within the community

indistinguishable from the rest.

Living in a utopia of white.