We've got it all right here, folks! Everything that's ever been written up, photographed, and discussed on the Sad Mag website. Enjoy browsing our archives!
SAD Mag is pleased to announce our first call for poetry and fiction submissions. We are soliciting pieces of up to 1,000 words related to the theme of high school (we encourage you to interpret our theme creatively and broadly). Successful submissions will be published online alongside an illustration by one of our featured artists.
SAD is particularly interested in publishing the work of queer or emerging writers, especially those based in Vancouver or the Lower Mainland. We are committed to supporting and fostering Vancouver’s creative community and giving voices and opportunities to people who aren’t heard in the mainstream. We tell stories and publish art pieces that are thought-provoking, insightful, sincere, and wonderfully weird.
Work that perpetuates racism, ageism, homophobia, biphobia, acephobia, transphobia, sexism, body-shaming, slut-shaming, ableism, or other forms of oppression will be rejected. We welcome writing that examines and challenges these issues.
Guidelines:
We only accept submissions via e-mail
With your submission, include your name, address, phone number, and e-mail address
Note the genre of your submission(s) and an accurate word count
Please use a standard font and margins and submit your work as a doc or docx file
In your e-mail, we ask that you include a short bio and links to any social media handles you use so that you can be credited and accessible to readers who love your work
We cannot accept work that has been previously published elsewhere
Simultaneous submissions are fine, but please let us know if you are submitting a piece elsewhere or if it becomes no longer available
All submissions will be responded to within one week of the deadline
Make sure you designate us as an approved sender to prevent our response from going to your spam folder
If we select your work it may undergo an editing process in collaboration with a SAD editor
SAD is volunteer run and we are not currently able to compensate our contributors
Deadline: 11:59 PM, September 15th. Please send submissions to: kyla@sadmag.ca.
Non-fiction writers, we would also like to hear from you! Our print issue contains exclusively non-fiction writing alongside film photography and original art and illustrations. You can read about pitching us for the web or print here: http://www.sadmag.ca/contribute/.
I walked into Stephen Cone’s Henry Gamble’s Birthday Party at last week’s Vancouver Queer Film Fest jaded by a history of over-indulging in cheesy, vaguely LGBT films. At best, I hoped the coming-of-age film about a 17-year-old white boy and his Christian family might be cute, maybe even entertaining. But instead I found Henry Gamble’s Birthday Party to be sweetly orchestrated, intricate and smart–a meaningful commentary on what it’s like to go up against an entire community.
The film centres around young, fresh-faced Henry Gamble on his 17th birthday. Our protagonist is a blossoming gay individual and is emotionally wrought over his equally fresh-faced, straight best friend. Over the course of one day and one big pool party, Henry ushers in a new year of living and, ultimately, learns how to be himself. The film alternates between adorably funny moments and disturbing ones. Audiences will remain engaged by what makes each character tick through each scene.
Cone takes the audience to some pretty dark places, examining the heavier sides to growing up gay (or even just different). This is especially true for one of Henry’s guests, Logan, whose troubles are concentrated by a lack of real understanding from his church community. Everyone tiptoes around him because of an incident that happened at church camp and now, when he is most in need of true connection and support, he is left to fend for himself.
Another strength of Henry Gamble lies in its ability to poke fun at the fact that it’s so clearly situated within the upper class, white, Christian perspective. When wine is smuggled into the party by a longstanding church member and referred to as ‘medicine,’ I couldn’t help but smile. In another scene, the pastor (Henry’s dad) and a fellow church member fumble frantically for the remote control when a movie suddenly gets “inappropriate.” They heave a sigh of relief after finally switching the channel to good old football, and I laughed out loud with the rest of the audience.
Both focussed and honest, Henry Gamble is the kind of movie about young people growing up I wish I’d had as a young person growing up. Even watching now, in my mid-twenties, I felt I could take a lesson from the struggles of some of Henry’s guests, slightly older but equally well-portrayed as the younger ones.
It all begins with a rainy car ride: a hauntingly beautiful scene framed from the backseat of a van; and after laughs, tears, and a standing ovation, it all ends with that same foggy drive. However, nothing else remains the same.
A Girl at My Door is South Korean filmmaker/screenwriter July Jung’s portrayal of a young female police officer and her new job in rural Korea. The film was borrowed for this year’s Queer Film Fest, but has the energy, talent, and aesthetic to reach any audience spanning from VIFF to the NY box office. To prove this, it’s already premiered at Cannes, and has been nominated for multiple screen awards. It is also worth mentioning that the film is complemented by the music of Jang Young-Gyu, a regular contributor to the musical landscape or Korean film.
During the film, a relationship is formed between a police officer (Bae Doona: Cloud Atlas, Jupiter Ascending), and an abused girl (Kim Sae-Ron: Blue Dragon Film Award for Best New Actress). Jung creates characters, and lays out situations that are both profound like a drama, and elastic like any classic foreign animation film. Kim Sae-Ron’s performance is what really hits home in this film, as her character deals with some very raw, honest, and almost cringe-inducing scenes that offer a window into a broken world. Bae Doona’s character has her own struggles, dealing with a budding alcohol addiction, heart break, and homophobia – making her an easy protagonist to root for.
Although this is a two hour run-time film, it feels as if it’s a four hour movie. Some easy trimming would have made this film a little more captivating than it already is. Also, more time could’ve been spent on secondary characters to further enhance the storyline of the lead ones. As human as July makes these characters, they still seem a little stiff at times in the film. Nonetheless, July Jung’s feature film effort is nothing short of beautiful. Thought provoking, unhesitant, and human–A Girl at My Door is a masterpiece that will stir up your soul with both visuals and content.
Piss smacked the asphalt in his wake as we skated into a stretch of the bike path moonlight and streetlights couldn’t reach. A thud and “fuck!” came from the darkness ahead; someone had made an abrupt introduction with the ground. His pee-trail jumped and drew wet jagged peaks as he belly laughed at our friend, the source of the thud, writhing and cursing in front of us. He continued to laugh until his wheels hit the same watering hose snaking across the path our friends had, pitching him into air, dick in hand, urine scrawling jumbled cursive cries into the night.
For more, visit the Portraits of Brief Encounters website, or follow Cole Nowicki on Instagram or Twitter.
Liz in September (Liz en Septiembre) is the story of life, illness, the fluidity of sexuality and the complexity of female relationships.
Eva and her husband are still trying to cope with the loss of their young son when they go on a trip. Eva leaves a day earlier but her car soon breaks down and she is sent to the one hotel in town that has room: Margot’s, a seaside paradise where the women who live there drink lots of wine, go swimming, and have the most Bechdel-worthy conversations of all time (where do I sign up, amirite?). Eva soon discovers that what she at first thought was a hotel is actually a haven of lesbians. Liz (Patricia Velasquez of The L Word), the commitment-phobic player of the group, gets a bet going that she can sleep with the new, straight girl within three days. But Liz, a stoic and tough gal, is also hiding a secret from the group: she has cancer and she is deteriorating.
The plot of Liz in September is predictable, with few original twists or surprising character arcs. Most of the characters don’t get explored very deeply, and few of the women’s relationships are really portrayed in depth. In fact, the one sex scene of the film is between Eva and her husband, which is an interesting choice for a movie about lesbians, especially considering there are only two male characters (both supporting).
Despite this, the movie does deal with a number of themes that aren’t usually seen in mainstream Hollywood films–or at least in a way in which they are not normally portrayed– which is always refreshing. It explores life and death, relationships, friendships, love– all with a full female cast.
All in all, Liz in September has a lot of topics it touched upon that could have been explored further. However, it has its moments, and manages to successfully maneuver the sensitivity of humour in dark places, which is not an easy feat. This, along with the breath-taking scenery, make the film worth checking out.
This is Gay Propaganda: LGBT Rights & the War in the Ukraine follows several Ukrainian LGBT activists in the aftermaths of Ukraine’s Euromaidan revolution, as they fight to survive in the face of gay propaganda laws in some parts of Ukraine. The laws, like those in Russia, label any sort of positive communication about LGBT rights and issues as “gay propaganda.” Spreading or engaging in “gay propaganda” is punishable by jail time.
The film ties together multiple themes. There is Toronto-based director Marusya Bociurkiw’s personal story, of her Ukrainian background and her identity as a lesbian. “Sometimes I felt like the only Ukrainian lesbian in the world,” she says in the film. She looks at how so many of us have our identities fragmented by circumstance.
The film focuses on the fight for LGBT rights but also heavily focuses on the intersection with the feminist movement in the Ukraine and on the violence that more masculine-presenting women experience at higher rates. After the movie, the director Skyped in from Poland for a Q&A. An audience member asked her why she focused on so many female LGBT activists, to which she chuckled and responded: “that’s sort of a hallmark of my work.”
There is the backdrop of a country at war. Ukraine in particular is a country very recently torn apart by revolution and the tug-of-war between the Western influences and the Russian ones and, as such, there are stark differences from place to place in the country, something that the film explains with such clarity.
There are the stories of the LGBT activists she interviewed: some are running away from families trying to kill them, some had to hide their whole lives and continue to do so, some got death threats from strangers, many were beaten and abused.
And then there are the scenes of hope: of a country that has organized and revolted, a people that are clearly capable of powerful change, of activist organizing of feminist film festivals and LGBT safe houses.
To watch this mere weeks after Vancouver’s city wide pride week, our richly sponsored parade with politicians, police, banks and thousands of people in attendance, is startling. Canada is not perfect. Not by a long shot. Discrimination based on gender identity is not protected by the Charter; queer POC and trans* communities are often left behind; and LGBT youth are still experiencing higher rates of bullying, substance abuse and homelessness, to name just a few issues. But watching This is Gay Propaganda is a chilling reminder of the kinds of state-sanctioned violence that activists around the world are up against. To watch it is humbling.
Jacob Wren is a writer and performance artist whose work often theorizes about the state of contemporary art. He is the co-artistic director of the interdisciplinary art group PME-ART, the members of which sometimes “believe in being naive on purpose.” He has been blogging for ten years at A Radical Cut in the Texture of Realityand his book, Polyamorous Love Song, was listed as one of The Globe and Mail’s top 100 books of 2014. In the final essay of his newest book, a hybrid of non- and short-fiction called If our wealth is criminal then let’s live with the criminal joy of pirates(BookThug, 2015), Wren writes: “Like many of us, I am in crisis (with one possible difference being that I have a compulsion to announce my sense of crisis as often as possible). I am in crisis about art and also about everything else.”
SAD Mag’s Shannon Tien interviewed Wren to discuss this crisis of artistic ambition, naïve activism, hope, cynicism, and animism, among other meaty ideas.
Shannon Tien: What are you doing in Calgary right now?
Jacob Wren: I’m co-leading a project organized by the New Gallery that’s an art writing residency. There’s me and Jean Randolph co-leading it. We have a few participants that we’re working with for one month in person and then another four months long distance around questions of art writing.
ST: Cool. So let’s start the official interview. In your essay “Like a Priest Who Has Lost Faith” from your most recent book, you write about artworks having their own agency to get us to think in ways we might not have previously considered. Are there any artworks that have made you feel this way in particular?
JW: There probably are. We were talking the other day about this well-known artwork, the name of which I don’t know, by General Idea, where they took the famous “LOVE” graphic and replaced it with the word “AIDS” and that image, I think it was called “The Image Virus”, and that work traveled an enormous degree on its own through various media and became one of the many iconic images in the AIDS movement. I think that’s an example of a work that traveled a great deal on its own.
Image Virus (1987) by General Idea
Maybe that’s a very literal idea of an artwork having agency. I could also use a cliché historical example: the Goethe novel The Sorrows of Young Werther. A young man kills himself for unrequited love, and then there was a rash of suicides in Germany by young romantic men who read this and imitated it, which was not Goethe’s intention.
But I also think there are less literal examples. In a way all artworks that have any impact on us or enter into our lives make us do things that we don’t know are coming from that artwork. Things we might not have done had we not encountered that project. They might change our thinking or actions or raise questions about our lives that we might not have had otherwise. And I feel with these things, there are no guarantees. Like, maybe you did something because of the artwork, but maybe there were a number of factors that influenced how you thought and acted.
ST: And what is the consequence of assigning the agency to the artwork instead of the artist or the viewer?
JW: I mean, there’s multiple agencies acting on any decision or thought or action. There’s never only one factor as to why something happens. So of course the artist has agency, the viewer has agency, the artwork has agency, and when the different agencies come together, maybe something happens? Or maybe nothing happens?
As a writer, one thing that becomes very clear is that people read your work in ways you never intended or never thought of and also that this is a beautiful and positive thing. And that as a writer, trying to control your work’s public reception is a recipe for insanity and also probably a recipe for very mediocre work. Knowing that you’re making something that has a life outside of you and changes in its interaction with different people and different contexts–I think that’s an essential thing for making anything.
ST: Was there a moment in your writing career when you realized this? That the work had a life of its own? Did it change things?
JW: I don’t remember a specific moment, but I feel like it happens all the time in little ways. For me I might be a control freak, but I’m definitely not a control freak in that way. So I’ve never had any problem letting go. I feel like when it’s ready, people can do with it what they will.
ST: What is art writing? Is this how you would describe the genre that your book falls into?
JW: Well, it’s two short stories and an essay. So, it’s a hybrid book that brings together fiction and non-fiction. And I think one of the reasons we wanted to do this was because for me–and Malcolm Sutton who was the editor–we would like there to be more back-and-forth, more fluidity between fiction and nonfiction. And we don’t see a strong boundary between them.
ST: Yeah I like that idea. In your other book, Polyamorous Love Song, I felt like the short stories presented a lot of nonfiction theoretical ideas, kind of.
JW: Yes, I mean, you know, my fiction is always a fiction of ideas, and ideas are often presented in a…well I try to present the ideas in a clear, non-fiction way. And, for me novels are essays and essays are novels. It’s all in the same swirl of writing and thinking and presenting.
ST: I noticed on your blog, A Radical Cut in the Texture of Reality, that you were celebrating your blog’s 10-year anniversary. How does blogging influence your art and writing?
JW: Doing A Radical Cut has an enormously positive effect on my writing in that it’s allowed me to share short paragraphs or short excerpts as I work on them and get some response–put them out there in the world before they’re finished. It’s kept me writing, in a way. Often it could take me four years to write a novel and it’s kind of a secretive, lonely time. Having this way to share little bits and pieces as I go has really given me the energy to continue at many different points.
Also, it goes without saying that we live in the age of the internet. In general, how I’ve shared my work on the internet, mixing things I’ve written with quotes from other people, with songs and videos and having it all mixed together in a kind of giant internet pastiche has very much changed how I see writing and how I see art.
As you probably know, though, this little book was done as a special edition for Author for Indies Day. This was like a desire to have something for independent bookstores similar to Record Store Day–where there’s special editions and special records you can only get on that day–to try and create some excitement about small bookstores in the same way Record Store Day created some excitement around record stores. And I was really unsure that it would work. I was curious. But when I showed up at Type Books at Authors for Indies Day, there was a line up of people wanting to get in to get the special editions. So that gave me a really strange and excited feeling, that people would line up in the morning at an independent bookstore to get these things. I think it gives me a bit of hope.
Faced with the pile of submissions for this year’s Vancouver Queer Film Festival, Director of Festival ProgrammingShana Myara had her work cut out for her. “The struggle of curating the festival is really when to stop,” she told SAD Mag in a recent phone interview, “We only have ten days!”
Myara’s work has paid off, however; with over 70 films from 21 countries included in the final bill, and themes ranging from transgender athletes to gay camboys to bearded ladies, the 27th VQFF promises to wow audiences with a seriously stacked international lineup. Throw in a handful of Q&A’s with visiting filmmakers, a series of free workshops, and three special galas, and you have the creative smorgasborg that is this year’s festival. Film fans, mark your calendars: August 13 to 23 is going to be a busy–and eclectic–ten days.
It’s this eclecticism, Myara believes, that sets the festival apart. “We see so much of the samey-same out there that individuality is really quite a strength,” she explains. “That’s what Queer film festivals are all about.” Instead of selecting films by theme, Myara selects them by quality, and only later organizes them into categories.
The categories or “spotlights” that emerged this year are Canadian queer films, DIY Gender, queer youth culture and queer films from Latin America. Among the festival highlights are: a showing of Cannes-award-winning Korean filmmaker July Jung’sA Girl at My Door(and accompanying Q&A with the artist, Aug 19); a tailor-made archival program, Still Not Over It: 70 Years of Queer Canadian Film(Aug 18);and an 87 minute collection of shorts–made entirely by youth, for youth–called Bright Eyes, Queer Hearts(Aug 18).
The transformative power of film is one reason Myara likes to keep the bill so diverse. “Film really has the power to help us change our worldviews–to experience a life in another way,” she says. “At VQFF, we’re really mindful of those intersectional stories that speak to life told from the margins–stories that have the potential to make you feel more accepting, rather than close-minded–stories that don’t necessarily have all the right answers, but ask the right questions.”
VQFF takes their mission out of the cinema and into the classroom with the Out in Schools program, run through Out on Screen. The program brings age-appropriate queer films to schools, using film as a “springboard for a discussion around acceptance and understanding.” By helping to create an accepting learning environment through film, Out in Schools hopes to prevent bullying, exclusion, and violence.
In a city that’s been called the gay-bashing capital of Canada, it’s easy to see why these discussions are so important. “Unfortunately violence against the community is a very real part of our history and our present,” Myara sighs. “But I often look at violence as having a rebound effect; violence against a few creates a feeling of solidarity in a community.” And community, she continues, is what VQFF is all about. “From the beginning it’s been very open-armed; everyone who wants to come is welcome.”
“It’s a really exceptional feeling to feel welcomed when you arrive somewhere,” Myara observes, and her smile is almost audible over the phone. “The festival, first and foremost, brings people together.”
The Vancouver Queer Film Festival runs from August 13 – 23. For showtimes and locations, visit the festival website.
In the moments before the event began, a digital image of a living space, like a cartoon combination of IKEA and the Sims, was projected on to the floor-to-ceiling screen at the back of the stage, a representation of the normativeness that would be shattered throughout the night.
The event was a pairing of emerging and professional artists. First, PROX:IMITY RE:MIX, a performance by a group of queer youth, aged 15-24, fresh off a two-week mentorship with MACHiNENOiSY, and second, Kinesis Dance performing Night, by Para Terezakis.
Image from MACHiNENOiSY.com
PROX:IMITY RE:MIX was an array of individual and ensemble pieces, ranging from free movement to choreographed dance, spoken word, performance art and monologue. The performers interacted with their images, which were recorded live and projected onto the screen behind them. The imagery was often colourful and created both concrete and abstract depictions of them. It was all underpinned by a rich and diverse soundscape.
PROX:IMITY RE:MIX was a synergy between imagery, physicality, sound and story. Namely, the personal stories of the youth: “My name is ______, I am ______ years old and my pronoun is ______”, was an echoing refrain throughout the performance.
It touched upon the rigidity of binaries, the process of coming out, victim blaming, the beauty of home and love, and the triumph of being your true self. It was the authenticity, the vulnerability and the strength of the youth that carried the show. Young people, telling their stories, sharing their truth, being brave.
Some youth were at the beginning of their artistic journeys, while others already had their wings and were flying. Together though, they had continuity, both working within their respective abilities and pushing their edges.
Night was a journey through the darkness, a ride through the peaks and valleys of the nocturne: excitement, chaos, lust and love, connection, shame, voyeurism and the collecting of one’s self and their things afterwards, at sunrise, to begin anew.
At its best the performance was compelling, moving and provocative, but at times also frenetic and flat. That said, it was mostly pop and fizz. The piece grappled with the sexual fluidity of roles, partners and gender, feelings of shame in desire, and disconnection from normative values of sex, beauty and attraction.
The narrative of the performance was driven by an eclectic mix of music switched, often abruptly, by different performers from a laptop sitting on a desk on stage. Stark changes in lighting and the use of each of the character’s possessions: clothing and other personal effects carried in a bag, punched through the movements and feeling of a night in many vignettes.
Its seams were left intentionally unfinished and showing, the fourth wall was broken, and the viewer, and the other dancers for that matter, was given free reign to gawk and stare at the creatures of the night, their movements communicating their intent and emotion with clarity. With red lips they embarked on a metamorphosis from dusk till dawn, the only remnants of which were a pair of red heels and a row of lipstick cases, standing on end.
“Good luck.” It’s always “good luck.” Never has there been a wink and a “see you soon.” I get that that would probably be collusion or some shit, but how often do I have to come in here and buy stale potato chips and a $7.00 Quick Pick before “good luck” becomes “good job?”
Someone in Alberta is always winning. A $50 mil ticket was sold there this goddamn week––the CBC’s website made sure to rub that “news” in my face. I would do great things with my winnings. I’d rescue a shelter cat, neuter it (not myself, but with my winnings I could go to vet school and learn to neuter), buy it a really nice scratching post with three to four different levels for it to explore, then buy a house for myself so the cat doesn’t have to be trapped with me in my sweaty little bachelor suite with its three to four level scratching post blocking the way to the bathroom. I’d definitely put its litter box in the bathroom too. It’d be real cute to take a simultaneous shit with your cat.
Of course I’d donate to things if I won. Food banks. Hungry drives. My cousin’s app he’s working on that detects early onset halitosis. It wouldn’t be all about me. Sure, obviously some of it would. The authentic (and autographed) Bonnie “Prince” Billy face cast would cost a few pennies. The discovery and tapping of the aquifer on my new property would cost a few more. But winning the lottery for me is really a selfless act. Think of the cat, the hungry people, and my cousin. Deshi, come on.
For more Portraits of Brief Encounters, follow Cole Nowicki on Instagram or Twitter, or visit the POBE website.
