ISSUE NO. 7 Haute commodity STAFF OLIVIA DE ST. PIERRE CREATOR/EDITOR/DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY IG: @olivia.destpierre KENDELL HASEN CREATOR/EDITOR IG: @KENDELLH ISABELLA SORHEGUI EDITOR IG: @ISORHEGUI LILY CHAPMAN EDITOR IG: @LILYKCHAPMAN CONTACT SUBMIT TO [email protected] *ADHERE TO SUBMISSION GUIDELINES IG: @LITMAGBC COVER PHOTO BY AMERIE ASH STAFF/CONTACT PAGE PHOTO BY OLIVIA DE ST. PIERRE 1 PHOTOGRAPHY BY 2 OLIVIA DE ST. PIERRE A LETTER FROM THE EDITORS... WE ARE SO GLAD THAT WE'RE ABLE TO COME TOGETHER AFTER THIS INSANE YEAR AND PUT TOGETHER ANOTHER ISSUE OF HAUTE COMMODITY. IT'S IMPORTANT TO TAKE A MOMENT AND BREATHE. WE HOPE WE CAN GIVE YOU ALL SOME PEACE OF MIND, EVEN IF FOR A MOMENT, WITH THIS ISSUE. SINCERELY, YOUR HAUTE COMMODITY EDITORS 3 4 5 PHOTOGRAPHY BY OLIVIA DE ST. PIERRE & JUAN ESPINOSA 6 PHOTOGRAPH BY OLIVIA DE ST. PIERRE 7 8 9 A STUDY IN MONOCHROME... BY OLIVIA DE ST. PIERRE MODELED BY MADDIE LAUFER 10 11 The Field by JDO I walk through the field, true to the course. Lined along it are other biomes, seemingly teeming with potential discoveries. But these eternal paths are not infinite. They know not of simplistic beauty. They serve not myself, but themselves. They steal away from the course. A true endevor is not exclusive to a path; None can rival that of the field. 12 13 14 15 OUR COVER... 16 HEAVENLY BODIES PHOTOGRAPHY BY AMERIE ASH OLIVIA DE ST. PIERRE JUAN ESPINOSA MAKEUP BY 17 AMERIE ASH Hold Me: When you’re alone In the dead of night, Do you have someone To hold you tight? If love is the flame And I’m the moth, I’ve surely been taken Forever to be lost. So hold me tight If that’s what you need. And no matter what, Stand by me. But if you should ever Not feel the same way, Feel free to go Even if I’m in pain. For love is a drugPhotographs by The strongest of them all. Isabel Shanks 18 It pulls me to my knees Until I finally fall. But I can’t resist The temptations of the flame. Love is something that changes Yet I’m still (somehow) the same. -Ashley Newsome 19 The Light I I lean with one hand against the rock, begin to panic, as I thought this was the way out. catching my breath as my eyes adjust to the As the last candle burns out, I become more aware darkness, of the water. and I look around to see the cavern in which I am I try to touch the bottom, but I can’t feel it. stranded I look to see if there’s a bottom, but I don’t see it. and I feel the water lapping against my ankles. I turn around to find the first light, but I don’t find My eyes adjust to the light, and I scan the cavern, it. looking for any possible exit. I squint my eyes, but it amounts to nothing. I see a faint and distant light over yonder in front As far as I can see, there is nothing but water. of me I try to tread water, but I cannot swim. but I also see that the water level deepens to neck level as I look forward., just barely enough to walk through, a necessity since I cannot swim. The last candle burns out, and I sink with its lame. Then I glance behind me and see a blinding light, akin to a loodlight, spilling from a passage behind me. I try to determine the water level, Four walls enclose me in darkness. but the light is too bright and I can’t make it out There exists windows to alleviate me, and I turn and go to it, leaving the other in my but their relief is temporary. wake. I pull back curtains on all orifices, I swim to the light in a trance, unable to stop. and light streams in from all sides. I, however, do not get measurably closer to the But later, the curtains close themselves light. and leave me with darkness: I reach out to touch it and find it is still out of Surrounding, encompassing, enveloping, reach. infiltrating, becoming, forming me. I swim, and I swim, and I swim, My only escape is to space out the timing, going farther and farther and farther from the to have a light source at all times. light behind me. To live and feed of a meager reprieve Gradually, the light starts to dim. and organize my existence around it. Slowly at first, then picking up in speed. It’s hardly better than the darkness. And I feel myself become more and more aware of my surroundings. I can see the rock lining the cavern, and I can begin to make out the origin of the light. It came from thousands of candles lining a dead end 20 drawn by Frankie 21 The Misery Index Zero The sky is starless. The darkness soaks into your clothes and your eyes. The windows fog over with the rime of a moonless night. The embers in the hearth cool as your family of none drift into a slumber all too short. This is a peak, of sorts. One You’ve seen colors before, real ones: green, blue, red. Even white and black. Shades thereof. But you’re not seeing them now. You drift through an impossible land of Self-Luminous Red and Hyperbolic Orange. You cloak yourself in Stygian Blue because, sometimes, it feels better. One part fantasy, one part darkness, and two parts obfuscation. Your garish armor of magenta, forbidden and chimerical, tricking everyone’s rods and cones into thinking you’re okay. Two The stars have returned. The light pollution blinds you, protects you, from their brilliance. You lay on the hood of a car that isn’t yours, timidly touching a man who’s too engulfed by the night to pay you proper shrift. Things could be a lot worse, you try to convince yourself. You lay your head on his shoulder. He continues staring. Three A banshee shrieks over the moors. A blackbird watches her from a dying tree. Another watches you in front of your blazing campfire. You and the banshee are one, connected through the eyes of the blackbirds like a soup-can telephone. You have never felt more intimate with anything, you never will again, but your brief moment of triumph stays with you until the blackbirds watch you descend six feet under. Four You are somewhere warm and wonderful. The night sky is full of vapor and light. You could stay there for the rest of your life, soaking in the heat of the world. The universe may die a death of total entropy, but you, you my boy, will outlast it all in a hammock strung between two palms. 22 Five You can’t sleep at nighttime, at least not when it’s dark. But darkness is a comforting mockery of Death. Wanting to be anywhere but. It's a temporary Neutrality. Or a dervish. A fevered twirl of color, drums Beckoning images you hoped to forget. You can't forget, only spin until the mockery is no more. Six The brushes have leftover hair in them. You can hardly remember who offered them or why. Your shoes have broken. The sole quite literally fell off. This hinders your journey. Nobody bothered to bring tape. So much for preparation, you think to yourself. You find some on the side of the road. This is a journey, not a quest Seven Your quilts have moth holes. Your grandmother’s mother made them. A three- legged billy goat walks his only child up the mountain. Hikers stop there to admire the sky, but they avoid looking at the land below it. Too many painful memories. Some hikers offer the goat their granola bars and trail mix. Others are immune to its pitiful charm, leaving it to fend for itself. You are not hiking. Eight The pickaxes have gone quiet. The chain-gangs retired to their ignoble abodes. A child sneaks a piece of soft bread out of his rucksack. He would be killed if he were discovered. This only made his eyes shine brighter. Bright as the hidden stars. Nine You sit in the middle of a mystical forest. Gods are rumored to lurk above the pines. A stone slab rests comfortably in the dirt. You prostrate yourself to the slab and all it stands for. You showcase your hubris and stupidity and hope against hope the gods see fit to punish you. Ten If good lives make bad stories, and if the inverse is true: the cuckoo chimes on the windowsill, bringing a new day to you. Something like that. Something quick and irreverent. Accuracy and Precision have fallen by the wayside but your windows are clear as microscopes; it’s hard to avoid looking at things closely. This is a peak, surely: the only direction left is down. 23 24 25 J’ai la gratitude j’ai la gratitude pour ma mère, mon père, et ma maison parce que ils sont fantastiques. j’ai la gratitude pour mes chiens, mon lit, et mon drap parce que ils me rendent heureuse. j’ai la gratitude pour ma grand-mère, mon grand-père, et ma sœur parce que ils sont gentils. Kathrine Herrera 26 27 Oh Aphrodite by Isabella Sorhegui Oh Aphrodite, most beautiful among man and the gods You are truly terrifying.