On Tending contains various exceptional multi-media works by queer POC creatives: hybrid epistolary, painting, digital exhibit, poetry, photo essay, collage, accordion story, audio poetry, watercolor, lyric essay, and oracle decks. This call explicitly solicited queer BIPOC creatives to highlight underrepresented voices and perspectives. Within this issue, you’ll uncover themes of nonlinear healing, intergenerational trauma, grief, and self-compassion.
When I curated this anthology, I was fixated on the idea of “change”: What it means, what it holds, and what it can be. Change can feel scary, but we don’t actually know what’s on the other side of it. Sometimes, change is about digging deeper into what we already know in our core and about standing firmly in our buried truths, no longer hiding in other people’s expectations of who they think we should be. The biggest freedom is in feeling seen. But can you see yourself? Can you hold yourself accountable? And how do you choose not to abandon yourself in relation to others? One way to honor our decay is by trusting ourselves: holding our boundaries without managing someone else’s reactions, listening to our voice even when it’s just a whisper, and embodying a knowingness that cannot be diminished.
These seven pieces have created an intimate space for quiet contemplation. A generous pause. A needed breath. Witnessing their vulnerable tending has expanded my definition and allowed me to do deeper tending. I hope you feel as held as I have while curating this anthology and that this chorus of voices gives you room to dream about what self-tending/shared tending could look like for you.
“On Tending,” call for submission
Below is the call for submissions for “On Tending,” which is what the published contributors submitted work toward:
What are you shedding these days in order to become more yourself? Caring for yourself is much like nurturing plants — it requires attunement and patience. And in order to grow, you need to tend to your decay. How much old growth are you carrying that hasn’t been tended to, impeding you from sprouting? When we stop changing, we stop growing. But this process can be lonely. If no one sees your change, how can you continue to honor your growth? A form of healing is choosing to care for your needs and no longer being able to disassociate from your body. It is integrating different versions of yourself, younger and adult, and allowing them to take up space. The process of healing means you’re no longer fearful of your decay. As we tend to our gardens, we listen to our intuition and cultivate the environment we thrive in. What are you letting go of? How do you honor your decay? I invite folks who exist in the in-between space of creating. Someone who experiments with a combination of mixed creative expressions (words, visuals, photos, materials, motion, audio) to communicate their stories.
