Our lives are succinct and unique. Ephemeral and imperfect, we navigate the chaos of a life, and time, briefly borrowed. In the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, many of us have become acutely aware of these things. We are vulnerable. Our faiths, and our sensibilities, have been shaken. But to engage in life, even amidst a global pandemic, is to undergo a journey of discovery, an attempt to uncover and understand what complements us. What makes us perfect. We desire that perfection, because to be perfect is to be beyond affliction or reproach. By extension, to be imperfect is to be flawed. Fractured. Broken. And we desperately want to believe that we are not so vulnerable.

     Going into this semester, the staff and I were already feeling the impact of this vulnerability. Cusping the one-year anniversary of worldwide shutdowns—of witnessing our family, friends, and neighbors suffer—we were in dire need of something that would enrich and uplift us; that was when the idea for this year’s theme began to take shape. At a time when we felt most distanced from one another, both physically and spiritually, we desired the simple experience of a human touch. We wanted to express what it meant, again, to embrace one another in a caring and empathetic way. Ironically, alleviating our strong sense of vulnerability required us to be vulnerable with each other. We wanted to feel less flawed, fractured, and broken; and we wanted to bring that feeling with us into our design of volume 56 of the Progenitor. To do so required great strength on our part. But we also needed an artistic theme that would capture this same feeling.

     The Japanese art of kintsugi came up early in design meetings, for its art-form embraces this vulnerability. It creates beauty out of an object’s imperfections. Kintsugi involves repairing a damaged or broken piece of art, traditionally pottery, by mending the breakage with a powerful solvent, dusted with precious metals. It is an extension of a philosophy* that has no Western interpretation, and it is intended to highlight the unique history of an object rather than attempt to disguise it. This practice encompasses everything we were looking to capture with our theme of human touch: that someone’s loving hands could help repair, shape, and mold us into something grander, highlighting our vulnerabilities and newfound strengths rather than casting them in shadow. But there was more to it than that, something I never expected to come from our discussions when designing Progenitor Vol. 56.

     This idea of a caring and empathetic embrace, and by association the art of kintsugi, I believed came from a source external to us. I imagined that only the decrease of distancing between each other was the way to enrich our lives, and to feel less imperfect for a change. However, as our team began the work of compiling this year’s volume of the Progenitor—as I watched each of the staff members learn and grow and cooperate—I realized that the “repairs” we were looking for began internally. I watched the editorial and design staff shape themselves into things of beauty as much by their own hands as with the hands of their classmates. I watched them expand their areas of expertise, understanding, and, most of all, empathy, by such an incredible margin, that even the grandest of kintsugi galleries would not compare to their shine. I watched our editorial staff reclaim their power—their vulnerability—against overwhelming odds and deadlines. I watched our design staff grow in patience as we consistently tried to meet those odds.

     I realized that our strength was never exclusive to the human touch, or to an ancient art of repair, or to any of the things I pretended myself into thinking they should be. Instead, I saw how fragile, temporary—unique—lives could empower themselves enough to make something truly spectacular. The team behind Progenitor Vol. 56, as well as the global authors and artists included within, exposed their vulnerability to bring you, the reader, the highest quality experience we could muster. I very much hope that this edition of Progenitor touches and inspires you to invest in that vulnerability, in those around you, and in the arts altogether.

     Thank you for reading volume 56 of Progenitor.

 

     Signed,

    Connor Sandrock, Editor-In-Chief

​

​

*Wabi-sabi are a set of beliefs, heavily influenced by Shinto and Buddhist tradition, and which play prominent roles in the lives and arts of the Japanese. 

​