By MEL ARTHUR, SARAH WU, and GABBY AVENA
The theme of Snack Time feels like a theme that needs to be shouted at the top of one’s lungs. Imagine if we all collectively went: SNACK TIME! SNACK TIME! SNACK TIME! over and over again, how disruptive that may seem but also how joyous. I like this theme for the possibilities it helps us imagine within our own creations. I like the work it does to reach multiple corners of experience– from the typical angst, we love writing (yes, me too!) to the small delights that surround us daily when we choose to see them. Because of its expansive nature and the theme’s willingness to be stretched, tugged, and pulled, I can properly say that this is one of my favorite Indicator themes yet. (I didn’t forget about you, beloved Thing Theory!) // Mel
Sometimes I relate to objects, particularly apples. I’m not entirely sure why that is, but there is a kind of understanding between me and that apple. My grandmother loved to peel apples for me when I was younger, and she would rend the skin from the surface in such a lovely way—the blade of her knife carving underneath the skin’s surface. The red would ribbon off the apple in layers, and white flesh would shyly peek out. In all the snacks I’ve consumed/held, there is the flesh/the thing inside that is consumed, and the skin/wrapper that had to be removed. You’ve eaten apples, Cliff Bars, and Lunchables before. Isn’t that just what being a human is?—the two layers of skin/flesh, life peeling away at your outsides until nothing but the pink tenderness remains? // Sarah
The best part of snacks, to me, is that they are made to be shared. Sarah chucks me a rice cracker; it bounces off my head. Mel silently tucks a chocolate into my hands. We bring snacks to our meetings and sometimes, it is less the event and more of the food that brings people together. Hands swarming over their multi-colored faces. Little things that pack a bite. I want to think about this issue as a variety pack you might rummage around. Feel in this corner a gummy, soft and squishy, like a lover’s tummy. And here, a line of licorice twists around your hand, bitter and red. The edge of a wrapper jabs between your fingernails, prods at your tenderness. The bag is full of surprises, short and sweet––we hope you let them consume you. // Gabby