Pressed

Photography: Julian Schulz
Fashion Direction: Kim Payne
Grooming: Mikele Simone
Words: Alissa Thomas
Models: Mattia & Noah / Kult

Dialogue, discourse, written detail. Detail in print, existing, where once was just blank space. Space for ideas. Ideas that feed the information nation, fuel the mobilised cavalcade and inspire the masses. Masses of written genius, of expression, coded in script devised by a millennia past. Past, then present, and all in between, a consonantal system of phonetics and acrophonics outlasting the generics of generations. Generations of words evolving and mutating, definitions merging and meanings changing. Changing the transactions of transference, the divulgation of news, of politics, of art. Art in the poetry of reading, speaking, connecting through connotation and context. Context so nuanced it’s subjected to the microscope of personal understanding. Understanding of our place, our world, our comrades, all bound together by themes and common passions. Passions written, printed, read, digested, memorised, scoffed, adored, loathed, savoured.

It was there in the café that he read it. A passage poignant, present, written with an indefinable delicacy. They were his sentiments exactly. He read some more. A flush of warmth filled his face as he roved his eyes from one sentence to the next. It spoke to him. Just him. He seemed able to anticipate every word as the story danced faster and faster in front of him. He paused to look up, and around. He expected the world to look different, smaller or bigger, he wasn’t sure. He read it again, vindicated by its beauty, inspired by its grasp on his most untapped emotions. In a moment he’d found community in the form of the written word. The spell of an anonymous author, like an unknown soulmate. He folded the tome and tucked it under his arm. It was no longer the host of esoteric musings but a cohort, a transcript from the world of likeminds. He walked back into the world now buoyant, livened, encouraged and feeling the flicking, crisp edges of a ream of paper. He was sure that from the outside he looked the same, but inside he was still revering words that were playing like a song in his head. He would keep this printed prize, as a reverie, a friend, tangible proof of thoughts he could never express. Because it was there. Right there, in black and white.

“PRESSED” IS FEATURED IN THE 12TH EDITION OF ICON PRINT MAGAZINE. ORDER YOUR COPY HERE.