Practising Beauty
On liminal times, making a magazine, and finding new forms.
Hello Precious People,
How are you doing?
I’ve been in a bit of a strange in-between. In between cities and countries, waiting for my visa to arrive. In between stories, as the world itself seems suspended between old ones that are coming apart and new ones that haven’t quite emerged. And The Lissome, too, has entered its own peculiar limbo.
The editorial deadline passed at the beginning of June, but not every story has arrived yet. Some contributions needed a little more time, and with others, life got in the way, with unexpected things coming up. For me, this stage of making a magazine is always a bit unsettling. I begin to see glimpses of the issue, but I still don’t know what it will ultimately become, or what direction I’ll be able to give it. After all, it is a collaborative effort, with many moving parts and people.
Print has its own distinct discipline and constraints. In the case of The Lissome, there are 144 pages. No more, no less. There is a production timeline: editing and proofreading, finalising the layout, picture editing and pre-press, printing and publishing. Funding has to be secured, distribution organised, and an event to launch and celebrate the issue is in the making. All of this is needed so that the magazine can materialise and see the light of day.
The Lissome in print
Our current issue, Rise Up Rooted Like Trees, brings together conversations, essays, photography and art exploring how we might live and create differently.
Discover The Lissome No. 5 →
This in-between stage also seems to be the point each year when I feel that it’s too much for me to hold. To make a new print edition possible, I step away from client work for several months, giving myself the uninterrupted time to commission, edit, art direct, write, design and somehow keep all the moving parts together. For a long time, I accepted this as part of maintaining an independent publishing project, something I deeply care about. But lately, I’ve been wondering whether this is a sign that The Lissome itself needs to evolve. I’ve started to think that if I want this platform to exist for the long term, I probably can’t continue making it in the same way. Right now, I feel ready for a shift, if that means I can continue creating with joy rather than trying to be an entire editorial team of one.
That doesn’t mean, though, that I want to leave print behind. I believe strongly, and now more than ever, that we need tangible, embodied experiences in an increasingly digital world. But I do think the magazine may need to find a new form. I’d be curious to hear your thoughts. If The Lissome were to evolve, what would you hope it never loses? What feels essential to you? I don’t expect anyone to solve this question for me, but I’d love to know what you hold most dear about the publication and The Lissome as a cultural initiative.
While all these thoughts were circling in my head, I remembered a conversation from our current issue with the mythologist Michael Mead. He spoke about the strange historical moment we’re living through as a liminal time, and suggested that times of transition ask us to cultivate a practice that keeps us anchored.
A few months earlier, two friends had independently introduced me to The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron (a peculiar serendipity?). The book revolves around two wonderfully simple practices: writing morning pages and taking yourself on artist dates: small excursions with no purpose other than nourishing our imagination.
It made me realise something that felt a bit uncomfortable. For the past few months I’ve been immersed in an issue about deep beauty, and I’ve spent countless hours reading, writing and talking with others about it. But it’s so easy to stop actively making space for beauty, even when our work revolves around it. Without noticing it, I had begun organising my days around deadlines, emails and to-do lists. Beauty had disappeared into the background as my attention was constantly being claimed by other things. I was reminded that attending to beauty can nourish not only my imagination, but also my spirit and soul. It isn’t really a habit our culture encourages, and maybe for that reason we have to intentionally make space for it in our days.
Earlier this month, I met Julie of the knitwear brand L’Envers, who was visiting Berlin with her family. Before we said goodbye, she asked if I knew the Bloomsbury Group and told me about Charleston, their beyond-beautiful country home in Sussex. She smiled and said that the way I think about life had reminded her of them, and I was intrigued.
So last Saturday, I took myself on an artist date to Charleston in Firle. Walking through the house and garden, surrounded by an overflow of beauty and creativity, I kept thinking about the idea of treating life itself as a work of art.
Below I’ll share a series of photographs from my visit, showing the stunning interiors and garden. And I’d love to hear from you. If The Lissome were to grow into a new shape, what would you hope always remains at its heart?
Sending much love,
Dörte xx
Impressions from Charleston:
