HAMID RAHMANIAN | The Glass House

Issue 01

Directed by Hamid Rahmanian
Produced by Melissa Hibbard
Documentary, 92 minutes, ©2008
A production of Fictionville Studio, in Association with Sundance Channel

The fringes of Iranian society can be a lonely place, especially if you are a teenage girl with few resources to fall back on. The Glass House follows four girls striving to pull themselves out from the margins of society by attending a one-of-a-kind rehabilitation center in uptown Tehran.

JEFF JACOBSON | In the USA

Issue 1.5

Marnie Looking Out The Bedroom Window. Mt. Tremper, NY 2006

LISA ELMALEH | Rooted

Issue 01

The keys to my first car were a means of escape. I was free to drive to the ends of the earth, to be alone in nature. This need to be isolated seemed a primal instinct. Since my late teens, I have been taking solitary road trips, seeking to lose myself along back roads, and finding comfort in the vastness of my natural surroundings. “It is a surprising and memorable, as well as valuable, experience to be lost in the woods any time,” wrote Thoreau, “…and not till we are completely lost, or turned round, - for a man needs only to be turned round once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost, - do we appreciate the vastness and strangeness of Nature.”

FANNY GRIFFITHS FERRATO | Untitled

Issue 01

Many people mistakenly view the Middle East as dangerous and primitive. These individuals assume that the landscape is mainly desert, women must cover themselves in public, and all men wear turbans. However, people in the West often do not realize that there is more to the Middle East. My images portray a different side to the generally perceived concepts of Syria. I have tried to capture the ordinary day-to-day existence of Syrians.

CESARE BEDOGNE | Broken Images

Issue 01

The Prasomaso Sanatorium, built in an isolated place in the Italian Alps for the treatment of tuberculosis, was deserted in the sixties and remains completely abandoned. Molded by rain and ice, absorbed by the vegetation, it gradually acquired an enigmatic form of existence. When I crossed its corroded threshold for the first time, as a doorway to the unknown, I recognized my landscape of desolation, stilled in a frozen twilight: the mysterious bareness where the soul, alone, returns to itself.