ELSEHERE Community

Conversations, criticism, and editorial features documenting contemporary artistic practice across disciplines.

Over the past few weeks, STRATUM Journal has continued to expand its growing archive of artist interviews, essays, criticism, and interdisciplinary discourse.

Recent publications include:

www.elsehereglobal.com

Đurđija’s multidisciplinary practice transforms field recordings and overheard voices into profound cultural inquiries. From wartime Yugoslavia’s radio static to New York subway arias, this conversation explores how the act of listening maps the hidden hierarchies of our world.

www.elsehereglobal.com

Yasmine Laraqui’s multidisciplinary work transforms the image into a live sociological experiment, exploring the fluid mechanics of human belonging under platform capitalism.

Alongside these features, STRATUM continues to publish essays, criticism, artist writing, and long-form editorial projects that help create a more durable public record around contemporary artistic work.

Some words describe feelings so precisely that entire paragraphs fail to compete.

Fernweh is one of them — a German word for the ache of distant places, the longing for somewhere you’ve never been. It is not ordinary wanderlust. It is deeper, quieter, almost spiritual: the feeling that your soul recognizes roads your body has never walked.

It lives in airport terminals, train stations, maps, foreign skylines, and late nights spent imagining another life somewhere else. It is the strange homesickness for the unknown.

Maybe Fernweh is not about escaping where you are.

Maybe it is the heart reminding you that you were made to keep expanding.

Where does your Fernweh point? 🌍

In many East Asian families, two things remain remarkably scarce.

One is the phrase “I’m sorry.” The other is tears.

They are not absent. They are simply swallowed. Tears are pushed back down the throat. Apologies are withheld before they can form. Over time, both harden into the same dull ache, a pressure that settles somewhere in the chest and stays there for years. It does not always announce itself dramatically. Most of the time, it lingers as something quieter and more difficult to name.

This is part of why family pain in East Asian contexts can be so difficult to describe. It is not always explosive. It is not always visible. It often leaves no single scene that can be cleanly pointed to as the source of injury. Instead, it accumulates through what is repeatedly denied, interrupted, or left unsaid. A feeling is dismissed. A cry is silenced. A…

The eerie feeling when the familiar becomes strange.

Interesting Explanation:

Have you ever experienced this late at night when you're home alone? In the dim light, you catch a glimpse of that old chair in the living room—the one you've sat in for years. The shadow it casts on the wall suddenly gives you a jolt. It's still the same familiar shape, yet for a moment, it feels like a silent figure watching you. You know it's just a chair, but a nameless unease creeps into your chest.

This subtle discomfort—a blend of "familiar" and "foreign"—is at the heart of the uncanny.

The 29th Tooth

---We all have twenty-eight teeth.

Twenty baby teeth, twenty-eight to thirty-two permanent teeth—the numbers don't really matter. What matters is that everyone carries a fixed arrangement in their mouth. Occlusion, chewing, grinding. Day after day. Silent.

But some things don't fit into that sequence of twenty-eight.

Prompt Pantry | Why isn’t the future here?!

Why does it feel like the future never arrived.

Not because nothing changed, but because it arrived without ceremony.

It didn’t crash into us. It seeped in.

It became the screens we swipe, the icons we tap, the endless stream we refresh.

So clear you forget: this is already the future we once wrote about.

CAMP

A style that refuses to be “proper.”

Camp loves the artificial, the exaggerated, the theatrical.

Not to escape reality, but to expose how taste gets policed, and who gets to decide what counts as “good art.”

Susan Sontag wrote that Camp is a love of the unnatural.

A devotion to artifice and exaggeration.

A book can hide a galaxy in its edge.

Published in 1979, Kohei Sugiura’s Zen Uchu Shi (Summa Cosmographica) turns star charts, data, and text into a reading environment. It does not simply visualize information. It reprograms how the eye moves: density becomes navigation, overprinting becomes time, and the page becomes a field you cross rather than a surface you consume.

Why do goldfish so often make us uneasy?

They are undeniably beautiful, yet their beauty can feel manufactured.

They live inside transparent containers, as if they are allowed to exist, and also permanently watched.

In this issue, we use the goldfish as a way to ask a few questions:

What kinds of meaning have humans projected onto goldfish?

Why do they so often carry a dreamlike, specimen-like, even corpse-like feeling?

CHUN HEEHYUN is a composer and performer who treats music as narrative. Her soundscapes do not accompany the image. They lead it, shaping time, space, and emotional structure.

Working through modular synthesis and Eurorack systems, alongside MIDI orchestration that re-voices Western instruments toward the timbral memory of gayageum, haegeum, and janggu, she builds a listening field where texture becomes cinematic language.

This feature is part of Artists | In Orbit, ELSEHERE’s slow thread for staying with practices in formation.

For artists and researchers: submissions are open via ELSEHERE Open Call in bio.

We archive and stay with artists and practices that keep advancing in method and aesthetics. If you are building your own thread, we welcome your submission into our editorial and curatorial field.

How do finite rules generate infinite forms?

In this issue, we trace the aesthetic logic of digital structures, from information aesthetics to contemporary generative practice, and ask how algorithms produce and embody value at the edge of order and randomness.

Our focus is not technique for its own sake, but critical framing:

When creation becomes procedural, what shifts in artistic subjectivity and originality?

Is the machine merely executing rules, or participating in creation?

Keywords: generative art | fractals | algorithmic music | AI-generated content

We believe the sharpest words do not simply describe the world. They reconfigure how we see, and what questions we dare to ask.