<h5id="internal.-a-reader-holds-a-book-in-their-hands.-the-first-page-of-the-book-is-opened-the-reader-holds-it-to-their-face-and-smells-the-paper-touches-it.-the-book-touches-them-back."><em>Internal. A reader holds a book in their hands. The first page of the book is opened, the reader holds it to their face and smells the paper, touches it. The book touches them back.</em></h5>
<p><strong>the book: (whispering in the reader’s ear)</strong> Being vulnerable means being transparent, open and brave, trusting others to handle stories with care. By publicly sharing and processing our narratives, we take ownership of our experiences while contributing to a collective voice. Even when we incorporate stories from others, our names remain attached to this collective creation: Ada, Aglaia, Irmak, Stephen. We have created interfaces highlighting the balance between communal sharing, individual responsibility and awareness.</p>
connect and separate. They’re the spaces that fill the void between us. An interface can be an act, a story, a keyboard, a cake; It allows us to be vulnerable together, to share our stories with and through each other. I am a collection of these interfaces.</p>
<p><strong>the reader: (confused)</strong> What do you mean a collection, like a catalogue?</p>
<p><strong>the book:</strong> …I mean the four of us, the students of Experimental Publishing at the Piet Zwart Institute. From 2022 until today, June 2024, we published three special issues together. We wrote four theses and made four graduation projects. We grew our hair out and cut it and grew it again and dyed it. We cared and cried for each other, we brewed muddy coffee and bootlegged books.</p>
