Divine was a sex-positive art & story zine made by Jillian Adel in Los Angeles, 2016-2018. It’s mission is to authenticate and deepen connections to the self and those around us through the celebration of a diverse sexuality, genders, identities, relationships and bodies.
Divine 001: What It Takes
From Divine 001:
I stood at the mirror, topless, looking at my breasts and wondering how much of my personality and identity was wrapped around them. How would they change me if they were disfigured or removed? Would it effect how I approached dating? Would it change how a man did or didn’t respond to me physically or sexually? Would it change my personality in business or daily life?
I took photos of my body. In the morning when I woke up, in the afternoon when the sunlight came through the blinds, at night after getting home from a night out, admiring the bra I was wearing and how my body looked in it. And I started thinking about what it meant to love myself, really love, and what it meant to share it with others.
This book was borne out of these ideas. But it also came from the road blocks I discovered when realizing that, in most cases, the photos I was taking may be deemed unfit for the spaces I was used to sharing art and ideas and how badly that felt. It came from conversations with friends who had varying levels of comfort with sharing their bodies, but found common ground in the disappointment that they are unable to decide for themselves in a public arena. It came from inquiring within about the value I ascribe to selfies vs. photos taken by another. Is my body more valuable as art when it is a muse rather than the object of my own affection? It came from the deep need to carve out a space where the line between art and sex and self love could be explored but did not need to be defined.
Divine 002: Worship
From Divine 002: Worship:
I told a man I had a short, but very intense, emotional affair with that I wanted to Worship his body. “What does that mean??” he asked, confused but very eager. I didn’t have an acceptable verbal answer, but I felt that my body knew explicitly how to describe it. I took his hand and held it. I proceeded to touch his hand with my hand so as to explain, through the force of every unspoken communication tactic I could muster, what it meant.
I flipped his hand on its back, traced his palm and finger pads with the tips of my fingers, from the center to the edges and then back down again. And when my fingers passed his and our palms met, I pushed mine into his with a gentle but incredibly intentional message, trying to transmit the definition of the word “Worship” through his tough but receiving skin. I continued my mission as I pushed my hand up his forearm, still with a full palm and then lighter back down toward his hand. I did this many times. Sometimes I would pause, hands facing opposite directions but sitting squarely on each other. Sometimes I would look at him, adding energy to the movement through gaze. I can have no idea what my face looked like in that moment, but he would look back with a darkness that allowed me to see that he was starting to understand. Sometimes he would close his eyes. Eventually, his hand started to speak back to mine. Fingers entangling mine, sometimes taking a moment to send a message back through my skin in the same manner I had begun. He understood. Somehow, in our attempt to explain this idea of Worship, we had simply defined it for ourselves and each other in that moment.
This is the type of conversation I aimed to curate with this issue. Through words and images, the Contributors and I have explored what Worship means, not by definition, but through the action of Worshipping. Our goal isn't to dictate an answer to you, but rather to pose the question, and to invite you into the conversations we're having about the relationships with ourselves, each other and the world around us.
Contributors: Amin El Gamal | Garrett DeRossett | Jenevieve Ting | Jiz Lee | Lauren Walkiewicz | Margaret Japp | Peter Kratcoski | Simone Noronha | Sydney Southam
Divine 003: Men
From Divine 003: Men:
I want to see Men.
I want to see Men through the eyes of Women, through the female gaze. I want to see Men through their own gaze, self-determining their own beauty and bodies and self worth. I want to see them, all of them. I want to see how they love and lust and identify and connect. I want to see what’s really there, not what anyone has told us should be there. I want to see Men soft and imperfect and dark and raw and present and alive and emotional and gorgeous and in pleasure. Men, I want you to see yourselves.
I want to hear Men.
I want to hear from Men about their experience with their bodies and their sexuality. I want to hear about their relationships with their partners and lovers and friends and with the world, as it relates to sex and dating and gender. I want to hear how much space is between each of those relationships and their true desires. I want to hear about the moment that space was closed and you were able to connect. I want to hear your fantasies, lived and imagined. I want to see how you challenge yourself and those around you. I want to hear you trying. I want to hear how you failed. I want to hear what’s hard and what hurts and what feels good and what feels amazing and what it felt like...and I want to hear about it all in stunning detail.
I want to hear about Men.
I want to hear how you have experienced your sexuality and body in relation to Men. I want to hear how Men have shaped you. I want to hear about the best and worst Men. I want to hear about your way in, around, and through Men. I want to hear your relationship with your own masculinity or masculinity in general, regardless of how you identify. If you date or sleep with Men, I want to hear about it. I want to hear about the times they made you feel good and how. I want to hear about their compassion, their love, and their pain.
Contributors: Ben Orozco | Charlie Belcastle | Dante Dionys | Dorian Tocker | Dwam Ipomée | Emily Herr | Jem Milton | Elle DiSanti | Olivia Olszewski | Beverly Bergamot | W.A. Raigosa
hello@jillianadel.com
©2023 Jillian Adel. All works contained on this page are property of its owner + may not be used or reproduced without consent.