The Liberal Arts Fictional Institute of Narrative
Lafin (pronounced like the end in French) is a community scattered across the globe.
Our programs and initiatives represent the eclectic interests of our board members. The works we've archived here sketch a sampling—snapshots of our lives.
Lafin has experienced multiple incarnations, across as many generations. Although institutional memory can be fickle, and many of the old pathes have grown over, our histories continue to be excavated.
Welcome to our homes : local restrictions apply
We've long ago—long before the Covid 19 pandemic—given up on the idea that our private and professional lives might somehow exist independantly. In many ways, the institute is an outgrowth of both. In the uncertainty of a global pandemic, and in the sometimes dubious safety of isolation, we felt it important to acknowledge how lucky we are to exist in a fiction-based paradigm, not white or blue collar, but self-determined/wear what you want/work in your flannel. Not essential or non-essential, but, in essence, continuing the work we chose. This, we acknowledge, is a priviledge afforded to few.
"When, at our last annual general meeting, it was brought to the floor that our website was sorely in need of an overhaul, Kazumichi was somewhere behind me, crafting a cloud of caramelized garlic infused clatter.
A lament, so many of the archives are lost, echoed across multiple squares of video feed.
To be fair, between the fire of '87, the canoe incident in '08, and the record keeping games of '19, the losses are immeasureable. I didn't speak up immediately. A plate of carbonara magically appeared in front of me, and I knew who might agree to help me cook up a few slivers of the past. We're slow at work, and many archives need to be reconstructed from fragile memory. But, we're up to the task."
-M. Schofield, with the generous help of K. Nakashima