1st Place Visual Arts Wolf I
Cynthia Liao
Class of 2019
3
S. Durham – Nana
19
L. Cocks – Untitled
19
S. John – Fear
20
Mixed Media
M. Marquez – Sunrise
20
Class of 2015
N. Didier – The Lion
21
D. Jones – Everything Goes Around
22
J. McKinley – Color Study
22
J. del Bosque – Tangled Cat
22
L. Cabrera – Lanterns
23
J. Jackson – Untitled
23
P. Robledo – A Family
24
L. Cocks – Botswanan Boy
25
J. Jackson – Hummingbird
26
L. Cocks – Fog
26
Dream Catcher Rhett Jerrum
At Top:
Eye Of The Hurricane Digital Photography
Daniel Jones Class of 2022
4
Table of Contents S. John – Sri Lanka
6
J. Del Bosque – Self Portrait
26
L. Cocks – The Upsidedown
7
E. Heery – Violin
27
B. Mangum – Dante
8
M. Delaney – Peekaboo
27
D. Jones – Cut Your Own Grain
8
A. Ford – Don’t Slip
28
A. Benedict – Untitled
8
N. Tyer Jones – Americana
28
J. Mays - Boondocks
9
M. Spencer – Falling
30
W. Casal – Walker
9
T. Parker – Boys in Blue
30
G. Lajara – La Vie Est Belle
10
M. Harlow – Surfer
30
J. del Bosque – Klimt
10
J. Lehmann – Untitled
30
D. Taylor - Heartbeat
10
L. Cocks – Island
31
D. O’Hare – The Card Player
11
T. Swink – Untitled
31
L. Cocks – The Giving Tree
11
K. Turpin – Seashell on the Shore
31
R. Munoz – ...Treasure Forever
12
S. John – No Eternal Spring
32
S. Durham – Straw Hat
13
S. Dolan – The Hook
32
C. Cunningham – The Evangelists
14
G. Martinez – Gabe Ross
33
M. Spencer – Untitled
14
A. Watson – Sunset at Dawn
33
G. Lajara – Backyard Grill
14
E. Sysyn – Wisconsin Winter
33
J. Oliver – Retaliation
15
L. Cocks – Prison
34
D. O’Hare – Bet
15
R. Stagliano – Seasons
34
S. Durham – Fractured
16
A. Provost – Hazard
34
B. Finch – Goodbye
16
L. Oliver – Untitled
35
O. Ford – Projected
17
D. Bobchuk – God’s Plan
35
M. Sautre – Sun
17
N. Tyer Jones – The Bus Stop
36
M. Schultz – Elle the Elephant
17
D. O’Hare – The Confessional
37
M. Zdrahal – A Stroll Through the Zoo
17
H. McKenzie – Wagon Wheel
37
J. Daly – Poised
18
A. Provost – Under the Stripes
37
S. Durham – Self Portrait
37
D. Jones – Paradise
53
K. Willis – Haunted
37
K. Turpin – My Paradise
53
A. Ruiz – The Phoenix
38
O. Ford – In Her Hands
53
M. Mason – Stars and Stripes
38
P. Robledo – The Storm
54
J. Li – Year of the Monster
38
C. Cunningham – Mayan Warrior
55
K. Turpin – Bee’s Knees
38
J. Li – Thinker
55
L. Cocks – Abandoned
39
B. Mangum – Spotlight
55
S. Pineda – The Runway
40
M. Mason – Valkyrie
56
Marquez, Vincent, & Weeks – Pottery
40
M. Wright – Do Not Be Quiet
57
L. Cocks – Untitled
40
W. Casal – All the Light We Cannot See 58
D. Bobchuk – Time
41
L. Cocks – White Stripes
59
A. Provost – The Monk Room
41
M. Hardt – Self-Portrait
59
O. Ford – Vagabond
41
C. del Bosque - Ferrari
59
J. Wilhelm – The Race
42
R. Munoz – My Song in Paris
60
L. Cocks - Broken
42
S. Durham – Veil
60
C. Liao – Untitled
43
L. Cocks – Lonesome Dreams
61
M. Spencer – Power Drill
43
C. Donner – The Walk for Freedom
62
T. Parker – Winding Road
43
S. Durham – War Paint
63
N. Jasmin – Mary
44
L. Cocks – War
63
S. Dolan – Owl
44
J. Oliver – David and Goliath
63
L. Cocks - Lookout
44
L. Oliver – Music Revolution
64
R. Stagliano – America
45
L. Cocks – Self-Portrait
64
L. Cocks – Art is…
45
M. Spencer – Black Hole
64
W. Stinnett – Untitled
45
M. Schultz – Ace of Spades
65
E. Sysyn – Wedowee
46
A. Anulewicz – American Graffiti
65
L. Cocks – Untitled
46
C. del Bosque – Lambo
65
C. Liao – Wolf II
46
D. Lewis – Ode to Music
66
J. del Bosque – Doodles
46
C. Cunningham – Moons
67
C. Hicks – Nightmares
47
J. Daly – Tangled Map
67
O. Ford – Lilac Sky
48
A. Provost – Shadows
74
M. Hardt – Eclipse Kiss
48
D. O’Hare – Poses
74
S. Durham – Untitled
48
O. Ford – Beachy
74
J. Daly – Greek Street
49
L. Cocks – The Orient Express
74
J. Thompson – Sakura Bridge
49
A. Lassing, J. McKinley,
A. Watson – The Chief’s Calls
50
O. Centola, O. Jones, N. Didier,
K. Turpin – Talk Chalk
51
A. Benedict – Under the Big Top
75
L. Cocks – Home
52
S. Durham – Amoeba
75
A. Provost – Man In The Woods
52
AP Concentrations
D. O’Hare – Heritage
52
S. Durham – Met
53
L. Cocks 68 S. Durham 72
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“Sri Lanka” Third Place Literature By: Sophia John Class of 2020
Upon our arrival in Sri Lanka, my family and I passed through the doors of the cold, sterile airport and were immediately embraced by the thick, muggy air. Stepping outside was an immediate departure from the tranquility of the airport to the noisy din of Sri Lankan life. Standing on the sidewalk waiting for my grandparents, I could hear the rustling of the wind whistling through the trees. The sun painted the sky in light hues of red and pink, and cars honked and rumbled along the roads littered with potholes. Thirty minutes passed, and my grandfather drove up to the curb, ushering us all inside. The hour drive to the house was an interesting opportunity for observation. Cheap signage with bad photo editing of famous Indian celebrities and peeling billboards were everywhere. Golden temples and an array of Buddhist and Hindu statues adorned street corners, illuminated by the warm glows of multi-colored bulbs and string lights. Small, bodega-like storefronts lined the roads, some crumbling and decrepit and others sleek and modern. The sidewalks were crowded with people commuting to work or loafing around in front of stores. Every now and then, we would notice clusters of stray cats and dogs scurrying about, searching for scraps around the many open-air produce markets. The sidewalks were crowded with people shouting for rides and chattering with companions. We all rolled down the windows, and I noticed that the air smelled of incense and exhaust from the traffic. The incessant blaring of horns from the overly-aggressive drivers was punctuated by the noises of loud bus and motorcycle engines. Occasionally, the deep, throaty sounds of temple chanting from high speakers undulated through the air. As we neared our grandparents’ house, the car sped past motley three-wheelers that cut through traffic and rattled along the concrete. The divider walls became more varied, with green, pink, red, and blue colored walls covered with paper notices, political stickers, and painted phrases separating the hacienda-style houses from the commotion outside. We finally pulled into the driveway of my grandparents’ two-story house after my grandfather’s tiny car clattered over the loose gravel that was spread throughout the neighborhood. The journey had taken an hour and a half, and after eating dry toast and drinking warm tea, we retired for the night. The next morning, I rose to the sounds of screeching monkeys congregating outside my window, swinging to and fro and peering inside the room curiously. From my grandparents’ house, we drove up steep, earthy hills and maneuvered down narrow dirt roads until we arrived at the elephant conservation center. We spent the day wandering through the conservation area, visiting countless elephants, including an injured baby with an amputated leg. There was a long road that ran through the allotted land, with shops selling eco-friendly products, like handbags and necklaces, that used some of the revenue to fund the conservation center. Tourists dawdled down the road, and we all made our way along with them. The shop owners were friendly but pestered customers to buy, making it difficult to leave. At the end of the road, the trainers had gathered the elephants to bathe
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The Upsidedown Digital Photography
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
in a small river, and spectators gathered round to observe. The elephants in the river were splashing each other and shooting water from their trunks, with water droplets spraying the crowds as the trainers stayed close by to corral the elephants. The air was thick and muggy, but the sky was a beautiful shade of crimson. Finally, the elephants finished their ablutions, and the trainers began to gather them into a single file line. Once the elephants began to return to their dwellings, the crowd began to disperse. The sun began to sink back over the horizon, turning the sky a deep scarlet. We meandered along with the tourists, until we reached the parking lot, ready to start the long journey back home. When our plane took off many days later and we headed home to the U.S., I felt a slight twinge of sadness. The thought made me unhappy to be returning to my ordinary life in the United States, where I lived in near ignorance of the outside world. I would be leaving behind a place of beauty and rarity, the likes of which I had never experienced before, but these would be the memories I took back with me of the outlandish paradise I hoped to see again.
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Dante
Digital Photography
Ben Mangum Class of 2019
Cut Your Own Grain Digital Photography
Daniel Jones Class of 2022
8
Untitled
Pencil Drawing
Allie Benedict Class of 2021
“Walker” Second Place Literature
Boondocks
Acrylic on Canvas
Jay Mays
Class of 2018
By: Watson Casal Class of 2019 She walks. Carefully. Quietly. Daringly. Called by the pitter-patter of what her parents, in their insomnia, assume is rain.
We can’t exactly ask mother’s opinion now. We wouldn’t want to disturb her sleep, would we?
But, as one may have realized by now, it’s not just the rain. Not just.
She slinks along the hallway, stepping along the stairs. She remembers how the fifth one creaks, skipping straight from fourth to sixth. Considering an umbrella, she goes for the closet when her heart almost stops.
Granted, it’s mostly rain. The vast majority of the of the objects flying against the roof and house are made of water, besides the occasional acorn or leaf.
Standing on the other side of the screen door is one, notably dry, certainly recognizable young man, his well-trained throwing arm holding up an umbrella.
But, of the thousands of small objects that hit the house, amidst the constant salvo of raindrops, there is one pebble. Then another. Then another. All clustered in a foot-wide circle, centered on her bedroom window.
She hurries to him with all the haste her noise restraints allow, and, cringing at the creak caused by the crusty hinges, she opens the door.
Just rain, dear parents. Just the rain. Go back to sleep.
He smiles. “Shall we?”
Baseball had always made these sorts of things easier for him. She’s already dressed, expectant for some time now. Smiling, she thinks of how her mother would make her wear a jacket over her outfit.
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La Vie Est Belle
Digital Photography
Gilberto Lajara Class of 2021
Heartbeat Watercolor
Demorious Taylor Class of 2018
Klimt
10
Illustration Marker
Julia del Bosque Class of 2020
The Card Players (Original By: Cezanne) Oil on Canvas
Dylan O’Hare Class of 2019
The Giving Tree Digital Photography
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
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“The Present to Treasure Forever”
By: Regina Muñoz Class of 2019
“Isabel! Darling, come down here!” My mother shouted from the kitchen. “Can you get the bin full of Christmas decorations?” Without her saying another word, I ran towards our storage closet and scurried to grab the huge red bin labeled ‘CHRISTMAS’ on it. As I walk into the family room with the heavy red bin, I instantly feel warmer from the heat of the fireplace. I could smell the hot chocolate from the kitchen, the mix of cocoa and peppermint filled my nostrils, and the sound Christmas music in the background warmed my heart. “I got it!” My younger brother Henry cried. The doorbell rang, and Father was at the door. “Son, help me by grabbing the back of the tree.” Father told Henry. Henry put on his warm fuzzy jacket along with his hat and mittens and went into outside to help carry the tree into the house. I wanted to be of use, so I assisted by keeping the door open. I stared into the white snow fallen on the icy grass, and I looked at the bare trees and saw how their branches were draped with snow. Then I noticed that all of the houses in our neighborhood had snow covering them, and the houses seemed more festive with the decorations put up outside. From a distance, I saw my grandma’s house two houses down with the snowman Henry and I attempted to build a few days ago. The carrot which we had used as the nose for the snowman was no longer there. I hadn’t realized how long I had been staring outside for until my mother called out to me. “Isabel...Isabel! Honey, the tree is inside now. Thank you, you can close the door now.” I felt a gust of cold air and sprinkles of snow on my face as I closed the front door. There were little puddles of water on the floor, I looked down and bits of snow and pine needles sprinkled the floor. I assumed it was when Father and Henry had carried the tree into the house.
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By the time I returned to the family room, I was overwhelmed with the smell of pine needles and a whiff of vanilla with a hint of cinnamon, and I became warm from the waves of the fireplace. There was a plate of sugar cookies shaped in festive designs next to the table where my parents were setting up the Christmas tree. I picked up the red one shaped like candy cane while Henry was on his second cookie in the form of a wreath. I was engulfed with the aroma of pine needles and sugared
sweets. The Christmas music was still blaring in the background, so I started dancing and twirling with the cookie still in my hand. As I look through the red bin of Christmas decoration, I find some silver sparkly tinsel. I grabbed it and starting from the bottom of the tree, wrapped the pretty shiny tinsel around the tree. Father decided to help me by untangling the tinsel while Mother began to hang red ornaments near the top of the tree and Henry...well he was still munching on the sugared Christmas treats. Once the tinsel and the rest of the red glossy ornaments were placed on the tree, Father asked, “Isabel do you want to put the star on the tree?” Without hesitation I nodded my head and walked towards my Father. Once he gave me the star, he lifted me onto his shoulders, and as I set the star on the top of the tree, Mother turned off the lights. To our surprise, Henry turned on the Christmas tree lights. Once off his shoulders, I step back and admire the beautifully decorated tree. The white lights were blinking, making the shiny tinsel sparkle and the red ornaments complement the tree. Mother had turned off the Christmas music, and now the once empty family room seemed full. The next morning, as I was eating my cereal, I noticed Mother bringing some Christmas presents from upstairs. They were rather large bags, embellished with all kinds of tissue paper. Once I placed my empty cereal bowl in the sink, I sneakily scurried to the family room, headed towards the big bags of presents, and attempted to see whose presents they were. But all I read were ‘To Henry’ or ‘To my loving husband’. “What about me?” I thought. But then again, Christmas wasn’t for another five days, so maybe she hasn’t gotten it yet. Later that day, from the window I saw Father coming out of his car with big sparkly bags full of presents. Again, I looked at who the presents were for, and NONE had ‘Isabel’ written on them. Still upset, I decided to go over to my Grandma’s house, as I often did in times of distress. As I entered her kitchen, she greeted me with the biggest and warmest hugs. We sat down in the wooden chairs in her kitchen. “You look a little blue; what’s the matter?” My sweet grandma asked me.
Straw Hat
Acrylic on Canvas
Sarah Durham Class of 2018
“There are no Christmas presents for me; I checked under the tree. And there were BIG presents too, you know. But I’ve been good this year, so I don’t know why I’m not getting any presents.” When I finished explaining my dilemma, my grandma chuckled. I was confused, but then she proceeded to say, “Maybe you didn’t look hard enough. But Isabel, you know Christmas isn’t about presents, little one.” “No, no, I know, Jesus is the reason for the season, sorry.” I apologized, feeling guilty. She laughed out loud. “No, I know you know that, but are you sure there weren’t small presents?” Grandma questioned. I thought again before I answered. “I could check again, but I don’t want a small present!” I complained to my grandma. She sighed, shaking her head she leaned back into her chair, chuckling again and raising her eyebrow while saying, “Isabel, what makes you think that a small present would be worse than a big present? Because of the size of the gift? That’s silly, not all gifts, or good gifts for that matter, have to be big you know.” Her words lingered in my head as she got up from her chair. She walked to one of her drawers and began to search for something. “Close your eyes,” she ordered, holding something behind her back. I did as I was told. “Hold out your hands.” I did. A small, cold metal object dropped into my hands. “Grandma, why did you give me the ring Grandpa gave you?” Confused, I inspected it. It was so pretty. It was a ring; the ring grandpa gave her. I stared at her in confusion. I looked at it more and
only noticed how shimmery the diamond was. From the corner of my eye, I saw my grandma had a huge grin on her face from ear to ear. I thanked her with a warm hug and left her house with nothing but a smile on my face. Christmas Eve came and my family and I were having dinner together. Grandma and grandpa had joined us to enjoy our holiday feast. The table was decorated with cloth that had Christmas trees and reindeer all over it. In the center of the table there was the chicken next to the mac and cheese and cornbread. Mother still had her apron on in the kitchen baking more Christmas treats, gingerbread to be exact, and Father was making more hot chocolate. The look of all the delicious food made my mouth water. Once we were finished with dinner we all headed into the family room and everyone began to chatter about. Henry and I talked about the igloo we were going to build, but when I looked over my shoulder, I saw my grandparents staring at me. “Isabel, I think this present has your name on it.” My grandma began to say. I walked over to where she was, and gave her a hug. I didn’t look at the present. Frankly, I could care less if a present had my name on it. “I don’t think there will ever be a present as good as celebrating Christmas with my family.” I said. “That present could be shoes I asked for a while back, but that doesn’t matter anymore.” Grandma only smiled at my Grandpa, and within that silence, something very beautiful occurred. I had realized that sometimes the best presents you will ever receive don’t always come in a big pretty decorated bag.
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Retaliation
Oil on Canvas
Josh Oliver Class of 2019
Top Left p. 14:
The Evangelists
Pen and Ink
Cristina Cunningham Class of 2018
Top Right p. 14:
Untitled
Acrylic on Canvas
Matthew Spencer Class of 2018
Bottom p. 14:
Backyard Grill
Photo Collage
Gilberto Lajara Class of 2021
Bet
Art Stix
Dylan O’Hare Class of 2019
15
Fractured
Photo Collage
Sarah Durham Class of 2018
“Goodbye” By: Bailey Finch Class of 2022
I see a fountain at the end of a street, filled with coins both old and new that once belonged to me and you. All the things that we forgot as we grew up, without a thought, I see a lake frozen over by the cold. Frozen inside our memories both young and old, so we can keep them until they thaw. For they will run down the river and get lost. I see a mirror broken in half torn by the memories we all lack. Sharp as a knife thin as a feather, all our memories will be gone forever. You can’t keep them when you leave. You can’t even sneak a peek, so let me say it loud and clear, Goodbye, To The Memories We all hold dear.
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Projected
Digital Photogrpahy
Olivia Ford
Class of 2019
Bottom:
A Stroll Through the Zoo Acrylic on Canvas
Matthew Zdrahal Class of 2018
Middle Right: Top Right:
Elle the Elephant Sun
Mixed Media Watercolor
Maddie Schultz Marie Sautre Class of 2018 Class of 2021
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Poised
Digital Collage
Jordan Daly Class of 2018
18
Nana
Digital Photography
Sarah Durham Class of 2018
Untitled
Digital Photography
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
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“Fear”
By: Sarah John Class of 2023
The cold wrapped its fingers around me. Every fiber of my being yelled to stop, to fight. Yet, my muscles relaxed, and I slipped away. To where, I don’t know. An ether surrounded me, whispering everything I had done, the things I loved and the things I wasn’t proud of. The things I had forgotten and the things I wished I forgot. I saw a light and steps to a glorious place. Familiar faces lined the steps, and I so wanted to join them, but I stopped when I saw their faces. They were crying. Not singular tears, bawling. I was shocked and looked around; I wanted to stop whatever it was that was hurting them. I took a step forward. I was jolted backwards and pulled down; I desperately clawed at the fading palace steps. I was flattened on a rock formation. Every bone, if I still even had bones, ached. I stood up slowly on the precariously piled rocks, looked around, and screamed. My greatest fears, whatever that means to people, surrounded me on all sides. I called to my friends, my family, my God. No one came. Nothing to do except scream and cry. Scream and cry for hours. There was a break, though. Only to regret, to wonder what went wrong. To wonder what happened to the beautiful faces crying. Were they crying for me? Did they know my fate? But those brief moments of lucidity were exactly that: brief. Nothing but seeing, crying, and screaming forever. But through the screams, if you listen closely, you can hear the most dreadful sound of all: laughter.
Sunrise
Acrylic on Canvas
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Moises Marquez Class of 2019
Untitled
Spray Paint
Lizzy Markham Class of 2015
The Lion
Pencil Drawing
Natalie Didier Class of 2021
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Everything Goes Around Digital Photograph
Daniel Jones Class of 2022
Juliette McKinley Class of 2021
Tangled Cat
Illustration Marker
Julia del Bosque Class of 2020
22
Untitled
Watercolor
Lanterns
Oil on Canvas
Lillian Cabrera Class of 2019
Untitled
Watercolor
Julia Jackson Class of 2021
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“A Family” By: Paloma Robledo Class of 2018
The memories, the love that this gives is undeniable. One is born into it and goes throughout life attached to it. One may have ups and downs but this is forever. It is there since the day one was conceived until the day one dies; It is what raises us and turns us into who we are today; It can bring you smiles; it can bring you tears; It can be sweet, or it can be sour; It is an incredible gift from God. There are many differences in each one and no one is the same, But every day I am grateful for the one I was given.
What is formed here can never be regretted. One has to appreciate every moment because they don’t come back. It gives you a foundation and then lets you fly on your own; Imagine the things we wouldn’t know if we didn’t have one. A shoulder to cry on when one is sad, A happy face to show you a smile when one is content, A helping hand to help one reach their dreams and goals. It will be there to watch you succeed; It will be there to watch your mistakes and when you fail. But no matter what the love it gives is unconditional. Mine brings so much joy into my life, It is there to shine the light when I am lost; It is there to protect me when I am afraid; It has helped me expand my knowledge, Taken me around the world, so I may open my eyes,
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Botswanan Boy Boy
Digital Digital Photography Photography
Luke Luke Cocks Cocks Class Class of of 2018 2018
Given me advice so I can prepare myself for what is to come. Taught me right from wrong, How to be a kind and a strong woman, How to love and care for others, Without that I would not know how to confront the world.
Tangled Wolf Pen and Ink
Anna Podratsky Class of 2017
Every day I give thanks to God, Ask for him to protect them, To bless them, as they have done for me. I am the person that I am because of them, It has been going on for generations, And hopefully my sister and I will continue it. I was a bud, and because of them I am now a flower that is learning to bloom. This is a safe place, a happy place,
This is a family.
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Violin
Pencil Drawing
Emma Neal Heery Class of 2020
Hummingbird Pencil Drawing
Julia Jackson Class of 2021
Bottom Left:
Fog
Oil on Wood
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Bottom Right:
Self Portrait
Pencil Drawing
Julia del Bosque Class of 2020
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Peekaboo
Pencil Drawing
Morgan Delaney Class of 2020
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Don’t Slip
Digital Photogrpahy
Ava Ford
Class of 2022
“Americana” By: Nelson Tyer Jones Class of 2018 “Y’all better be home by dinner!” I heard momma scream after I’d slammed that old rusty screen door shut and ran off with Ricky. We were gonna go shooting some squirrels with those brand spankin’ new, single shot, pump ‘Red Ryder BB Guns’. My daddy got mad once cause’ I accidentally shot out a window from my tree fort in the backyard. He says I’m not a good shot. All my buddies thought it was hilarious. “Hey you think Brian and Lee would want to come out with us? I bet you that Lee’s got some Cokes at his place. Might be worth swingin’ by,” exclaimed Ricky. Lee didn’t live too far from my house, just a short walk down Maple Street then a right turn onto Chesterfield Place. Brian lived a few doors down. As we made it to the top of my driveway, Ricky and I headed for Maple Street through our special path in the woods, but we saw the Smith boys and turned right around.
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Earlier this summer they called the cops on us, told ‘em we shot at and hit ‘em with our guns through the woods. Jokes on them ‘cause the cops showed up and said that if we hit ‘em from where we were standing, we were
good enough to join the squad right then and there. We got off clean, but we steer clear of them now cause’ they just cause trouble no matter the situation. Ricky and I made it to Lee’s house and rang the door-bell and stepped back, just like momma taught me. “Mornin’ Mrs. Lane, is Lee home? Can he play today?” Ricky asked with hope that she’d invite us in and offer a Coke. “Yes, darlins’. come on in. Y’all want a Coke?” asked Mrs. Lane. “Yes, please!” we both shouted. Lee ran out of his room throwin’ a shirt on. Mrs. Lane asked if we were going to the game tonight, and we all nodded. We went to every game, watched for about 5 minutes, and then started messing around behind the end zone throwing rocks at each other. Tonight, the high-school was playin’ some Christian Academy from Richmond, easy win for us. All the games were all the same. We kill the opponents. Everybody storms the field. And all the girls go runnin’ for a chance to talk to that damn running back everybody loves. As soon as we got Lee outta there we headed straight for Brian’s place. He lived in a small, comfortable, little house. His momma was a teacher at the elementary school, and his daddy owned The Grill, which was a diner just a few streets over. All the high-schoolers would go there after school and games for a shake and some fries. He ran out before we even got to his door; he must’ve seen us through the window. “Make sure you get your gun, Brian!” shouted Ricky who was only a few steps behind Lee and me. Brian ran back inside for a quick second to grab his BB gun. We ran off to the tree fort in my backyard, climbed up, and started shooting at anything that moved. We stayed out for 3 hours easy. I heard my momma call me in. “C’mon boys. I think we got chicken and butter beans for dinner. Momma won’t mind.” We all ran inside leaving our BB guns on the porch and immediately we heard “boys take your shoes off!” from the living room. I don’t know how she knew, but she always did. “Y’all’s parents okay with y’all stayin’ for dinner?” asked momma. They all answered, “yes, ma’am” and we chowed down. Knight Rider was on, so we had to watch that because we all dreamed of having a Pontiac Firebird someday just like Kitt. I asked my momma if we could all go with daddy to the game tonight, and she decided that we could. Daddy went to every game ‘cause my older brother was on the team and was in line for a full ride to Virginia. No way my parents were gonna let him lose that. The games was the exact same as all the ones before. We killed that Christian Academy, and everybody stormed the field like that wasn’t what happened every single time. I had fun at the games with all my buddies, but we just weren’t into football like everyone else was. Afterwards Brian, Lee, Ricky and I decided to walk back to my house, the school wasn’t more than a mile away. My momma told ‘em to hop in the car, and she’d drive ‘em home. She didn’t like when we’d walk in the dark. There’d been some stories recently of hitchhikers wanderin’ around neighborhoods snatchin’ up kids. She came home about 30 minutes late. I reckon she started chatting with Mrs. Lane and Mrs. Brian’s momma about what they’d be cookin’ for Thanksgiving. Once she got home, she told me to get my teeth brushed and get ready for bed. So, I did. I pulled out my walkie-talkie, turned it on, and heard Ricky sayin’ that tomorrow we needed to explore this abandoned tree fort he’d found in the neighborhood. “Agreed. Over and out boys,” I said as I clapped twice to turn out my lights.
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Falling
Charcoal & Pen
Matthew Spencer Class of 2018
Top Right:
Boys in Blue
Watercolor
Terrance Parker Class of 2020 Middle Right:
Surfer
Pencil Drawing
Mac Harlow Class of 2021
Bottom Right:
Untitled
Digital Photography
Jackson Lehmann Class of 2021
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Island
Oil on Canvas
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Untitled
Pencil Drawing
Tommie Swink Class of 2020
Seashell On The Shore Digital Photography
Kaley Turpin Class of 2021
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The Hook
Acrylic on Canvas
Sean Dolan
“No Eternal Spring� By: Sophia John Class of 2020
Hope is no eternal spring; It is the beacon Twinkling on the horizon Alight when we are drowning, In the froth of a fleeting memory Dim in suffocating despair Never snuffed out. In the numbing stillness of disbelief, It endures. Present in the loneliest, Swiftest of hurricanes, Burning when the world slumbers And we struggle for air. Douse that lambent flame And we descend Into the depths of anguish, Gasping at a might-have-been. Alone though we paddle, Alone though we thrash, That torch in the distance Flickers to guide us. Out of the storm, Cut from the riptide, Wade ever nearer For by its embers
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We discover the safety of the shore.
Class of 2020
Gabe Ross 3rd Place Visual Arts Oil on Canvas
Gabe Martinez Class of 2019
“Sunset at Dawn” By: Ariel Watson Class of 2019 The glint of Sunset’s Dawn, Crisp WindsRefreshing, similar to Trees Flowing in sync-
Blissful Deceit, you no longer drown inPerfection and peace have been discovered, Yet deep confliction, To your soul has been covered.
Unknown price we pay- NoneThough the Scrambled Thoughts Your suffering, has vanished Shipping to the heart naught.
Finally, the sun setsWhispering- pulling you moreFreedom is restored, like a Friend Appearing Closing that dark and jumbled door.
Wisconsin Winter
Digital Photography
Eli Sysyn
Class of 2020
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Prison
Digital Photography Photogrpahy
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Seasons
Acrylic on Canvas
Rosie Stagliano Class of 2020
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Hazard
Digital Photography
Ashley Provost Class of 2021
Untitled
(Original By Cezanne) Oil on Canvas
Luke Oliver Class of 2019
God’s Plan Art Stix
Denys Bobchuk Class of 2019
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“The Bus Stop” By: Nelson Tyer Jones Class of 2018
Haha. I have them tricked now. They’ll never find me this time, thought the young boy who had just decided to run away from home. Little Tommy had enough and decided it was time to fend and provide for himself. At just 6 years of age, he decided he was ready to conquer the world and all it had in store for him. With just a backpack, his dog, and a couple bucks from the tooth fairy, he headed down his driveway. He took a left turn towards the bus stop, the most logical place to go. As a Cub Scout, he knew that he must always be prepared, which is why he packed his backpack with a lot of thought. As soon as he reached the bus stop, he sat down with his dog Cubby by his side and started to pull out everything he had packed, double checking to make sure he was ready for the real world. First, he pulled out his lunch box. His mom always made his lunch for him, but he never finished eating everything she packed. He would get too excited for recess and would pack up early to make sure he was the first kid out the door and on the field. He had saved everything he didn’t eat this past week and crammed it all into his Sharknado lunchbox. Next, Tommy pulled out a bag of dog treats. He was relieved that he remembered to grab them right before he left or else he would have to share his food with Cubby. Other items that he had packed in his backpack included a fork and spoon, a blanket, a flashlight, and his favorite book, Cars, Planes, and Trains. He waited on the side for about 15 minutes before he realized that he did not want to wait for the bus any longer. He stood up and marched straight back to his house. He felt a slight tug on his backpack, but he ignored it. Soon after, he felt the tugging again and turned around. Maybe it’s Conner trying to play a trick on me, Tommy thought. As he turned around he saw nothing but a flash of fur rush by him. It was a squirrel, and it had grabbed a pin off the back of his bag. It took Cubby about 3 seconds to recognize what it was and begin the chase. Poor Tommy knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Cubby but chased after him anyways. It was a mad dash to catch the squirrel, and before anyone knew it, that squirrel was sitting atop a tree branch. Cubby sat at the bottom of the tree and barked loudly while Tommy finally caught up, completely out of breath. Tommy and Cubby could still see the shiny piece of gold in its mouth, and Tommy made the courageous decision to climb the tree and retrieve his pin. He started the climb and once he reached the squirrel, it immediately dropped the pin and scurried along. Tommy felt great that he had finally gotten his pin back, but then he realized what had actually happened… he was stuck in this tree. Shortly after he started panicking, the mailman drove by and saw distressed Tommy. He quickly ran over to the tree and asked Tommy if he needed help. “Yes please help. My mom is in that house across the street!” said Tommy. The mailman ran over to the house, knocked on the door, and waited until a woman answered, Tommy’s mother. Together they headed back over to the tree. The mailman had a very concerned look on his face about the way the mother seemed to simply wander over to her son without any panic. “This happens once a week,” said the mother, explaining herself to this stranger.
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The Confessional
Wagon Wheel
Charcoal
Pencil Drawing
Dylan O’Hare
Helen McKenzie
Class of 2019
Class of 2018
Under The Stripes
Self Portrait
Haunted
Ashley Provost
Sarah Durham
Kennedy Willis
Digital Photography Class of 2021
Pencil Drawing Class of 2018
Pinhole Photography Class of 2018
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The Phoenix
Illustration Marker
Alex Ruiz
Class of 2019
Stars and Stripes
Digital Photography
Mary Palmer Mason Class of 2019
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Year of the Monster Honorable Mention
Digital Photography
Jack Li
Class of 2021
Pencil Drawing Class of 2019
Bee’s Knees
Kaley Turpin
Abandoned
Digital Photography
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
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Top Left p. 40:
The Runway
Illustration Marker
Sofia Pineda Class of 2020
Bottom Left p. 40:
Saggar Pottery Moises Marquez, Jake Vincent & Aiden Weeks
Right p. 40:
Untitled
Digital Photography
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Top Left p.41:
Time
Mixed Media
Denys Bobchuck Class of 2019
Bottom p. 41:
The Monk Room
Digital Photography
Ashley Provost Class of 2021
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Vagabond
Digital Photography
Olivia Ford
Class of 2019
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“The Race” By: Jacob Wilhelm Class of 2023
My heart is a drum. My feet feel the cold, hard, block. The whistle blows, splash.
I break the surface. The liquid swallows me whole. And so it begins.
It is a motion. Adrenaline runs through me. My arms and legs move.
It keeps quickening. My heart speaks to me in thumps. It tells me to breathe. Broken
My head turns and tucks.
I look beside me.
My arms tighten around me.
The crowd’s screams shatter the air.
I flip, and push off.
I just keep moving.
My kicks propel me.
It is very close.
I can see the flags pass me.
The crowd has just gone silent.
This is my second.
I had won the race.
My arms are moving. My legs kick like a jet moves. I am winning now.
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Mixed Media
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Untitled Charcoal
Cynthia Liao Class of 2019
Power Drill
Charcoal
Matthew Spencer Class of 2018
Winding Road Pencil Drawing
Terrance Parker Class of 2020
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Mary
Digital Photography
Naomi Jasmin Class of 2018
Lookout
Ballpoint Pen
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Owl
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Pen and Ink
Sean Dolan Class of 2020
America
Ilustration Marker
Rosie Stagliano Class of 2020
Art Is...
Digital Image
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Untitled
Pencil Drawing
Will Stinnett Class of 2020
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Wedowee Cabin
Untitled
Pinhole Photography
Digital Photography
Eli Sysyn
Luke Cocks
Class of 2020
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Class of 2018
Wolf II
Doodles
Cynthia Liao
Julia del Bosque
Acrylic on Canvas Class of 2019
Pen & Ink
Class of 2020
“Nightmares” By: CJ Hicks Class of 2022
Rebecca’s eyes shot open as she awoke in the cold winter night. Her chest was tight as she was trying to breath, the only sound in the room being her heavy panting. But the anxiety-giving noise in her head was a faint Tick. Tock. It was still fresh, the disorientation from the commonly known nightmare she experienced every other night. She sat up straight and gazed around the large bedroom in a quick, frightened movement. It didn’t feel right; it didn’t feel normal. A small wispy breeze snuck in the room from the cracked window and brushed across Rebecca’s sweaty face. Tick. Tock. The room may have been silent, but the thoughts in her head were deafening. She turned her head and looked at her sister sleeping dead still beside her. The blonde’s hair was tousled with some minor tangles, and her face wore a calm expression. The dim light from outside caused an odd pallor across Bethany’s form, and Rebecca could swear that she was cold and still, nothing but a corpse under the comforter and sheets. The girl’s slow rasping breath the only signal of life. Tick. Tock. The shadows of unidentifiable objects loomed large in the darkened room, so familiar in daylight, like old friends who have turned strange and cold against you; one minute warm and welcoming, and the next cold and foreign. Rebecca gave a violent shiver and scooted closer to the relative beside her. Fear wrapped around her and creeped up her back like octopi wrapping their tentacles to drag her into the deep abyss of the cold and ominous sea, like jellyfish stinging the spine. Tick. Tock. Her breath caught in her throat as she gripped onto Bethany’s arm. What was that? Was something watching her from the corner? A voice in the hall? Were they here to get her? She shook and curled into a small ball of panic on the soft bed. Something is coming for her, and she felt so, so alone. That’s how she’s always felt since that crash; she was always surrounded by people, yet she was alone and trapped in the prison of her mind. Solemn and solitary. Tick. Tock. Not a minute later she felt a warm hand tug at her pale arm tiredly, giving comfort. The contact was warm, it was comforting, it was safety. Bethany whispered softly in her dazed state, “You’re safe now Beck. It’s over.” Rebecca felt a small sensation spread from her arm, going throughout her body. It slowly, but gradually, calmed her down removing the filters from her mind. The room is just a room. The shadows are just shadows. Rebecca gave a sigh in relief and fell asleep in peace.
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Lilac Sky Honorable Mention
Digital Photography
Olivia Ford
Class of 2019
Eclipse Kiss
Illustration Marker
Maddie Hardt Class of 2018
Breathe 2nd Place Visual Arts
Digital Photography
Sarah Durham Class of 2018
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Greek Street
Acrylic on Canvas
Jordan Daly Class of 2018
Sakura Bridge Oil on Canvas
John Thompson Class of 2018
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“The Chief’s Calls” By: Ariel Watson Class of 2019
The sky’s Chief became bored of his kingdom and contemplated the creation of another. Tired of the white, fluffy clouds and the windless weather. He craved experiencing warmth and colors beside white. The still, silence was deafening for the Chief, and his need for sound deepened day in and day out. It was company he desired to appease his loneliness and in order to achieve it, the Chief decide work was more enjoyable than rest.
The disinterested Chief of peace finally began his new journey with colors. He first started with red, then blue and yellow. Yet those colors soon lost their spark. Then touch by another idea, the Chief began to mix the colors. Red with yellow, blue with red, and yellow with blue. This created a rainbow of colors and different shades of each of them. Though happy with his colors, the chief got exhausted of their extraordinary beauty and contemplated on other activities he could accomplish. Noticing all the things that were around him were just plain, boring clouds and his new bright colors, the Chief concluded that there should be more life besides what surrounds him. He then peered beneath his clouds at the cracked, dried dirt, later deciding that he should move his new kingdom with colors there. So he did just that. With his kingdom, life was brought with him. The life seeped into the dirt and seas, which created living things that could not move, which he called plants, to rise from their new homes. These plants constructed wonderful views and gave delicious tastes he desired. The now excited Chief began to get carried away with his new creation. He generated creatures called animals that live on that land, and other creatures that could survive in the sea surounding the land. Overtime, the Chief began to realize his beautiful new world could not inhabit some of his new creatures for some could not survive the sun too long and others could not survive the blinding dark for long. The Chief determined that the sun would only come up 12 hours a day, but then have to say goodbye and welcome the moon for the next 12 hours. With moving the sun he decided to make a time cycle for it. This cycle was 365 days long with the sun having more time out during one half of the the year and the moon having more time out the other half. This cycle was called seasons, and was broken into 4 segments: Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. This allowed the sun and the moon to have equal time to enjoy the sky, and his animals could survive all year round.
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Talk Chalk
Digital Photography
Kaley Turpin Class of 2021
After some time, the Chief had to go back to his home. Though he would miss his world of colors, company, and plants, he needed to go back home and rest for he was now old and tired. However, the Chief did not leave without creating an imprint of his memory forever. He first produced a name for his new world calling it Earth. After establishing a name for his world, he created something that was similar in appearance to him but not in mind. He designed humans. This new creation was given power of the kingdom, to protect it and strengthen it. But before leaving he gave all his creations a reminder of him. Something they would be able to feel and be at peace, knowing he was reminding them of his presence. He gave them his final call‌ named wind.
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Home
Digital Photography
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Man In The Woods Digital Photography
Ashley Provost Class of 2021
Heritage
Illustration Marker
Dylan O’Hare Class of 2019
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Met
Mixed Media
Sarah Durham Class of 2018 At Middle:
Paradise
Digital Photography
Daniel Jones Class of 2022 At Bottom:
My Paradise
Digital Photography
Kaley Turpin Class of 2021
In Her Hands
Digital Photography
Olivia Ford
Class of 2019
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“The Storm�
Top p. 55 Left:
Mayan Warrior
By: Paloma Robledo Class of 2018
You came unexpectedly Leaving the people dejectedly, When the clear blue sky slowly darkened At the sound of thunder people harkened. As the grey clouds invaded the sky, The sun decided not to pry. Wet drops from the sky fell to the ground Making the gloomy feeling very profound. As the strong breeze shook the trees, The temperature started to freeze. The sunny days were now far gone As the day got closer to dawn. You chose to seize the day, And turned everything gray. 54
Mixed Media
Cristina Cunningham Class of 2018
Top p. 55 Right:
Thinker
Pencil Drawing
Jack Li
Class of 2019
Spotlight The Fishing Village Digital DigitalPhotography Photogrpahy
Ben LukeMangum Cocks Class Classofof2019 2018
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Valkyrie
56
Digital Photography
Mary Palmer Mason Class of 2019
Do not lead a quiet life. You were made to be loud, To be bold, To be brash. You were made to swallow the sun,
“Do Not Be Quiet� First Place Literature By: Morgan Wright Class of 2019
To breath the stars, To taste the universe. You were made to break, To shatter To bleed. You were made to heal, To replenish, To grow. You were born to burn, To glow bright, To light the darkness. Do not give a quiet death. You were meant to shout, To scream, To yell. You were meant to climb mountains, To drink oceans, To shake the Earth to its very core. You were meant to save the world, To lead the lost, To heal the broken. You were meant to fight, To change, To thrive. Do not lead a quiet anything, For that is not what you are.
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“All the Light We Cannot See” By: Watson Casal Class of 2019
All the light we cannot see, The sounds that we refuse to hear, The smells dismissed so angrily, Are the things to me most clear. Moments when the eyes will fall, And minds deny just what it sensed: When hearts, so lost, so hurt, do call, Always doomed to be dismissed. These I live, I breathe, I know. It seems I feel them ev’ry day. A truth to self? Like winter snow On the darling buds of May. Love has lost, or been suppressed: It hides beneath the thickest wall, Pretending it was never kissed: That it never was at all.
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At Top:
White Stripes Oil on Canvas
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Ferrari
Charcoal
Camilla del Bosque
Class of 2020
Self Portrait Pencil Drawing
Maddie Hart Class of 2018
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“My Song in Paris” By: Regina Muñoz Class of 2019
If you do not know already, I play the piano. It is not a known fact, but it is something that has always been a part of me. Growing up, I always saw my cousins play piano. I was fascinated with how fast their fingers would move and how such a beautiful sound came out of this huge black instrument. One day my grandma saw that I had shown interest in it, so she told one of my cousins to sit me down and teach me. That is where I had my first lesson. But this was back in second grade, when I was small and couldn’t play very mature songs. Fast forward a few years later. I still play the piano, and I love everything about it. . . sometimes. I say sometimes because I love the results, the feeling of having learned an entire song with everything put together. However, the process it takes- sitting down for at least
half an hour or more spending time trying to figure out where my fingers should go and how hard I have to press the keys- it can be a mess. Anyway, that is not the point of this story. This past summer I had the opportunity to go to Paris, and it was without a doubt my favorite city. The moment I walked into the hotel, I noticed a piano just sitting there. There was not a sign saying that no one could or couldn’t play it; it was just there. And to be honest I was quite confused because in the United States there would be someone sitting playing, or it would magically be playing by itself, or there would be a sign forbidding people from playing or touching it. For days on end I would just stare at it: in the mornings when I went to eat breakfast and after a long days of adventuring when I walked back into the hotel. But I felt like it was calling me. I knew before I left Paris I was going to play that piano. I wasn’t sure when, or how, but I knew that I was going to play, and that was it. Then that day came.
Veil
Digital Photogrpahy
60
Sarah Durham Class of 2018
I remember walking into the hotel, and my grandma, my cousin, and I had just had dinner and had sat down for a cappuccino. To my surprise, there was a young man sitting by the piano attempting to play it. I could tell he was not very experienced. My cousin happened to be in Paris a few weeks before me, so he was in the country a bit longer than I had been. That night I asked him if people could just randomly go up and play. To my surprise he told me, “Here in Europe they see music as art, as long as you can play they won’t stop you.” I was moved because I was not expecting that. I knew Europe had different views on certain things, but this was something quite beautiful. So, we all sat there listening to the man, cringing, and eventually I mustered the courage and asked him if I could play something. To my surprise, a huge smile sprawled on his face, and he said, “You can play?” And being modest I told him, “I may know a thing or two…”
only reason I noticed was because I could only hear the piano playing. I wasn’t paying attention to the people around me, but the echo of the piano bouncing off the walls indicated there was no other sound in the room. As I played the last chord to the song, I stood up, and I was congratulated with an around of applause. I had never experienced anything like this before. Yes, I have played piano in public and performed for people. But in that moment, when everyone in the room was silent, eyes closed, swaying their heads, listening to the piano, that said something very beautiful about humanity. I did not say a single word. Yet everyone was silent.
To this day I think about how we can all speak different languages and not know what the other person may say. It is the simple things in life like music and art that capture our attention. When one whispers in a conversation, our heads subconsciously go closer to the source which is speaking, so we may hear clearer. With everything occurring in our world, I think that we need to be reminded of a language that unites us all: music. At this point my cousin was laughing because he knew I was lying. Before I played my song, I looked around the small room, and I mentally took note of all the people that were seated behind me. There was a diversity of cultures from Spanish, American, English, French and Arabic people. I was nervous because, and I know my piano teacher would be disappointed in me, I hadn’t played in a month. I knew that I was going to be a bit rusty. As I took a deep breath in, I took in my surroundings; I looked at my grandma and my cousin, and that is when I begin to play. People were still having their conversations left and right, and it was quite loud to be honest. But that did not stop me from playing. As I continued swaying my hands from key to key, I noticed something quite remarkable. Towards the middle of the song everyone in the room was silent. The
Lonesome Dreams Digital Photography
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
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“The Walk for Freedom” By: Claire Donner Class of 2023
I can remember it like it was yesterday.
Hatred creeps into the firemen’s eyes,
I was in a crowd on a bright sunny day;
as they roar their engines
This wonderful man would make my day.
With a twist of a nozzle water bursts out into the crowd.
This man as peaceful as a still pond, Leading a crowd for rights that will go on.
The water hits me like a sledgehammer.
This man the bravest I have ever seen,
It thrashes me red all around. The water hated me How hurt I felt.
How much he did for me, I couldn’t believe.
Although I want to leave The walk must go on.
With a holler of a voice,
This man, as though Jesus,
The crowd with a leap thumped their feet.
cleared the way as if it were a peaceful day.
The walk is on We pray for peace. That day in Selma, Alabama Out of the corner of my eyes I see firemen.
I shall never forget, For it was that walk that granted me wings.
They want us to halt; The walk must go on.
This man’s work for freedom is done; Now he marches to the eternal Son.
War Honorable Mention
Mixed Media
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
David and Goliath
62
Illustration Marker
Josh Oliver Class of 2019
War Paint
Digital Photography
Sarah Durham Class of 2018
63
Music Revolution
Illustration Marker
Luke Oliver Class of 2019
Self Portrait
Charcoal
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Black Hole
Acrylic on Paper
Matthew Spencer Class of 2018
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Ace of Spades
American Graffiti
Maddie Schultz
Adam Anulewicz
Digital Photography Class of 2018
Mixed Media
Class of 2023
Lambo Charcoal
Camilla del Bosque Class of 2020
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Top Page 67:
Moons
“Ode to Music, My Life and Love”
Mixed Media
Crisitina Cunningham Class of 2018
By: Donovan Lewis Class of 2018
She is a gateway to a different world.
My love for her is eternal.
With every word or note,
It is so vast that I could sing
She can transport me to any place or time.
My heart out to her every day;
Whenever I need an escape from reality,
And that is what I do.
She is right there by my side.
I love shouting from the rooftops
She is the most faithful in the world.
How much her presence brings joy
She is changing constantly,
And content to my life.
Yet stays the same always.
This love that I hold for her
She is with me always
Brings happiness and joy
And is with everyone in different ways.
To everyone that listens to my ode.
She is a beautiful thing.
Who is this love you ask?
She can match any emotion out there.
She is not a person, you see.
When I feel something in my heart,
She lives inside of my heart where she belongs.
She reaches out and finds a song That matches that exact emotion.
She is none other than Music.
Can’t find one? Don’t give up!
Music is my best friend,
She will influence an amazing songwriter
I love her, and she loves me back.
To write one for me. She will go to that length
She will do the same for you If you give her a chance.
For me and for anyone.
Bottom Page 67:
Tangled Map
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Pen and Ink
Jordan Daly Class of 2018
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“2018 AP Studio Art Concentrations”
Since 2008, Holy Spirit Prep has offered AP Studio Art as a course option in the senior year. This course allows advanced art students to develop an independent portfolio to showcase their abilities, develop their unique artistic voice and earn college credit for their efforts. The course is extremely demanding and students are required to complete 24 works of art for the final portfolio. 12 of these are dedicated to a singular theme or “concentration.” An AP concentration demonstrates a student’s mastery over a given medium and explores a topic close to the heart of the artist. Developing a cohesive body of work is a great challenge and requires hours of dedicated studio time. All works are due to the AP board the first week of May for judging. AP Studio Art is one of the most demanding and respected classes a student can take. The next few pages highlight the work of this year’s AP Studio Art class with a brief introduction to their concentrations. At press date, these concentrations were still a work in progress. I hope you enjoy! - Mrs. Rondeau
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Luke Cocks
My series explores the themes of adventure and solitude by looking at urban decay and the lone figure. The figures’ interaction in these desolate locations reflect the life my models are experiencing. We are teenagers, still exploring who we are to become in this big, unknown and sometimes lost world. Urban decay is the epitome of a plan gone wrong. Sometimes things do not go the way that we expect them to. As teenagers, we are just starting to figuring this out. That life is about how you deal with the unexpected. There is a constant contrast between being alone yet having so much to explore. I use people within my conceptual work to give the viewer a personal connection. My models rarely look at the camera directly. This allows the viewer to put themselves into each piece and mentally explore the where and why. To see a full portfolio, check out www.LukeCocks.com
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70
These pictures capture my own personal adventure. Just like the lone figure in my conceptual series, I try to capture isolated moments in my documentary images. The lion at night, the wild dog and her cubs, the elderly woman staring into my lens; these are all examples of isolation. The private moment between mother and cub and the moment the subject engages with the artist are both intimate moments that reflect the solitude of life and the ability to get lost in the moment. I had an incredible time shooting what I saw, and was very grateful for the experience of living in both South Africa and Botswana. - Luke Cocks
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Sarah Durham
As an 18 year old about to leave my home for the first time, I am beginning to focus and truly appreciate the people who make me who I am. Therefore, I chose to document the daily life of my family as both a remembrance and to illustrate the beauty in their everyday actions. No matter how far away I will travel I will always have these ties to bring me back. I believe that it is through the small mundane actions, the ones we usually take for granted, that one can see the beauty of family life. My hope is that each image demonstrates the unique qualities and personalities of all of my family members.
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The Orient Express
Digital Photography
Luke Cocks
Shadows
Class of 2018
Digital Photography
Ashley Provost Class of 2021
Poses
Colored Pencil
Dylan O’Hare Class of 2019
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Beachy
Digital Photography
Olivia Ford
Class of 2019
2017 - 2018 Ingenium Staff:
Editor in Chief : Olivia Ford Layout Advisor: Mrs. Rondeau Literature Advisor: Mrs. Reger Special Thanks to:
Luke Cocks, Allie Benedict and The HSP National Art Honor Society
Amoeba
Digital Photography
Sarah Durham Class of 2018
Under the Big Top
Art Installation
Anabela Lassing, Juliette McKinley, Olivia Centola, Olivia Jones, Natalie Didier, and Allie Benedict
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4449 Northside Drive NW Atlanta, Georgia 30327
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