Sanford School
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Inscape 2013
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Sanford School
Inscape Editors
Katie Hughes
Layout Editor
Breanna Light
Faculty Advisor
John Fritz
Staff
Rachel Rice
Mary Mecca
Eliza Hering
Caroline Ritter
Chris Malafronti
Jordan McMillan
Casey Wozniak
Brooke Finnicum
Caroline Fritz
Kate Holden
Courtney Clark
Alexandra Somerville
Sanford School 6900 Lancaster Pike Three
Inscape 2013
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Sanford School
“In literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring two pence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.” -CS Lewis Dear Readers, No one in the world is the same. Each day would be hopelessly boring if we all shared the same traits. It’s the different personalities and views of the world that both make us unique and, paradoxically, bring us together. These characteristics make us who we are. All objects, events, places, and even we ourselves are original in our own way. Originality is the drive to go where no one has ever gone. Originality is how we say to the world, “This is who I am! This is what goes on in my brain.”
At Sanford School, we strive to honor each person's individuality and originality. Our motto, “No talent lies latent,” truly describes our environment. This leads us to our literary magazine, which portrays the best of our originality: student-produced writing, photography and artwork. Each piece of work--as well as its creator--is an original.
The Editors and staff of Inscape.
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Inscape 2013
Table of Contents
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A Like Poem
Jordan McMillian
11
Perdue dans l’Absurdite
Mathilde Terrasse
11
Balance
Jill Pembroke
12
Her Epiphany
Jordan Peacock
13
Leaves
Ivana Gatica
14
Inspiration
Anonymous
15
I Can Walk Outside and See Gravestones
Greg Wolf
16
Suicidal
Peyton Marcozzi
16
Gravity
Nick Meehan
17
Tired
Anonymous
18
Journey
Breanna Light
19
My Unpredictable Friend
Mary Mecca
19
Trust
Jordan McMillan
20
The Attendant
Nick Meehan
20
Boy Out Of Order
Chris Malafronti
21
Sanford School
Excuses
Ivana Gatica
21
Boot
Ivana Gatica
22
Caterpillar
Gavin Gibson
23
Extension
Jill Pembroke
23
The Promise
Chris Malafronti
24
Distorted Truth
Mathilde Terrasse
25
Corruption
John O’Connor
26
Smoke
Breanna Light
26
Egotistical Shame
Breanna Light
27
Ray of Light
Brooke Finnicum
28
Untitled
Kyle Oberle
28
Light
Breanna Light
28
How I Found Jesus While Sitting on a Couch
Mary Mecca
29
God
Peyton Marcozzi
29
Feathers
Lucy Benson
31
True Colors
Chelsei Mack
32
Dance Over Time
Dominique Bivens
32
Wing
Lucy Benson
34
Untitled
Caroline Fritz
35 Seven
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Angry Owl
Lucy Benson
35
Fingerprints
Jordan McMillan
36
Haunted
Breanna Light
37
Late People vs. Early People
Bryan McLellan
38
Neverland
Ivana Gatica
39
The Intelligent and The Wise
Mary Mecca
40
Unlucky
Christopher Malafronti
41
Corral
Jordan McMillian
41
Otherwise
Christopher Malafronti
42
Light hose
Breanna Light
43
Teardrops
Brooke Finnicum
44
Graffiti
Peyton Marcozzi
44
Some Hay in the Barn
Oliver Fleischmann
45
We All Fall Down
Breanna Light
45
Untitled
Caroline Fritz
46
Reaching Out
Ivana Gatica
47
Razors and Knives
Christopher Malafronti
48
Cracked
Peyton Marcozzi
48
Confined
Nick Meehan
49
Irrational Passion
Mary Mecca
50
Sanford School
Moon Dance
Mathilde Terrasse
50
Anger
Kira Stevens
51
Math Class
Chris Malafronti
52
Untitled
Austin Ford
52
Class Time
Ivana Gatica
52
Computer
Kira Stevens
53
I Am Not My Diagnosis
Anonymous
54
Breaking Free
Rebecca Goodier
54
Untitled
Caroline Ritter
55
Graffiti
Peyton Marcozzi
56
Pollution
Kate Holden
57
Clouded Air
Peyton Marcozzi
57
As Computer-Girl Sits in Her Room
Mary Mecca
58
Up In Flames
Ivana Gatica
59
Feather
Caroline Ritter
60
The Announcement
Greg Wolf
61
Blending In
Jill Pembroke
61
English Countryside
Lucy Benson
62
Reflection on “Art’
Mathilde Terrasse
63
Good and Evil
Caroline Ritter
64
Trapped
Rebecca Goodier
64
Civil Rights Poem
Asiyah Frank
66
Nine
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Sanford School
A Like Poem I wrote this to tell you that I like you Like… A lot… Like… a lot a lot Like the ocean likes the moon Like Yoda likes to use the force Like teenage girls like puppies Like puppies like nibbling on fingers Like nibbled-on fingers like an ice cube Like an ice cube likes lemonade Like lemonade likes a hot day Like a hot day likes beach sand Like beach sand likes the ocean Like the ocean likes the moon And how I hope you like me too - Jordan McMillan
Perdue dans l’Absurdite Mathilde Terrasse
Eleven
Inscape 2013
B al an c e J ill P em br ok e
Twelve
Sanford School
Her Epiphany
M
Jordan Peacock arg threw her bag on the floor and ran to her room in tears. She tried to figure out what she had done to
deserve this. So many different thoughts ran through her mind. Was it her fault? Is that why he left her? Everything was so perfect and just like that, in a split second, it all crashed down. Marg tried everything in her will to get him off her mind, but she convinced herself that it was impossible. Every simple song and every plain word reminded her of him. She lay in her bed and began to cry
Marg did; she took the risk and apologized to him. All he did was look at her and walk away. Months had gone by, and Marg still missed him.
“ She could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel�
again. She got that feeling in her throat
Maybe not as much as she did the first few days, and maybe sometimes more than others. She knew she missed him because he was her best friend. She realized that no one could replace that. Marg also realized that everything truly does happen for a reason and that maybe things just were not meant to be between him and her. After her slow recovery, she was finally able to smile with a real smile and to laugh at herself, and most
again. Her eyes became so blurry from all
importantly, to be independent: all of the things she
the tears that she could not hold it in
really missed out on when she was in a relationship. She
anymore. She just wanted to scream. Soon
could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, but
after, she felt as though she could no longer
the only thing that kept her strong was that she knew
breathe because she had realized the person
she was happy before him; therefore she would be
who meant the most to her was gone. She
happy after him.
asked herself, over and over again, why this happened to her. Days went by, and Marg was still
Marg finally accepted that in the end it did not even matter. Whatever she said or did, everything that had happened and is going to happen is mostly out of
asking herself the same questions, still
her control. After all, sometimes you have to go through
blaming herself for everything that
a storm to get a rainbow.
happened. That is what we all do; we overanalyze things so much that we start to blame ourselves for things that were not even initially our fault. Then, we go to the person and apologize for something we did not do. Unsurprisingly, that is exactly what
Thirteen
Inscape 2013
Leaves I v a n a G ati ca Fourteen
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Inspiration
W
hat’s that sparkle in your eye That shows you something magically potential? What’s the wisp of energy that overtakes you with joy,
When you realize just how magically potential that potential can be? Potential.
It stems from Inspiration. What’s that gust of wind that blows everything over, But leaves a lonesome seed? What makes the painter see the grown up tree, And see all that the seed fought to be? How does the painter show the fallen leaves and broken dreams, All by portraying the now strong and mighty tree? Inspiration, Leading to potential. The wind blew and the world fell and the seed was left to cry. But then the seed found water and a home And then decided he wanted to grow. The wind took all that he had lived with before, But now in the seed there was a certain sparkle, And in that sparkle showed something magically potential. The wisp of energy overtook the seed with joy, And he realized just how magically potential that potential had been. The now great and mighty oak looks down where he once lay, Groveling in doubt and self-pity. He waves his branches warmly when the wind comes to visit, And finally he says, “thank you for inspiring me.” -Anonymous
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Inscape 2013
I Can Walk Outside and See Gravestones
I
Greg Wolf can walk outside and see gravestones. Hundreds. Obelisks of laminated grey granite, like a meadow of stone teeth reaching skywards. They mean nothing. I don’t know anyone who is dead. Clustered as close as skyscrapers in a metropolis, the necropolis contains no bodies. No sallow faces with their sunken eyes
and stiff, pulled-back lips. Only ashes. Space is a valuable commodity on this island. The dead are cremated. But I don’t know anyone who has been cremated. So they’re just stones, older than I am, stiller than the
road nearby, a no-man’s land of soft greys. It’s just a part of the landscape, along with the river, the waterfall running swollen and yellow with the spring rain, the hill of decaying leaves, thickly green mountains that rise out of a morass of buildings that slowly creep up the mountainsides in white and glass. From my fifth floor apartment, level with the crow’s nest of telephone wires and the twisting sidewalks beyond, I can look down and see gravestones. But I can also see the concrete-bordered river, the overgrown field, the gate with the blue paint rusting off, the terraced hotels, the cable-car station and the jet trails leading over the mountain. And those are more interesting.
Suicidal Peyton Marcozzi
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Gravity N i c k M ee ha n
Seventeen
Inscape 2013
Journey B r ea nna Lig ht
Tired I hear the whisper of the air leaking under the door the world disappears in a blurried shimmer Languor is flowing in my blood, all over my body Uncomfortable, empty, and dry as powder, my mouth droops, half open, like something dead. My eyes, my shoulders, my hands, my legs, my sleepy body calls for nothing but a bed I yearn for my dreamland where there is no touch to drag me back to life I can see the door to dreamland, but it’s locked, plastered with police tape and metal chains My bed is warm, so let it go I’m not getting up, not now, no more. -Anonymous
Eighteen
Sanford School
My Unpredictable Friend Mary Mecca
I
have never been able to play a game of
interviewer cannot possibly imagine that I raise
Hide and Seek. I have never been able to
hamsters, have always wanted to learn Gaelic, and
stand backstage before a performance and long to work in business management. And only
wait quietly for my cue. I have never been in
Sherlock Holmes would recognize that I have an
complete control of my body. I have Tourette’s
indentation between my fingers where I hold my
syndrome–I twitch, I squeak, and I never know when I pencil, have to feel words in my mouth before I may do something unrestrained. It is the ultimate
commit them to paper, and never leave home
method of “living on the edge,” where body and mind without Chap Stick, hair bands, and a safety pin. No, are not one. When I am stressed or excited, my body
instead, one only sees that when I sat down across
does whatever it pleases, and I’m left to explain my
from him, I screeched and clenched my hand and
actions to worried by-standers. I’ve grown
shoulders spastically. Excited. Nervous. Random. Tic.
accustomed to this routine–I’ve had ten years of my
Yes. Living with Tourette’s is not effortless, but it
own small, out-of-body experiences.
forces me to find grace as I handle the imminent
Tourette’s has been and always will be one of my defining aspects, but by no means does it make
questions. It is now just my unavoidable icebreaker—my
up my personality. I am
conversation starter. Sure, it has dominated some
not disabled, I do not
parts of my life, rendering me incapable of masking
live in agony or fear, and I have long outgrown feeling awkward about my inability to blend in at test centers, auditoriums, and
“I have to feel my enthusiasm or winning Hide and Seek, but it has never kept me from what I love to do. Living with words in my mouth Tourette’s syndrome is like having an unpredictable friend who, when I least expect it, throws me into the before I commit spotlight. Initially, I may hate this friend for surprising even embarrassing me, but as I become adjusted them to paper” and to the light, I can begin to take advantage of those
movie theatres. It has
circumstances that I may have previously shied away
become just a sneeze for me–a loud, unpredictable,
from. It is tic-induced moments like these that have
twitching sneeze. Although the occasional tics hardly
empowered me to bring others from the surrounding
faze me anymore, they still stick out in others’ minds. shadows into the limelight with me. It has taught me Perhaps it’s that intriguing first impression I give? When I walk into a room and sit down for an
to take pride in being an individual and to seek out the individuality in everyone.
interview, no one knows that I am a passionate singer, a violist, a water skier, or a runner. The Nineteen
Inscape 2013
T
Trust he tree trusts the wind to blow the leaves away
The shore trusts the waves to return each day The flower trusts a little bee to bring up a generation If they all can do it Why can’t we
The Attendant Ni ch ola s M e eh an
Twenty
-Jordan McMillan
Sanford School
Boy Out Of Order
B
oy out of order
Broken, broke
Order a new one
Waiting, wait For the girl with rough hands
One that won’t break
Rough hands and hard eyes
Breaking was easy
Eyes that drill
Easy to fix? Fix me?
Drilling into my body
Me, the boy out of order
Nobody cares
Order a new one
Who cares about me?
One that will work
Me, the boy out of order
Working well?
Order a new one
Well, not anymore
One with standard features
More repairs
Features that are simple
Repair the boy out of order?
Simply tell him what to do
Order a new one
Do this, do that
One that will make you smile
That the boy out of order couldn’t do
Smile, daddy’s going to buy Buy you a new boy
-Christopher Malafronti
Boy out of order Out of commission
Text Value I v a n a Gat ic a
Twenty-one
Inscape 2013
Boot I v ana G ati c a
Twenty-two
Sanford School
Caterpillar The chains of this purposeful creation This vessel shows a mirror, a clone of what you wish and are For this isn’t a valid identification of this bounded equation Movements that resemble tar and maneuvers that are seen from afar Until the end of my transition Why will my wings steer my story? And my past be left with the thoughts The intuition that is beyond potent The frame that distorts my entity But by no means is as paramount For the lotus has not yet been opened -G a v i n G i b s o n
Extension Jill P e mbr o k e
Twenty-three
Inscape 2013
The Promise The suicide notes fill the dresser draws She liked to write when she was bored The locks were all brand new The door reinforced so she couldn’t break through The windows were plastic Her shoe laces elastic She was monitored 24/7 In bed, lights out, by eleven And she would rise with the sun Rise every day with no one They thought that I could help Apparently we used to be friends They let me out at quarter to three Because they said that she liked to talked to me She talked about life under lock and key And how she used to love a boy like me Her memories were all fuzzy Like the edges of some long forgotten dream Her words were all slurry Like the frayed ends of a worn carpet’s seams He had black hair and black eyes And a heart that never lied She said he loved her till the day he died He promised that he’d stay forever She said that they did everything together They even tried to leave once Or at least she thought She couldn’t really remember What happened after the first shot
Distorted Truth Mat hild e T err ass e Twenty-four
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They carted me away at quarter to four Because they said that she couldn’t take anymore But I could hear her screams through her door And I could remember what the tears were for They thought that I could help Apparently we used to be friends I promised id be there until the end Or at least I thought I can’t really remember What happened after the last shot -Christopher Malafronti
Twenty-five
Inscape 2013
Corruption It’s often said that no two fingerprints, snowflakes nor people are alike. But in this world are two eyes alike? No two eyes see the same death, destruction, or beauty. In this world we judge what we see. We jump to conclusions and do not take witness to the hidden beauties that surround us. Look at the trees! Look at the frogs! Then there are terrorists that try to take it all away. But in the end are we any different than them, America? -John O’Connor
Smoke Breanna Light Twenty-six
Sanford School
Egotistical Shame Br ea nn a Li gh t
Twenty-seven
Inscape 2013
R
Ray of Light ain spills from the sky, Tears flow from my eyes. Not a glimpse of sunshine can be seen,
Not a hint of hope is agleam. My stone cold heart cannot feel the pain. The pain of loss, suffering, and shame. All I am able to feel is numb. Then the ominous darkness begins to come. But suddenly, a ray of light descends. My warm heart begins to beat again. Now I see that not all is lost, Now I see that nothing is at cost. I am finally able to see the ray of light. Now I see the gift of sight. The gift to see the hope and delight. The gift to see the end of all plight. -Brooke Finnicum
Light Breanna Light
Forge a new path, Acknowledge a source to a pool of tears. Some friends are worried Concerning me. -Kyle Oberle
Twenty-eight
Sanford School
How I Found Jesus While Sitting on a Couch
friend who I hadn’t seen in months and in that time had grown to become the ideal girl friend in my head. I wrote of her, “Sweet, funny, brings out both sides of me. She doesn’t always know what to say or do, but she always seems to do the right thing. Never has she made me feel inferior outright – only because she can be so incredibly kind, understanding and a positive contribution to my life that I want to be more like her. She inspires me to be a bigger person
J
Mary Mecca
and let the little things roll off my back.”
esus does not just exist on Sundays in churches
I went on to write about one of the most haunting
with filled pews of parents hushing fidgety
moments of my life: on a camping trip, sitting in a
children. He exists always and with everyone
tent, scissors in hand, searching for a reason to not
who loves. As a former fidgeting child, I wasn’t
use them as the tool of my demise. But she was
always aware that He was there at the forefront of
there with me. She gave me a reason – no, several
my every move. It felt natural to visit Him once a
reasons to combat my impulse. Hers was the
week, then leave Him alone the rest of the time. I
shoulder I cried on that night as I explained that I felt
couldn’t comprehend such ceaselessness of ever
undeserving of life. Because I even had considered
watchful presence. I didn’t understand until the last
offing myself was proof enough of it. I wrote down
week of July which I spent at Camp Pecometh, a summer camp run by a Methodist church. My specific camp week there was made up of about twenty teens and involved us staying up all night, hanging out together, and discussing the Bible and our spiritual lives as Christian teens. I began the week with an open mind and a plan to make lasting friends, but with a lack of faith or focus on honoring God. About midway through the week following an afternoon bible study, my
God Peyton Marcozzi
fellow campers and I were told to take our notebooks and spread out around the cabin. We were asked to think and write about what was on our minds after the discussion. I began to write about my Twenty-nine
Inscape 2013
my story as I dug deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit of self pity and loathing so that by the time I had finished, I was in tears. As quickly as I could, I wiped the wet from my face and ran to find Mary, one of the counselors, in hopes that she could talk with me. She and I sat down on one of the sofas in the cabin and I asked her to please read what I had written. After a moment with my notebook, she looked back up at me with new eyes. I saw sadness and a little pity in them, yes, but I also saw determination – a promising glimmer of hope. I’m not sure what I expected to
“I was searching for someone who would listen to me”
get out of talking to Mary. I was searching for someone who would listen to me and
He specifically
somehow believe me when I said that I hated
pulled from my eyes
myself. What I wasn’t looking for and didn’t
that one drop to
anticipate getting was a solution. I won’t pretend to
show me that He
remember all of the words that were exchanged
was there. I made
between us during that momentous conversation,
myself a promise
but I do remember this: She asked me, “Mary, are
that day. I promised
you ready now to accept Jesus into your life?” I
myself that I would
nodded. Then I hugged her. And when I hugged
never be without
Mary, it felt like so much more, as though there
Jesus again; that I
were more of me with which to hug. When I pulled
wouldn’t lose sight
away, Mary wiped from my cheek a large glistening
of my belief in him;
tear drop that had formed there, as if in response to that every now and the overflow of love in my heart.
then, I would stop
Belief made me do it. The love in my heart wasn’t
and ask myself,”
for any one person; it was for the idea that I was not Where is Jesus? Is He here with me now?” Even and never would be alone. To me, that singular tear
during the school year, perhaps especially during the
represented the presence of Jesus within me and
school year, I would stop and inquire as to His
standing next to me, watching proudly. More
whereabouts. The question became a sort of check
directly, I like to believe that
on myself- whether or not I was doing or thinking
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Sanford School
something that was worthy in Jesus’ eyes. Even
Feathers Lu c y B ens on
when the answer was “no”, I found that He was never too far off. Jesus has always been with me in this way, and I know now that I will always be with Him. Thirty-one
Dance Over Time Dominique Bivens Inscape 2013
True Colors The real you, Where is he? The real you, would take me to the courts, would keep me there until 11:30 pm. The real you, You showed me the real you when you didn’t show up. Me and Mommy waited for two hours. I couldn’t wait any longer, I had to leave. I had to handle my business, like you taught me. The real you, I know he’s somewhere inside still. I just can’t find where. But I’m done searching. I’ve looked for 10 years now, I have to go. Graduation is in June. And I can’t be late. The real you, was who I never wanted to leave. You needed to be with me, So I thought. Turns out I needed you. That’s why I hung on for so long. But your Princess is all grown up now, She’s preparing to be Queen. The real you, I keep asking around has anyone seen him. If only I could find you, as easily as you left me. How could you be okay, with not contacting me for six months? I guess you were done with me. Well, I was nowhere finished with you. Thirty-two
Sanford School
The real you, would push me to my limits, until I cried like the six year old I was. 5’1, but I stand as tall as you and play defense like the forward you are. I wish I could give credit to you, for who I am today, and I how play now. But I can’t. The real you, told me not to dwell on the past, “Shake it off and keep going.” Well, all we have is a past, and I’m not mad anymore, sad on occasion. But somehow your nonexistence which was once presence, Still affects me and makes me stronger. So every now and then, I shake stuff off and keep going. The real you, I would pay to see the real you in action just once more, before I go. Would you ever pay to come see me in action? One of my movies I produce or even a game I coach? I know the real you would, So I’ll gladly leave a ticket for him or invite him to a premiere. But I won’t wait at the door. I know better. The real you, taught me every position on the court. They tell me my knowledge of the game is rare and exceptional, because I used our past to make a future for myself. Not for the both of us, because I can’t find you to let you have parts. Because even if my faith allowed me to share with you again, I could never let you steal my only memories, of the real you. -C h e l s e i M a c k
Thirty-three
Inscape 2013
Wing L u cy B e nso n
Thirty-four
Sanford School
Angry Owl L u cy B e nso n
L
Untitled istening to girls twitter and chatter
I'm sorry I covered my paper halo in gold paint
I wonder if my screeching is that piercing
and pretended to belong in heaven
I wonder why our ears are oblivious to our
but sunshine, don’t come bitching to me
tongues and our minds do not have nets
when your glow fades and you fall to the ground
to filter trash from an ocean of noise.
because all you ever were
I wonder if they know where the world goes
was an adolescent jumble of chemicals
when they close their eyes
young girls brush dust off glass slippers
I try my best to not be ridiculous
forgotten in the backs of their closets
but the emotions of a fifteen-year old girl
and old women wrinkled like grapes with suntans
are like a bat:
wonder why they never shattered
hopelessly blind
into a million and one pieces
they love the sound of their own voices
sharp as a clock hand
you can keep forever in its rainbow box
striking midnight
filled with rhinestones and covered in gold foil and gallons of perfume trying and failing
-Caroline Fritz
to cover the smell Thirty-five
Inscape 2013
Fingerprints Sometimes I think the spots on the moon Are fingerprints left by God To prove he was there When he painted the starry sky The same sky we watch together every night I asked you to paint me our own sky So I could have proof that we existed You only laughed and huddled closer to me Maybe you thought I was just being silly Like the day you were so mad You didn’t say a word So I sat in front of you and smiled until you finally looked up and had to smile too But maybe I was actually trying really hard To send you telepathic Spanish love notes I said Te amo mucho Necesito tú Me encanta tus besos Tú eres mi favorita Maybe you got them Maybe you saved them in that locker in your heart Maybe that’s where you keep your paintbrushes for our sky Maybe you’re just waiting for the day that I’m too mad to speak So you can paint a night sky Twinkling with plagiarized love notes for me to lift my head and smile to -Jordan McMillan
Thirty-six
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Haunted Br ea nn a Li ght
Thirty-seven
Inscape 2013
I
Late People vs. Early People
much to do because they have so many activities.
Bryan McLellan
passion for their activities. It is the “Tardy” who,
have finally figured out the difference between people who are consistently late to events and those who are forever early.
It must be said. Early people are lazy people. They do not have an active lifestyle, and they do not do anything for society. They have nothing better to do, so of course they are going to be early to their events. On the other hand, late people live a completely
“Tardies” are interested in many things, and they cannot do all of them; but they will try, of course. Because it is part of the late person’s human nature to be morally obligated to participate in many events, it is quite common for “Tardies” to be late to nearly all of their commitments. Unlike early people, late people have a tremendous
“Tardies are usually those people in a neighborhood with the best items at their garage sale. “
different life than early people. The often scorned late person leads a busy and active lifestyle.
being glared at by his frustrated business partners, walks into a business meeting, an hour after it has started of course, and provides the company-saving idea that was needed. “Tardies” are so enthusiastic that they
stay long after events have ended. After they have
Late people are regular contributors to society. While finished participating in this activity, they are already they may arrive late to their events, they are often late for the next activity that they have to go to. the most significant person there. Overall, late people “Tardies” usually have busy schedules with things to are just better than early people. do immediately after finishing one activity. The Late people, or “Tardies”, are the most active
lifestyle of “Tardies” consists of rushing from place to
members of society. They are involved in many
place all throughout the day because of how much
diverse aspects of their community. “Tardies” are
they have to do everyday and how many places they
usually those people in a neighborhood with the best need to be. “Tardies” are those people who do not items at their garage sale. These various items can even have time for lunch. They are constantly using range from autographed baseball cards to fine art by
their lunch time to make up for the time lost for
a local painter. This shows how “Tardies” pursue
being late. A good image of the a “Tardy” would be
many different interests and activities. These people
someone who just ran into an office after finishing
look to use all of their time wisely to benefit the
the forty yard hallway dash in under ten seconds.
world around them. One can find a “Tardy”
Naturally, the brave and noble “Tardies” have
volunteering at the local soup kitchen every
ketchup below their lips from the sandwich they ate
weekend. However, these people often have too
in between events. Because their schedules are so
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busy with no time to spare in between activities,
two groups of people is how late people are active
these people are regularly late to their events.
members of society who participate in many events,
Early people live in the shadow of late people.
while early people are lazy and rarely contribute to
These “Earlies” are not involved in their society or
their community. Ironically, the tardier a person
community at all. They do not have nearly as many
arrives, the more valuable that person is.
activities as late people. They are just plain lazy. The lifestyle of “Earlies” is made up of watching television for hours and hours and sleeping in until noon on the weekends. The average “Early” knows the television schedule for the shows on tbs on any given day of the week. There are two components for why “Earlies” are always early to their events. First of all, these
Illustration Iv an a Gat i ca
people rarely have any events to go to. Secondly, these people have nothing better to do than to be early. They have nothing keeping them from getting to these events well before the start. A good image of an “Early” is the avid tailgater who is painted from head to toe in the appropriate team’s colors. This “Early” is at the game three hours before it starts to lounge around and waste time. Other “Earlies” are there too. They all partake in the food and pre-game rituals that “Tardies” do not have time for. Most likely, “Tardies” do not have the time to even watch the game, let alone prepare for it. “Earlies” can get to their events at any time they choose to. This is why these people arrive early to wherever they go. Because “Earlies” are more punctual than “Tardies“, some assume that “Earlies” care more about their work and commitments than “Tardies”. This is a common misconception. “Tardies” tend to care more than “Earlies”. Also, “Tardies” are more passionate about their work and activities than “Earlies”. The difference between these Thirty-nine
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I
The Intelligent and the Wise
ntelligence knows the proper use of whom, but wisdom does not correct its professor. It knows better than I the looming threat of being kicked out of class on a fall day. Ironically, this sophomoric experience occurred in my second year of high school. Just as my classmates and I thought that we had all the knowledge we needed from our survival of freshman year, I unfortunately felt compelled to test the waters on that fated day. My teacher was standing at the front of the class, directing a slide show on World Literature, when suddenly, his grammar forsook him. As his mouth uttered a preposition followed by a nominative pronoun, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The sound of the ill-constructed phrase reverberated in my ears– I had to fix it! Wisdom would have let the offending sentence go, or at least have waited until after class to edit it… but I knew better! I was Intelligent, after all. So out of my mouth came tumbling the quiet, poorly timed correction, “It’s whom.” My teacher turned. As he realized his grammatical misstep,
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I realized my faulty timing, and a facetious smirk flew across his face as he coolly asked me if I would like to leave the room. While I sunk lower in my chair, muttering various apologies, a small bit of wisdom descended upon me. I began to understand That Intelligence is nothing without Wisdom. Wisdom is the embodiment of Knowledge combined With Life Experience. -Mary Mecca
Sanford School
Unlucky This morning I woke up and I felt like... The 6 pennies you’ve found in the last year Like Lincoln’s eyes I wasn’t watching the sky But the ground Dark and cold Rusted and old In puddles and gum Dirt and scum Alone, on sidewalks And bathroom floors Face down Know not what’s in store Nothing Because people passed me by Because my eyes May never watch the sky -Christopher Malafronti
Corral Jor da n M c Mill an Forty-one
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Otherwise Hold your breath As she walks by So as not to Have it catch Look down when she Is near so as not To let her See Savor it As she says your Name- but never Let her know She is stunning Though when asked She might say Otherwise Trust me- she is Everything that Everyone else Is jealous of My heart beats faster My breath grows shorter My voice is weakened If only she knew She might think Otherwise -Christopher Malafronti
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Inscape 2013
Teardrops Coldhearted lies grip my heart. Nothing but emptiness fills my soul. Betrayed and broken, unsafe and alone. Vulnerability clenches my hand and drags me away. Soaks the ground, drenches it all. Swimming in a pool of tears. Drowning, drowning in a pool of tears. My tears won’t stop, they can’t stop. No one comes to save me. I can hear the cries of others now. A stream of tears, then a river. Crying more. Teardrops flow. -Brooke Finnicum
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Some Hay in the Barn Oliver Fleischmann My father has been many things in his life. He got his thrills riding race horses, explored the world as a traveler, slaked his thirst for adventure sailing the world, then satisfied his intellectual curiosities as a computer programmer. As a child, I could never understand how, having lived so much, he could ever be satisfied by being a hay farmer. To the young me, the change from hacker to farmer seemed backward and counter intuitive. It did not help that, as the only son of the farmer, the slack fell to me. My summer days were, and are, spent either working in the hot sun throwing dusty bails into stuffy barns next to my dad, or hiding. There always seemed to be more work to do. It may be because I was born into it, but I never appreciated the little things, like how good water can taste when your throat is dry, or how good a cool shower can feel after a hot day, or a good night sleep after a hard day. When I was working, I only knew that you would have to be crazy to want to do this, and my dad was crazy. One day, I asked him why he wanted to trade what to my mind was an awesome job like programing for a horrible, awful, miserable, icky job like farming. He told me it was because he did not
like sitting in front of a computer all day. This didn’t make any sense to me. Beyond the fact that, at that age, I would have loved nothing more than to sit in front of the computer for days on end playing video games, not being able to sit still sounded like ADHD to me, and my dad didn’t have that. His job was literally to wait for grass to grow. I didn’t get it. I asked him why, if he did not want to sit on his ass, he didn’t do something easier or cooler than being a farmer. Then he something I will always remember. He said, “I like farming because I work hard for myself every day and at the end of the day I have the results stacked in the barn.” It was simple but he liked it. My father is a very straight forward man. He started life on a farm and left to experience what life had to offer. Most people go through life looking for some higher purpose or a deeper meaning to existence, but they never find it. They think they can find meaning in the cars they drive or the clothes they wear. My father came to the conclusion that, in order to find purpose, all you need is a job to do. Having seen all the world had to offer, my dad thought the best feeling reflecting on the fruits of his labor and being satisfied. He possesses a work ethic which is uncommon in America today. This is not because other people are not capable of working as hard as he does. Most people see manual labor as something to be avoided. Because it is simple, it must be beneath them. My father is not unique because of his work ethic, but because he is content with the simple pleasures of life.
“His job was literally to wait for grass to grow.”
We All Fall Down Breanna Light Forty-five
Inscape 2013
I want four white walls and sunken eyes staring four canvasses for splashing dreams
streaming from my tear ducts
not to create
like Alice in Wonderland,
a masterpiece
I’m scared of drowning
just all the colors in the universe
or of not caring enough
and out of it
to swim
to shine in their faces
I know there are worlds
blinding with the
in the lines like scars of my palms
sheer non-grayness
from long ago swords
splattering outbursts of love and passion
and the whorls of my thumbs tell
so red
the creation story
it bleeds to the other side
in a language lost by time
like a band aid wound sometimes I forget my name
-Caroline Fritz
sometimes I accidentally drop myself in a pile of life strewn like clothes on a fiery floor I want to swallow the sky so my chest can be filled with rain and stars so I can feel what it’s like to be night inside can you see the apathy
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Razors & Knives The words are thrown Like razors and knives Meant to hurt Meant to injure But when they kill You aren’t so sure You meant to throw so hard The heart on the floor Broken Bleeding Barraged Battered Bent Beckons to you Asking why You do What you do So you call back And deal the final blow Spitting out the hate The worst words you’ve managed up to date And it’s not just razors and knives Somehow a bullet escapes Silence below, silence above Somehow an end to hate Somehow an end to love -Christopher Malafronti
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Cracked P e y to n Ma r coz zi
Sanford School
Confined Ni ck Me e ha n
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R
Irrational Passion aising hamsters is no laughing matter–it is a passion. It is my passion, and has been since the Christmas of 2009 when Santa Claus brought me two adolescent male Roborovski dwarf hamsters: Frodo and Pippin. Since then, I have found the joy in raising
children–five to be precise. Hippolyta, Sacagawea, Amelia, Magellan, and Vespucci were
the glorious results of a mistake in microscopic, rodent anatomy identification, rendering Sam, a third dwarf hamster, a “Sammie.” From day one, when I held the transparent, peanut-sized babies and their mother in my hand, I began learning from them invaluable lessons. When I fed them, they taught me how to seize the day, yet plan ahead as they stuffed their cheeks with seeds and corn, food for another conflicts,
then proceeded to hide away
day. They taught me that in
order to resolve
sometimes I must stay up and battle it out, but at other times it’s
best just to cuddle learned that to
up and sleep on it. And as I watched them run on their wheel, I keep my balance I must keep moving forward.
I like to think that in bringing up my hamsters, we’ve profited from each other’s knowledge–mine being in animal husbandry, theirs being in insightful guidance. So while we may only know each other for a short time, their simple wisdom will stay with me long after and will help to guide me toward a life of loving and moderation--eat a little, sleep a little, run a little, and somehow learn to get along. -Mary Mecca
Moon Dance Mathilde Terrasse Fifty
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S
Anger urvivors who experience anger tend to look back on life, And regret.
For they know fully that the wages of sin is death. They look back And see the late nights and the wine, The torn up photos and the fires, The beaten up walls and the fights. And regret. How different life would have been Had they not let the infection control them. How close to God they would feel, Had they not let poison control their thoughts. For now they are dying, everyday,
And must remember the nights when no medication could suffice For the pain the anger brought upon them. Anger – an emotional disease. A terminal disease. A disease that will ultimately lead to death. A death of your emotions – an open door to your regret.
-Kira Stevens
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Math Class This place is devoid of life Of inspiration Of warmth When you finally examine The core of it You find nothing but A cold, metallic ruler Measuring your worth In numbers In figures In terms That the real world has long forgotten
-Christopher Malafronti
Perspective Project I v a n a Ga ti ca Hate didn't end overnight when the couple announced their split for a long time. But when I love again there will be no pain. If a lock is his ocean, just don't look back and use him to adore. -Austin Ford
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Computer Tap
Knowing that one mistake could potentially sabotage
Tip tap space tap tip back.
all his work.
Back back back back back.
What pain
What?
When that one memory escapes and habituates itself
You’ll never know.
into the welcomed thoughts
I can write as many thoughts as I wish on this screen,
Provoking a yearning sensation to just block it out
But my eager pinky betrays me and erases it before
And somehow have a way to make that thought dis-
I even get the chance to review
appear
And re-analyze the thoughts I just so swiftly exposed
Back back back back back.
Then destroyed.
But back is not an option
There’s a fine line between comfort and risk.
The old writer must face his dreaded thoughts that
My problem – I feel no comfort in many aspects of
haunt his work
sharing,
And the old writer has no fear, because fear is no op-
Therefore I take no risk in being regarded nor judged
tion
-The ever so awaited package deal that inevitably is
How ironic is it that the man who writes in perma-
writing.
nent ink feels no shame in his mistakes, rather he em-
How can I put on paper the most revealing of my
braces his disorganized thoughts,
memory?
While I, with my computer and backspace and key-
The beauty of the keyboard – permanence is but a
board, have the lesser amount of courage to share.
memory itself. One would have to destroy his entire piece some
-K i r a S t e v e n s
years ago Had he been writing in ink. Therefore he must first be patient and meditate, Allowing his own world to calm and his own thoughts to reside in order to organize themselves and be exposed on paper only later, When he may decide primarily which of the eagerly waiting ideas may escape from his brain and introduce themselves to the world. What pressure What fear What anxiety
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Inscape 2013
I Am Not My Diagnosis Anonymous
day I fight to overcome my depression and anxiety. This is an ongoing war - and I am my biggest enemy. With the doctor declaring the start to war, he hands over a prescription bottle. I imagine the white circular pills as rusty black bullets. These pills, along with my breathing and therapy, are all I’ve been supplied with to fight this
Breaking Free Rebecca Goodier
grueling, ongoing battle. When I was first diagnosed, it felt like my world was collapsing. Everybody else was so far from me, and when I wanted to speak out, nobody could hear me. I felt alone and terrified. Over the last few months, I learned that life can only be what one makes out of it. I was given this life because I am strong enough to handle it. I know this now; I know that no matter It’s coming, and I can’t stop it. Sitting in the doctor’s office, I begin to look around. This room, since I was a child, has been a safe haven to me. Whenever a bone was broken or a sickness kept me from going to school, I came here and suddenly it was all better- but not this time. This time there was no antibiotic or cast that could heal the reason why I was trapped in this room. As my breathing increases and my body begins to shake, I think back to my father’s advice when I was first diagnosed, “You have to fight it. When you feel it taking over, you have to fight. Remember that you are stronger.” These words replay in my mind as I focus on the breathing techniques I have perfected over countless hours of practice and therapy. Every day is a struggle; each Fifty-four
what obstacles I face in life, I can, and will, overcome them. I am reliving this struggle to fight and survive each day. And every day I am getting stronger. Being diagnosed with Anxiety and Depression Disorder has changed my life in more ways than I could ever understand. On days when getting out of bed seems like an impossible task, I tell myself that I am strong, and I refuse to let this be the defining factor of my life. At first I felt my diagnosis was a handicap. I thought people would judge me, as I, too, was judging myself. Over the last few months though, I have come to realize that a piece of paper with some words on it isn’t who I am and I refuse to let it be. I am not my diagnosis; I am the will to overcome it.
Sanford School
Caroline Ritter
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Graffiti P e y ton Mar c ozz i
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Pollution
D
ead Flowers and CEO Powers Pollution and Desolation Smoke pours from factory towers Natures Execution Global Warming? Gods Warning? Decision and Religion No more sun in the morning Life shot down with precision
Clouded Air P e yt on M ar co zzi
Styrofoam cups, Gasoline hiccups Matches and Ashes An irreversible blowup Teardrops on life's lashes -Kate Holden
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Inscape 2013
As Computer-Girl Sits in Her Room on a Sunny October Afternoon
T
wants a break from her life and to step into someone else’s, babysits because she will need money to buy the Mustang her parents won’t pay for, and doesn’t have a bedtime because neither Photo-Girl, nor Computer-Girl will ever know just how long it will take to finish the assigned homework on any particular night. Photo-Girl couldn’t possibly understand her future self. In Photo-Girl’s world, the hardest part of her day was convincing her mother that the dress she wanted to wear to her brother’s First Communion wasn’t too small. It was her favorite of all the dresses she owned, and it went perfectly with a certain pair of illfitting, white sandals and the new white poncho her grandmother had given her. She had pulled her hair
Mary Mecca
back, put on a pair of dangly earrings and a ring on
he little girl in the photo would’ve revered the
her pinky finger. This cocky princess had then struck
little girl typing on her computer. Computer-
pose after pose with her brother, trying with all her
Girl is a teenager! Computer-Girl has a cell
phone! Computer-Girl doesn’t have a bed time! Computer-Girl wears make-up and shaves her legs and has a second piercing and gets her period and dates boys and wears a bra and reads grown-up books and talks about sex and watches YouTube videos and says bad words and babysits and has been in plays and choirs and musicals!!! But what Photo-Girl doesn’t know, is that Computer-Girl is sad. Photo-Girl doesn’t realize that Computer-Girl
might to upstage, out-shine, and
“Her makeup smears until she looks like a clown”
ultimately steal from him his well deserved spotlight; because, after all, hadn’t he done the same to her 8 years ago? In eleven-year-old Photo-Girl’s mind, being the first born meant that it was her birthright to be the one and only center of attention, except, of course, at school. She knew she wasn’t popular or pretty or skinny or especially talented in any
has acne all over her face and nicks on her legs
way, despite the fact that everyone around her
from shaving. Her periods are wretched and make
disagreed. Photo-Girl had it in her mind that the only
her feel self-conscious, her make-up smears until she way to become popular was to be weird; it was in looks like a clown, and the boys she dates may be sixth grade that she decided to become emo: the cute, but they often end up being rude, self centered strange new word that had spread like wildfire or uncaring. Computer-Girl talks about sex and uses throughout the social lives of middle schoolers. Being bad words because she wants to appear cool and
emo seemed incredibly cool- just the thought of
individualized, watches YouTube videos because she
wearing nothing but black clothing, long hair
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covering one’s eyes at all times and cutting oneself gave Photo
anything- there was no way around
-Girl and her friends chills of enthusiasm for the exploration of
it.
the unknown. It was this foreign persona that Photo-Girl
She felt lost in a school with only 100
attempted to adopt... without success. So she turned to the
kids, ages 5 through 14. With a real
next crazy new concept: anorexia.
sense of hopelessness afoot, she
Photo-Girl especially liked this one for two reasons: one, it
finally realized her passion: singing.
would make her skinny, and two, it attracted much attention;
In the past, she’d always loved to be
these were perhaps the two things Photo-Girl longed for
on stage, but in choir on Fridays in
above all. Fortunately, Photo-Girl eventually realized that in
school, it was extremely un-cool to
order to actually be anorexic, she could literally not eat
show any actual zeal for the material they were singing. So at the beginning of seventh grade, PhotoGirl crushed the wall of false coolness she had built for herself and began to enjoy singing in choir. She joined the musical and became close with the rest of the cast… especially her co-star. May 3, 2008, 7:06 PM- the date and time that Photo-Girl was first asked out. May 8, 2008, ~10:00PM- the date and time that Photo-Girl first ever seriously thought about sex. In the past, “sex” was just a daring, taboo word for the process of procreation. However, it would become the realization of maturation; everybody wanted it, but few knew how to attain it. PhotoGirl became one of those few as she also learned of its many repercussions. It soon went from disgusting to desired to just another
Thanksgiving Project Ivana Gatica
mysterious fact of life as the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and
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Inscape 2013
Evil was picked but remained uneaten.
and safe Garden that was Photo-Girl’s life.
This is how Computer-Girl came to be. Through trial
As the simplistic becomes complicated and
and error; both listening and living. This is why Photo innocence is wiped away like face paint and glitter, -Girl is as she is and why she can never understand.
Computer-Girl knows that she is not the end of the
Photo-Girl never truly gained knowledge or
line. Tomorrow, Computer-Girl will begin to fade as
experience or awareness- a part of her was simply
something new comes into focus. Although her past
replaced by Computer-Girl. This is why Computer-
may help to define who she is today, and her present
Girl is so sad. The constantly growing chasm
helps define who she will be tomorrow, only she can
between herself and Photo-Girl expands while her
define the full person she always is, and yet, there
blissfully ignorant childhood is erased. Never again
is no way of knowing what is just beyond the
will Computer-Girl be able to set foot inside the pure horizon. Feather Caroline Ritter
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Sanford School
The Announcement
will provide the kind of opportunity that I wish I had
T
from the timid, tentative actor who had never taken
Greg Wolf
had as a ninth grader. My first high school acting role was in sophomore year and from there I progressed
his coming Wednesday, I will walk up in front
a voice lesson to where I am today: heading from my
of hundreds of my fellow high school students
Twelfth Night rehearsal straight into a Sound of
and make an announcement. I will say
Music callback for the lead character, with the
statements like, “Do it for the children,” “The worst
experience of performing in my state’s All-State
that can happen is we will paint you green and throw Theatre production of Hairspray, a musical play you out the window,” and “How many of you would
which I had the honor to perform on a professional
have the courage to, right now, run up and punch me stage with some of the best teen actors in the state. in the face?” Why? I will do it because I want to make my fellow students laugh. I want to relieve the tedium of their day. I also want to announce the fact that I am starting a drama club and that they should join. I have been working towards this moment for months, imagining how exhilarating it will be, anxious to know how I will be received. Will they love it? Will they hate it? Of one fact I can be sure: it will certainly be unexpected. I would not have expected three years ago
Now, as I scribble “Theatre” next to the line labeled “Major” on my college applications, I ask myself, “What has sustained this fascination?” I can trace my present philosophy to one particular production which I saw last year: Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson. This rock musical, apart from being ridiculously hilarious, well-written and highly entertaining, made a significant impact on me in how it was presented. The Blending In Jill Pembroke
that I would ever be in this position. In ninth grade, a shy, nervous child, I hurried through these hallways, back hunched under the weight of homework, anxiously awaiting an ending to the insufferably boring day and the inevitably unfulfilling evening that followed. I did not involve myself with the theatre. I was intimidated by the time commitment and the unfamiliar faces. I found myself struggling for purpose, searching for an opportunity: an opportunity to try a new experience, to commit to an activity without pressure, to work through my shyness and my awkwardness, to satiate my imagination, to enrich my life into something more stimulating than the mundane vital functions I was now performing. I was in search of an opportunity to explore an artistic passion. Today, the drama club I am about to initiate Sixty-one
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show took a dry, seemingly mundane and listless subject, the life of our seventh president, and transformed it into an intellectually stimulating, emotionally touching, hilarious and highly unexpected modern vision. The show did to history what I can only dream of doing to daily life: it made it hilarious, exhilarating, thoughtprovoking and unexpected. Next Wednesday, when I stride up and give my announcement, I hope I can somehow embody these qualities. I hope that I can use the power of humor and performance to brighten my classmates’ day, and I hope to welcome them to join me, to give them the opportunity I never had: an opportunity for experience beyond the ordinary.
English Country Side Lucy Benson
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Reflection on “Art” Mathilde Terrasse Andy Warhol once said “An artist is somebody who produces things that people don’t need to
he/she is creating and forgetting about anything not
have”. Does that mean art is useless or luxurious?
related to his/her creation. Furthermore, personal After all, why do people have the need to draw, listen satisfaction comes out of art. Finding the way to state to music or even make movies about their visions? your opinion without any words creates this powerful Why is not voicing their opinion not enough?
feeling of not having to explain yourself. No need of
Human nature has a tendency to be attracted to charming and pleasant objects. However, one’s personal conception defines the adjectives “charming” and “pleasant”. Similarly, art allows anyone to give their own proper definition of “charming” and “pleasant”. One’s aptitude, to transfer their personal views onto a media, is sometimes more effective than to
explanations or
“At times, speaking is just not enough.”
voice them. At times,
justifications. Creativity is open to anyone and anything. Art represents the luxury to achieve success, and to never fail because of its freedom. Anybody is free to create art. Even though some try to
speaking is just not
replicate other’s personality and actions, every enough. And other times, human being is exclusive and will therefore create its speaking is too hard. I own unique work. Differences make art more believe art conveys luxury captivating. – The luxury to let your conscience confess, to represent not just the outward appearance but the inward significance as well, to enable to find but to also lose yourself in your art. Creativity helps in a therapeutically way. It lets one focus on what Sixty-three
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creator, it is understandable that even negative concepts would be attributed back to God. If God created goodness then did God also create evil?
Good and Evil Caroline Ritter “Light is meaningful only in relation to darkness, and truth presupposes error. We only exist in terms of this conflict, in the zone where black and white clash.” – Louis Aragon
Evil is fundamentally outside of the realm of the unmoved mover. A being that is pure goodness cannot simultaneously hold evil. Evil is merely a timerelated concept. Actions done in the pure essence of evilness are premeditated. A person plans to murder an enemy and a terrorist plans to plant a bomb in a city. There is time to develop a clear motivation for an evil action. No actions of pure goodness are truly planned. To plan a “good action” would seem to imply that there was an underlying motivation for that
The world is constantly seen through
action. Goodness is almost achieved thoughtlessly,
contrasts. Things are defined by what they are not.
which provides that humans are instinctually good.
Darkness signifies an absence of light. War signifies as Through its being as a time-related concept, evil ultimately is a human-made concept. Man created a absence of peace. Evil signifies an absence of goodness. Though can these same things be defined singularly? Can goodness exist without evil? When the notions of good and evil are discussed, they are discussed primarily for their dichotomy. This dichotomy, however, does not fully explain the complete ontology of good and evil nor the greater implications these concepts have for humanity’s expression of freewill. Through Aristotle’s proof of an unmoved mover, one can begin to comprehend the essence of goodness. The source of creation, God, embodies perfect actuality, perfect ideas, and perfect goodness. As demonstrated by Plato, there are forms and their particulars within the realms. Humans, the particulars, must inherently have goodness as they were created by the form of ultimate goodness: the unmoved mover. Concepts of harmony, love, friendship, and virtues are all attributed to the source of this unmoved mover. Because God, the unmoved mover, is the Sixty-four
Trapped Rebecca Goodier
Sanford School
system of days,
evil, they would be God. This would also defeat the
hours, and
purpose of the creation of human life, which is to
seconds. The unmoved
become more actualized and thus to become more of
mover did not. The unmoved
pure goodness. Only the unmoved mover, who is a
mover exists separate from any
perfectly actualized being, expresses free will
constructs of time as an eternal
perfectly with pure goodness.
being as shown in Aristotle’s proof. Therefore, the creation of evil cannot
Though perceptions of good and of evil may differ between people because of different
be credited to the unmoved mover.
upbringings, the overall
Evil is an expression of free will by
ontology of good and of evil
humanity that is constricted to the human realm by time. It takes time
resolute. Because of “Evils … stem remains the complexities of the human
to develop evil. Based on the notion that all human life is born inherently good, where does something such as racism begin? A child does not know inherently how to hate. A child is taught how to hate. A child who is not taught that a group is bad because of their race will never come to hate them because of this. Evils, such as racism and hatred, stem from what
from what God does not control: free will.”
God does not control: free will.
mind, one is able to speculate the nature of actions based on the surrounding intentions and circumstances. This remains to be a purely human quality. Though one may never fully know whether some human actions are out of evil or out of goodness, one can deduce through the works of Aristotle
Where did humans obtain their free
and Plato that goodness
will? Free will is another example of the relationship
originated with the unmoved mover and evil
between a form and a particular. The unmoved
originated with humanity through time. The inherent
mover is the form that originated free will. God had
free will of humans and any expression of evil that
the free will to create life as an unmoved mover. The
may result from it merely demonstrate the lack of
particulars also retain that free will, but the
actualization of humanity in comparison to their
expression of it is different. As humans are not fully
creator: God.
actualized/imperfect beings, they do not use this free will in a way of perfect goodness constantly. This allows for why humans choose evil. Free will is what designates a person as a person and not as an animal or machine. If a person did not have the ability to do Sixty-five
Inscape 2013
Civil Rights Poem Chained down with metal unseen
They all fought
by the naked human eye
And we all conquered
We were a mass paradox
We were not free in 1865
Living in a country of freedom and liberty
When the amendment was ratified
But yet, not fully free But here, right now Our freedom was not given
We are finally free
But had to be earned with the invisible fighting fists
We have been freed from the invisible chains
The fists of people who were angry
We have fought for and earned our freedom
The fists were unseen by the naked eye -A s i y a h F r a n k
We fought peacefully We fought with invisible punches Invisible kicks Invisible hits We fought with words With Signs Rosa fought by staying seated Martin fought by preaching Medgar fought through the education system Thurgood fought through the judicial system We all marched We all protested We all fought for our rights But we all did not survive Martin, Malcolm, Medgar And many more murdered
Sixty-six
Sanford School
Sixty-seven
Inscape 2013
A publication of Sanford School Mark Anderson, Head of School PO Box 888, Hockessin, DE 19707-0888 Sixty-eight