Behind the Brush BCA Litmag March 2013
Behind the brush my fears are hidden by singing. My voice - full of doubt. --Alexander Catoya
Acknowledgements Bergen County Technical Schools Board of Education
Jason Kim, President William J. Meisner, Vice President Todd C. Flora, Interim Executive County Superintendent Raymond Hryczyk Marie E. LaTesta
Bergen County Technical Schools Administration
Dr. Howard Lerner, Superintendent John Susino, Business Administrator/Board Secretary Andrea Sheridan, Assistant Superintendent Richard Panicucci, Assistant Superintendent for Curriculum and Instruction
Bergen County Executive Kathleen A. Donovan
Board of Chosen Freeholders David L. Ganz, Chairman Joan M. Voss, Vice Chairwoman John A. Felice, Chair Pro Tempore Maura DeNicola John D. Mitchell Tracy Silna Zur Steve Tanelli
Campus Administration
Russell Davis, Principal Dr. Raymond Bath, Vice Principal Dr. David Niedosik, Dean of Academics
This issue, entitled “Behind the Brush,” is BCA Litmag’s first Visual Arts themed issue. In holding a Visual Arts competition, we were able to experience firsthand the great artistic talent that is flourishing in our BCA community. Our winning submissions are presented on the following pages, along with some of their worthy competitors. To coincide with this theme, all of the poems featured in this issue are entitled “Behind the Brush,” a concept that the writers took in any direction they wished.
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And the winners are...
Grand Prize: Michelle Guo Honorable Mentions: Jenna Guma Rebecca Kim
Michelle Guo “Ladies’ Night Out” Mixed Media
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Photography by Jenna Guma
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Paper Artwork by Rebecca Kim
Cardboard paper and origami paper
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Alexander Catoya Behind each brush and all its bristles, a handle. Anchored, all it can do relies on its rock. Infixed, the motion of the handle guides the bristles. Without a hand behind the brush, It is useless.
David Heller The lynx need not scavenge, for he is feared. What lies ahead is a life worth living. His ears - the slightest crunch of leaf cannot avoid. His eyes - no minute thing unabsorbed. The legs - they carry his light heart with ease, beyond the brush that conceals the other side. The hare’s eyes twinkle in the starlight. Such an innocent heart, brain, sinew. Beyond that, a fire. Ignited deep within this ticking soul. He knows what lies beyond. Beyond the brush that conceals the other side. The lynx straddles the brush between the two, concealed by mastery of disguise. His leap of faith, a short pounce’s worth. And cold blood flows. The hare’s twinkling eyes illuminate the chilled heart upon the ground. The fire deep within continues to burn.
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Photography by John Macejka
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Painting by Rebecca Kim
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Mika Thomas carbon brush: [ bruhsh] noun. A rod made of carbon that bears against a commutator, collector ring, or slip ring to provide passage for the electric current from a dynamo through an outside circuit or for an external current through a motor. -Access Science Dictionary
A lightning bolt we stung my skin. After trapping nature with a rusted wrench We snipped the tails of fireflies And sent them off to industrialism. Forced electric pulse through heart made of iron, Give the inanimate purpose. Clap the orange rust off our hands And fix my plated darling again. Connect her right arm to left so she can hold me. Join her two eyes so they can both look into mine. Please don’t leave her here in parts Upon the floor with iron shavings And puddles of improperly secured lubricants. Because in this world of technology, Under the shaking from electric sounds, Lies the ideas left to die, When machine was never alive to begin with. We believe the only organic matter on the aged metals
was skin cells of workers who developed tetanus. But when electricity slithers from a laser cut mouth to pliable toes, I know that there is something here, A cylinder piece, a token of humanity you’ll wear, Bolt shut your eyes with carbon. Does that make you half organic? The stakes of carbon I drive through your heart? To edit you until 100% efficiency, I scratch my temples in frustrations and vomit the words mechanical advantage, Input, output, resister, transistor, sparks dance with smoke anyway. Smash your motor and restart again, But my deadline’s soon and there are bills to pay. So for now let the lightning bugs giggle under your lifeless armor, To your best ability, complete the task outlined for you in blue Because while I stand here and fill the forgotten dips with solder God has nothing to say to me
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Photography by Jenna Guma
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Photography by Jenna Guma
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Victoria Mitchell A brush: a brief encounter with someone/something unpleasant
Hello there, I remember that face Darkened with time It’s done an unpleasant thing Your shining eyes have lost their shimmer Bleached from the lime light Glowing dark hair now speckled gray Its soft beauty faded by the many hands who’ve touched it The chiseled body that used to float about Clothed in masculinity Weakened Slashed down by time and fate I remember those days They were happy We were happy Life was a blessing You took my heart Held it in your hands Then tore it in two Ripped it open Blood streaming For all to see its delicate center Pumping air to no avail Gasping for life
Now those hands are cracked, run desert dry Remembering that past I look at you now Dead in a living body You got what was coming A perpetual heartbreaker Your smile is a lie I must be going now Must again brush you off It’s sad to leave you like this When I know your past held more promise than your future
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Talia Green Who will perceive my sins, enough to be forgiven? For what I do not do, For all I do not see, For none I all but feel; This throbbing only numbed by burning liquor or bottle of aspirin Only adhered to when manifested by the hand, For reasons unburdened to a world that would not understand. For what do they see behind the hairs of the brush? A quiet, gentle cringe of the wrist As she is morphed into iridescent beauty As her invisible outlines unveil to all but the blind And the ignorant And the enemy And yet the friend And yet the painter For what lies without dimension behind that brush, A blank nothingness on which on the paint is swept, On which a world is built Brick by brick With each drop of bright oil. And yet, hidden underneath the artist’s masterpiece,
Dwelling somewhere between the thread of the canvas and teal of the paint Is where passion true lies. For, the only anguish crueler than invisibility Is being seen as all you are not. And hanging upon a wall with chipping paint And scrutinized by every passing eye Evoking reactions only your flesh’s flesh feels For they always paint what is shown by the face And yet they never paint what lies behind it.
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Photography by Yuta Takano
Pictured: violist Sarah Haines and cellist Autumn Martin
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Seth Goldstein “Horses Playing Poker” Photography
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Michelle Guo “Woodpecker” Graphite and Ink
David Heller “A Brushing Up Speaks One Thousand Words”
Brush Up on your life Your failures could not care lessFor redemption thrives.
Lori Semerciyan “A Night in the City” Photography
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Photography by Edith Henderson
Self-developed analog photo
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BCA Litmag would like to extend the sincerest of “Thank yous� to Ms. Villanova and Ms. DiAmico-King for their support and guidance in the creation of this issue.
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