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Ink ‘N Art

Volume 1: Issue 2


Ink ‘N Art: The Editorial Staff

Staff: Byrar Kader Mary Rogers Brooke Hare Paige Lammes Geralyn Halmond

Faculty Advisor: Mrs. Jaccarino Special Thanks to Mrs. Warth and Mrs. Cassale, Art Teachers and Mrs. Murgillo, Technology Instructor

Table Of Contents The Road to Ink n’ Art…………………………………………….1 “The Harmonies of Spring” ……………………………………….3 “This Should Have Been a Short Story”…………………………...4 Featured Senior Artist: Julie Ryan……..…………………………..5 “Hospital Bed”..……………………………………………………7 “Not Unbroken”…..………………………………………………..9 “Love”……………….……………………………………………..10 “Untitled”…………………………………………………………..11 “Shadow Standing” …………………….…………………….……12 “Harjo’s LIne”……...………………………………………………13 Life’s a Beach: a collection of shell art work…….……...…………14 An Angel’s Heart………..………………………………………….22 Art work by various student artists………….……………………...25

Cover Art by,Morgan Bauch

The Road To Ink ‘N Art 

Two student literary publications figure into Brockport  High School’s most recent past.  They are entitled The Quill  and ARTicles.  The Quill was originally published during the 1970s and  showcased the creative writing and art of BHS students.   Original poetry, short stories, essays and art were submit‐ ted on an ongoing basis, and the student collection was  showcased annually each spring. The Quill gave student  writers an opportunity to share their passions and emo‐ tions in a manner not available anywhere else.  Students  anticipated the release date of The Quill, eager to read  their original, published work as well as the contributions  submitted by their peers.    ARTicles, an annual publication of art and literature was a  product of the 1980s.  According to Paula Zagata, Literary  editor in 1988, ARTicles was a “Collaborative effort in‐ tended to showcase the creative and artistic talents of our  students.”  Teachers of art and English all encouraged stu‐ dents to submit their work to this publication.        


The Road To Ink ‘N Art 

The Quill was reinstituted in the early 2000s by a group of  students interested in taking advantage of the internet  age; they recreated The Quill in an online version, where  student work was published online, on an ongoing basis.   In 2006 the yearly print publication was revived as a col‐ laborative effort between the student editors of The Quill,  desktop publishing classes and various art classes. This  most recent, 2011/2012 edition of The Quill has undergone  yet another transformation! In the spirit of a stronger part‐ nership between art and literature The Quill was renamed  Ink ‘N Art. We are taking advantage of 21st century tech‐ nologies and using this newest online publishing venue.   We are pleased to continue this fine tradition of showcas‐ ing the talents of Brockport High School students.  We  hope you enjoy this edition of Ink ‘N Art.    

Ink n’ Art 2

Art work by Heather Radford

“The Harmonies of Spring” for Ella First crocus yellow, pink, or white, testing winter’s snow, First lilting gentle southern breeze beneath a beaming sun, Brightly colored singing birds herald the season’s rise, These blessings after winter’s sleep will o’er the landscape reign, but have not grace to offer like your voice’s sweet refrain. For in that voice, your laughter sweet, my name your calling sings, is all the graceful wonder of the harmonies of spring.

By Jon Kerner 3

“This should have been a short story” (Anonymous) I plan to fix up our barn. We have a whole system in placePlumb this, wire here, knock this wall out. A lot of money will probably be involved. All I really care about are: some old pictures and posters of mine That have no place in the house, An armchair that is constantly the beginning of interpersonal turmoil, My record player with my father’s vinyl (plus a few I picked up along the way, but these blend into the story of the rest), A broken Yankees bobblehead, 4 inch statue of a man hugging a giant bottle that reads “drinking is the best way to find if your neck leaks”, And perhaps the bin of college textbooks I’ve now moved 9 times. I have no interest in doing any of the workFixing the roof, leveling the floors, dry walling the …walls I just want to have a place where all these things can exist. Where I can look at them and think back. They are harbingers of memory, although none of them played any part, Save for being on the wall at the time (exception- a few of the records. I still can’t hear “Abraxas” without flushing a little). I also have no interest in spending time in the barn doing anything. I imagine it will become a time warp- I will sit in the arm chair And magically 2 hours will have gone by. The place will cease to be part of this consciousness Or this world. To the point that even the barn itself will exist Only as a reference to imaginary yearnings. It isn’t even a barn. It’s a large garage, But that moniker can’t elicit pastoral images of romance or the past. 4

Featured Senior Artist: Julie Ryan


Interview With An Artist How did you get started in art? “I’ve always done art, since I was a kid! There are lots of artistic people in my family.” Favorite medium (paint, charcoal, ink, pastels, etc.) to work with? “Pencils– graphite, mostly black and white.” Favorite place to work? When are you most creative? “Outside! I feel more inspired by nature.” Plans after Graduation? Are you planning to study art? “I am going to study interior design. I will attend MCC first, and then go to an art school.” Who inspires you to do art? “No one in particular, but back when I was young my cousin Jay inspired me. He would send me his art work in the mail.” Are you working on a piece now? “Nothing in school, but at home I am working on an oil painting. It is a town scene, by a river. I am doing it similar to work in the Romantic Period.” What advice can you give to people who are interested in art? “Do what inspires you, do what you want to do, and not what others you to do. And, practice, that’s how you get better.”


“Hospital Bed” by Anonymous I am here alone, by myself, besides myself. I can become harmony to nature's sweet melody. The sweet smell of the virgin blooms. My stomach turns. To sweet. To sickening. The melody is harmonized with the horrible human noise. The animals pause to see the outsiders; "he has been here before He's doing that awkward, horrible mating call again" I taste the bitter vile. As the sweet smell mixes with the acidic one in my nose. I bend forward again. Against the sharp roots of a fallen tree. I can feel my hands bleed. The deer turns its head; "He is staying longer than before. Poor things, no mate for him." Then bounds away in search of his own love.


I fall backwards on the uneven ground A twig stakes the side of my neck. The breeze carries the scent away from me. As my fate falls into my eyes A poor dead butterfly That couldn't escape the first frost. Others call out his name That echoes through the woods to take him back to his comfortable bed "Here comes those beautiful creatures." Here comes those beautiful creatures, Brushing through our woods. Their hard hoofs crunch branches and leaves They walk with some grace and pride, But stumble on the uneven ground. Their scent carries through the cold breeze. The breeze runs its smooth hand across my face. Their scent fills my mouth. Too sweet. Too fake. I bow my head as they come closer, And run off to my den. 8Â

Art work by Kaitlyn Durant

“Not Unbroken” By Dwenna Nelson This organ does not beat in the belly where betrayal sinks like a stone and presses through the bottom worn so frail and thin enough to see through. Nor does it beat in the head where thoughts run and run and run through a maze of malcontent that threatens to collapse in on itself trapping my memories our poison history there forever. Art work by Ryan Luce

No beating drums in the feet that have worn a path to your door but have never gained admittance by way of secret knock or battering ram or girl scout or Bible not even a peep hole into your enigma but only my distorted reflection staring back at me with pity in her eyes. It beats not in the ears hot with shame. Nor in the hands clammy and cold or in the mask I wear. To be true, it beats not at all at all because it is not unbroken.

at all 9

What… Not a feeling Not an emotion A commitment, a promise An unconditional pledge.

When… Anytime Any age Through the storms and pain Among the betrayal and rage.

Where… Home Or a foreign land Cannot be escaped Will not be ignored.

e” By Bryar Kader “Love” by Bryar Kader

Why… Why not?

Painting by Shane Chichester

Painting by

Who… All humanity And all the Earth For God Above loves all From kings to crooks.


“Untitled” By Tyler Goodman The trail I see a trail to guide my way Where will it end? Will I follow? I will The trail takes me to a familiar sound I hear the chirp of an early morning bird Where does it come from? What does it do? I follow The bird leads me to the dead I rub my hand acrossed the the fallen tree whose roots expose a rough and scattered past once buried underground Why is this tree lost? I sit A wonderful scent reaches to my nose It is the air which is much clearer than inside the musky building. What makes the difference? What makes this possible? I leave it behind me. 11

“Shadow, Standing” (or: You standing, not on a corner) Not a painting by a tortured soul Comprised of singular, thoughtful strokes And mixtures of pigment running together Not a metaphor Lilting through the brain Sticking to thoughts like sap on a tree Then seeping down into the feet At this hour of sideways sun streaks It’s easier to look down behind longer legs alien head waving twig fingers holding and tapping The curl of the smoke still thereLight, greyCalculating densities And whether or not it’s that different From what’s real, Connected there at the heel. Inside is only black

Anonymous Art Work by Heather Yu


“Harjo’s Line” By Dwenna Nelson She is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window She can’t remember how she came to be there, her thin indecision swirling around her in a cool breeze of emotional detachment that keeps her floating in limbo between up here and down there. She is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window If she lets the madwoman in the attic out the silence will cease and maniacal laughter will float down. The keys jingle just at her belt. She is the woman hanging from the 13th floor window wearing someone else’s life. From the ten fingers clutching to the ten toes dangling she percolates a pining in her veins as her left hand begins to let go.

*italicized line taken from Joy Harjo’s poem, “The Woman Hanging from the 13th Floor Window.”


Art by:

Life’s A Beach

Hanna Gira Sam Mistretta Justine Kenney Jessica Mayer


An Angel’s Heart By Bryar Kader

Part 1: The Battle

Artwork by Terry Mann

Peering over the ledge of the sheer cliff, Japheth’s entire body shook with excitement. He wanted to simply jump off and not even bother with the ambush. What nonsense! However, deliberately disobeying a higher-ranking officer was never tolerated, especially when the officer is the Archangel Michael himself. Japheth observed the other angels around him. All of them, including him, were dressed in armor made of a luminous white metal set aside exclusively for the use of the Angelic army. Breathed into existence by Yahweh, the Creator and Lord of the Universe, along with the rest of the Heavenly Host, the Angelic warrior class was headed by Prince Michael, the Archangel. Japheth glanced at his bold leader and realized how calm he appeared. In fact, after looking into the reflective armor of the Angel to his left, Japheth discovered that he was 15

the only visibly anxious soldier in the group. He marveled at how his brethren could appear so composed right before such a crucial engagement. Five demon lords, about three hundred cubits away from the angelic legion, were making their way toward the Sumerian city of Ur. Their mission was the same as that of any other of the Soulless Ones: to tempt human beings into sinful practices and then crush them into total submission. It had been their goal ever since they were cast out of the Divine Realms, along with their conniving leader, Lucifer Morningstar. Whenever demon lords showed their cursed, ugly faces, it meant that the Fallen One was at work. Why Lucifer was targeting Ur, Japheth had no idea. Leaning over to his comrade, a tranquil Angel named Jacob, Japheth whispered, “What do you think that they want? We have not seen a demon lord in over one hundred years.” “I do not know. It is rather strange,” Jacob replied, trying not to draw attention to himself. He looked in Michael’s direction, probably to see if the Archangel noticed his quiet response. “Well, whatever it is that they want, it must be quite important, or else Yahweh would not have put Michael in charge.” Jacob glanced over and gave a quick nod. The last time Japheth served under Michael directly was after the Great Flood, over three hundred years ago. He had helped ward demonic spirits away from the only remnant of life left on the planet, the humans and animals inside a giant ark built by the man called Noah. Japheth alone saw Michael thwart away at least ten thousand desperate spirits in that year long mission.


As the demon lords came closer and closer to the point below the warriors, Japheth’s body twitched and shook more and more. It had been ages since he had had a battle of this magnitude, and the sheer thought of confronting the monstrous beings made him almost giddy. Come on, a little closer, he thought. Just a little longer. Japheth took a break from watching the dreadful beasts below to observe his surroundings. The landscape was virtually bare, covered with light brown sand. The occasional rock dotted the desert, but otherwise it was fairly plain. The thirty cubit high cliff itself was the most interesting feature in the location. Japheth found the area boring, as he did most areas on Earth. Earth had had quite a few extraordinary moments in its relatively short life of only two thousand years. However, ever since the Great Flood, Japheth found the planet rather dull and its inhabitants even more so. Being overcome with boredom, Japheth once again returned his attention to the approaching demon lords. As the lords walked right below him, oblivious to the presence twenty other beings some fifteen cubits above their heads, Japheth looked to Michael for the signal to dive in. When no signal came, Japheth began to worry that he would miss his opportunity. What are we waiting for? he thought. He watched in agony as the demon lords walked along their path. A fire arose in Japheth’s spirit. He refused to let this battle slip away. He defiantly dove down the jagged cliff toward the demons, ignoring any shouts of disapproval from his fellow warriors. ***************************************************************


Despite the rage he felt toward his disobedient soldier, Michael was not surprised by Japheth’s actions. He was rash and impulsive by nature. The Archangel believed he would never know why the Creator made him in such a way. During the moment at hand, all Michael could think about was knocking his disobedient soldier off his feet and sending him back to the Divine Realms for a century of choir duty, as was the general punishment for violating orders. However, a quiet voice in his head reminded him that all things have a purpose and that Yahweh is known for working in mysterious ways. Keeping that thought in the back of his mind, he listened to the cries of protest coming from the rest of his Angels regarding Japheth’s rash move. “Oh, curse you, Japheth Fireheart,” he uttered under his breath. Now we have to attack, or else

our cover will be discovered. “Sir, what do you command?” said a tall Angel to his left by the name of Saul. The rest of the warriors were asking the same thing all around him. “Soldiers!” the mighty Angel exclaimed, “Attack!” With the swift fluidity of a wave, the entire multitude launched themselves down the cliff toward the great, horned demons below. Michael saw that Japheth had already begun the assault, and was doing pretty well for being the only warrior on the ground. The fiery demon lords stood in a circle around the lone Angel, each swinging their shadowy Hell swords, forged from the eternally burning brimstone of the Underworld. Japheth Fireheart lived up to his name as he deflected each blow with his own blade, blazing in the noonday sun. Suddenly, the largest of the lords lunged at the brave soldier, black claws extended and blood red teeth barred. Its half 18

rotten hands closed on Japheth’s legs and pulled them out from under him. Japheth’s head slammed against the rocky earth as the hellish beast hung over his chest. Just as the demon was preparing to strike his heart with its dark horns, Japheth raised his legs and kicked the monster in the jaw, causing it to land on its back about a cubit away. Michael saw Japheth spring back onto his feet just before he landed his own feet upon the chest of the recently fallen demon. The mighty Angel drew his great blade and drove it into the fiery beast’s chest. The vast wound that resulted spewed black blood and smoke that scorched the ground beneath. The demon lord writhed in pain under the Archangel’s feet, its claws slashing the air around it. As Michael lifted his feet off the beast, the very flame inside its body that sustained it spread forth from the wound and plunged its carcass into a white hot blaze. As the demon burned in its own fire, the battle raged all around Michael. Each demon was surrounded by four Angels. The warriors slashed at the monsters’ legs and dodged their lunging claws. Michael saw Saul, the tall Angel, fall after a hard blow to the temple from one of the demon lords. Michael rushed to his fallen comrade, leaving his demon to burn to ashes. Taking Saul’s head in his hands, Michael looked at the Angel’s slashed face. He had three distinct gashes on his upper cheek and temple from which a golden liquid flowed out. The poison of demon’s claws had burned the skin on Saul’s head, exposing the shimmering brass colored skull underneath. Michael allowed the concern he had for his injured soldier to manifest itself in the form of a grimace on his face. He hated seeing his soldiers in agony, even though he knew that they would always recover eventually. Yahweh created Angels to be 19

immortal, but he also allowed them to experience pain in order to prevent them from becoming too prideful. Although it’s impossible for an Angel to die, it’s very probable for an Angel to suffer, especially one that takes on demons. Saul had lost consciousness in his commanding officer’s arms. Before jumping back into the fray, Michael carried Saul to the base of the cliff and propped him up on a rock. Reluctantly, he left his soldier there to rest and heal. Michael knew that Saul would be back to normal in a matter of hours, as Angels were notoriously fast healers. After glancing back one more time at his warrior, Michael ran to the nearest demon lord, sword drawn. *************************************************** Thoroughly enjoying himself, Japheth jumped and dodged every swipe and blow the demon lords threw at him with catlike agility. At one point he even caught himself chuckling with glee as he slashed at the demon lords one by one. Not once did he think about the possible repercussions of his insubordination. He was far too caught up in the sheer joy of battle. Japheth glanced over his left shoulder and saw that the greater demon lord that had lunged at him had been reduced to a smoldering pile of ashes. He figured that Michael must have killed it by piercing its flare haunt, the region of a demon’s anatomy where its spirit fire resides. The spirit fire is a demon’s life source. It is the remnant of the demon’s Angelic form that was revoked by Yahweh at the dawn of time. It possesses whatever bodily manifestation that the demon takes on. 20

Although Japheth wished that Michael had saved the demon lord for him to finish off, he was nonetheless glad that the monster had been taken down. Returning his gaze to the demon lord in front of him, Japheth plunged his blade into the demon’s leg and watched it fall to its knees. Afterward, he performed a completely unnecessary back flip onto the demon’s back and stabbed the sword through the area along the spine where the flare haunt was. He jumped off onto the ground before the demon lord erupted into a white blaze. Japheth was too enthralled with his own work to notice that one of the three remaining lords had made a break away from the circle of Angels and was headed right for him. He turned around just as the demon was about to bring his blade down upon his skull. Japheth put his sword up in defense, but he knew it was no use. He stood there, eyes closed, waiting for the powerful slash to come. However, the strike never came. He looked up in amazement to see that an Angel had appeared out of nowhere and had landed on the back of the oncoming demon. As the monster bucked and snorted in frustration, the Angel laughed with amusement, a laugh that Japheth immediately recognized. The Angel turned his face and for a moment, his and Japheth’s eyes met. It was Gabriel, Yahweh’s herald and the Angel of Death. Gabriel wrestled the demon lord to the ground, forcing it to its back. With flawless motion, he leapt onto his feet, holding the monsters great arms with his strong legs. The beast’s teeth gnashed, its long, barbed tongue lashing at the air toward Gabriel. The herald grabbed its tongue without a single expression of pain. In fact, he had a huge smile on his face. Then again, Japheth recalled that he’d never seen Gabriel without that gleeful smile. The demon lord attempted to recoil, 21

but Gabriel’s grip was far too strong. With a jerk of his arm, Gabriel wrenched the tongue from the demon’s mouth. The howls of pain from the monster were almost too much for Japheth to bear. Obviously not wanting to deal with such an annoyance any longer, Gabriel ended the demon’s metaphysical life by jabbing his hand into its chest with flawless precision and pulling its flare haunt right out of its body. He crushed the haunt with one hand and threw the blazing white flame onto the body as he walked away from it. Japheth had been gazing with awe the entire time. His heart pounded with excitement as he watched the fallen brute burn behind Gabriel’s brilliant body. Without even thinking, Japheth exclaimed, “Prince Gabriel! Bless my wings, that was the most amazing thing I have ever seen!” Japheth realized how queer his words sounded after he had said them and wanted to kick himself for it. On top of that, his voice had squealed when he said “wings.” Gabriel, clearly not wanting to hurt Japheth’s feelings, smiled and said, “Why thank you, Japheth Fireheart. You were doing pretty well yourself.” He said this in a tone that completely washed away all of Japheth’s feelings of insecurity about his rash uttering. As the Creator’s herald walked past the impulsive warrior, Japheth Fireheart turned to walk alongside his hero. “I am indebted to you for your actions, sir, but I know that saving me was not your sole purpose in coming here. What message from Yahweh’s throne do you bring?” Gabriel looked at Japheth thoughtfully and said, “You judge correctly, my friend, in both regards.” The herald laughed at his own remark. “I do bring a message, but I had strict orders to share it with Michael alone. If he sees fit, he is allowed to tell the rest of you.” 22

Japheth did not like hearing that he had to wait. His downcast eyes gave away his feelings. Waiting was his second least favorite thing in the world, next to demons. To keep his mind off his anxiety, Japheth looked around at the post battle landscape. The devil smoke that rose from the ashes of the demon bodies both filled the air with a putrid smell and blurred the vision of everyone under its shadow. Japheth saw the radiance of his comrades shine through the sooty air. Japheth assumed that the rest of the warriors must have killed the remaining two demon lords, judging by the lack of gruesome shrieks and the huge amount of devil ash in the air. Devil smoke and ash are the only two things in the world that can block an Angel’s superb vision. Angel eyes can typically see through all physical objects and across great distances. It is even rumored that Michael can tell the color of a pebble on a planet billions of fathoms away from his location. However, the charred remains of demons can horribly impair even Michael’s outstanding vision. His eyes being nowhere near as penetrating as Michael’s, Japheth strained to see even a few cubits in front of him. He looked over to where Gabriel had been walking along side him to see that he had moved a few cubits away and had his back turned. Japheth noticed he was talking with another Angel. The smoke blocked the figure’s features out, so Japheth could not tell which Angel it was. As he stepped forward, the face of the other Angel came into focus, and Japheth realized that the stranger had been staring at him the entire time. He froze as he saw the expression on the Angel’s face and realized who the figure was. Japheth lowered his head and meekly said, “Some fight, wasn’t it Archangel?”


The End


“A picture is a poem with out words.” -Horace


Art work by Morgan Bauch

Art work by Julie Ryan


Art work by Carrie Clay

Art work by Aunnah Jones


Art work by Heather Yu

Art work by Gabby Zaccour


Art work by Alyssa Fiacco 29Â

Ink 'N Art, Volume 1, Issue 2  

A high school online literary magazine.

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