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blue print

issue six


EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Jessica R. Jones EDITORIAL BOARD Katherine Qiao Paige Wilson Yeshasvi Mahadev EDITORS-AT-LARGE Davanna White Sonia Lee Ilana Silverstone Iam Hong Glory Brar Molly Swayze Michael Tang Chang Yang Ramisa Rob Priya Patel Hannah Thomas Blueprint is made possible by the support of: University of Michigan Central Student Government Arts at Michigan University of Michigan College of Engineering Office of Graduate Education University of Michigan Engineering Student Government ArtsEngine Blueprint (est. March 2010) is a student-produced literary magazine on the University of Michigan’s North Campus. Our mission is to collect the artistic creations of the North Campus community, composed of the students, staff, faculty, and alumni of the College of Engineering, Stamps School of Art & Design, School of Music, Theatre, & Dance, and Taubman College of Architecture + Urban Planning. © 2017 The written and visual contents (“Work”) of Blueprint Literary Magazine are protected by copyright. Third parties (persons other than the original Author) may not reproduce Work published in Blueprint without first obtaining written permission from the author. Under all circumstances the Author retains rights to reprint, publish, license and/or sell their Work. COVER IMAGE Behind Niagara Falls Kaiwen Sun Photography

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR When the staff of Blueprint held our first meeting of the year in September 2016, none of us could have imagined the tumult of the months to come. It has been a period fraught with anxiety and questions, and a time of unveiling and bitter truths. Change, both welcome and unwanted, looms on the horizon, and emotions are running high. Just as trees memorialize the hardship and abundance of each year in their rings, so too has Blueprint immortalized the emotive swells of the past year in this year’s issue. The tragedy of a painful breakup, the joy of a friend’s laugh, criticism of mankind’s shortcomings, awe for Nature’s profundity – each work is an emotional journey made manifest in ink and page. The art printed here provides a window into the artist’s soul at the time of creation, and I hope you’ll unlock these moments as you read and allow them to invigorate, sadden, humble, and delight. Finally, I’ll bid you a goodbye both bitter and sweet. This community of artists has made an indelible impact on my own journey to become a creator-engineer, and I’m already mourning its loss as I wrap up my time here at Michigan. Yet, I’m thrilled to hand off Blueprint to the mind-blowingly creative and capable hands of our up-and-coming staff members, and I’m truly excited to see how they will shape this publication in the future. As my fourth and final act as Blueprint’s editorin-chief, it is my great pleasure to present you with our 2016-2017 edition, the sixth issue of Blueprint Literary Magazine. Jessica R. Jones

Editor-in-Chief


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TABLE OF CONTENTS

34

Quicksand

poetry

Anonymous

35

Room a Day

visual

H. N. Shin

37

Pounding

poetry

K. Qiao

38

Mirror Mirror

visual

P. Patel

39

Family Law

prose

Y. Mahadev

40

Singapore Clark Quay, 2015

41

Poor Stage, Vibrant Dancer, Rich

4

Freezing the Light

photography

T. LaForest

5

Sunset With Ship

photography

M. Stander

6

Cosmogyral

poetry

K. Bishop

7

Chorus

poetry

K. Bishop

8

Behind Niagara Falls

9

Existential Crisis

visual

S. Adams

Garden: When Architecture Tells a

10

Fracture

poetry

D. White

Story

11

Blitzkrieg

prose

Y. Mahadev

46

Emma

12

Up The Ladder

visual

B. Bellistri

47

13

Fahrenheit

D. Zhu

14

Voluntary Exposure

15

je t'aime (Paris Locks)

16

Ai

17

photography

K. Sun

photography

M. J. Kushner

visual

J. Chen

visual

P. Patel

Charge Clean: A Battery's Perspective

Art ReDefined

A. Kern

48

Quartz Gryoscope

Art ReDefined

T. Nagourney

D. White

49

Providence is Calling

poetry

J. Martinez-Baenen

S. Montgomery

50

Clouds 3

visual

P. Wilson

poetry

D. Zhu

51

Clouds 7

visual

P. Wilson

A Lesson in Legibility

poetry

D. White

52

Clouds 8

visual

P. Wilson

18

Contours 2

visual

J. Kim

53

Sparks Fly

photography

P. Patel

18

Contours 4

visual

J. Kim

54

Fireflies

photography

B. Bonetti

18

Contours 5

visual

J. Kim

55

Tantrum

poetry

M. Massimino

19

Home

poetry

K. Bishop

56

Kaohsiung in the Lee of 85 Tower

photography

M. J. Kushner

20

Floating in a Basket

photography

K. Kochar

57

New Day

visual

21

Love is Companionship

photography

K. Sun

58

Evergreen

photography

S. Hao

22

4:30 AM

poetry

H. Colley

59

Overlooking Paris

photography

S. Montgomery

23

Sweater Weather

visual

J. Jin

60

Seize the Sea

photography

B. Bonetti

24

Mattresses

visual

M. Massimino

61

Lake Michigan Sunset

photography

Y. Wang

25

Carton or Stryver

poetry

D. Russel

62

Vibrant Noise

visual

I. Huang

26

The Smoky Mountains in Early Spring

photography

M. Stander

63

Higgins Lake Winter

photography

S. Montgomery

27

Night Blossom

photography

S. Hao

64

The Oregon Coast

photography

S. Hao

28

The Weight of Time

poetry

J. Martinez-Baenen

65

Recollection of Moments in a

29

Self Portrait

visual

A. M. Kusmierczyk

30

Zhong

poetry

D. Zhu

31

Dewdrops in the Morning

photography

B. Bonetti

33

Decaying Leaf

photography

I. Huang

photography poetry photography

S. Adams

poetry

H. Colley

Fraternity Basement 66

Overflow

visual

K. Qiao

67

Third Trimester

prose

Y. Mahadev

67

Harmony

visual

K. Qiao


BPLM 2017 / Issue Six

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4

68

AA Wolf Violinist

photography

K. Sun

69

Turtle's First Sunrise

70

Reflections

71

Shoes

poetry

Anonymous

72

Harlot Reign

visual

B. Bellistri

73

Forks

74

til bloom

75

visual

S. Adams

photography

I. Huang

photography

I. Huang

visual

B. Bellistri

Highway to Somewhere

photography

T. LaForest

76

Falling For Washington

photography

T. LaForest

77

Popcorn

visual

W. Hua

78

Pens and What We Do With Them

poetry

H. Colley

79

Storm Clouds Over Long Peak in

photography

Freezing the Light Teri LaForest Photography

M. Stander

Colorado 81

ARTISTS AND AUTHORS

Sunset at the marina along Little Traverse Bay, Michigan.


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Sunset With Ship Mike Stander Photography

Cosmogyral Kate Bishop

We are infinitely small when placed beside Andromeda. In fact, she herself is merely dust: a collection of lost souls stuck dazzled by her radiance. Something smaller still is in the making of a new Andromeda, entire constellations thrumming with the purpose of igniting another galaxy into being. Watch, with your aurora eyes, the infrared of my heart in its cage and the ultraviolet way you string your words into nebulae. I am dust in your wake. Quintessent in nature, we breathe. Most of us is unseen, unheard, unspoken, but not unreal. We are star stuff. Walk with Andromeda, follow Sagittarius. You are cosmogyral. With the earth on your tongue and comets in your lungs, it’s as if the universe shrinks at your feet.


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Chorus

Kate Bishop

Every chorus was your name. Whenever I spoke it, its resonance rivaled even the wind as it raged through the mountains, weaving among the pine trees. It took the breath from my lungs and sent it flying. Maybe one day I’ll exhale. Maybe one of these I like to think days the sun that whenever I strum will rise and set my guitar, I’m getting wisps and I won’t have of my life back into me. thoughts of you. With it, I replace Maybe I’ll finally something of yours – learn what to do the way your voice with my hands. wove melodies, or Maybe my words the way your hands won’t all be what I would tell you painted galaxies – if I could. with a whisper I’m getting tired of the morning highway of talking to myself. and a new set of eyes that happen to look like yours. I don’t know how much longer I can hold onto what’s left Even your bones of you. must be decaying by now. Soon all you’ll be is the first snowfall of the season and the melancholy echo of its silence.

Behind Niagara Falls Kaiwen Sun Photography


horus

ate Bishop 9 BPLM 2017 / Issue Six oetry

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Fracture Davanna White

This blanket still smells like you when I snuggle in front of the fire and in nostalgia I remember the feel of naps on leather and the way you’d cradle me, fragile-like a bird like a baby like glass. Ridges of fingers grazing my hips conversation about perfection and how I am your definition. Voluptuous. Captivating. Idiosyncratic.

Existential Crisis Shonda Adams Mosaic

Imperfection is beauty, you claim it makes us human but with heavy breathing and wandering eyes you tell me we can be animals too. A creature fumbling for velvet skin seeking solace in flesh to forget  the demons of your own design, you spend time searching for angels. Between your crushing hands The only angels you’ll hold Are the ones with fractured wings.

Mosaic, 10"H x 10"W, Art glass, stained glass, and vitreous glass on Wedi board. This mosaic was initially created for a healing hearts themed art show. It is an expression of the similarities of grief and random acts of gun violence. Grief triggers are similar to sniper fire- they come from out of nowhere and knock you down. The heart is placed on a hopeful and joyous background. While the joy may appear to be fleeting it is there, one only just has to go for it.


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Blitzkrieg Yeshasvi Mahadev

Up The Ladder Blake Bellistri Monotype Print

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The scent of blood; shrill The sound of battalions; Noxious. I see time,

Come at me like a Bloodthirsty warrior, a hound, A mad cannibal.

Surely, I’m meant for Life past this battle. So, why Am I in a grave?


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Voluntary Exposure Davanna White

Fingers intertwined, brushing of skin Body clumsily sliding into the pew Transgressors united, bonded in sin Staccato heartbeat before we begin Exposure surpassing playful preview Fingers intertwined, brushing of skin Preacher’s poetics flush face in chagrin Messages of mumblings have never rang true Transgressors united, bonded in sin Physically connected, mentally akin He explored my canvas and there love grew Fingers intertwined, brushing of skin Judgment wrestles impulse—battle without win Divine forgiveness I never thought to pursue Transgressors united, bonded in sin Lamenting intoxicating desires within He strips my soul with eyes of blue Fingers intertwined, brushing of skin Transgressors united, bonded in sin

Fahrenheit Deana Zhu Photography


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Ai Deana Zhu

This is how we know– Snowy spoons dishing boiling soup to our pink mouths, Chopsticks plucking coin-purse dumplings off steaming plates, Deposited in our filled bowls. Rough hands smooth our soft cheeks and Bundle us in heavy coats that swallow Our disobedience. This is how we know– 7am eyes squint, will rice to fry as we Lie in bed like fish that won’t flop; Fast hands slip chopsticks into Tupperware and seal our identities with a zip! The taste of midday is a character we know but Cannot make our lips form. This is what we don’t know– Dark mist almost enough to cloud dreams, Hard, clipped sounds forced From hardened mouths. Friends say You’ve got it better in America And no longer mean it.

je t’aime (Paris Locks) Susan Montgomery Photography

This is what we don’t understand– Slaps to remind, not sting, Bitter hours filtered like tea, But we drink only the Concentrated drops. She asks do you have a jacket and Does not wait for an answer. We do not look back and yet we are startled When she cries. But didn’t you know That ai is both love and a sigh?


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A Lesson in Legibility Davanna White

Names etched into parchment, my lines perfect, your lines, slanted We practice every day, slowly, carefully, Until the words become muscle memory Without my guidance you falter, frustrated-Insist that you don’t want my sympathy Even with questionable legibility I say Your writing is beautiful because it is you For a time you ignore the weight of your faults, And improve simply because you want to But as you develop your font Your unique, right-handed scrawl My lines begin to twist The quality begins to fall I’ve fallen in love with your words Systematic irregularities of sound I’ve forgotten the looks of letters And the old are nowhere to be found Names etched into parchment, my lines slanted

Contours 2, 4, 5 Jay Kim Pen on Paper


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Home Kate Bishop

I remember the first time I heard that song. We were gathered on couches in front of the fire. My guitar was out and glittering: flames on polished rosewood. I remember roasted marshmallows under summer sunsets, The Beatles coloring the wind around us. I remember when Ann Arbor was for football games and dreaming, with candied almonds for the drive back home and the imprints of concert lights on the dark sides of my eyelids. I remember how it felt, just barely, to look at you and find you looking back. I remember playing the cello and the saxophone, and the way they sang to me after you had gone.

I remember how the forest sounds when it rains and how it goes quiet once everything freezes over. I remember my first moccasins and my last night at home. I remember running on the beach. I remember my favorite blue pen and not writing anything with it. I remember teaching myself piano and the art of reading people’s eyes. I remember your eyes. In short, I remember the shadows of deer through cedar trees and the grounded stars of New York City. I remember just enough to miss you.

Floating in a Basket Kunwar Kochar Photography

Casually looked up while hot-air ballooning in the Savannahs of South Africa and snapped this perplexing view while coming dangerously close to the glazing hot propane flame.


LoveBPLM is Companionship 2017 / Issue Six

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Kaiwen Sun Photography

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4:30 AM Heather Colley

I detest this hour But I love it because I remember (Though I’d be less tortured to forget) That 4:30 AM is unique to the young And once I’m done being 18 I’ll perhaps have to sleep on time. And so I’m horrifically tired My lids care to shut And my body is no Picture of health But at least this hour’s reserved for the young For few 45 year olds Are still awake At 4:30 AM I imagine they like it like that For all of its toils I’m obsessed with 18 17 was alright too Many songs were about me then (Dancing queen, Saw her standing there,) Fewer now, and fewer still, I fear, Once 19 hits. Love songs are also reserved for the young Not many 45 year olds Care for lofty romancing And so I’ll keep 4:30 AM around If it means to the songs I carry on dancing.

We were on a road trip to Grand Teton National Park. I saw this lovely couple in the middle of the field. The old man was talking to the lady about his painting, the lady was listening and smiling. How romantic. Love is growing up and growing old together-- one keeps the other person company to do the things they love.

This poem was written at 4:30 AM. It was the result of an anxious hour between 3:30 AM and 4:30 AM, until I realized that my ability to remain awake until the early morning is an ability unique to the young. So I thought it would be a great idea for a poem. Naturally, when I woke up at 10:30 AM, the idea seemed notably bogus. That’s the thing about 4:30 AM.


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Sweater Weather Jenna Jin Multimedia

Mattresses Mia Massimino Acrylic on Canvas


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Carton or Stryver Dominic Russel

Under the murky surface, Hidden from what we think is self, Lay somewhere our true motivations; We want to save the world, maybe, We’re moved to achieve.

Treacherous treks from childhood, Real or imagined. A race to busy-ness Crowds out quiet experience, Hidden flitters of purpose.

We craft narratives Of our mountains stretching to the horizon,

Purpose, lost in leaps Between our own mountain-tops And gloomy caverns below,

Carton or Stryver: About half way through my second year of college I had this kind of breakdown and realization that I was approaching life as some sort of anxiety-filled chase toward success, or whatever I thought success meant. This poem is about that realization and, more broadly, questioning self-motives and struggling toward some deeper calling. It’s about finding purpose, if only for a second, in moments and situations where we are able to transcend our own limited lived experiences.

Endlessly echoing Self-doubts and second-guesses. In the quiet, We turn our heads, Seeing millions of mountain ranges, Laid out under the stars. The rocky ridges of others, visible,

Yet contours understood Only from paths Already trekked. It is here, We see true boulders to move And roses to plant. We find our true motivations, Hidden from what we think is self.

The Smoky Mountains in Early Spring Mike Stander Photography


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The Weight of Time Night Blossom Stella Hao Photography

James Martinez-Baenen

The streetlights flicker on just after cold dusk fallstheir timing always did leave something to be desired. You are shaken out of your melancholic reverie by the biting breeze, the twinkling snow - doesn’t matter. You think maybe, this time, enlightenment has found you of its own accord, which is, after all, the only way it does. And you know Something is happening, you can feel It bubbling just below the surface - the apotheosis of your soul, without being too histrionic, is perhaps at hand. And the happiness this brings warms you like a Promethean Fire. But then it’s gone, of its own accord once again, leaving you to wonder if it was ever there at all.

And the happiness passes, leaving only its contours in your mind, like some fitful night’s sleep giving way to dawn.


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Self Portrait

Adrianna Maria Kusmierczyk Oil Paint

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Zhong Deana Zhu I was born in b e t w e e n Two sides e. Being in the middle is not a state of which we were born but a place we will s the s i same p m world e o and n r learned d p to the m walk rest o a of c even or curve to refuses that line straight stupid that-- towards running lives our line a balancing act but do my black hair and muddy eyes make me more

of one side than the other? Zhong reads: I was born in between two sides of the same world and learned to walk in a straight line, that refuses to curve or even compromise. Being in the middle is not a state of which we were born but a place we will spend the rest of our lives running towards -- that stupid straight line a balancing act but do my black hair and muddy eyes make me more of one side than the other?


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Dewdrops in the Morning Brielle Bonetti Photography

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Quicksand Anonymous

How could someone who affected me so deeply, whose lips never escaped the wanderings of my mind, whose hips left an imprint on mine like a handprint in sea-soaked sand, Whose secrets I collected like sand dollars and seashells that I strung together and wore around my neck, invisible to the outside world, but that clung to my chest and swayed as I walked. How could someone like that suddenly evaporate into thin air like cotton candy on the tongue, so easily forgotten on the roof of my mouth? I’ve forgotten what it was like to rest my chin in the nape of your neck, the warmth of your chest on my lips, the angle of your crooked smile as you bowed your head in unprecedented embarrassment. The way you would pull at my shirt And bite your bottom lip. All of these things about you feel so distant to me what once dangled at the surface of my consciousness now is chained like a sunken ship to the sea floor. Decaying Leaf Isabelle Huang Photography

This was taken during a photography excursion with MPC last fall in the Arb. Even though it was wet and cloudy outside, there were a lot of interesting leaf textures.

Why can’t I feel you anymore

Why can’t I have you anymore Why can’t you hold me in the palm of your hand, instead of watching as I slip through your fingers.


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I created this project during my summer internship at GE as a user experience designer. Everyday I would come to work, sit down, pull out a sticky note, and draw whatever was on my mind in a confined space. Being able to do this gave me the creativity and practice of muscle memory of my hands doing what I do best - drawing. I enjoy humor in my work, both professionally and personally. I collected all these sticky notes and posted them on my wall at work. My co-workers would come and look at them, often questioning why I drew a certain item that day. The majority of the time I did not have an answer to that, but was able to get a good laugh out of it.

Room a Day Hanna Shin Pen on Paper

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Pounding Katherine Qiao My ears are. Still pounding. Pounding from heat, from the depth of my shouts. My voice Reverberates in my throat that can’t Take anymore. It sounds Utterly foreign. Doesn’t belong at that high pitch, gargled With acid that threatened to explode and the Words of poison that I hated to spill but did anyway with a vigor that scared everyone, Me most of all. A quarrel doesn’t talk. It Screams. Washes up and scrambles the words on the sand faster than any creature can decipher Leaves nothing to show for it than words that I hated, Words that are lined with filth and disgust and, if they’re true (they are), they Open the wounds that hide under this roof, It’s so easy to pretend once we walk out the door. Or likewise, Once any stranger Strolls in. I think What needs to be said is never Said. The idea of living in lies disgusts me. But a hypocrite is a hypocrite, and I am one of them. If the stupid boy beside me is cracking the best jokes ever Am I Allowed To Stay sullen? My ears have cooled. Slightly. At the tips. After time has passed, The fight has subsided. If only For a little while, before the imminent footsteps start again from the neighboring room and The tantrums start again from someone who’s in the worst position to have such an attitude and They, I, all of us, we, open the wounds Again. I wonder how I’ll act Come Monday. Perfectly, I know. What’s going to keep the cycle of silence hidden below ground. Bye.

Mirror Mirror Priya Patel Etching Mirror Mirror seeks to challenge today’s unattainable standards of beauty.


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Singapore Clark Quay, 2015 Mark J. Kushner Photography

Each digital panorama is produced from 12-24 individual frames that contain a portion of the panorama and which are initially captured in color. Each portion of the panorama consists of three exposures that are used to generate high dynamic range (HDR) color sub-images. The HDR sub-images are stitched to create the panorama which is then converted to B&W .

Family Law Yeshasvi Mahadev

The rain-splattered windows cast speckled shadows across the wooden floorboards. Max nursed her third stout of the night gloomily, despite her win at court that morning. Was the lenient judge the reason for her success? Or her own proficiency? It was indiscernible to her; as she’d inherited both the Judge’s name and legacy.

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Poor Stage, Vibrant Dancer, Rich Garden: When Architecture Tells a Story Jiming Chen Chapter 1 Entrance and the Stage

I finally decide to go through the tiny dark door, though I see the red sign

saying NO ENTRY. The present world offers me nothing but the sense of desolation and emptiness after centuries of being in ruin when this mining surface plant was shut down, nothing deserves my staying. So I walk toward the sign and through the door.

Not sure how long I walk in the tunnel, it is actually an ancient deserted shaft.

The light of the candle in my hand is flickering, I try to protect the flame, but then I realize there is no wind here at all, I can’t save it, I am powerless.

Just at the moment the candle extinguishes, the light from the exit takes its place,

the exit gets larger and brighter. It must be that world, I must have arrived.

Just too quiet. The world is composed of a huge number of stages, I am now

standing on one of them. I can see the other stages, but they seem to be in different parallel spaces, no access to be found, no voice to be heard, no ways to be contacted.

I look around. The stage seems to be presenting the world I come from but

in the past. None of the constructions are complete, they are all fragments, floating in the air, but are all still and in silence. Everything is weather-beaten, full of rust but they have just stopped rotting away. They must have been staying here for a long time, like mummies, keeping their last smiles from the moment of their deaths.

I wish to touch them. I walk forward but then I find my shoes wet. It’s a river in

front of me, so flat and so calm that I fail to notice its existence. I can’t cross it, I can be only sitting in place, watching the stage from a distance, enjoying the silent show alone. Then I fall asleep, right at the river shore, maybe I am just too tired, after the long journey.

Chapter 2 Dancers and the Rehearsal

Don’t really know how long I sleep. When I wake up, I find the river gone, revealing

its dried-up bed. I cross it without hesitation, jump onto the stage immediately.

Just at the moment my feet touch the ground of the stage, the lights lit up,

illuminating the entire stage, making it into a totally different place. All the fragments begin to move, to rotate, and to jump. The silence is totally gone, vibrancy and vitality take over the stage. I then realize those fragments are not just objects, they are vivid creatures, they are alive and sentient, they are interacting with each other and also with me, they are responding to the light and the sound, they are all dynamic dancers on the stage.

So greatly they are dancing, but so poor the stage is – pale, deserted, out of date.

I can’t wait touching TO TOUCH them, they seem to love petting, gradually they all gather around me. I am then able to take a close look at them. Oh I should have recognized them earlier, they are fragments from the surface plant constructions, component from the mining machines, and parts from the ground artifacts.

They are all talented dancers, all they need for a flawless show is just a carefully

written script, and some well-designed costumes, and then they are ready to go.

So I decide to reorganize the stage, as well as rearrange the positions and

sequence of appearance for the dancers. The dancers are also transformable, I guess because of their nature as beings? Incomplete and untrained, they are easy to be reshaped and reintegrated. I am now preparing more unique characters for the coming brand-new performance, all based on their inherent features, and on their humble spirits.


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Chapter 4 The Carnival Night Chapter 3 The Spring Recovery

As the show continues, the stage becomes a garden where great many people

gather together from all directions. The stage is now not only a place where performance

I can see those dancers are now very energetic and cooperative, they

happens and people watch, but a joyful land for public events and social activities where

are standing in the right positions on the stage, showing the beauty of their body

people become participants in the show, they are actors as well as viewers, creators as well

movements, so ambitious but in a very elegant way. They are not alone, their

as benefactors.

passion and enthusiasm are slowly changing the stage, the place, and the cir-

cumstance. They are irrigating the barren desert, they are flowering the no man’s

stage on which the public release their passion and show their talent is open to each and

territory, they are bring spring to the long-drought land. It is now a changed

every one of us; the exhibition hall is displaying some of the great sculpture works made by

world, the birds are coming back, for the warmth it provides; the butterfly are

an old local artist; the parkour attracts a group of young people to pursue excitement and

coming back, for the fragrance it offers; the people are coming back, for the

break the limits of their bodies; the outdoor party offers a place to talk with old friends and

vitality it renders.

meet new people.

And finally I am not alone, and am so willing to share the joy and happi-

ness of the performance on the new stage to all of the other audiences, and to be one of them.

Rather than a world on the stage, the stage is now more about a world. The urban

Oh yes, someone is climbing to the top of the observation tower, maybe they just

want to see what is happening from the sky, and hopefully they are not drunk.


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Emma Priya Patel Charcoal

Chapter 5 The Heroic Parade The show is coming to an end, but neither the dancers nor the audience are tired, because they are all waiting for the debut of the hero, the hero that most inherits the spirit and memory of the new world and its flourished past, the hero that reminds us of the symbol of the mining process by its grand shaft-house-profile and monumental scale, the hero that is surrounded by the crowd and receiving the applause from each of us. The show has come to an end, but the stage never takes a bow, the new world never fades away, it is getting better, and will be getting better when we see it tomorrow morning at the moment we wake up and open our eyes. So goodbye and goodnight. Although the copper mine plants of the Upper Peninsula have been abandoned for decades, traces of richness and diversity can still be found within the construction ruins and rusty machines that now inhabit these sites. The design is treated as a the process of directing a dance drama with the logic of extraction and redirection, where the stamp mill site in Portage lakeshore acts as an urban stage and the dancers are a series of building characters created from historical and existing architectural elements and instrument components of various artifacts from the mining industry act as dancers. The ruins are therefore recombined and redirected to build the new “garden of vibrancy on the stage�.

This work is inspired by a fun-loving, joyous friend. One day, I decided to capture her big personality on paper.


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Charge Clean: A Battery’s Perspective Abby Kern

An empty vessel, neutral, waiting me. I hold it all, and that can help or hurt. I take, I keep, I save for time of need. So what’s put in determines what I’m worth. If you prefer to go an easy road, do not forget to look beyond the bend. Shortcuts today, tomorrow takes its toll. Don’t doubt you’ll pay in some way in the end. Rather, if you should want an oak to grow, you cannot work with weeds to make them one. An acorn then is what you plant below, and nurture it with water and the sun. In retrospect, one’s impact can be seen, and I would stand for good, so please charge clean. Batteries are often seen as green--good for the environment. However, it is in how a battery is dispatched that has a positive or negative impact on emissions. Imagine this: a battery is charged to capacity using coal-generated power, and when it is discharged, the battery replaces power that would be generated using natural gas. That battery’s net impact has increased coal generation and decreased natural gas, which increases the net emissions produced and has a negative environmental impact. On the other hand, if a battery is charged using solar-generated power and displaces coal, the net impact is positive. This principle is called “charge clean, displace dirty.” This poem, written in traditional Shakespearean sonnet style, is meant to bring awareness to the inherent neutrality of battery energy storage, and to emphasize the importance of operating them in a way that is sustainable in order to make the most of the potential they offer. The digital artwork represents the cyclicality of our actions-- what we do today feeds into the state we will be in tomorrow.

These fused quartz shell resonators are the hearts of micro gyroscopes capable of measuring rotation to a high degree of accuracy over a wide bandwidth. This improves the accuracy of the gyroscope so it can achieve precision navigation over long periods of The atomically smooth shell structures are molded from thin quartz quartz substrates, ranging from 40–250 µm thick. To form a shell, a substrate is placed atop a graphite mold that has a hollow cylinder around a post machined into the center. A blowtorch aided by thermal imaging then rapidly heats the fused quartz to its softening point at over 1600 °C. Once softened, the substrate is vacuum molded to achieve the desired

Quartz Gyroscope

Tal Nagourney

three generations of resonator design, with diameters of 3, 5, and 10 mm.

This entire process occurs in only ten seconds. After separating the shell from the rest of the substrate and polishing the rim, it is coated with a platinum film and packaged within a ring of concentric electrodes, separated by a gap of several

a shell being cleaned in an oxygen plasma.

These electrodes interact electrostatically with the metallized surface to drive and read out the vibrational motion of the shell. Once excited into resonance, rotation causes the vibrations to precess around the shell rim, their new orientation indicating the angle of rotation.

a shell after sputtering a platinum film on the surface and setting it into a silicon electrode package for operation as a gyroscope.


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Providence is Calling James Martinez-Baenen

A metal rod had apparently slipped From the bed of a utility truck, Passing, in all likelihood painlessly, Through her skull – a car crash then ensued, Though through some providence no one was hurt. The girl herself was, thank God, still alive. It was a miracle – another one Of the countless blessings the Good Lord has Bestowed upon my undeserving life, According to the mother’s daily facebook updates. Pray for her, give thanks and hold your loved ones A little tighter, she supplicated. One would do well to listen, I suppose. One would do well to think of the dust that has gathered on their nativity scene. The bread and wine spoiling in the cupboard. The grieving family thirsting for – what? Willing their oldest daughter toward –what? Knowing that all things were now accomplished, that the scripture might be fulfilled, saying, we thirst. I thought if I wrote about it enough Clarity would intercede on my behalf, But here I am, killing time on my flight Home for Christmas, running out of room In the margins of my in-flight magazine.

Clouds 3 Paige Wilson Woodcut Print


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Clouds 7, 8 Paige Wilson Woodcut Print

Clouds 3, 7, 8: I created a series of woodcut prints based off of a poem I wrote in the summer of 2016. There are eight pieces in the series, and some also use sumi ink or watercolor.


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Sparks Fly was taken on a humid July night filled with family, food,

Sparks Fly

laughter, memories, and sparks.

Priya Patel Photography //

Fireflies Brielle Bonetti Photography


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Kaohsiung in the Lee of the 85 Tower Mark J. Kushner Photography

Tantrum Mia Massimino

Temper tantrum gasp Press chest tamp it down lead me up the wooden stairs by the bicep writhing and thin. I cannot hear the usual squeaking of the stairs, I cannot hear you tell me I am embarrassing myself. Heaving pressure gusts of explosive air But I feel that everyone around me is silent. Push my gaping mouth up against the white painted door leaving heated droplets to cling, vibrate. I don’t want you to have fun. I don’t want you to go back downstairs and drink wine and discuss adult things I block out because I do not understand. I will never stop screaming. Gasping for the next breath I can collect and force out. The moment I know it will end is when I am only screaming to be heard, Payed attention to, because I will not have the energy to scream just to make a point. In the corner of the wooden stairs with you, things are sharper, not pixels smudged apart by breath and water. We look at the triangle cut out of the wall, its edges resting against the steps.

We wait and watch. Back when waiting was a game, when the suspense of watching for something was enough to entertain. We watch for a little creature, a magical being we haven’t imagined yet to take the small piece of food. Quiet waiting. Chin pressed against knees, hands clenched around shins. You can see the dust falling through the air we watch, until we get hungry. Why don’t we scream anymore? We let ourselves build and stretch and build again, “solving” things that cannot be solved allowing residue to build up inside our walls because we are calm, adults, cleaning things, discussing things drinking tea, soothing. Now, when I get a rash, I cover it with cream, lather it on. Pile it up. I want to scratch it and rip it open and tear at the pores. I never slept better than I did after a tantrum.


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Evergreen Stella Hao Photography

New Day Shonda Adams Mosaic


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Seize the Sea Brielle Bonetti Photography

Overlooking Paris Susan Montgomery Photography


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Lake Michigan Sunset Yang Wang Photography This photo is taken at a beach on Lake Michigan in a township park. Every part of Lake Michigan, even the little known ones, has its special beauty at different times of the day and always surprises me.

Vibrant Noise Isabelle Huang Graphic Design Originally done for a class, Vibrant Noise is a collage of dining hall oranges and a willing friend. The prompt was “surreal portraits”, and after glimpsing someone else’s work featuring floating oranges, I got the idea for oranges as the earmuff part of a pair of headphones.


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The Oregon Coast Stella Hao Photography

Higgins Lake Winter Susan Montgomery Photography


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Recollections of Moments in a Fraternity Basement Heather Colley

I leaned toward his ear To tell him that I Would not dance, but would be Okay with conversation Over the music he did not hear Although perhaps he did not try And I’d give him a chance (If I did not know of male preoccupation) To never see clear When I explain why I fear to advance This love simulation Silence the noise and you will hear Feet shuffle, lips sigh This can’t be romance Only drunk revelation It’s a myth generation With a preoccupation For romance imitation And I say imitation For the pre revelation That this is no mere invitation To sober conversation In a public location But rather sly innovation By a smooth-talking sensation To have blurred copulation.

I’m often preoccupied with Greek culture at the University, but particularly the jarring patriarchal

Overflow

nature of the thing - I believe that the atmosphere

Katherine Qiao Pen and Ink

promotes a disregard of sexism as a sacrifice for youthful recklessness. And I’m intrigued by the falsehoods of these parties, the gilded way of them all. This poem intends to question the sincerity of Greek interaction, and to shed light on a system that I believe upholds old, gender normative ideals.

Overflow reflects the spectacle of words and ideas that fill up a being to its core, push its limits, shape and sometimes, wear it down enough that it cracks and everything spills out.


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Third Trimester Yeshasvi Mahadev Flash Fiction

Strains of moonlight filtered through the curtains, filling the room with a silvery glow. Norah lowered her son into the cradle, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. She gently prodded the mobile over his head, allowing the soft tinkling to envelop him as she watched his eyes flutter shut… Luke appeared at the door with a gentle knock. ‘Honey? What are you—’ he faltered, catching her mid-reverie in the empty, unfinished nursery. Harmony Katherine Qiao Pen and Ink

AA Wolf Violinist Kaiwen Sun Photography

The wolf violinist is a famous character on Main Street in downtown Ann Arbor. He usually plays right outside Cherry Republic and The wolf violinist is a famous character on Main Street in downtown Ann Arbor. He usually plays right outside Cherry Republic and has brought so much joy to a lot of people. This photo was taken during the April Festifool parade while he

has brought so much joy to a lot of people. This photo was taken during the April Festifool parade while he was performing in the crowd with pride and the best spirit!


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Turtle’s First Sunrise XYZ Mosaic

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Turtle’s First Sunrise Shonda Adams Mosaic

Reflections Isabelle Huang Photography This is a photograph of the windows of the Law Quad’s underground library. It was particularly bright that day, and I thought the blurry reflection of the sky and the building on the window made for an interesting picture.


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Shoes Anonymous

Fraying threads and scuffed soles Holes scatter the fabric like rotting flesh Old like your soul. With these shoes I let you walk over me And I savored the bruises And fetishized your feeble footsteps So you walked on me again and again. You think they characterize you That they distract from all you wish to mask Yet through their pitiful pores Bleeds privilege and entitlement. You relish in the approachability of your image Yet all you do is push people away When they get too close. She has shoes like yours. When I see you together I see a four-legged creature that preys and feasts on my gaze. The more I see her walk alongside you the more I despise her shoes Yet the more I crave To be in them.

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Harlot Reign Blake Bellistri Etching


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Forks Isabelle Huang Photography

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In a photography class in high school, we played around with using polarizing filters and plastic utensils. The photos all turned out really neat – through the filter, most plastic items got the rainbow-reflection-in-oil-slick effect.

til bloom Blake Bellistri Acrylic and Gel Medium on Canvas


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Falling for Washington Teri LaForest Photography

Almost every weekend for a summer, I hit the trails in Washington State in search of peaks, lakes, and waterfalls. While hiking along Denny Creek’s trails, I came across this gem of a waterfall and fell in love with the state for at least the tenth time this summer. Luckily I didn’t actually fall into the water (this time).

Highway to Somewhere Teri LaForest Photography


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Pens and What We Do With Them Heather Colley

Popcorn Willa Hua Charcoal and Pencil

A Poet uses blank white pages and sits outside wrought-iron cages His pen leaks black but disregards Ink factories in Midwestern backyards But penned pages are always pure until their poet breaks demure and pokes a hole in his margin and forgets all his romantic jargon He turns to the cages (only at night) says, “Why have my pages lost all their light?” To which they within answer, “Have you learned nothing from the way of the dancer? Who hides behind curtain until music rises but until then, walking despises and in much the same way, what are you, without your pen of black and blue?” The poet peers in, and shrugs his shoulders. He’d prefer not to move boulders.

I wrote Pens on a plane ride home from Detroit to New York. I was in the midst of thinking about current politics. This, undoubtedly, can get anyone’s pen moving swiftly. I wanted to write a poem that addressed, not in so many words, an inherent invisibility

But some say Satan writes white novels and those with whom the devil grovels prefer their sheets, clean and pure with no dark errors, and no dark mirth They think this the cure to the fire on earth.

felt by marginalized groups within the United States. The Poet of the poem is intended to be the oppressor that does not realize that his power, the power of the pen, would not exist without the power of those that he so often

Yet with this poem, I’ve written thirty And I prefer my pages to be dirty.

overlooks. This is a poem about racial inequality and minority invisibility in the United States, but it by no means attempts to delineate the subject into the lofty sense of poets and penmanship (because the problem is far greater than a few rhymed lines).


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Storm Clouds Over Long Peak in Colorado Mike Stander Photography

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ARTISTS AND AUTHORS

Shonda Adams is an Admissions Coordinator for the Graduate Professional Programs in the College of Engineering. She began working in the medium of mosaic art in 2005. As a mosaic artist she gets her inspiration from nature and the minutiae in everyday objects. Shonda’s approach for each mosaic is to search out, find, and highlight the unique qualities, or “hidden spirit” within each of the tesserae she carefully selects for each mosaic. Ultimately she strives to create an interesting and dynamic piece of art while expressing her passion for the ocean, nature, and conservation. Blake Bellistri

avoid added sugar, however, occasionally eating donuts on the side; it’s a paradox of her life that she’s simply come to accept. She thinks about social justice often, and particularly about how we should chase it vigorously. Anthony Dedakis is an artist who lives in Michigan, working on art as a selftaught artist. He started out originally with graphite and charcoal pencils, working on developing an understanding of proportions, shading, and depth, before moving onto colored pencil and oil as the primary medium. He works with pictures and models at first and later develops work to then create art based off his imagination.

Kate Bishop is a sophomore majoring in International Studies with a concentration in Comparative Culture and Identity. She is from Leland, MI. She enjoys bonfires, coffee, and The Avett Brothers (not necessarily in that order). Her poetry has been featured in The Blue Marble Review, Fortnight Literary Press, and LHSP’s Dear Friends, and her photography has been on exhibit at the Helicon History of Art Undergraduate Society, The Blue Marble Review, and Nature by Design. She was a finalist in the As I See It competition last year and won the student choice award in the Juried Art competition.

Stella (Chenxu) Hao currently works as a graduate student in cognition & cognitive neuroscience area. She graduated last from University of Washington with degrees in psychology and interdisciplinary visual art. She fell in love with the magic of photography in her sophomore year while studying in Spain. Stella creates images while traveling. She also loves to tell stories with her photos.

Brielle Bonetti is a freshman from New York studying both Film and International Studies. She was a competitive synchronized ice skater for 9 years and now coaches younger skaters. When she isn’t skating, Brielle spends her time capturing the world around her through her lens. She credits her passion to her dad, who gave her her first Canon film camera when she was 7.

Isabelle Huang is a sophomore student in the business school at the University of Michigan. She has often been called out for her annoying tendency to photograph people at their worst moment, and has even received an “E for Effort” paper plate award for her derpy photos. Besides photography, she also enjoys reading excess fantasy sci-fi novels, as well as modular origami, and has kept no less than three succulents alive for an entire semester, a feat of which she is especially proud.

Jiming Chen is a designer, aspiring fabricator and graduate of the Master of Architecture program from Taubman College of Architecture and Urban Planning. He is passionate about projects that comes from social and cultural phenomenon and will be known by the public in a common language for its effort to explore an architectural solution. He explores the mediation between imagination and physical environment with pictorial narrative and materiality of varied forms. His works range from material study, architectural representation, graphic design, digital fabrication, residential renovation, world-making and utopian project. Heather Colley is from New York, cuasing the Midwest to be sometimes foreign to her. Her daydreams are often of Brooklyn, but Michigan meets New York in the best thoughts of her thoughts. She likes airports because they mean people are on their ways, and she drinks her coffee black to

Willa Hua is a freshman at U-M, majoring in art & design who wants to become a geek designer.

Jenna Jin is a senior in LSA studying math, econ and American culture, who secretly wishes she were a student pursuing art and engineering. Her love for art started when she was just a wee child drawing stick figures. Jenna has since taken courses at UM in graphic design and ceramics just because she can and did design work as part of her internship over the past summer. Ceramics, photography, sewing, and illustration are some of her favorite areas of art but she also loves playing the ukulele, singing off key and sleeping. By day, Jay Kim is a PhD student in Kinesiology and Mechanical Engineering. By night... he’s still a PhD student. He enjoys film, music, sports, and basically anything other than being in the lab all the time. His lab is pretty cool though.


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Kunwar Kochar is a Master’s of Space Engineering graduate and avid thrill seeker. He can get a little ‘yolo’ at times. Seriously though, he just wants to travel the world. Mark J. Kushner is a professor in Electrical Engineering and Computer Science at the University of Michigan. His interest in photography dates from high school where he learned the craft of wet processing film and images in a darkroom. Over the years he has tracked the developments in photography, from film to scanned film to digital, and now his work emphasizes black-andwhite digital panoramas. Adrianna Marie Kusmiercyzk is from Shelby Township, MI. She is currently a sophomore at the Penny W. Stamps School of Art & Design majoring in art & design and pursuing a dual degree in Communication Studies at LSA. Her art focuses on painting, fibers, photography and design. She hopes to combine all of her interests in a marketing/advertising career in the fashion industry. You’ll find Teri LaForest by the lake, on the trails, or in the Marine Design Lab of the Naval Architecture and Marine Engineering Building, possible curled up napping in said locations. Yeshasvi Mahadev is a graduate alum from the College of Engineering with a Master’s in Energy Systems, and hopes that she may now have time to spare to read a good book at a coffee shop in peace. She loves to indulge in flash fiction and poetry. She is passionate about saving the enviornment, and dreams of a day in the future where fossil fuels are a thing of history. James Martinez-Baenan is a senior at Ross School of Business, and really appreciates you taking the time to read this. Mia Massimino is a performer, painter, comedic writer and creator. She is currently in her senior year at the University of Michigan studying Interarts performance and gender and health. Mia is an interdisciplinary artist who uses visuals, spoken word, and live performance to explore the human condition. Mia is also a member of Call Your Mom an interdisciplinary performance collective consisting of Sophie Goldberg, Emma Bergman and Eliza Cadoux. They explore ideas of intimacy and communication. The collective grew out of friendship and works to foster intimacy for their audiences based in the intimacy they generate as a group through personal experiences, testing the boundaries of relationships.

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Susan Montgomery’s professional photography career started when her sons insisted that she get a “real” camera before a trip to the Grand Canyon in 2004. Since then she has enjoyed a growing career as a photographer, learning through online courses and workshops. Photography provides a great balance to her work as a lecturer and chemical engineering program advisor. She focuses on nature, travel, and editorial stock photography – You can learn more at SusanMontgomeryPhotos.com . Her purpose in submitting photographs to Blueprint is to encourage engineering students to embrace and explore their creative side. Tal Nagourney received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the Rochester Institute of Technology and Cornell University, respectively, and returned to his hometown of Ann Arbor to pursue his PhD at U of M. He currently studies precision micro gyroscopes in the Najafi research group. His work holds the world record for quality factor and ring-down time for micro shell resonators Priya Patel is a freshman in LSA at the University of Michigan, from Nachkville, Tennessee. She discovered her love for the visual arts as a child and hopes to continue her artistic journey by exploring new techniques and mediums. Katherine Qiao is a sophomore in the Ross School of Business at the University of Michigan, majoring in Business Administration. According to many people in all separate scenarios, she is very much like a cat in demeanor and spirit. Her hobbies are predominantly of the creative type: art, writing, design, publication, and somewhere in the worldwide web lies her portfolio website. She has mastered the art of poker faces and effortless death glares (See? Another kind of art), so if you happen to find yourself of a victim of one, well. That’s not her problem.. Dominic Russel Hanna (Han Na) Shin is a senior at the University of Michigan studying Information Science and minoring in Art & Design. She is designer, grooves to R&B and hip-hop, likes balloon animals, and follows the rules of good design with a passion. She also doesn’t pluck her eyebrows, but has a very friendly smile, architectural representation, graphic design, digital fabrication, residential renovation, world-making and utopian project. Ilana Silverstone


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Mike Stander Kaiwen Sun is a first year master’s student in the School of Information. She feels that if she sees a moment that touches her heart and doesn’t capture it, it will slip away into nothingness. Through photography, she approaches every single moment with a thoughtful mind and gentle heart. And once she has that moment in her camera, she belives she can share its beauty with more people with varied interpretations, who base them upon their own experiences. Yang Wang is a PhD student in Chemical Engineering. S/he loves to travel and take photos of beautiful sceneries and lovely people. Davanna White is a major in Computer Science Engineering, with a minor in Creative Writing, from Armada, Michigan. While her specialty is creative prose, she occasionally writes poetry that tends to deal with more personal matters. Davanna also harbors a pyriad of interest besides writing – she enjoys space, animals of all kinds, traveling, and singing. Paige Wilson is a sophomore in Stamps School of Art and Design. She enjoys creating art in many different mediums: from watercolor to ceramics to printmaking to animation. She is involved in three on-campus publications (including Blueprint!) and hopes to one day pursue a career in this field. Deana Zhu is a freshman from Ann Arbor who is studying Business. She loves to binge-watch fashion shows, eat, and contemplate important issues such as whether or not one can have too many shoes. She sometimes manages to sound smarter than she actually is through her writing and wishes that life came with multiple rough drafts.

BACK COVER IMAGE Dewdrops in the Morning Brielle Bonetti Photography


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Profile for Blueprint Magazine

Blueprint Issue 6  

Blueprint Issue 6  

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