Estuaries 2020 - 2021 by College of The Albemarle

EST UA RI ES

2020-2021 VISUAL ARTS & LITERARY REVIEW

ON THE COVER

Kennedy Wilkerson: Untitled

COA Stagecraft Class: Deborah Cass, Helen Underwood & Mary Fitzgerald

Estuaries Editorial Board Managing Editor Olivia Buzzacco Christina Weisner

Literature Sarah Brown Olivia Buzzacco Josh Howell

Visual Art Fay Edwards Gabrielle Graber Kathryn Osgood Christina Weisner

Student Editor Abbey Aldrich Naomi Michelle Design & Layout Patrick Detwiler

This magazine is the seventh annual edition of Estuaries. It features creative contributions from students, faculty and staff. It was produced digitally and printed at College of The Albemarle, Elizabeth City, NC, in 2021.

Shannon Owens: Untitled 1

Amy Bishop: Yardsale

Contents

Lacy Chronister: Canon in D

VISUAL ARTS ront Cover F Inside 1 2 3 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 18 19 20 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 31 Back Cover

Kennedy Wilkerson: Untitled Shannon Owens: Untitled 1 COA Stagecraft Class: Deborah Cass, Helen Underwood & Mary Fitzgerald Amy Bishop: Yardsale Lacy Chronister: Canon in D Earnell Brown: Pandemic Ann Workman: Contraband Lisa LeMair: ExCL II Dialogs (Triptych) Ellen Wells: Flower Earrings Chloe Fowler: Untitled Lisa LeMair: Bronze Age Warrior Princess Alison Williams: Pheonix Alison Williams: TRex Lisandra Leon: Untitled Alexis Daniels: Industrial Revolution Lisa LeMair: All the Feels: Quarantine Edition Carmen Chincilla: Curious COA Stagecraft Class: Marcia Stone Deloris Samuelson: By The Rivers of Water Lacy Chronister: Belly of the Beast Marcel Segura Ramirez: Untitled 1 Earnell Brown: The Hate Y’all Give Fredric Neiderer: Untitled 1 Lauren Evans: Secret Garden Annemarie Pomp: Lily of the Valley Kennedy Wilkerson: Collective Mind Alison Williams: Uncontrollable Surface Cosmo Cahoon: Reflective Amy Bishop: Self Portrait Lorna Cameron: Untitled 1 Lisandra Leon: Portrait of an Artist Richard Pronto: Green Phase Scene Richard Pronto: Silver Snail Ann Workman: Contraband POETRY

4 10 13 21 25 29 30

Michael Lewis: Be the Light Beyond a Dark Past Shainna Richardson: One Night Aaron Bass: Reading is Remembering Conner Culpepper: Society Dana Weeks: Grandma’s House Sandi Thigpen: My Story Isn’t Over… Sudeepa Pathak: The Man – My Father

PROSE 8 17 22

Chris Ann Masiello: The Gift Beth Egbert: The Quad Rider Isabella Lettieri: Letter to my Future Self

Be the Light BeyondBa Dark Past Michael Lewis

Countless memes Many hopeful wishes From one bad thing to the next We internalized and somewhat vocalized —in 2020 Exasperatingly loud hisses Another crazy thing happened! Was I addicted to bad news? Or was the year that bad? On my heart, the terrifying daily narratives took a toll As I embraced my phone and proceeded to scroll —social media It’s no joke! Increased— Police brutality Protests Conspiracy theories Too many COVID-19 related deaths And a nation experiencing a political crisis I question the reality of what tragedy may present itself next There we were — doomsurfing The treacherous terrains of disaster upon disaster That seemingly flooded the twelve months that were to be strong Strong enough to see that we stick to our individual and national resolutions My heart raced My mind was constantly in watchdog mode All I desired was to be prepared Prepared for whatever may endanger my life The life I seek to live not just for me But for the sake of others Others like me Others from where I originated The many high and overachievers And the underappreciated If nothing else — 2020 has taught me to be a light A light before men As my creator has it in Matthew 5:16 In a world filled with many dark corners I will continue to project my light beam I have a civil responsibility — to be the change That’s the best I can do I will continuously preach and teach so others can help me see this change through

Earnell Brown: Pandemic

Above – Ann Workman: Contrabrand

Below – Lisa LeMair: ExCL II Dialogs (Triptych)

Ellen Wells: Flower Earrings

Chloe Fowler: Untitled

The Gift

Chris Ann Masiello Throughout early American history, a host of stories have been told that reflect on the relationship between European settlers and Native Americans. Some tales are hostile and involve violent altercations between the two groups of people. Many other legends, however, illustrate deep-seated friendships, great working relationships, and infamous marriages reminiscent of Pocahontas and John Rolfe. As a result, a special bond of trust, peace, and friendship was established between these two diverse groups. Growing up in Southwestern Pennsylvania during the late 60’s and early 70’s was largely uneventful. My rural upbringing offered very little change in routine. However, the way that I viewed my rustic surroundings instantly transformed with one knock on the door. Based on a factual account, this is a modern-day tale of my encounter with an extraordinary individual and his people that has forever remained engraved in my heart.

Lisa LeMair: Bronze Age Warrior Princess

Under a gray autumn sky, the leaves dangled from the trees flashing their brilliant colors of red, orange, and yellow. It was Saturday afternoon and too cold to go outside to play. I sat on the living room floor gazing into the large console television. A black and white Western film was being broadcast. Western movies were not my favorite style of entertainment. However, unlike today’s modern television conveniences of cable TV and Netflix, the early 70’s only offered a handful of television channels to choose from. It was for that reason that I sat there apathetically watching the clash between the cowboys and Indians unfold. Suddenly, there was a knock on the glass door behind me.

Hearing the knock on the door, I instantly sprang to my feet and diverted my attention away from the television screen. As I made my way across the living room floor, the image of a man standing on the other side of the door became clearer. Was my imagination running amok? Had I gone mad? Standing on the opposite side of the glass door was a young Native American man. It was as though he had been transported out of the television screen and onto my front porch. His appearance, nevertheless, was nothing short of majestic. His hair was long, shiny, black, and was held in place with a headband trimmed in a tribal pattern of red, white, and blue beads. His dress, reflecting his heritage, was of a customary brown suede design. Astounded, I stared at him intently with a great deal of awe as he stood motionless and without expression gazing right back at me. His mystical appearance kept me spellbound for a bit of time before I could finally move from my fixed position. Leaving my stationary spot, I went to the kitchen where my mother was cooking. I told her that we had a guest at the door. My mother left the kitchen and made her way to the door where the extraordinary man stood. Seeing him, she swung the door open, and stepped onto the porch. Curious, I rushed to the living room couch that was situated directly in front of a large picture window, drew back the thinly lined curtains, and began to watch the two of them. Together, they talked and walked slowly down the long, narrow, slightly sloping sidewalk positioned in front of the house that led to the driveway. Parked at the foot of the L-shaped driveway was a big old red pickup truck. As they approached the pickup truck, an equally enchanting Native American woman emerged from the vehicle to join them in their conversation. A few moments later, the man climbed into the back of his pickup truck, removed a wooden rocking chair, and carried it to the front porch where he left it to sit. My mother thanked and paid the man and they parted ways. That was the last time that I physically saw the captivating stranger and his female companion.

Weeks had passed since the enchanting couple graced my presence and added a certain sense of delight to my otherwise dull rural routine. In fact, to further escape my humdrum schedule, I chose to visit my cousin’s home for a weekend. While away visiting at my cousin’s home, we attended an early Sunday morning church service. When the service was over, my cousin’s family stayed afterwards and talked with some of the other parishioners. While they were talking, the priest asked me to join him on a walk and we went to his office located in another building. During our stroll, he told me that he had something that he wanted to give me. His office, as I recall, was very modest and consisted only of a large gray metal desk sitting in the middle of a small room with a chair behind it. He walked behind the desk, sat down, and opened the top drawer. From inside the drawer, he withdrew a cross and handed it to me. The cross, he told me, was handcrafted by Native Americans. It was made of wood and trimmed in a design of red, white, and blue. Upon receipt of the gift, I thanked the priest and made my way back to the church where I left my family. Upon my return, I noticed that my family was still inside socializing. I, however, chose to remain alone outside. I stood on the front steps of the church that overlooked the heavily wooded mountains covered in blue spruce pines. Although I could not see them, I knew they were somewhere out there among the trees in the forest. Tightly, I clutched their token of friendship in my hand and cherished it for many years to follow.

Alison Williams: Pheonix

One Night

Shainna Richardson The darkness was closing in The air was so cold I could see my breath The goosebumps on my arms were so hard they hurt My hair blinding me, too strong of wind I deeply inhaled, ah, the aroma of death I looked to my feet, they were covered in fresh dirt The ache in my chest was not from my beating heart My location was unknown My name unknown How is it I woke to a world alone The hammering in my head Where do I start I was not alive, only freshly dead I remember she gave me a drink I woke in a man’s bed It was hard to move Painful to think I could survive this I had everything to prove As I woke I realized the devil came again The rest of my soul he wanted to win The torment of living knowing what he stole A story my body will ever know I died that night the devil came The gory details forever locked in my brain Only the truth remains I’ll never be the same

Alison Williams: TRex

Lisandra Leon: Untitled

Alexis Daniels: Industrial Revolution

Reading Is Remembering Aaron Bass

All reading is remembering. You’ve had that thought before, Although you may not know it. Reading someone else’s writing Is like recalling some memory That never happened to you, Or discovering some fact that You learned so long ago It’s new again. It’s a magic Trick that pulls someone else’s Card from inside your pocket And convinces you it wasn’t there All along. It’s the substance of a dream You’ll recall fondly one morning, And though they may not seem Familiar, you’ll know you shared it With the people in it. Writing Is the deep consciousness That has its strands in all Of us, that proves humanity’s Mind is made in the shape of neurons Called you and me. All reading is remembering. You see, you only have to recognize These words to prove this poem Belongs as much to you As it does to me.

Lisa LeMair: All the Feels: Quarantine Edition

COA Stagecraft Class: Marcia Stone

Carmen Chincilla: Curious

The Quad Rider By Beth Egbert

It was a beautiful day to be out on the water of the Pinky River. Stephanie was cruising along in her latest project, which she was quite proud of. It was her amphibious quad rider, part Harley-Davidson, part jet ski, part ATV, and all Stephanie. She was known around town to be eccentric and she was okay with that. When she was not teaching biology at the local high school, she enjoyed working on projects in her garage using whichever spare parts she could get from her husband’s junk yard. Her quad rider might not be the prettiest contraption, but it could run up to 45 rpm on the water, and easily convert to an ATV to run on land. And the all-terrain tires allowed her to move into and out of the river without needing a boat ramp.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Stephanie asked the boy. “My sister, he took my sister!” the boy sobbed. Stephanie’s blood ran cold. “OK. OK. Which way did he go?” The boy pointed in the direction of Pinkyville, the next town on HWY 144. “OK, ok, can you tell me about the car? What color was it? What kind was it?” The boy stammered, “B-blue….blue truck?”

The weather was just perfect, and she planned to pull into her favorite spot near the HWY 144 bridge, a nice little cove, where she could relax in the shade and read a book or do a little bit of catfishing. Maybe she could surprise the hubby with some Cajun fried catfish for dinner. As she approached her spot, she lowered the throttle and proceeded to turn towards the cove on the bank. She could see two kids fishing from the bridge, a boy and a girl, maybe eight or nine. They waved to her and she returned the wave. She was glad that she was not too close to disturb their fishing. Propping her feet on the handlebars, she pulled her book from her weatherproof pouch and began to relax and enjoy her “me” time. It was not too much of a distraction to hear the occasional car passing along the bridge, so she barely noticed the sound of a car. But then she heard a scream, “No, no, no! Help! Please somebody help!” She heard a car door slam loudly and the screech of tires of car speeding off. Stephanie knew something was wrong. Snatching up the anchor, she turned the key to start the quad rider. She pulled out of the cove and looked toward the bridge. There was only the boy on the bridge, now frantically pacing. She pulled up toward the bridge and she could see the boy was crying.

Deloris Samuelson: By The Rivers of Water

“Pickup truck?” Stephanie asked. The boy nodded. “OK, ok, that’s good. Now run home and call 911 and tell them exactly what you told me, OK?” Stephanie said. The boy nodded, turned and ran back towards town. Stephanie had to do something. She decided to pull up out and up the riverbank towards the highway. Was she going to follow the guy? Was there a chance she could catch up with him? She had to try. She had never driven the quad rider on the highway before, and never faster than 45 mph. There is a first time for everything, she thought as she pushed the throttle and the quad rider sped forward. The heat from the asphalt blew into her face like a hair dryer. The quad vibrated with an intensity that she had never experienced before. And the tires were not really meant for riding on flat ground and they made a whining sound as she coursed down the highway. The wind whipped through her hair and her cotton shirt and weekend trousers. How fast was she even going? She had no idea, she only hoped to see a blue truck soon. She crested a hill and on the horizon she could see the blue pickup. Surprisingly, he wasn’t going that fast. She closed in on him close to his bumper. They were getting close to Pinkyville, he would have to slow down soon for traffic.

The Quad Rider Bet you didn’t expect a witness to catch up to you so easily did you pal? Stephanie thought as she strained to get a look at the driver. He seemed to notice her because he accelerated quickly. Oh no you don’t, pal. Stephanie started to speed up but then saw what happened ahead. He must have been distracted because he failed to notice the pickup truck in front of him that was driving slowly with hazard lights on. Stephanie was able to break her speed and skid to a halt before hitting the pickup. She could see why the pickup ahead was driving slowly. It was loaded with furniture, including a pool table strapped on top. The kidnapper plowed into the pickup, causing the pool table to slide backwards and into his windshield, crushing his head into the headrest. Stephanie skidded off onto the shoulder, parking the quad. Cautiously, she approached the wreckage. The driver of the pickup and his passenger were already there. The little girl was shaking as they found her laying in the fetal position in the floorboard. She had some cuts from the shards of glass from the windshield. But she seemed to have no other injuries. It did not take long for the Pinkerton County Sheriff deputies to arrive on scene, along with the paramedics to check the girl and make sure that she was okay. Everyone, including Stephanie was surprised at how quickly she was able to catch up with the kidnapper. The chances of a witness on a boat on the river being able to catch up with a driver on the highway would have been unlikely without the quad rider. One of the deputies looked at Stephanie’s unique contraption. “Say,” he asked, “What is that?” “My quad rider,” she replied, “Built with my own two hands.” “Do you think you could build me one of those?” asked the deputy.

Lacy Chronister: Belly of the Beast

“Sure!” Stephanie replied. She grinned at the idea of yet another project.

Marcel Segura Ramirez: Untitled 1

Earnell Brown: The Hate Y’all Give

Society

Conner Culpepper I awake from my slumber, as the pale sun of morn begins to rise. And take my first steps outside, to greet the forest. I feel the blissful cold of the dew on my bare feet, as I make my way towards the umber pines. I reach the clearing, atop a hill. To sit and feel, the divinity of the sublime. Oh how the scintillating songs of the birds, bring me such peace of mind. I can feel it, the power of the morning air! Breathing life into everything that surrounds me. For it is only here, that I am truly free. Free from the binding chains, of the encompassing being, That we humans call society. And so, I continue to sit, in the clearing, atop a hill. It is there I realize, all is still.

Yet, the years continue to go by. I simply exist, under the reins of time. For better, or for worse, my life has succumbed to change. Dearest friends have been lost. And new ones, rarely made. There is only one thing that remains; for it is the forest that I still visit every morning. But when I look ahead, I can only see that of which I despise. I see it coming, creeping closer each day. It is the beast, we humans know as society. Why can no one see it? Why must it all be sacrificed? For the sake of modern amenities. It will all be gone soon. The intimidating pines and the delicate birds. I hear their shrill calls, and then no more. All of the forest will meet a foreseeable doom. It will even take the clearing, atop a hill. So I sit and feel, one last time. All is still.

Letter to my Future Self Isabella Lettieri Do You Remember? For visitors who come to the Outer Banks, living here or growing up here is just a dream. But for some of us who have grown up here, we often forget about the little things that make this place so special to everyone. Watching the sunset or sunrise over the water, going to the beach whenever we want to, the feel of the hot sand and the cool refreshing water...I hope that when I’m older and away from the island, I remember all these things that make this place so special. When I someday forget this, I will read this letter I wrote to help me remember. Do you remember what it was like to live on Hatteras Island? You were able to look out the window and see the calm water and watch the sunset from your porch. The soft pinks and purples and bright oranges reflected into the sky. You could drive to the beach to watch the moon rise—a perfect round glowing ball that felt like it was rising from underneath the ocean. Do you remember how the beach was just a short drive no matter where you were? The feel of the hot sand and the peace the waves brought clapping against the shore. How about walking the beach with the dog and your family? Just standing on the shore pointing out dolphins frolicking just beyond the waves—watching them jump out of the water—always sticking together in their little pods. Do you remember all the different shells in all the many colors that would wash ashore? Sometimes even conch shells would wash ashore, and on the rare occasion even sea glass. We would take a walk and pick up as much plastic and old fishing line as we could—thrown and left on the beach—almost always there was so much. Nonetheless, the beach still held its beauty. Do you remember the simplicity of the two traffic lights on the whole island? We would be aggravated if we had to pause too long at a stop sign. The pace was island time and the time was endless.

Do you remember walking into school, first the elementary school, with its huge playground and halls that seemed so long and big? Then going to the big school, the secondary school, which was a new world full of independence, new friends, amazing new teachers, and new activities. Even looking through the yearbooks, it seemed so big but it never was. Do you remember the best friends you met at a young age? Most of us were together from preschool, through Santa breakfasts, music concerts, Parks and Recs activities, and more. With our friends we shared laughs, smiles, tears, funny texts, and sweet letters. All the new things you did together, and little but funny obsessions about the most random objects. And the big promise you made about always staying close friends. Do you remember the arrival of summer and its many guests? The pace of the island would change and everyone was so busy. Even still, the sunsets still welcomed everyone. The beaches still offered plenty of space. The waves still rolled to shore no matter who was there to see them. I will always remember the hurricanes, the flooding, the clean up, and the amazing community that would come together like an army to support those who needed it most. Beauty comes in all forms; sometimes it’s easier to find but it’s always there. Sometimes it’s something you see, sometimes it’s the way you feel about something, and other times beauty is in the memories made, both the good and bad. But our island is rare as it has beauty within all three. So when I may no longer call this island home, I will try to remember the pace, the people, the beauty, the simplicity and always be grateful that I called Hatteras Island, Home.

Fredric Neiderer: Untitled 1

Lauren Evans: Secret Garden

Grandma’s House

Annemarie Pomp: Lily of the Valley

Dana Weeks

Off we go to Grandma’s house, You see, there is no other quite like it, It is a place all of its own. Where reality and fiction are never the same, Leaving everything else behind, To enter a mystical place. From the different aroma’s that fill her house, Not able to find anywhere else, Because it is a scent all of its own. Whether it was from her trying a new recipe, Cooking up something just for you, Or her floral perfume filling the air from her going out and about. To those different knick knacks scattered around, From years of family giving, Never throwing them away, For each one is precious and rare to her, Holding a sentimental value more costly than gold, Knowing that they came from someone special. And let me not forget about the room where grandma performs all her magic. Watching her for hours and amazed by all her superpowers. As her delicate hands embraced each rag, Weaving it in and out with just her fingertips. Listening to her as she sings enchanting words, Turning rags into riches, With just one touch and a simple wave of her hand, She could always turn something, Into a magical creation of her own… Now you will see Grandma’s house as a fairytale too…

Kennedy Wilkerson: Collective Mind

Alison Williams: Uncontrollable Surface

Cosmo Cahoon: Reflective

Amy Bishop: Self Portrait

My Story Isn’t Over... Sandi Thigpen

With each renewed day comes untouched experiences that bring forth the birth of joyous new memories comprised of sentences created by each new experience. Days convert to weeks overflowing; sentences group themselves together yielding simplistic paragraphs. As you read each paragraph, your mind sketches picturesque illustrations revealing the memoirs produced from each brand-new experience. Weeks suddenly grow into months encompassed with these paragraphs generated as each sentence and illustration commence to group together. Ultimately, months flourish into a year embracing the paragraphs and illustrations, then collectively arranging them to create separate chapters within your book of life, hence the emergence of your storyline. The possibilities are endless in this ever-changing storyline as each chapter unfolds. Embracing each change with an open mind strengthens the cover of your book of life sheltering your storyline from the world’s darkness. I now stand grasping my unfinished book … My mind filled with anticipation of what the next chapter may hold, my heart overflowing with excitement and the understanding that the world cannot hold me in its “Darkness”.

Lorna Cameron: Untitled 1

The Man — My Father Sudeepa Pathak

I was told that he was a very handsome, young, ambitious man, I was told that his style, his elegance, his smile, his charm could cause a serious scam. My wish to be present during those times and ages that long have slid, My wish to see and know him like his best buddies did For knowing the origin of a man, his youth, a part of his history Would make an understanding of him easier and less of a profound mystery. For I often failed to understand, what was it that made a simple man acquire all that mettle For what was it that filled him with all that tender love where I could often find myself nestled. Strong and firm, with a hint of vulnerability too Responsible and persistent, but so understanding too For love for his family and work though all men cherish And acquiring wealth and material are really common things to flourish But to stand up for Love, stand up only for Right, is what he did always To stand up for Honesty and to brave all odds is what he did always and always. What he did not see coming was three little kids totally in his awe… Three little kids learning courage and gathering strength from what they saw… Three little kids blessed by a happy, marvelous, smooth paved road to tread… Three little kids blessed by his parenting and shelter with nothing ever to dread. Comes a day when you fold your hands in prayer and think A long list which you are grateful for and a million more things But flashes before me always and above all is the picture of a man The teacher who taught, The rock who held, The Hero, The man — My Father

Lisandra Leon: Portrait of an Artist

Biographies Aaron Bass Aaron Bass is the coordinator for COA’s Writing Center. He enjoys reading and writing in all its forms, playing bass and guitar, and teaching himself how to write code with the intention of capturing imaginations in future interactive media.

Conner Culpepper Conner Culpepper has lived in Manteo for six years and was introduced to writing by his twelfth-grade teacher, Mrs. Thomas. Since then, he has enjoyed writing short poems when time permits. He hopes to dedicate more time to writing this year.

Amy Bishop Amy Bishop is a student in COA’s Visual Arts program. She is a visual artist who uses many mediums including acrylic, watercolor and gouache paint, as well as charcoal and ink. Her current work falls in the line of illustrative paintings and drawings. She enjoys working with bright colors and making art based on things that don’t typically happen in the natural world.

Alexis Daniels Alexis Daniels is a graduate of COA’s Associate in Arts in Fine Arts program.

Earnell Brown Earnell Brown is a COA student pursuing an Associate in Fine Arts in Visual Arts. As a retired Management Information Systems executive she has chosen to turn off her analytical side and explore the peaceful creative side. With encouragement from her professors she has been surprised at what she has been able to create. She is thoroughly enjoying the process. Cosmo Cahoon Cosmo Cahoon is an aspiring character designer who specializes in watercolor and digital mediums. Inspired by the art world of video games and literature, he hopes to create memorable characters that would both entertain and leave an impact on the viewer. Carmen Chinchilla Carmen Chinchilla is a native to the Outer Banks. Carmen is a visual artist working towards an Associate in Fine Arts in Visual Arts degree at College of The Albemarle. She hopes to transfer to a four-year university to continue her education. She captures her passion for the world around her in her art. Lacy Chronister Growing up, Lacy ran around her grandparents’ jewelry store never thinking about becoming a metalsmith. Needing an elective years later, she took the Intro to Jewelry course and was instantly hooked. Now a second year student of COA’s Professional Crafts: Jewelry program, she enjoys creating jewelry to relieve everyday stress. COA Fall 2020 Stagecraft Class The 2020 Fall Stagecraft class created 12 puppets for the COAST show The Ghost of Rhodes Manor. Guided by online tutorials, each student brought a puppet to life from the ground up, cutting and gluing foam, drafting patterns for the felt skins, designing the faces and hair, and costuming each one. The Stagecraft class meets each semester to tackle the challenges of a new show – designing and painting sets, creating props, sewing costumes, and expanding makeup skills. Submitted by Sandra Krueger, COA Instructor/ Director, Drama

Beth Egbert Beth Egbert is a biology and chemistry instructor at COA – Currituck. She has taught biology at the college for three years, and chemistry for two and a half years. She is a North Carolina native who was born and raised in Greensboro, NC. Lauren Evans Lauren Evans started taking the pottery class at COA in 2015, right after she was diagnosed with epilepsy. “I wanted to take on a new hobby that would help to relax my mind. Pottery has been a wonderful outlet, it’s my favorite few hours of every week!” Lauren owns a small, international, import company, Wana World Market, and displays her pottery at local shows. Chloe Fowler Chloe Fowler is a COA alum who earned an Associate in General Education. Lisa LeMair Lisa M. LeMair is an artist in Southern Shores, NC. She creates integrated collections of wearable art and jewelry inspired by the elements, natural forms and the tension found at the edge. She is a student in the college’s Professional Crafts: Jewelry program. Lisandra Leon Lisandra Leon is a 19-year-old sophomore pursuing her Associate in Fine Arts and Associate in Arts at COA. She has always been drawn to bright colors, portraiture and nature. She expects to continue experimenting and trying new techniques through her artwork in the near future. Isabella Lettieri Isabella Lettieri is a high school junior at Cape Hatteras Secondary School and started COA classes in Fall 2020. She loves writing and has also had several articles on various topics published in The Island Free Press. Isabella has served on her school’s yearbook staff and worked on the school’s newspaper for the last three years. In 2020, she was the female lead in the school’s production of Robin Hood.

Michael Dane Lewis Michael Dane Lewis is an international student from Jamaica pursuing an Associate in Fine Arts in Theatre at COA. Michael enjoys reading, researching, writing, cooking and performing. He has a passion for teaching, volunteering and inspiring others to believe in themselves in order to attain higher personal fulfillment and consciousness. Chris Ann Masiello Chris Ann Masiello is a graduate of ECSU with a BA in English degree. She wrote and published “Romanticism: New Waves of Imaginative Thinking,” Volume VII, 2012, Explorations, for the State of NC housed at UNC Wilmington. She is also a COA alum and is currently employed by the college as an Administrative/Resource Assistant. Fredric Neiderer Fredric Neiderer is an Associate in Engineering student at COA. Shannon Owens Shannon Owens is a former COA Associate in Fine Arts in Visual Arts student. Sudeepa Pathak Sudeepa Pathak is a mathematician by profession. The world of logic some days takes her away to the world of magic and words weaved with pure thoughts. Her father has been her inspiration and the reason to smile for all of her life – her poem is a dedication to that fine man, “My Father.” Annemarie Pomp Annemarie Pomp is a retired art teacher. A graduate from Newark State College Kean University, she has a BA in Fine Arts Education. Inspired by nature, she produces hand wrought silver pieces and paintings in watercolor and oil. Annemarie has received many awards for her jewelry and pottery at local Art Leagues. Richard Pronto After retiring early from a successful career in Social Work, Rick decided to satisfy his desire to be creative and pursue a degree in jewelry design from College of The Albemarle. Rick is currently living in Hertford, where he designs and creates his jewelry and metal designs out of his home studio while continuing his coursework through COA’s Professional Crafts: Jewelry program. Shainna Richardson Shainna Richardson was born in Canton, Ohio. At 14 she moved to Minnesota for a better education. While attending Eden Prairie High School, she took numerous advanced English classes and a creative writing class. She is now medically retired from the Army and has a blended family of nine.

Marcel Segura Ramirez Marcel Segura Ramirez is a student at COA. Deloris Samuelson Deloris Samuelson has been a student of COA’s Professional Crafts: Jewelry program since 2016. She began making wire art jewelry as a profession in 2005. Since beginning her studies at COA, her work has begun to transition from exclusively wire jewelry to almost entirely metalsmith jewelry. She enjoys producing both traditional and nontraditional jewelry, and uses a wide range of materials in her work such as sterling silver, riticulation silver, 14k gold, copper, wood, steel and various precious and semi-precious stones. Sandi Thigpen Sandi Thigpen is a College of The Albemarle alum – Class of 2013 and 2014. During her four year tenure as a COA student, she earned an Associate in General Education, Associate in Applied Science in Medical Office Administration and Associate of Arts. Sandi has been a member of the COA staff for five years, first serving as a testing center proctor and currently as the Testing Center Coordinator. Dana Weeks Dana Weeks is currently majoring in Human Services Technology at College of The Albemarle. Dana is a mother to three young adults and a grandmother to a handsome little boy and a beautiful little girl, as well as to an angel in heaven. Ellen Wells Ellen Wells is currently a student in the Professional Crafts: Jewelry program at COA. Kennedy Wilkerson Kennedy Wilkerson is a student at COA who is currently working on her associates degree in fine arts. Her work in sculpture is her recent attempt to stir up the concepts and issues that rest in her mind. Alison Williams Alison Williams is a metalsmith, enamelist and graphic designer residing on the Outer Banks. The ancient art of enamel is her primary obsession and medium. Her work was also selected for exhibition by The Enamelist Society for the 2019 Online Student Exhibition. Ann Workman Student, mother and gallery coordinator Ann Workman is working toward her Associate in Fine Art at COA. She plans to transfer to a four-year university upon graduation where she will complete her bachelor’s degree. Working within the themes of death, womanhood and race helps her make sense of the world.

Richard Pronto: Green Phase Scene

Richard Pronto: Silver Snail

COA – Currituck 107 College Way Barco, NC 27917 252-453-3035 COA – Dare 132 Russell Twiford Road 205 S Business Highway 64/264 Manteo, NC 27954 252-473-2264 COA – Edenton-Chowan 118 Blades Street Edenton, NC 27932 252-482-7900

Ann Workman: Contraband (close-up)

COA – Elizabeth City 1208 North Road Street Elizabeth City, NC 27909 252-335-0821