Tapestry, Spring 2026

TAPESTRY 2026

THE ART & LITERARY MAGAZINE OF DELAWARE COUNTY CHRISTIAN SCHOOL

CONTENTS 1. Kelly Johnson, Acrylic on Canvas*

27. Laurie Hontz, Watercolor*

2. Chloe Smith, Acrylic on Canvas

28. Jude Sacks*, Josh Videon, Abby Kim, Linoleum Block Prints

3. Abigail Jackson, Watercolor 4. Lila Jones, Ceramic* 5. Anaiyah Harvell, “Soul, Mind, and Body” 6. Lila Barnes, “Reflecting Connections” 7. Emma Liu, Copper 8. Markus Mehler, Graphite 9. Jude Sacks, “The Grind” 10. Audrey Lehman, Acrylic on Canvas 11. Avery Young, Acrylic on Canvas* 12. Emma Morton, “The Well” 13. Emma Morton, Acrylic on Canvas 14. Caleb Yuen, Colored Pencil 15. Jessica Petrulis, Pen and Ink 16. Kylie Spero, “I Wish in the Garden of My Mind” 17. Jack Mackin, Photography 18. Chloe Smith, Colored Pencil* 19. Audrey Lehman, Acrylic on Canvas* 20. Maryn D’Antonio, Watercolor 21. Maryn D’Antonio, “Behold” 22. Cole Matthews, Linoleum Block Print 23. Avery Young, Watercolor and Pen and Ink 24. Judah Jain, “The Light in Dark Places” 25. Ian Kauffman, Linoleum Block Print 26. Nandi Williams, Acrylic on Canvas

29. Lila Jones, “Ambition” 30. Eden Lemke, “The Crown” 31. Jessica Petrulis, Digital Media 32. Chloe Smith, Acrylic on Canvas 33. Jessica Petrulis, Ceramic 34-35. Lily Rosenberg, “The Stars” 34-35. Juliet Jackson, Linoleum Block Print 36. Abigail Kim, Acrylic on Canvas 37. Alexa Cardone, Clay 38. Marina Kopitas, “September 1st” 39. Nico Li, Watercolor 40. Andre Kremin, Chalk 41. Alex Sterious, Clay 42. Elliott Venutolo, Chalk 43. Justin Qiu, “Seeking Fulfillment” 44. Sylvia Hou, Clay Scratchboard 45. Ava Kingsbury, Graphite* 46-47. Micah Peirce. “The Last Word” 48. Grace Dague, Watercolor 49. Anna Sterious, Acrylic on Canvas

*Front Cover Back Cover: Sylvia Hou, Linoleum Block Print

Kelly Johnson, Acrylic on Canvas

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Chloe Smith, Acrylic on Canvas

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Abigail Jackson, Watercolor

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Lila Jones, Ceramic 4

SOUL, MIND, AND BODY Anaiyah Harvell

Even in horrid calamity beauty is seen through the heart a song is sung a flower sprouts and a soul once lost is found Even in stark calamity the psyche shouts with joy Equilibrium is found Ambivalence persists and the mind’s peace remains profound Even in dreaded calamity no movement can be made Kaleidoscopes change Vertigo commences and the body weeps without pain When calamity comes it remains ethereal yet it foretells of dread and despair Despite the pain, the shock, the fear the soul, mind, and body are spared

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REFLECTING CONNECTIONS Lila Barnes

One person’s candle is another person’s shade.

I’m not speaking of light but of the shadow that it gave.

One person’s loss is another person’s victory.

Things one holds on to another calls history.

It isn’t a mystery that joy and light can have the opposite effect on things.

Some call it trickery or witchery —but I fear that the true meaning is missing me.

Most won’t believe that the negative effects on things is based on jealousy —but then I wonder, well, what else could it be?

When you’re stuck in darkness you look at the light with contempt, While you’re stuck in a pit, why on earth would you be content?

Content to be in misery? Content to be in pain?

God’s ways are a mystery we try to comprehend in vain.

In life there are things that speak to your passion.

Stay focused on those, don’t fall to distractions.

Every objective depends on perspective.

You’ll get nowhere in life if you aren’t reflective.

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Emma Liu, Copper 7

Markus Mehler, Graphite

8

THE GRIND Jude Sacks

The morning starts before the sun can rise Cleats still damp from long drills The field is quiet, and cold enough to bite Habit pulling me towards the inevitability of my life Jogging the same warm-up done a thousand times My breath in shapes of clouds like ghosts The ball rolls neat between my mastered practice, Legs already heavy, but I push Coach wants intensity, so I give more Runs and laps stack like chapters and pages no one wants to read Weights wait for me the second practice ends, The gym lights glare at me like they’re annoyed I’m back.

I squat, I press, I question why I still try, But somehow, quitting never feels like peace.

Each ache reminds me who I want to be.

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Audrey Lehman, Acrylic on Canvas

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Avery Young, Acrylic on Canvas

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THE WELL

Emma Morton

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Have you heard the tale Of the child in the well?

No one quite knows How or when she fell, But people in town Passed by her each day, Never looking down To avoid a delay.

Then one day a man Stopped at the stony hole And told her of His plan, Easing the girl’s broken soul.

He threw down a rope That shone like the dawn.

The girl held on with hope, Her eyes like a newborn fawn.

And the girl grew older Surrounded by stone With no one to hold her Or show her the unknown.

With a cry to the sky, Each day she looked above With hope for a reply Or any sort of love.

The man who saved her Told her He was a King, And it created quite a stir When He gifted her a ring.

They went to His palace, A grand fortress on a hill, Where the girl found solace, And her mind could be still.

Now, that girl is His Queen, And rules with love and grace Her life is like a dream, Or a long-awaited embrace.

So to all those unseen Take heart in your cell, For there once was a Queen Who was trapped in a well.

Emma Morton, Acrylic on Canvas

13

Caleb Yuen, Colored Pencil

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Jessica Petrulis, Pen and Ink

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I WISH IN THE GARDEN OF YOUR MIND Kylie Spero

I wish in the garden of your mind there are no weeds of me left, only the cherry blossoms you once adored.

I hope the air is gentle there, and the roots that once lived can now choke in the light.

I wish in the garden of your mind that you can find someone who will stay throughout every season, tending petals I could never reach, watering hopes I could never hold.

May the soil feel softer to them than it ever did beneath my hands.

May your harvest finally be peaceful, and your orchard forever in bloom.

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Jack Mackin, Photography 17

Chloe Smith, Colored Pencil

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Audrey Lehman, Acrylic on Canvas 19

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BEHOLD Maryn D’Antonio

how wonderful and universal it is that beauty calls for witness we call attention to beauty because we yearn to, as if we must share the simple truth of it, as if we must make sure it isn’t missed. not because it’s rare, but because it’s treasured. because we are wired to behold, because the very fact that every creature carries His breath every field bears His fingerprint every sunset displays His craftsmanship and that we are all part of this painfully beautiful terrible wonderful experience called life, can relate us to one another in a way we can’t explain, in a way that’s almost holy. maybe, the beauty of this earth calls for witness because it is a witness a glimpse of something far greater and more magnificent and eternal than we can imagine or comprehend.

Maryn D’Antonio, Watercolor

so please, pay witness to this beauty, for its creator has called us to behold.

21

Cole Matthews, Linoleum Block Print

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Avery Young, Watercolor and Pen and Ink 23

THE LIGHT IN DARK PLACES Judah Jain

Imagine with me that you’re stood in a box The ceiling’s real high and the doors are all locked The only thing there’s a huge hamster wheel and clock Someone painted the walls, they’re like the outside But there’s nowhere to go if you just want to hide I’d show you the out if I’d found one… I’ve tried So you stand for a second and stare at the wheel And wonder how testing it out would feel Cus after all that’s what looks the most real Wow, this is great, you say to yourself As you stretch your legs from sitting so still And you start to forget about rest and your health So you run and run with not a meal Or even time for your legs to heal ‘Cause nothing compares to spinning the wheel But you keep on going and it’s not quite clear Just how much time have you spent on here?

Has it been a week, a month, a year?

So you try to stop but you don’t know how You’re reaching out but there’s just the ground And suddenly you hear a sound The screeching of some odd metal on metal And you notice your pace start slowing down But you got to keep feeling . . . round and round You run so fast you almost drown In sweat and tears . . . but that sound is so loud

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So you finally listen, you let up the chase Of whatever you’d win when you finished the race And the speed tapers off till you’re stood in place So you thank whoever stopped your run And step on down to start having fun And maybe talk to this person some But you look around and there is no one How strange you say as you sit to wait Because man, your legs are in a sorry state And your eyes wander round till they’re staring straight In front of you at the clock on the wall As you sense your patience rise and fall Will this person even show at all?

And you keep looking back at that human wheel That kept you bound but let you feel And beat the sun in seeming real So now you’re stuck here looking back But occasional noises fill the gaps Between the tick and tock of time Reminding you that you’ll turn out fine ‘Cause even if you get back on There’s nothing that can beat our God.

Ian Kauffman, Linoleum Block Print

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Nandi Williams, Acrylic on Canvas

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Laurie Hontz, Watercolor

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Jude Sacks, Linoleum Block Print

Josh Videon, Linoleum Block Print

AMBITION Lila Jones

The room is a cathedral of light.

Her eyes are full of wonder My mind is full of hunger She prances through the day I run like it’s a race Her heat beats to her own drum Mine beats like a kid who cannot be tamed She knows where she wants to go and where she’s from I aim for whatever gets me through the day Her hair is slick and straight Mine is wavy with flyaways She’s always done her homework by eight I sit with mine for so long I start to decay She’s everything I want to be But she only resides within me

Abby Kim, Linoleum Block Print

29

THE CROWN Eden Lemke

The room is a cathedral of light.

Hands clap like thunder.

Diamonds pretend to be stars.

Everyone calls it beauty but I know it is made of what I survived.

Every jewel is something I lost.

Every shimmer a prayer that went unanswered.

Every curve of gold bends around a dream I almost gave up.

I wear my life on my head.

My faith sits where my fear should be.

One wrong step and I could fall out of who they think I am.

I am crowned as strong, yet I am always cracking.

I keep smiling so no one hears the shaking inside my ribs.

I pray into the noise, hoping God can hear me over my own doubt.

The crowd waits.

He listens.

Backstage, my heart is kneeling.

My legs forget how to be legs.

I peek through the curtain my mother’s eyes say you are already enough.

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But I don’t believe her yet.

So I open my Bible like a wound that knows how to heal.

If God is for you, who can be against you?

I whisper it to my fear.

I whisper it to my shame.

I whisper it to the little girl inside me who still wants to be chosen.

Top five.

Five hearts beating.

Four will break.

Names fall like rain.

Not mine.

Again— not mine.

The silence grows teeth.

It bites into my hope.

If God is for you…

I say it even when I don’t feel it.

I say it like someone holding onto the edge of a cliff.

Then my name.

It feels like resurrection.

My knees give up.

My hands try to hold my face together.

The room disappears.

And in the crowd not judges, not crowns, not numbers His Son. Smiling.

Mouthing: “I chose you long before they did.”

Jessica Petrulis, Digital Media 31

Chloe Smith, Acrylic on Canvas

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Jessica Petrulis, Ceramic 33

THE STARS Lily Rosenberg

Brilliant, exquisite, boundlessly bright, Small beacons of light for me fly through the night.

I have seen them on the best days of my life, While life’s blessing rested on the brow of a little child, Innocent and pure with a heart to love in her bosom.

I have seen them on the worst days of my life, While cruel betrayal stings yet in her heart of hearts.

Bitter comfort you were then!

And yet so welcomely received.

For in my anguish the Divine met me in a beacon of unfathomable light — Then two, then three, then four, And all sorrow melted ‘way ‘neath Heaven’s gaze, Lofty and so human.

Long have I lived beside these waters, And never have my friends failed me; Love always met me with a friendly twinkling eye.

I see it still, here at the end.

I do not hope to know my friends so well again.

The light cannot find me so well in my life.

This closeness ends here.

I had hoped that, at the end, the stars would weep for me As I for them, That some icy tear would fall from Heaven’s depths to commiserate; Not so one.

The stars are as implacably, determinedly cheerful as always.

They refuse to weep.

And yet I would have it so.

Should perfection be marred at my will, Or should the watery depths of Heaven burst forth at my command?

Not so!

Or would I ever return to find my beloved beauties in such sorry state?

I should die first!

For though I cannot see my friends more, They are there, And they see me still.

I would be strong And know that they are strong And take courage, Not condolence.

As if I had lost something!

My darlings are still there, And so am I, And they, And we, Will never change; And they, And we, Will never die.

See! My friends!

They twinkle in farewell!

Ah, my loves! My only love!

That I could stay, Or see you by me where I am, I would give much — And small comfort it is to know you’re there and not to see you.

Yet I still hope to come again, If not the same, then better!

You will be there until the end, And I’ll be there beside you.

A light shines in the distance.

It will go out in just a moment.

I bite my lip, and blink back tears, And resolutely turn, And walk away.

So long my stars.

I will forever see you as you are, Forever in my memory, And as we grow ‘midst one-sided sight, That light will never flicker.

I know that still they’re twinkling through every stormy weather, And if, perchance, I come again, they will be so forever.

Juliet Jackson, Linoleum Block Print

Abigail Kim, Acrylic on Canvas

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Alexa Cardone, Clay

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SEPTEMBER 1ST Marina Kopitas

The thrill of dying leaves dancing in the wind like butterflies.

The chill of the once vibrant and sunny sky rattling your bones.

The hill that was lush and green weeks ago, now crunchy and dry and golden, not gold, not ever gold, because its beauty is merely an illusion.

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Nico Li, Watercolor 39

Andre Kremin, Chalk

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Alex Sterious, Clay

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Elliott Venutolo, Chalk

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SEEKING FULFILLMENT Justin Qiu

Seeking fulfillment I tried all of them Haven’t found them ‘til retirement There is no hidden gem Searching on shadows cast in cave Man, do I crave Life’s got humor Trying to live a holy life Did I end up holey Have I wasted my time?

This supernatural hole, though Earth dwarfs comparing to World cannot fill it up My time is not enough Man, I need a way out of this Maybe there’s another choice Maybe there’s a way to ‘joice Is there somebody else Is there something else That I can seek fulfillment from?

Man, I want this savior of mine Godly power is thine Will I see him?

Will I find him?

My strength is not enough I am not tough My spirit cease to be Shalt thou come to me.

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Sylvia Hou, Clay Scratchboard

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Ava Kingsbury, Graphite

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THE LAST WORD Micah Peirce

Darkness, hunger, loneliness. These things were common in the Realm of the Forsaken. How had I gotten here? Simply by telling important people they were at fault. Would I be put to death?

That remained to be seen. I sat up straight in the damp cave of my prison. I hadn’t eaten in three days. My stomach rumbled as I saw a rat scurry across the cell and dash into a crevice in the wall. Anything would have sufficed then; I would even have been fine eating chewed-up bread.

My beard was matted, and my camel-hair shirt was stuck to my chest because of the moisture seeping from the cell walls.

As I sat there in my desolate cage, I remembered the One for whom I had done this in the first place. I remembered the day when He had approached me at the Jordan River to be baptized. I remembered the dove and the booming voice from the clouds. I remembered His sermon on the hill, how it had resonated with so many people. I remembered how I had taught Him how to carve his name into the olive tree in my parents’ yard. I wondered where He was now. I asked why He was not there to release me from this trap.

I could visualize that day I strode into Herod’s palace, determined to speak the will of God upon him. His rage had blared as I accused him of adultery. He had ordered his guards to seize me, and they had thrown me in the dungeon under the palace. I had been there ever since.

As my brain churned over these thoughts, I heard the footsteps of leather boots, the clinking of chain mail, and deep voices coming down the corridor. I saw two flickering torches waft their way down the narrow passage. It was two guards, moving briskly toward my cell. The first, whom the other had called Eleazar, muttered, “I don’t know why we have to do this. John is a holy man who has not done anything wrong.”

The second guard said, “Upstairs, at the banquet that the king was giving for all his officials, his daughter performed a dance that captivated all of us. The king was so swept away by her that he promised her anything, up to half of his kingdom! And she asked… for the head of John the Baptist on a platter. I couldn’t believe it!” He chuckled softly, “But here we are, and we have to obey the king’s command.”

As I realized what was happening, everything started to blur. Had I committed a crime? What was about to happen? I had proclaimed the message I was meant to say, which was what He would’ve wanted. Whatever happened, I had done what I did for a purpose, and I would face the consequences. Whether they were good or bad didn’t matter. Only He did.

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The guards approached my cell, and Eleazar unlocked it with a bronze key. The other guard entered the cell and bound my hands with tight metal cords and began to lead me out. Eleazar took hold of my left shoulder and the other, my right. They led me away through the many winding corridors and passageways to a room with an iron door.

As they pushed me through the door, I saw a metal block in the center of the room, dented from many slashes. The floor was stained red here and there. A man holding an iron ax was in a corner, sitting on a stool. The man was burly and broad-chested, clad in black armor, one eye scarred from some kind of past row. He stood up and lumbered over to me and the two guards who firmly gripped me.

“Another one ready for the slaughter, eh, boys?” He looked at me like I wasn’t much of a task.

“What did this one do?” he said, frowning. “Looks like a raggedy old beggar to me.”

“He’s on her majesty’s bad side,” replied Eleazer.

“Worse than that,” said his partner. “The worst. He insulted her.”

“Well, let’s get a move on then,” said the man in black, as he pulled the dark hood over his face.

The next thing I knew, I was being shoved over to the man with the steel ax. He grabbed me and threw me down onto the metal block. It was cold, and I was in pain from the slap of the metal against my skin. I was seized with fear and a kind of anger. Why was this happening to me? And yet I also felt a strange peace, knowing this was all in honor of Him. It was all a part of His plan.

The wooden yolk was fastened over my neck. I remembered Him saying “Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart.”

“So. Any last words?” muttered the man in black. I heard him sharpening his ax as he waited for my response. I could think of only one word to say… “Jesus!”

The air brushed the back of my neck.

Darkness.

Satisfaction. The Presence. God with me.

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Grace Dague, Watercolor

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Anna Sterious, Acrylic on Canvas

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Sylvia Hou, Linoleum Block Print

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