Issuu

The SELLADORE

Flora

Cover: Never Arriving, Rowan Parkinson

“I buried a hatchet, it’s coming up lavender.”

- Phoebe Bridgers, Smoke Signals

THE SELLADORE

"I was astonished when someone first showed that by writing cellar door as Selladore one produces an enchanting proper name.” - C.S. Lewis

“Your language too has soft and beautiful words, but they are not always appreciated. What could be more musical than your word cellar-door?” - W.D. Howells

“The modern small home or apartment has ... deprived today's child of ... the pleasant summer afternoon activity of sliding down cellar doors. Just what happened to the slanted cellar door in this efficient age isn't clear; although cellars have remained, nothing has disappeared more quietly from modern life than these cellar doors.” - William Chapman White

“This famous linguist once said that of all the phrases in the English language, of all the endless combinations of words in all of history, that ‘cellar door’ is the most beautiful.” - Karen Pomeroy

“Sell a cellar, door a cellar, sell a cellar cellar-door, door adore, adore a door, selling cellar, door a cellar, cellar cellar-door. There is damned little meaning and less sense in such a sentence, but there is, unless my tonal balance is askew, twice more rhythm and twice more lovely sound in it than in anything, equally idiotic, that Miss Gertrude ever confected.” - George Jean Nathan

“I’m like you ...I remember everything.” - André Aciman

“No. It’s not a name. It’s something else. Selladore, it’s not a princess’ name, it can’t be. Selladore… is a place… It is a place which is revered by all who know of it. A sacred place marked at its centre by… by trees.” - David Gleeson and Stephen Beresford

“I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best, the subject I want to know better.” - Frida Kahlo

“The art of art, the glory of expression, and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.” - Walt Whitman

“Goodbye earthling, you were more perfect than anyone, though far from it.” - Margaret Atwood

INTRODUCTION

Within these pages are entire worlds, constellations of meaning and purpose brought to bear upon us by the students of Elmwood. There is a startling array of techniques and styles fraught with humour, passion and intent. Though each piece says something different, they are similar in that they all say something meaningful and forceful. We started this journal for this expressed purpose: to give the students of this school an opportunity to regain control over language and to exert agency where there might exist passivity. These authors have tamed language to meet their emotional ends and, in so doing, give you, the reader, an understanding that such things are possible, no matter your age or experience. We ask simply that you read these words with an open mind, an open heart, and with the understanding that, should you choose to express yourself as well, the next issue will be waiting for you.

Sincerely,

Your Editors

Sloane Bradley

Elizabeth

Michelle Liu

Tina Zhang

Maya Yemm

Alexa Ng

Daryna Mardak

Anonymous

Tina Zhang

Temi Adekeye

Norah Redstone

May Wang

Charlotte

Eva

Daryna Mardak

Alexa Ng

Rowyn Pratte

May Wang

Michelle Liu

Augustine

CanYouTell TreesandFlowers

TRACKLIST

IWantToLayWithYou Life SuperSee AFlowerForAllSeasons Yesterday,TodayandTomorrow IfNotForYou TaleofMyLostLove Seabird

AMessageToPretty

SandyToes

Let’sKeepItQuietNow

Don’tKnowWhatI’mGonnaDo

InMyRoom

GentleMan

EaseMyMind

PutALittleAway

LoveSongs

It’saLovelyGame,Louise

ByTheSea

SongtotheSiren-Take7

TheRisingStorm

LindaPerhacs

CatherineHowe

Harumi

Sagittarius

TheDefaulters

RobertLesterFolsom

Innovations

MargoGuryan

TheCyrkle

Wendy&Bonnie

TimBuckley

Evening Mood, May Wang

Hand Drawing, Sloane Bradley

Through The Looking Glass, Elizabeth Chen-Baker

Roots

Michelle Liu

Listen to the hum

Watch the ebb and flow of my scissors

Silver, shining

Memory is rooted

Reflecting on kept memories

Each piece falls gently, whispering to me

It's not just hair, not just a trim

I will let go of the me that I once was attached to

I will let new lengths grow upon me

The scissors bite the ends of my hair

Eating away from me

The shape of me falls and scatters

Tracing freedom where attachment lies

Each snip a step, each strand a distance away from me

Away from the comfort of each home's warm smile

The weight lessens; your head feels bare

The breeze now touches places once new

My body exposed, a new dawn's grace

A map to the journey your heart must face

What is left behind lies scattered and frayed

Ghosts of who you were, neatly laid

You leave me, on the tiled floor

To step through the threshold, to seek much more

For cutting your hair is not the end,

But the start of paths that twist and bend.

A new shape, a new self, sharp and true,

Leaving home to become someone new.

Flower Dance, Tina Zhang

Model: Usha Patterson

Your Light, Maya Yemm Oil pastel on paper

Flowers should stick together, Alexa Ng

A Different Frame of Mind, Daryna Mardak Plexiglass etching

Anonymous

Walking in Beauty, Tina Zhang | Click to play

Untitled, Temi Adekeye

on a digital camera

Hibiscus, Norah Redstone

Photographed

Rinds, May Wang

Grapefruit, Elizabeth Chen-Baker

Mind the Flower, Kayla Shafai

Orchids, Maya Yemm

Watercolour on paper

Calm flower meadow, Charlotte Dufort

Grasslands, Eva Li

A Glimpse, Daryna Mardak

A Frangipani’s Wish

Alexa Ng

In gardens lush, where colours blend, Flowers bloom, a message they send. A reflection of people, this I believe, In petals and stems, our stories weave.

Roses, oh roses, in red, pink, and white, A popular choice, a beautiful sight. Yet thorns they conceal, a reminder so clear, That beauty can hurt, and love can bring fear.

Tulips stand gentle, in soft, tender grace, Delicate whispers in a vibrant embrace. While sunflowers follow the light of the day, With faces turned upward, they chase shadows away.

But I am a Frangipani, unique in my way, A Cambodian bloom, where the warm breezes play. Bundled together, we flourish in trees, Yet time is a thief, and it brings us to knees.

As seasons do change, and the winds start to sigh, One by one, we drop, as the days pass us by. Turning brown, we wither, on the ground we lay, Yet I hold a hope that won't fade away.

So if you should find me, in my darkest hour, Please pick me up gently, and cherish my flower. Even when petals fall and colours may fade, Keep me in your heart, let love be displayed.

For like every flower, I long to be seen, In the garden of life, where we all intertwine, So keep me close, through the seasons we weather, A Frangipani’s wish, to bloom on together.