It Starts with a Dot 2020

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IT STARTS WITH A DOT • 2019–2020 •

Creative Writing & Artwork by S t u d e nts o f S t . J o h n ’ s H i g h S c h o o l

Arts, etc. is proud to continue to support the It Starts with a Dot program at St. John’s High School. In the three years since its inception, the series of classes, combining original writing and visual arts, has encouraged the creativity and expression of many students. This outstanding publication highlights the best of the year’s work. It is the result of strong cooperation and collaboration between the Gibbes Museum of Art educators, College of Charleston MFA graduate students and teachers at St. John’s High School, all of whom have worked to develop and guide literacy skills in the high school. And it is testimony to the energy, enthusiasm and talent of the students, who have explored their artistic abilities and given voice to their thoughts. Congratulations on this accomplishment and best wishes for success in a continuing exploration of the arts.

In the third year of the It Starts with a Dot program, we feel lucky for the continued opportunity to engage with the lively, creative and bright student body at St. John’s High School. Nothing you see in the following pages would have been possible without those students’ hard work or the generosity of Arts, etc., the Gibbes Museum of Art and the faculty at St. John’s, especially Samuel Duncan. Thank you, Katrina Smolinsky and Caroline Winston

V This project would not be possible without the generous support from Arts, etc., and Arcadia Publishing and The History Press.

Dedicated to Dona Dowling Dona Dowling spent her life as an artist and educator. For fourteen years she shared her talents and passion with the students and faculty at St. John’s High School. The It Starts with a Dot project really starts with Ms. Dowling. She forged relationships with community members, galleries and museums to expose her students to the world of art. She inspired creativity and individuality among students and coworkers alike. Her impact on St. John’s High School and the entire community of Johns Island will continue to be significant as her proteges grow and pass on the skills they have learned to others. May her memory live long through the creativity and passion of her students. Love, the St. John’s family

Jacky Campos; La flor de Esperanza; watercolor on paper, 9 x 12 inches.


K evon C ampbell Start. Phase into the jovial chorus. An air of elegance and mystery fills the room. A complex story unfolds, revealing the beautiful highs and low lows. It makes me think. Dream. What story makes these black and white keys sing? I’ll be the judge of that. The blue and black curtains in the living room always formed a canyon from which the hope of day flooded in. Once again, I see your face. Yet. Yet. Yet, I did not miss it. Where we would before rendezvous, I will remove. In the clearest phrase, I’ve moved. Come alive. Been set free. I’ll subtract your voice from this dialogue and replace it with the one that, after all the noise and utterances, truly speaks to me. I’ve grown. I’m changed.


Z achary H ill The icy coldness reflecting off the sun. I can see the water slowly freezing. The breeze moving the decaying trees, flowing through my hair. The ground cracking as I stop on the dry soil. I sit on the cold bench facing the lake. I open my book, the pages are smooth as silk. I begin to read, relaxing.

V A lexandra B lake Johns Island On this small, little island there’s not much to see. A few palm trees waiting to be noticed. A big library to keep you focused. Leaves on the ground, go jump on them and see if they make a sound. Your world is big and mine is small. Try to see from my point of view. There’s not much here at all.


Anonymous; watercolor on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


J imena V era T ranslation by S amuel D uncan Bienvenido a MĂŠxico Un lugar ileno de culturas extraordinarias, personas de todos tamaĂąos y colores. Pueblos y ciudades que hacen que todo sea tan diferente y asombroso. Hay tantos lugares por recore y tan tanta gente que conocer, comidas deliciosas y lugares con vista maravillosa. A place full of extraordinary cultures. People of all sizes and colors. Towns and cities that make everything so different and amazing. There are so many places to travel to and so many people to meet. Delicious foods and places with a beautiful view.


Cielo Perez; Pretty Bird Pretty Bird; colored pencil on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


B riana B lake This Is Downtown Here we are In Downtown Charleston Cracked and uneven sidewalks, The night is filled with humid air The sound of cars speeding while asleep Hearing the chime of the clock every hour. This is Downtown. Crowds of people coming together The smell of food fills the air Weekly events that bring joy to many parades, marathons We end with celebration This is Downtown.

V RJ B ackman The Island When you enter down here as the gates open, and you proceed through you’ll see the high burgundy and blue stadium. Black gates surrounding the light green field and dark black track. The bright blue anchor outlined with the smooth white paint lets you know where you’re at, Johns Island. “The island, the real island.”


Ruby Hernandez; Sunflower; graphite on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


A manda G rant Cars passing by, screeching to a stop. The heat beaming down, creating a mirage, killing everything. Nothing but sand, rocks, mountains peak in the back. Look at everyone. Nothing grows, a green spiky plant standing alone. San Diego where nothing grows, but it was my home. I have grown and left that old hot home.


N icholas S nead

Erasure of The Giver, by Lois Lowry


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photos by MCG Photography.


L ibby B assett Florida Listening to the breeze whistling through the tall green trees. With the smell of the mud, fresh air, and the animals running through my nose. Thump, thump, thump, the little footprints go as they’re coming down the boardwalk. I hear the sounds of the alligator croaks, pausing for a quick second to hear them swim closer and closer to me. Now as I continue my path for so long, I finally come to a stop, and once again I find myself being lost.


Katelyn McTeer; Flowers; Sharpie on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


G abriella D ayson Mission Viejo, California Wet, blue and salty, like taffy. Fish, beach, and boats. Happy people making fine memories to later look back upon, surrounded by beauty and water. I like to wonder If I’ll ever be there again.

V J ose C erritos Food cooked right in front of you makes you happy, kills your blues. So much you have leftovers, while your wallet goes empty.


Bernardica Brown; Growth; colored pencil on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


S eth H olcombe The James Island park Is a shiny place As the sun beams down With the sound of trees Which is all I taste with The sound of Joy and Laughter is all I hear As you watch they Play

V D avid M acias Colorful city with every color like the rainbow on East Bay Street. Green like Kiawah Island. Driving over the bridges, seeing orange, thinking about how beautiful that sunset looks. And let’s not forget about how the 400-year-old tree is still standing up after those so called catastrophic hurricanes come by.


S helby M eadows The Forest As you walk into the cold forest it’s quiet, then you hear a rustling nearby. It’s just a deer. As you continue on you see many trees. And in the trees are critters. As you rest you think about the forest and its many wonders. You keep on going deeper in the forest till you reach the path. It’s starting to get dark and you leave. But your thoughts remain, and one day you might return.

V H aley H ewett Dirt roads with gray metal fences. Gloomy roads so dense. Dogs bark through the night.


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photo by MCG Photography.


C arson B ernard Walking around, dirt on the ground. No cars to travel, we walk through the town.

V S abrina L afayette Folly Beach We see a lot of people Smell the air heavy with food Hear voices everywhere Sun beating us down Hear the crashing of the waves See history in buildings We love the feeling of this place


B riana B lake

Erasure of The Giver, by Lois Lowry


A u N iya D awkins I’ll take you to a place, a very colorful place. A place that houses spiders and snakes. Maybe you’ll see something swinging in the trees. You might see something standing tall chewing on some leaves. Where did you visit?

V A layna N elson Mask on face, drink in hand, purple, green, and gold, all over the land, partying hard, having a blast. People having fun, I hope this never ends, every year this happens, and I really hope it stays. Go to sleep then wake up and do it all again.


Jorge Gomez; untitled; watercolor on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


A aliyah B rown The smell of good food on the grill brushing through my nose. Kids running, feeling free with no cares in the world. The sound of heavy feet on the grass and they dance the night away. Hollywood, where the wind blows. Hollywood in what I call home.

V G riffin P orter School Waking up for school Don’t wanna be ruled It’s really not cool Gotta hurry to class Having to listen is like stepping on glass Starving for lunch Ready to crunch Finally, it’s my last block And my teacher is ready to rock I’m finally home and roll into bed I’m tired of today, I feel so dead


Joshua Carter; Hibiscus; pastel on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


Jaquan Pinckney; Lil Boosie; watercolor on paper; 12 x 9 inches.

Marcus Gibbs; Young Boy; watercolor on paper; 12 x 9 inches. 34

Jorge Gomez; Self-portrait; graphite on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


K evon C ampbell Charleston If you ask where I originate you’ll need to listen for a sec. I’m from a land of farms and green, where the moon and stars reflect. Then I’ll tell you that I originated from a land of sea and trees, where seafoam and seagulls roam. They travel on the Breeze.


Bernardica Brown; The Ravenel Bridge; graphite on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


J aniyah L ewis Dear, Lost Home I saw you from a distance in the late Afternoon there was a big moon shining Over you, I smelled you. Down to your carbon and All your pollution. I stood there frozen as my Mind goes from past to present thinkin’ of My forgotten home, the home I left behind. Still don’t understand how I can cry, when I chose to leave everyone behind. Now I sit here alone missing home Staring, at the boat as if it was lookin’ Back at me, as if it was reflecting the Past right back at me. Why do I want To signal the shine? Why do I miss, why Do I, why? Why do I cry, Why do I want to go back to my lost home? I guess it is time to sail home.


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Student pictured with American Dream (detail), 2016, by Charles Edward Williams. Photo by MCG Photography.

V N icholas S nead

After American Dream, by Charles Edward Williams I see that you are proud, I see that you have pride in your race and who you are. Judging on how you look, you are screaming, “Power to the people.” You are on top of the statue so your voice could be heard by everybody. Your friend is on the bottom with a serious and proud look on his face. He looks like he fears nothing, He looks like he’s a fighter, he looks like he has your back no matter what. That’s your brother and y’all are one.


Caleb Clark; untitled; Sharpie on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


J ames B utler It’s Autumn. The Earth is bleeding orange and brown. Trees are murdered. Plantation is slaughtered. I shiver. Nostalgia overcomes me, spreading to every cell in my being. I am alone. I am in love. So why do I condone These emotions that burn my soul? Don’t get me wrong, I adore the cold. But my conscience is also cold, To depression I am sold. Autumn’s here, but you can’t see, Hell’s awaiting me.


Josh Broach; ’Merica; Sharpie on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


K ameon F oggy The Pattern of Nature Birds are flying, The bees are chasing, The patient leaves fall The water drops. Friendly deer are running The absent child gazes The calm night ends. Next day starts up. A fox—hiding, playing, Spider making its morning web A ballet dancing, Piano playing, The snow falling late night A lost cub finds his way back home


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Student pictured with Scramble (detail), 2016, by Charles Edward Williams. Photo by MCG Photography.

V K inleya T olbert

After Scramble, by Charles Edward Williams Dear Scramble, Why is he holding on to you like that? Are you scared he’s going to hurt you? Don’t be afraid little girl, for one day justice will come. Do you think it’s really worth the fight? Do you think he’s doing his job right? O, little girl, just be careful, for we don’t know what he will do. Does it hurt when he grabs and pulls on you? Maybe one day things will change. Maybe you’ll be able to stay in the pool and enjoy your time. 44

Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photo by MCG Photography.


I liana P imentel

After Scramble, by Charles Edward Williams Dear Scramble, Little African American adolescent, I will make justice for you, you did not deserve to get pulled by your hair like that just because American police wanted to. I’ll try my best To get justice for you. He’s even brandishing a gun at you, I know it’s not fair. Oh...wait. He’s white and we are black. Nobody will listen to us. Case L O S T!


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Students pictured with Scramble (detail), 2016, by Charles Edward Williams. Photo by MCG Photography.


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Student pictured with Scramble (detail), 2016, by Charles Edward Williams. Photo by MCG Photography.

V T akayla A iken

After Scramble, by Charles Edward Williams Loss of words, these are some things that I’ve heard: She’s a teenaged girl. Black with no curls, who’s trying to protect herself. You’re hurt and broken, pinned to the ground. You can’t seem to hold your ground. Don’t make a sound.


J ames B utler

Erasure of The Giver, by Lois Lowry


E mili J uarez P ortillo In the light of the heavens This song reminds me of your dreams And listening to it makes me sad Because with me you are not I am in the darkness Sad I am With my love in the palms of my hand Heart beating.

V R onald W righton J r . I am sleepy, but I will not rest, for I have a job, listening, Thinking, remembering old memories, good and bad. I… feel calm, but confused, left wondering what I’m Doing and why I’m doing it, yet I don’t resist it. I have no Reason to. I just do what I need to do.


C aleb C lark

Erasure of The Giver, by Lois Lowry


L illian P eterson Oh how the high and the low pitches hit my ear Ringing in my head triggering and pulling dangerous Strings. But only the strong can hide it. As the Weak give in and try to become the predator in The situation they create for themselves.

V J ohneia O dom Inconsistent melody, dragged by thought. Disappointing rhythm made over-exaggeration, typical slow song played by piano. Steady in sound but unreal in beat.


J arquez M ontgomery I’m at this Fancy party with all these rich people. All you can hear is clank from them doing cheers with their fine wine. Also hearing shuffling from rich couples dancing all over the place. Also hearing magnificent engines in the air from very expensive cars. Or hearing servants asking the rich if they want some caviar or some fine dining wine. Also hear a lot of laughs and giggles. Or rich wives saying I like your shiny red Louis Vuitton dress. Or rich men saying I like your black Demon Ferrari.


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photo by MCG Photography.


D ylon B utler The sound is voiceless It’s rough and unsoothing It’s a horrific sound So bad it’s used to torture terrorists There’s no happiness It’s all madness Where’s the flow, or even rhythm? Mumbo jumbo, all around He needs a lil’ of Beethoven Then he’ll know what true piano is


CD scratch art. Clockwise from top left: Ruby Hernandez, Jelly Springs; Bernardica Brown, Stripes; Kason Brown, Not So Great Depression; Ruby Hernandez, Flying Wishes. 54

CD scratch art. Clockwise from top left: Adrianna Whitaker, The Bird Who Lives in the Forest; Miguel Lopez, The Nest; Joshua Carter, The Rose that Never Withers; Cielo Perez, Pineapple.

CD scratch art. Clockwise from top left: Faviola Rivera Ramires, Horsing Under the Sea; Saray Arenas, Lilac; Noel X Hernandez, Clock; Ronald Wrighton Jr., Queen’s Flower. 55

B riana B lake

After Wave Upon Wave, by John Westmark Only one, desperation clawing at our souls. Too many of us, but only one. Backstabbers, lies, deceit. A cluster of limbs, to be the one. An ongoing battle morals or my life. Will I be the one? Desperation has led to death. One down, now three, now five bodies litter the ground. The mass has cleared. Two left, but only one. Panic. Anger...another death. I will be the one.

V E leana C havis

After Wave Upon Wave, by John Westmark They all wish to strike me down, to see me fall. I’m not worried though; I know that my determination and my will to survive outweighs theirs. They all come at me all at once, but they are not fighting together as one, and that’s where they messed up. Because they are not united, I will always win. 56

Wave Upon Wave, 2014, by John Westmark (American, b. 1963); acrylic, quilting pins, and paper sewing patterns on canvas; 66 x 99ž inches; Museum purchase with funds from the Bonner Fund; 2014.007.

V J ose L opez

After Wave Upon Wave, by John Westmark Day by day, minute by Minute, second by second. They are wondering when Is the last wave coming Upon us. So the last blood Drop can end.


J ayla B ethea

After Wave Upon Wave, by John Westmark Fighting for the last wig Oh no she got the body wave wig I want Pulling out my sword cutting her throat open YES GIRLFRIEND! This wig lookin’ good on me I’m confused on why these ladies lookin’ At me… May I ask what you lookin’ at YOUR WIG! I’m buying this so look at another one boo! She followed me so I cut her head off And all her lil’ ugly friends attack me So I pull out my lil’ friend “swordina” And started kickin’ ass!

V E stivin O rtiz

After Wave Upon Wave, by John Westmark Covered in clothing You can’t see their faces Instructions on the clothing Red quilting pins to represent blood They are warriors, wanting social change Fighting for what they believe in Blood shed with pins showing Where they were bleeding


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photo by MCG Photography.


K inleya T olbert

Erasure of The Giver, by Lois Lowry


Tracy Washington; untitled; graphite on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


Artist, 2007, by Mary Whyte (American, b. 1953); watercolor on paper; 39½ x 48 inches; Museum purchase with funds provided by Dr. and Mrs. (Caroline) Anton Vreede; 2007.005.


L e A ndrea M c N eil

After Artist, by Mary Whyte Dear beautiful black girl You are so much more than a word You have so many powers Deep within although the world Around you is full of sin don’t Be fooled by the color of your Skin. Your light lies within. Dear beautiful black girl you Will grow and change the world With a better show


M iguel M oultrie Rapid Tunes Rapidly as the pianos flow you can feel the calmness in the air the different tunes in my head were like music to my ears it was kind of a spooky feeling but soothing at the same time as the song goes on I relax in a peaceful place.

V S abrina L afayette Ballerina dancing on the stage Relaxing and calm in my brain She’s going fast and slow Fingers on the piano moving so Her feet so soft against the stage Hear flipping of the page Running, then stop Slowly on the ground


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photo by MCG Photography.


D aikwon B rown Rainy Sidewalk As he walks the cold paved sidewalk rain splatters and patters beside his feet. He feels cold, weary, he feels weak. He can’t help but think of his wife who left him hanging and his family who keep changing and re-arranging. As he walks the rain gets heavier and so do his thoughts. He thinks of his brother who he kicked to the curb and his deadbeat dad he did not want to disturb. His mom, oh he loved her so. How heartbreaking to get the call of unfortunate events. He breaks down. “Why me, why me,” he cries and lies on the ground that he constantly pounds. As the sun clears the moody rain he looks and sees the beautiful thing he calls life and starts to forget bad memories and remembers to be happy “for this is a new day” and walks away with nothing in his way.


Monserrat Delgado; untitled; ink on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


K evon C ampbell

After Maribou with Fish, by Anna Hyatt Huntington Dear Maribou, You stand tall, with fish in beak. Fish must hide, but you must seek. A pescatarian diet every day Of the week. Best Fishes, Kevon.


Maribou with Fish, 1934, by Anna Hyatt Huntington (American, 1876–1973); bronze; 20½ x 18½ x 19 inches; Gift of the artist; 1937.007.0002.


I liana P imentel

Erasure of The Giver, by Lois Lowry


Angel Contreras; Self-portrait; graphite on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


Iron Man, 2000, by Mary Whyte (American, b. 1953); watercolor on paper; 39 x 28 inches; Museum purchase with funds provided by Dr. and Mrs. Louis D. Wright Jr. and Mrs. Norman Olsen Jr. and a partial gift of Coleman Fine Art; 2000.023.


S warkena F oggy

After Iron Man, by Mary Whyte What I feel in this is comfort, happiness, warmness. He looks like he is friendly. I can be welcomed in his presence. Another day goes by and I am still happy. His smile brings me comfort for all my days.


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photo by MCG Photography.


L ibby B assett

Erasure of The Giver, by Lois Lowry


Taylor Edwards; untitled; watercolor on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


The Fruit Man, by Thomas Wightman (American, 1811–1888); oil on canvas; 31 x 26 inches; Given in memory of Anne Roberta Miles Hussmann; 2004.015.


M arcus G ibbs

After The Fruit Man, by Thomas Wightman I am full of fruit. Some people may say I’m not that cute. But I still do what I do cause I’ll always be full of fruit. 76

J ames B utler

After The Fruit Man, by Thomas Wightman Small things seem insignificant. However, they tend to add up into something extravagant. Not necessarily beautiful. But memorable. Who knew food could be so lively? Who knew food could live so delightfully? You thought that small things didn’t add up to be great. You were wrong, a grape can be as inordinate as you should say. Don’t take this lightly.

V A manda G rant

After The Fruit Man, by Thomas Wightman Rotten Picture Help! Help me! I’m rotting! I’m rotting from the bottom up. There are things taking, breaking me down. Help! Help! Don’t look at my face, look at my rotting parts. Don’t be distracted by my bright fruits. Help me with my rotting parts. Nevermind, I’ll sit here with myself and my rotting as I try not to part.


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photo by MCG Photography.


Miguel Lopez; untitled; watercolor on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


Kailyn Roper, Monagomy; watercolor on paper, 9 x 12 inches.


J esus T orres T ranslation by S amuel D uncan En la oscuridad, la brillante luna Alumbrado tu figura. Tan lejos que estas de mi, triste mi corazon esta sin ti. Bailo solo bajo la luna. In the darkness, the bright moon Shines a light on your figure. So far you are from me, sad is my heart without you. I dance alone under the moon.

V D ean C lement J r . Running from the streets of London, a man with sharp teeth is chasing me. He keeps saying, “Give me blood, give me blood,” as he’s chasing me. Once I got to the woods I tripped over a stick. When the man came up close, the man gazed at me with a thirst for blood and said, “It’s feeding time.”


J ose C erritos The zombie is dead His eyes pop out of his head Eating everyone Flesh is his desert His hunger is never quenched Meat between his teeth Running towards his prey Never getting out of sight You can’t escape him

V F loyd M aybank J r . “Monster of the Night” Monster of the night They scare any kid in their sight With all their might Some take flight Through the night And give kids fight Some roam the ground Without making a sound They give kids frowns But they are clowns That try to turn things around But like everyone else They are still bound By the laws of the night


Cole Bradwell; Snoop; pastel on cardboard; 21½ x 25½ inches.


S abrina L afayette Scared out of my mind Seeing this bloody thing I try to run but it pulls me back Bites my flesh as I scream Its red eyes reading through me I can’t move as its vicious eyes look inside me Bloody, sharp teeth through my flesh I wonder am I done here Where do I go after Nothing but blood around me Seeing nothing but darkness I am done

V G abriella D ayson Here I Am All along I’ve been here People coming and going The wet crispy night piercing through me Invisible to every living thing. White empty soul, going through bodies Knowing their secrets and wishes Wishing I could do the same When I was still alive.


Kason Brown; Pollution-Nature; pastel on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


J esus T orres

Erasure of The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins


L illian P eterson

Erasure of The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photo by MCG Photography.


Z achary H ill I’m mourning, the death of a close one, I hear a noise, but nothing around me. Suddenly a bone chilling coldness tightening around My spine. I turn but see nothing, now there’s hot Droplets of sweat streaming down my forehead. I turn Back to see the grave but its white, soulless Eyes are staring back at me.

V L e A ndrea M c N eil The ghost is hated The ghost is underrated The ghost is invisible The ghost is seen Only by open-hearted The ghost is mistreated The ghost is lonely She is the ghost The ghost is Me the unseen She.


K azadia S malls

After Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, ca. 1555, attributed to Pieter Bruegel the Elder

(in the collection of the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium)

Death falls over us as we fight With all my might still can’t take flight Flow like the breeze now I’m in the sea and it washes Over me Father watch me fly now Watch as I die and You cry Call out but no one helps Instead I hear an angel’s bell Smell of the sea with The buzzing of the bees The ocean washed over me


Monserrat Delgado; Self-portrait; graphite on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


Sea Turtle, 1929, by Anna Heyward Taylor (American, 1879–1956); woodblock print on paper; 10 x 11 inches; Gift of Mrs. George Hewitt Myers; 1958.004.0002.


K ason B rown

After Sea Turtle, by Anna Heyward Taylor Why sea turtles? Why are they so slow? Why are they so weak? Why can they withstand The power of the sea? Why do they survive even if the odds are against Them? Why give them a Disadvantage? Why do they keep going? Because they’re elegant. Because they’d rather live slow Than fast. Because strength isn’t everything. Because their will Helps them. Because they refuse To lay down and take it. Because nobody Is born with everything. Because of hope.

V F loyd M aybank J r .

After Sea Turtle, by Anna Heyward Taylor It looks like they are going to sea to do as they wish and let themselves be. Thoughts of a turtle, I just want to be me in the deep blue sea. 93

T aylor R oper

After Sea Turtle, by Anna Heyward Taylor Sea turtle, left at birth drifted away, lost at sea, waves trapping the innocent turtles, dragging them further into the sea. A tiny light shines on the turtle’s nose, that light is hope, hope is all they have, all they hope.

V M ax G rantin

After Sea Turtle, by Anna Heyward Taylor Dear Sea Turtles, You’re wandering the dark waters hiding from the apocalypse of your nightmares. The straws floating along the water. How do you find a way to get them in your nose. Silly turtle straws are for kids.


Lillian Peterson; Lily by Lilly; watercolor on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


Brian Solano; Stormtrooper; graphite on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


A lexandra B lake Ode to My Books O my lovely books, genres big and small, you take me away from reality, it’s very calm. O I love your designs that capture you from the start, it’s like running through a field of unseen arts. O how you educate me on things I would have never known. O I wish you were real, it’s like a place to call home. It’s like a place to sleep when you want to be left alone. O I am writing this so you know how far my love goes, like a friend I wish I’d always known. O my lovely books please never go.


G abriel P erez O beautiful, gorgeous beach Like the stars And clearer than the dawn of mornings And the sound of the waves Like the song of the birds You are clearer than the color of the heavens.

V N oel E scamilla Cuando entregues tu cuerpo y sacies mi hambre, Cuando me des de tu sangre y sacies mi sed Condenaras tu alma a convertirse en mi carne, Ante la mirada insidiosa de este frio ser.


E mili J uarez P ortillo

Erasure of The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins


U lani J imenez T ranslation by S amuel D uncan Ode to My Libros O mi escuelo que deje incluyendo a mis amigos O I love you nombre escrito en mi libreto O how you no ay nadie igual O espero que aca ago nuebos amigos O I am writing this so me acuerdo siempre de ti O my amigo la extraĂąo mucho Ode to My Books O my school that I left including my friends O I love your name written in my notebook O how there is no one like you O how I wish that here I make new friends O I am writing this so I will always remember you O my friend that I miss so much


Monserrat Delgado; Capture the Details; colored pencil on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


Nasheika Beonka Williams; Self-portrait; graphite on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


G abriel P erez Oh my dear house And home of my heart You are the story of my life, Sometimes I think you are small, But very happy. I miss the moments we spent together. I write you this because You are the most beautiful.


Ms. Johnson (Estelle), 1972, by Barkley Hendricks (American, 1945–2017); oil and acrylic on linen canvas; 72 x 50 inches; Museum purchase with funds provided by the National Endowment for the Arts Living Artist Fund; 1974.006.

V D avid M acias

After Ms. Johnson (Estelle), by Barkley Hendricks Dear Ms. Johnson, Keep pushing and believe People come and go So, ignore whatever they said And breathe


A aliyah B rown

After Ms. Johnson (Estelle), by Barkley Hendricks Dear Ms. Johnson I see the tiredness in your eyes. I know you are tired of working them nine to five. Saving money to help your kids get through school. Face nothing but silence because the pain you face. Hiding your broken hand because you want to show your kids you’re doing great. Ms. Johnson, I know You’re tired of pain, but I know you’ll get through it one day.

V A u N iya D awkins

After Ms. Johnson (Estelle), by Barkley Hendricks Dear Ms. Johnson, You are a Wonderful teacher, mother, and Wife. I am so happy to have you In my life. You hide so much Pain inside. But sometimes you have To swallow your pride. You are so gorgeous from the inside out. We all love and appreciate You without a doubt. Thank you, Thank you, thank you for all That you do. No one could ever Walk a day in your shoes.


Taylor Edwards; Self-portrait; graphite on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


D ylon B utler

Erasure of The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins


J onquez R odgers Ode to My Shoes O my Jordans and Nikes. O I love your quality and colors. O how you are so comfortable. O I wish I could have my own shoe business. O I am writing this so you can know that there are more to come. O my shoes, I love y’all so much.

V M akayla G rant Ode to My Love of Basketball O my sweet basketball. Where do I begin. O I love your bright tangerine skin. O how you make me feel unstoppable. O how I wish they would call me Kim Possible. O I am writing this so that you know how much you mean. O my big bright tangerine ball.


Tracy Washington; untitled; watercolor on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


Jade Perez; Beetle; ink and watercolor on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photos by MCG Photography.


Cielo Perez; Pretty Butterfly; graphite on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


A ngel C ontreras T ranslation by S amuel D uncan Ode to My Soccer Game O my soccer game O I love your forma en que roces que varias personas peinsen como uno solo. O how you haces que un simple partido se vuelua muy emoclonante O I wish recordar cado uno de la medallas y firates que gone con mi equipo O I am writing this so nuedo expresante lo mucho que me gusto jugarlo O my soccer game O my soccer game O how I love the way you make many people think as one O how you make a simple game become so exciting O how I wish to remember every one of the medals and trophies I won with my team O I am writing this so I can express how much I enjoy playing O my soccer game


S ean L owry Ode to My Football O my lovely sport of football. O I love your white stitching in the middle. O how you’ve kept me out the streets and on the field. O I wish you could keep more out the streets. O I am writing this so you can know how thankful I am. O my football.


Tyleke Singleton; Self-portrait; graphite on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


L ibby B assett Ode to Friendship O dear friendship, I cherish you. With trust, I love the way that you Make me feel with others around Me, but sometimes you betray me. O how you let me down and to believe That you are not real. But when I am around Others you make me feel like someone I’m not. O how do you betray me? I am writing This to you to let you know that before I betray you, you betrayed me first.


Iliana Pimentel; Imagination; Sharpie on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


Saray Arenas; Lonely; colored pencil on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


R onald W righton J r . Ode to My Mother O my mother. O how you care for me and my siblings. O how I love the way you embrace us with your protective arms. O how you make us all smile. O how you bring us back from the darkness into the light. O how I wish you could stay with us forever. O I am writing this so I remember you when you’re gone. O how I will weep with tears. O my mother, we will be okay. O my mother, we will not stay. O my mother, we will carry on. O my mother, we will be strong. O my mother, you’re living your best life. O my mother, you soar high as a kite. O how you have wings like an angel. O my mother.


April (The Green Gown), 1920, by Childe Hassam (American, 1859–1935); oil on canvas; 56 x 82¼ inches; Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Archer M. Huntington; 1936.009.0001.

V G abriella D ayson

After April (The Green Gown), by Childe Hassam Dear April Dear girl in the green gown, Why so serious? Is it because You’ve been posing and become delirious? I wonder what’s going on inside your head And why you look so mysterious. Where did you get your green dress And makes you look glorious… But what? What is going on inside Your head, I’ll always be curious. 120

Z achary H ill

After April (The Green Gown), by Childe Hassam Dear April Why are you so sad? Wipe those tears. Is it because the smell of those Daffodils remind you of the dark years? Or is it the birds, white and black? Does it remind you of a time where Your happiness was in lack? You’re very glorious, the dress matches Your eyes. Don’t let your life be filled with Lies. I bet that smile glows brighter than Those yellow curtains. You deserve more than this, I Am certain.


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photo by MCG Photography. 121

Saul Pimentel; The Lowcountry; colored pencil on paper; 12 x 9 inches.


G abriella D ayson Ode to My Mascara O my mascara. O I love your pigment and texture, not heavy on my lashes. O how you make my eyes pop pretty and big. O how I wish you would last forever. O I am writing this so you know I appreciate you. O my mascara.

V J esus T orres Oda a mi Rosa blanca Ay mi Rosa blanca, tan brillante y bella Me gusta tu color, igual a las estrellas. Comparada a las demas, tu eres la mas ermosa. Todas la mariposas, se juntan para verte. Mi amor para ti, nunca sera sufficiente Para lo que tu mereces. Ay mi rosa blanca.


Faviola Rivera Ramires; El Perro; Sharpie on paper; 9 x 12 inches.


Gibbes Museum of Art visit. Photos by MCG Photography.


Iliana Pimentel; untitled; pastel on paper; 12 x 9 inches.





Aiken, Takayla 45 Arenas, Saray 53, 116

Campbell, Kevon 9, 34, 66 Campos, Jacky 8 Carter, Joshua 31, 53 Cerritos, Jose 21, 80 Chavis, Eleana 54 Clark, Caleb 38, 48 Clement, Dean, Jr. 79 Contreras, Angel 69, 111

B Backman, RJ 14 Bassett, Libby 19, 72, 114 Bernard, Carson 26 Bethea, Jayla 56 Blake, Alexandra 10, 95 Blake, Briana 14, 27, 54 Bradwell, Cole 81 Broach, Josh 40 Brown, Aaliyah 30, 103 Brown, Bernardica 22, 35, 52 Brown, Daikwon 64 Brown, Kason 52, 83, 91 Butler, Dylon 52, 105 Butler, James 39, 46, 75

D Dawkins, AuNiya 28, 103 Dayson, Gabriella 21, 82, 118, 121 Delgado, Monserrat 65, 89, 99 E Edwards, Taylor 73, 104 Escamilla, Noel 96

F Foggy, Kameon 41 Foggy, Swarkena 71 G Gibbs, Marcus 74 Gomez, Jorge 29, 33 Grant, Amanda 16, 75 Grantin, Max 92 Grant, Makayla 106

Meadows, Shelby 24 Montgomery, Jarquez 50 Moultrie, Miguel 62 N Nelson, Alayna 28 O Odom, Johneia 49 Ortiz, Estivin 56



Hernandez, Noel X 53 Hernandez, Ruby 15, 52 Hewett, Haley 24 Hill, Zachary 10, 87, 119 Holcombe, Seth 23

Perez, Cielo 13, 53, 110 Perez, Gabriel 96, 101 Perez, Jade 108 Peterson, Lillian 49, 85, 93 Pimentel, Iliana 44, 68, 115, 124 Pimentel, Saul 120 Pinckney, Jaquan 32 Porter, Griffin 30 Portillo, Emili Juarez 47, 97

J Jimenez, Ulani 98 L Lafayette, Sabrina 26, 62, 82 Lewis, Janiyah 36 Lopez, Jose 55 Lopez, Miguel 53, 77 Lowry, Sean 112

R Ramires, Faviola Rivera 53, 122 Rodgers, Jonquez 106 Roper, Kailyn 78 Roper, Taylor 92



Macias, David 23, 102 Maybank, Floyd, Jr. 80, 91 McNeil, LeAndrea 61, 87 McTeer, Katelyn 20

Singleton, Tyleke 113 Smalls, Kazadia 88 Snead, Nicholas 17, 37 Solano, Brian 94 128

T Tolbert, Kinleya 42, 58 Torres, Jesus 79, 84, 121 V Vera, Jimena 12 W Washington, Tracy 59, 107 Whitaker, Adrianna 53 Williams, Nasheika Beonka 100 Wrighton, Ronald, Jr. 47, 53, 117


Special thanks to Arcadia Publishing and The History Press for making the publication of this project possible. For over twenty years Arcadia Publishing has reconnected people to their communities, their neighbors and their past by offering a curbside view of hometown history and often forgotten aspects of American life. Together with The History Press, the group publishes local and regional history and culture from coast to coast. From the iconic Images of America series and Images of Aviation series to narratives of local heroes, tragic losses, collections of homegrown recipes, historic mysteries and everything in between, the books act as valued touchstones for community identity. Find out more at