Mosaic 2019

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL 2019

COVER:

The Compass of My Life | MICHELLE SHIN

BEST IN SHOW, 2019 SCHOLASTIC ART AND WRITING AWARDS

Solo | KITT URDANG ’19................................................................5 Axe in Water | RUDY BEER ’20........................................................6 Wattpad | ISABELLA QIAN ’21........................................................ 7 Identity Poem | KATHRYN POTTER ’19...............................................8 Untitled | VICTORIA MICHIENZI ’19....................................................9 A 1930’s Mob Poker Game, Busted by the Cops | LILY LIN ’19, RUDY BEER ’20, TANNER ENSIGN ’19, TOE MICHIENZI ’19, JEAN BOOKER ’19, AND FRANZ NICOLAY ..........................................

10 Elderly Arethusa | CONNOR ANDROLEWICZ ’19.................................. 11 A Natural Flow | THALIA ANASTOS ’19............................................ 11 College Essay | CLAUDIA CANTIN ’19................................................12 Eva Soaked | TANNER ENSIGN ’19...................................................13 The Empty Well | LEXIE VON DER LUFT ’19.......................................14 Landscape | ABBY PALMER ’21........................................................15 Chapel Talk | LILY (ZIQING) LIN ’19.................................................16 National Flag | LILY LIN ’19..........................................................17 Untitled | LINH NGUYEN HOANG ’19.................................................18 A 2,000 Mile Difference | ALY FUSTER ’22..........................................19 Dawn | ELIZABETH REED ’19........................................................ 20 Self Portrait | CAROLYN FERNANDES ’20.........................................21 Paint Brushes | SETH GRAY ’20.................................................... 22 Dress | VICTORIA MICHIENZI ’19..................................................... 23 Rebuttal of Insanity | LEXIE VON DER LUFT ’19................................... 24 Untitled | BEN BOOKER ’19.......................................................... 25 HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Untitled | TY DAHL ’22................................................................ 26 Untitled | LISA LIN ’22................................................................ 26 Untitled | BRYN DONOVAN ’19...................................................... 26 Princess Diana | ABBY PALMER ’21................................................. 27 A Crime to be Poor | COLIN ELDRED ’21............................................. 28 Self Portrait | LILY MAGNUS ’20.................................................... 29 Haughty | ELIZABETH REED ’19.................................................... 30 Untitled | CARTER ROSE ’21..........................................................31 Julia | CLAUDIA CANTIN ’19......................................................... 32 Untitled | BRYN DONOVAN ’19...................................................... 33 Reflections on Leaving Home | ELENI SPILIOTES ’20.............................. 34

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Solo

BY KITT URDANG ’19

Tears froze to my face when my teacher left me in the densely wooded site I would call home. “Mr. Pfenninger, I can’t do this. Please don’t leave. I can’t do it,” I pleaded.

He left.

I was alone in the heart of the White Mountains with three feet of snow and frigid temperatures.

I would be stuck there for three days, equipped with only a sleeping bag, tarp, food rations, and rudimentary supplies.

I set up my campsite and told myself I was someone else. You’re not Kitt. You’re Lumberjack Kitt. Born and raised in the White Mountains, just out here doing the daily firewood collecting. At first, I focused on distracting myself with tasks like boiling water for my ramen noodles.

After a few hours, though, I abandoned my alter ego. I was Kitt, and I was still here. I could be myself and be fearless.

My brain, usually working overtime, was still. I came to love the eerie calm of the winter woods, the swaying pines, the chirping birds, the lingering smoky scent, which freed my mind from its constant spinning. The cloud cover blocked out the sun, leaving me with no idea what the time of day was. I wrote in my journal, collected firewood, explored, and organized my site until dusk arrived. The soup was hot and salty, filling me with the hope that I would not just survive, but thrive. By the time I had burned my all firewood, a smoky haze filled my sight, but it didn’t matter. It was then I realized I was made for solo.

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Axe in Water

RUDY BEER ’20

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Wattpad

BY ISABELLA QIAN ’21

Seven-year-old Haley pressed her nose against the thick glass pane, staring intently at the vibrant swirling masses of plastic floating in the tank. The water was a light murky grey – a real luxury for aquariums these days. “Daddy! Look! A seahorse!” Her gaze was fixated on a family of red seahorses, who seemed to be playing tag with pink plastic cotton swabs. Their long tails shot out and retracted like a frog’s tongue.

“Aww, she’s so cute!” Haley hammered her little fists against the glass in glee.

Dad smiled, leaning over to see what Haley pointed at. It was a particularly small seahorse whose spikes hadn’t grown in, resulting in a rather cute assortment of pink warts. Shying away from the big group, he tugged at a green cotton swab alone, though his plump tail was too short to wrap around the stick. A low chuckle rumbled from Dad’s throat. “He sure is cute. Just like you, Hayhay!” he teased. Dad reached down to scrape Haley’s nose, but she ducked away, pouting.

“Hey, don’t call me that!”

Dad chuckled more.“Fine, Haley-boo. Do you like your birthday gift?”

That brought a grin. “Yes, I love you, Daddy! Habitat 24900 is the best aquarium!” (The aquarium had a weird tradition of randomly changing its numbers every day. Last time she came, it was Habitat 27833.) Habitat 24900 prided itself in the clearest aquarium waters, and it lived up to its reputation with light grey water obstructed by only a few collections of floating plastic – definitely the best worldwide.

Haley watched as the baby seahorse gave one final tug at the cotton swab before moving away. The swab drifted away, blending into the plastic mound lurking behind that resembled a sinister monster.

“Why did it leave? I swear he nearly had it!” Haley pouted again. “It was so cute too!”

Dad shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t like it? Well, there are tons more to choose from – look, it’s chewing on that green coke bottle now.”

“Maybe. But I remember from school that seahorses liked to latch on to rocks.” Haley looked at the baby who was now ravenously chewing on the bottle. As she watched, boredom slowly replaced the curious grin on her face, and Haley muttered, “Whatever. But anyway, I think the wheal skeleton is on display in the next room – let’s go, Daddy!”

Dad laughed. “You mean whale? Your grandfather said they were magnificent creatures back in his day.”

Happily, Haley skipped away, excitedly chattering about the extinction of whales with her dad.

Neither noticed that the baby seahorse suddenly stiffened, the piece of plastic swaying loose from his mouth. Eyes blank, his rigid body hit the sand silently.

“Darn, that’s the second one today! Cleanup crew, there’s another job at Tank 03,” a man instructed into a walkie-talkie. Groaning, he turned and exited, stopping at the wall. He fiddled at something for a while. Then he left, revealing the name plaque behind: HABITAT 24899 HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Identity Poem

BY KATHRYN POTTER ’19

A Kathryn de Houseman Por: Kathryn de Houseman yo. soy la fuerza. ¿y quien eres tu? pareces ser un problema. eres perezosa, tranquila y triste, y yo? soy un luchador. pareces mi oponente perfecto. vamos a luchar y pelear y uno será victorioso, y ese seré yo. ¿tú? eres un niño. no sabes la diferencia entre que te pertenece y que te pertenece al mundo. crees que naciste con todos los derechos del mundo. eres ingenuo. eres codicioso. egoísta. egocéntrico. insatisfecho. soy tu peor enemigo. casi me siento mal por ti. ¿sabes por qué? porque te hago pequeña. soy más grande que tú, más fuerte que tú, más inteligente que tú, más feliz que tú ya no puedes controlar mi vida soy el capitán de mi propio destino. en este momento puedo decidir si elegirme o elegirme. ¿y adivina qué? me escogeré cada vez.

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Untitled

VICTORIA MICHIENZI ’19

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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A 1930’s Mob Poker Game, Busted by the Cops

“ADVANCED PHOTOGRAPHY GROUP SELF-PORTRAIT”. LILY LIN ’19, RUDY BEER ’20, TANNER ENSIGN ’19, TOE MICHIENZI ’19, JEAN BOOKER ’19, AND FRANZ NICOLAY.

40” x 50” gelatin silver print.

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The poems “Elderly Arethusa” and “A Natural Flow” were modeled after the poem “Old Pond” by Gary Snyder for Mountain Day 2019

Elderly Arethusa

A Natural Flow

BY CONNOR ANDROLEWICZ ’19

BY THALIA ANASTOS ’19

Yellow bus many students commute Into emerald foliage and tumbling wind; minuscule ants walking in a line, Winding twisty trail,

Green mountains blue sky hang Over clear water and smooth rocks; tired fishermen in the sun faster water rapids,

solitary fish swims by: down the stream

through the pools.

the roar of the water: down from the falls up into mist.

At Crawford Notch’s biggest little cascade after all day single-filed on the path numerous beasties with pencils and erasers sit down at the blank canvas, Scratch!

At Swift River Spot on the Kanc after all day searching for the fish, a clothed creature with a blue shirt and brown hair pees in the woods, Tinkle!

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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College Essay

BY CLAUDIA CANTIN ’19

Walking outside, I see the two red wheelbarrows leaning against the green clapboard of my house. Red paint is flaking off their metal bodies––eroded away by the rust beneath it––and the sun-bleached wooden handles are splintering apart. My eyes run over the wheelbarrows––identical in all aspects but size. The one to the right is small, having been designed for a child, while the one on the left was designed for an adult and thus is a goliath in comparison.

I recall filling my miniature wheelbarrow with all the sticks I could fit in it when I was five years old.

Proud of my work, I pushed it to the woodline to dump it before returning to fill up with another load.

Upon returning, I saw Dad filling his own wheelbarrow. I set mine aside to try lifting the monstrous one, despite the fact that its load towered over me. I failed. The next time the wheelbarrows were out I tried, and failed, again. My five-year-old self did not understand the concept of a lost cause.

It was a Saturday morning a few months later when the time came. It took every ounce of strength from my shaking arms, but Dad’s wheelbarrow moved… a total of five feet. To anyone else it would have been insignificant, but to me, it was a triumph that I had worked towards all summer.

When my mom enrolled me in the Sandwich Aquatic School for swimming the next summer, I faced something even more daunting than my father’s wheelbarrow. At the end of the two-week session, I had to swim twenty-two lengths of the pool––the equivalent of a quarter mile. The rocks bit into my feet as I walked to the pool. The tall wooden fence surrounding the pool towered above me, trapping everyone inside. Goosebumps covered my skin and tears burned at the back of my throat as I slid into the water on the first day. I could already see the disappointment on my parents’ faces if I failed.

Two weeks later on evaluation day, I took a deep breath and pushed off the wall to start my first length.

Five lengths of the pool later the panic set in as the water suffocated me even when I rolled my head to the side to catch a breath. Irrationality took over, and I lifted my head out of the water and stood up in the shallows. By touching the bottom, I had failed and already the weight of that failure was stifling.

The next summer, I got a second chance. Once again, the car ride was filled with a mixture of anticipation and dread. The rocks chewed up the bottoms of my feet as I hiked up the now familiar hill. I had just reached the gate when something leaning up against the side of the dressing room caught my eye.

It was not red like ours, but the sight of their wheelbarrow alone was enough to settle my nerves.

A few minutes later, I slid into the pool again and pushed off. When the panic set in, I forced myself to breathe through it by keeping the image of the red wheelbarrow in my mind. The load in the wheelbarrow seemed bigger than ever as I piled in the weight of the failure from my previous attempt. With each pull of my arm, I saw the wheelbarrow being lifted. It was not easy, but I forced myself to continue.

Looking at the rusty wheelbarrows today, I take in the flakey paint and splintered wood in a new light. Each flake and splinter is a reminder of the determination I felt when pushing my limits. My dad’s wheelbarrow reminds me to set big goals and to keep working when any task gets daunting.

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Eva Soaked

TANNER ENSIGN ’19

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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The Empty Well

BY LEXIE VON DER LUFT ’19

When the voice in my head shouts to search in this well, I drill deep in the ground, though no water is found, I dig further and further and frantically dwell.

When the voice in my head temps that riches lie near, I expect if I move, my reward will appear.

With the days passing by I continue with greed; I don’t realize this soil won’t have what I need.

Though the air becomes faint and my worries grow big, I push all doubt away and continue to dig.

While the voice in my head shouts to search in this well, It is keeping me locked, possessed under a spell.

Yet when years start to pass without any delight, I just stop for a breath to look back at the light, But my heart finally sinks when I see what I’ve done; I have gone so far down that I’ve long lost the sun.

Though I didn’t strike water, there’s something I’ve found: All this digging’s just left me more deep underground.

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Landscape

ABBY PALMER ’21

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Chapel Talk

BY LILY (ZIQING) LIN ’19

I was born into a Communist family in China. While some girls try on adulthood by wearing high heels, I was trying to figure out words like “宪法 constitution”, “三中全会 the third plenary session”, and “帝国 主义 imperialism” that would pop up in conversations about politics over the dinner table. My interest in politics came from eavesdropping on adults’ conversations in my grandfather’s living room. Most of my family works for the party, though a few work for private corporations. We argue about everything from why my mom is discouraged from wearing her engagement ring to work, to why as a government worker, she is not allowed to go abroad even for my graduation in May. Conversations became more interesting after I came to the US for boarding school. People spoke about Taiwan as a country, rose questions about Tibetan Independence, and assumed that people in China were oppressed by our government. They challenged my education in China. Then in photo class, sophomore year, Mr. Nicolay showed us a book of photos from the “Tiananmen Square Protest.” I looked at the pictures, one with a student, his shirt bloody, another of a young man standing in front of a tank. I was shocked. I had never even heard of this. I called my mom.

“Did it actually happen?” I asked.

“Yes, it did,” she said.

That upset me for the longest time. I couldn’t believe no one had told me. How could my mom have left out that chunk of history, an event that was so important to the Americans, it’s what most students here learn about when studying modern China. I argued with her on every decision the Chinese government had made. I started to question whether socialism was really the best form of government for China. I complained about how the media was so controlled and I couldn’t get on the Holderness email at home. She would tell me that I didn’t know enough about history to understand. I was so frustrated. I cried every time I hung up the phone with her.

A few months later, I got a phone call from my uncle.

“I was there,” he said. “I was there and I can tell you my story.”

“I was on a train to Beijing, with hundreds of thousands of students.”

The story wasn’t long. He described the students’ anger and confusion, their irrational methods, and the paralyzed capital. I went home that year and found my grandpa, the man I honor and respect the most, in his study. Yeh Yeh turned on a tape-recording from June 1989. The sound of static poured out of the cassette recorder.

My grandfather’s voice emerges, a younger version but with his typical accent. He says, “The protest in Beijing is inevitable. It is happening because of the political environment internationally and the challenging transition period faced by our government. The government’s goal is to prevent the shutdown of the capital… ” His voice is soon lost in yelling and swearing. The crowd spits out words and slogans they heard from foreign democracy movements.

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Here I am now, in my fourth year in the US, and I still cannot be sure of what happened in June 1989.

As we all know, the media is powerful enough to twist stories from any corner of the world.

The sound of spooling tape diminished to a low hiss. My grandfather smiled like nothing happened on the recording. He looked out the window. The front yard was filled with flowers he carefully planted.

“We all support your generation’s curiosity about the world outside,” he said quietly. “Just like those flowers, some need the shadow, some need to bathe in the sun.”

National Flag

LILY LIN ’19

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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LINH NGUYEN HOANG

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A 2,000 Mile Difference

BY ALY FUSTER ’22

I live in a doorway between two rooms.

The everlasting white on top of Pikes Peak. Dry air blows through leaves, grass, fields, sifting gently through the pine needles on the ground.

Bright crimson berries off a bush crushed against white hot pavement.

Behind each stucco house a sea of lilac bushes whose sweet aroma drifts delicately for what seems like miles.

Hikes on the Flying Horse paths, winding through the countless hazy fields.

Tall vases of pastel wildflowers that left a residue on my hands, and whose thin leaves willingly fell to the ground within the first hour in a tall glass vase.

Burnt orange rock, uneven and eerie.

The soft crunch of the gravel path to Wolf Lake Drive.

I peek into the other room.

Rolling dark green hills barricade your view.

Humid heavy air lazily rustles branches on the very tops of trees.

Brittle brown leaves beneath flip flops worn sneakers and hiking boots.

Slippery granite faces on top of 4,000 footers and rough sandy beaches begging you to wade into the clear blue lake.

A red hammock swinging smoothly back and forth over a brook beneath tall pines.

The buzz of vividly colored speed boats and idle pontoon boats pumping loud baselines across the way.

Velvet ice cream melted on my tongue and fresh catch seafood ready to order.

Shimmering smooth rock, white and speckled.

The cracked pavement past the golf course on Waukewan Road.

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Dawn

BY ELIZABETH REED

Again her silky silhouette falls crumpled Wrinkles appearing from the corners of her eyes, smile tugging at her cheeks.

Shadows flicker, mocking the candles on the table, whispering taunts.

She is full, wine dripping from a tipped cup The fullness grows swallowing her leaving her hollow.

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Self Portrait

CAROLYN FERNANDES ’20

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Paint Brushes

SETH GRAY ’20

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Dress

VICTORIA MICHIENZI ’19

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Rebuttal of Insanity

BY LEXIE VON DER LUFT ’19

I want to write a summary; Let me explain just what I see.

I know I’m sure, but you tell me, O is this all insanity?

The sky that’s blue, the words you read Are structured by society.

You must think twice when you agree That time moves by eternally.

The months and years are perjury, Conditioning humanity.

You must think realistically; O is this all insanity?

Complaints about the world we see; We strip it of simplicity.

Our feelings named are solemnly Increasing our anxiety.

I never count to more than three Cause that’s too much complexity.

We’re all stuck in captivity; O is this all insanity?

We’re forced into the same degree We must think independently.

I can’t accept “normality” When we all see so differently!

You can’t say that our sanity Is measured by conformity We think too much of who to be; O is this all insanity?

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Life’s easier than we foresee; The world’s a construct we perceive.

We’re wrong to think so fixedly; Reality moves fluidly.

If you step back then you will see It all comes into clarity, Like cleaning off your entity.

O is this all insanity?

You can’t confide in history; The days that you weren’t here to see.

The sky that’s blue, the words you read; Are they your truths or their beliefs?

It’s tearing down our memory, And individuality, Remember this apostrophe; O is this all insanity?

Untitled

BEN BOOKER ’19

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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TY DAHL ’22

BRYN DONOVAN ’19

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LISA LIN ’22

Princess Diana

ABBY PALMER ’21

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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A Crime to be Poor

BY COLIN ELDRED ’21

Accused Twelve jurors Swayed by a fresh haircut and fancy words bam!

The system failed me miserably The weight of the chains Dragging me down Past the depths of dark prison walls Never to experience living again.

Like a bad dream A nightmare.

Opportunities disappearing With Each step I take My innocence ignored Because of my Income To think that someone More than just someone Is profiting off of my misery Sends the deepest of chills down my spine All men are created equal?

I think not.

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Self Portrait

LILY MAGNUS ’20

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Haughty

BY ELIZABETH REED

they talk about it casually in class, laughing at the caricatures presented; they face the skin-and-bones of they who passed, so ignorant of the reeling in their midst— euphoria drowns the air, the sneering, the blazing blitz of ‘violent reactions’ as so they seem to understand nothing. about the who. about the why. ano. ano. ano. king. king. king. your catharsis, my friend, is one so often underrated; one so common one observes and does not see they open your mouth. it opens; it opens, and you purge.

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CARTER ROSE ’21

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Julia

CLAUDIA CANTIN ’19

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BRYN DONOVAN ’19

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Reflections on Leaving Home

BY ELENI SPILIOTES ’20

I think the walls are trying to speak to me. The wrinkles in their aged skin are more pronounced than I remember. I blink in the hazy blue light of the stained glass window and watch the dust float aimlessly down the hall. I wish I too could stay suspended like that in the familiar air of my childhood.

I hear the jingle of Atticus trotting to the front window and watch as he peers out at the street, observing my parents heave the last boxes for my dormitory into the trunk. I wonder if once the car disappears over the hill, Atticus will still smell my scent as he settles on my bedroom flokati at night. I wonder if he will sit behind the screen door when the neighborhood children play and wait for the little girl with brunette braids to skip up the steps.

I want to know that great-grandmother’s bench in the foyer will miss my school bag overflowing with books. I want to know that the television will miss competing with broadway sing-a-longs and talk of twelve year old crushes. I pause in the living room archway and notice the way sunlight casts geometric patterns across the oriental carpet and the way a dried flower petal is about to fall into oblivion.

I hear my father’s call as the trunk’s hatch slams shut, and I hesitate on the threshold. It is not a sense of finality that weighs upon me, it is the knowledge that the hum of the ice machine and the fan at the top of the stairs will soon be replaced by a lullaby that home will never sing. But what frightens me the most is the realization that I may never feel this way again. Perhaps this innate connection, this special place, was meant to create me, but never to sustain me.

As I reach for the doorknob and glance back into the empty kitchen, I am afraid that someday soon I will return to just see peeling paint and the worn banister, and I will not hear their voices filling the silence, we are your foundation.

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Mosaic Staff

BRYN DONOVAN

ISABELLA QIAN YONGROK CHOI CAROLYN FERNANDES

Faculty Advisor

JANICE DAHL

HOLDERNESS SCHOOL | PO Box 1879 | Plymouth, NH 03264 | (603) 536-1257 | www.holderness.org