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Fall 2012

Mosaic a magazine for the literary and visual arts at Holderness School


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Mosaic Fall 2012 Dear Reader, Welcome to Holderness School’s student literary and visual arts magazine! As always it has been a pleasure to view and read the students’ work from the fall and put together this publication. I am inspired by their attention to detail and creative expression. While the quality of work in this issue is as impressive as always, it struck me this time how geographically diverse the authors and artists are. Jingyi Wu, who created the watercolors on the front cover and on page 28, is from China. On pages 20 and 21, there is a description and photographs of an independent study done by senior Fabián Štoček who is from the Czech Republic. Qianyi Zang and Ximo Xiao, who contributed pieces throughout the magazine are also from China. Other artists and writers throughout the magazine come from as far away as California, Colorado, and Virginia and as close as Vermont, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire. Additionally, their perspectives are as varied and diverse as their home countries and cultures. From factual analysis to fiction, from cartoon to essay, from photography to oil paints, Holderness students work with a wide array of media and cover a diverse number of subjects. It is with pleasure that I share with you Volume 11, Issue 1 of Mosaic! Emily Magnus Director of Publications

Cover art by Jingyi Wu

Hannah Foote

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Last summer, the All-School Summer Read was A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. Throughout the fall, in the classrooms, in all-school assemblies, and even during an open forum on a Saturday morning, students had the opportunity to hear from members of the community and learn about the book. The students also had a chance to share their own reactions to the book, and the assignments they submitted showed impressive insights and thoughtful reflections. Below are just two students’ final projects. In the oil pastel drawings, Lea Rice highlights important themes in chapter five, while in the fictional piece, Hannah Durnan rewrites chapter 12 from a different character’s perspective. “Bernadette” By Hannah Durnan

Sasha wouldn’t have imagined before him, something that seems out of place even now.

Sasha didn’t expect her life to be like this, standing on hot asphalt with Ally and Linc (her kids – who’d’ve believed that she’d be a mother?) after Linc’s ballgame. The heat was the kind that seeped up through the soles of her shoes, worn-out Old Navy flip-flops (fifteen years ago, wearing those would’ve been a deadly sin).

Finally, Ally speaks. “Why do you have to repeat people’s exact words when you say goodbye to them?”

Ally’s still at the age where she worships everything her older brother does, even if Linc’s only a year older. Right now her arm’s around his neck – more a choke-hold than a hug. And when Linc’s teammates walk by, she replies to their hellos before he gets the chance. Sasha can see Linc’s scowl, even in the twilight. Ally reaches down to touch the pavement (sometimes Sasha wonders if she should be tested for attention disorders, the way her daughter gets distracted), so Sasha reacts on instinct and watches Ally’s face fall when she hears her snap. Sasha can feel Ally’s annoyance as she drives home in the SUV Drew insisted they buy – another thing

“What are you talking about?” Ally’s response reminds her so much of Drew that Sasha laughs. It’s bittersweet; the unwritten rule of their family: Ally is Drew’s, and Linc belongs to Sasha. Drew doesn’t understand Lincoln, and Ally – well, Sasha is fairly sure that Ally has a list going of everything that annoys her about Sasha. “Any chance of easing up on the scrutiny, Ally?” “Not a chance.” At home Alison follows Lincoln to the living room, and Sasha hears the first few notes of “Bernadette” drifting through the hall. It reminds Sasha of Pakistan – the song that was playing in Drew’s run-down apartment the first day she arrived. It was the first time she has seen him since the funeral. After Rob died, Drew went through medical school – Sasha went through therapy. But none of that mattered, after a five-hundred dollar plane ticket and the thousand-mile distance from the East River. So now “Bernadette” reminds her of Rob and Pakistan and the hours she spent alone in Drew’s apartment after she flew around the world for him. (But by then, it was too late to go back.) And of all the songs Lincoln plays, Sasha still likes “Bernadette” the best. Linc and Ally always notice when Drew works late. She can see it in Linc’s face when Sasha goes into his room alone to say goodnight, and even more in Ally’s when she asks Sasha when Drew will be home.

Lea Rice

All is forgiven when Drew is home – he tries

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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to listen to The Frames with Linc, even though he doesn’t understand it, and loses his patience after the first ten seconds of the pause – and he swings Ally up on his shoulders and calls her Allycat, making her whole face break into a smile like it never does when he’s gone. It’s times like that when Sasha doesn’t regret flying to Pakistan, marrying Drew (she never, never regrets Ally and Linc).

Lea Rice

But Drew isn’t home, and Ally’s alone in her room, computer screen glowing. Sasha can’t reach Ally at times like this, when she’s working on her “slide journal.” She goes in anyway – tries unsuccessfully to pry Ally away from the screen. Finally, Ally just slings old-school computer-tech slogans at Sasha, who laughs, because she knows this is the best conversation they’ll have all day. She doesn’t want it to end yet, so she runs her fingertips along the apricotshell toy horse she and Drew got when they were living in Pakistan – one of the few outings Sasha can remember from the years there. “I never looked back,” she tells Ally. It’s not a lie – even Pakistan was better than New York, walking by the East River day after day. (It’s even more true when she tells Ally how much she loves that horse – it’s a reminder of Ally and Linc, the two parts of her life for which she will always be grateful.)

in a day is their new record. Ally wears a hint of a smirk when she asks Sasha about every bad thing she’s ever done – the question hits Sasha hard, a lightning-quick punch to the stomach. Where to begin, she wants to say. Instead, she says “You can’t.” She thinks Ally and Linc have fallen asleep when she hears scuffling from upstairs. Then Linc yells and Sasha pulls together her last strings of patience before heading up the stairs. They’re both in bed but Sasha still feels Ally’s presence when she works on her collage. She tells the kids that she’s working with “found objects” (and they are, mostly – a grocery list, a recipe, a ticket stub) but she doesn’t tell them about the scraps that are hidden in the corners, the kind that make guilt and excitement twist in her stomach (a fake ID from the baby-faced freshman at the bar down the street, a business card with a phone number on the back that wasn’t meant for her. Even, once, a check – written in blue ink, seventy-four dollars and eighty-nine cents). Sasha puts the collage away before Drew gets home. The next night, she doesn’t have the chance to work on it – Drew’s home early, barbequing chicken with a smile plastered on and a glass of gin, half-empty. They sit down at the too-small picnic table and Sasha keeps her arm around Drew (if he’s never here, why not enjoy one night?). Ally and Linc are excited to eat Drew’s chicken – even though Sasha made the same thing two nights ago (not that Drew would know).

And it works. Ally slides her laptop closed silently, pulls out a book (the one Sasha bought but hoped Ally wouldn’t read), and turns straight to the page with Sasha’s picture. So Sasha just tells Ally she doesn’t want to talk about it. She says she was struggling – she doesn’t say that she never stopped. Sasha and Ally talk again when Sasha goes to say goodnight. She wonders if two conversations

Lea Rice

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Ally says something that makes Drew laugh his big barking laugh and her face lights up – another reminder that Ally is Drew’s, not Sasha’s. Then Ally asks Drew why he decided to become a doctor and Sasha knows where the conversation is going (Drew should too, but he doesn’t, of course). “Bernadette” is playing in the background when they talk about Rob. Sasha answers all the questions – after all this time, Drew still doesn’t know how. But Drew’s even more clueless when he starts to talk to Lincoln – he almost smiles when Linc talks about “Supervixen,” but not quite. Drew whispers to Sasha like the kids can’t hear: “Should we be encouraging this?” His brow is furrowed, emphasizing the barely-visible lines across his face (stress lines, not laugh lines). Sasha talks him down – she always does – but not before she notices Ally listening. Linc is too, but he’s more subtle – not a difficult feat, with Ally staring blatantly at Drew (he doesn’t notice). Sasha raises her voice slightly to end the conversation: “Drew, it’s music.” So Drew tries – she has to give him credit for trying, even a little bit – but Lincoln hasn’t even pressed play on “Rearrange Beds” before Drew snaps and

Lincoln crumbles. It feels like Sasha is electrified as she leans forward (she shouldn’t have to explain Lincoln to his own father) and tells Drew just why the pause is important – he didn’t have to ask. He didn’t know to ask. And here’s Lincoln sobbing on the picnic table while Drew just stares at Sasha blankly. There’s a pause (two seconds, like the one in “Long Train Runnin’” – one of Lincoln’s favorites). Then Drew’s jaw tightens as he pulls Lincoln into a stiff embrace, and Sasha wonders how the two boys who look so alike could be so different. She’s not surprised when Lincoln fights his way out of Drew’s arms. She follows him up to his room (Drew’s not going to). The electric anger is still buzzing beneath her skin when Sasha goes back downstairs. Ally and Drew are gone – the buzzing intensifies when she realizes where Drew took her. At least the car is still in the driveway, after Drew’s two and a half glasses of gin. So Sasha just goes back upstairs and puts “Bernadette” on repeat. She’s lost count when she hears Drew walking up the stairs – during the pause she can hear him talking with Lincoln. She turns up the volume.

Bike No Frame

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Head Together

Portfolio Collection By Ximo Xiao

Blacklisted Self Portrait

Brother Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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This section of Mosaic includes students’ personal essays from the first semester. While many of them were written for college applications, others were written for Theology and English classes. Each story is unique and captures the personality of each writer. Three Syllables By Dan Do

ble home to a land known mostly through magazines and newspapers.

Ngu Son Do. Just these three syllables represent a man, a handicap, a prisoner, a patriot, an immigrant, a tailor, and my father. On the surface, these adjectives convey a life story, but for my father, they are more like a series of flights with unknown arrival times. This elongated flight took off from the unlit, mud-brick prison cells of the North Vietnamese. He was captured as a rebel in 1975 and sentenced to twenty-one years for unwarranted patriotism. But after seven years of chewing French bread that could crack walls and sleeping underneath a leaky ceiling, he and his cellmates boldly escaped that abomination. As boatpeople, they sought the nearest American refugee camp in the Philippines, their one-way ticket from an inhospita-

In 1987, with his I-94 secured, my father began his American life in the projects of Bridgeport, Connecticut. His first job was as an assistant tailor, where he worked endless hours for a menial five-dollar-an-hour wage. He was expected by his five other roommates to pay his monthly share of the one-bedroom apartment that was littered with stained queen-sized beds and church-donated blankets. Despite the poor living conditions that were no better than Vietnam's, to live in America was a blessing, and thus, my father had to struggle to the limits of his soul and uncover the fight in his heart to survive. This was my father’s existence until 1990 when he set off for Boston and met my mother. Five years later, living in a stuffy public housing building in Somerville, I was born. My mother was a stay-athome worker, while my father continued to tailor for fourteen hours daily to pay the monthly rent and nourish another mouth. For days on end, he drained himself, visible in his hollowing cheeks and his lifeless face. On nights when he did come home early just to be with me, I would cry and ward him off, begging for my mother because I did not recognize his hands. In 1997, my father mortgaged a house in Lynn, a fearless vision that established a cornerstone for my future. He unconditionally devoted himself to paying it off. Years later, my father undertook another financial commitment: my education. From fifth grade and onwards, my education came at a cost; he worked extra hours and uneasily charged customers a little more to pay for my seat in a quality classroom. In return, he expected to see not B's, but A's within the grade column. It was not easy to satisfy those expectations. There were long days and nights of drooping eyelids, bobbing heads, and restless sleeping. But frankly, my tough days are a fraction of my father's. From losing his parents to landmines in Vietnam to burning the midnight oil in America, my father’s struggles are nothing like mine and knowing that inspires me to work.

Qianyi Zhang

Toughness for me stands in three syllables. Ngu Son Do. The man that I am today is because the man behind me nurtured and molded me with his unforgettable work ethic and his pure courage.

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Zen: to be at Peace By KJ Sanger

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Snap By Caleb Nungesser When thinking about a moment that defines who I am, I remember a night alone in the woods. There was something powerful about hearing the sharp snap of that last match that night.

matches unbroken. My hollow stomach moaned. “Raisins or Ramen Noodles,” I replied.

Tonight, I thought, I would treat myself to Ramen, let the warm noodles cozy up to my shivery jaw, allow the fire to thaw my toes. With some form of optimism I army-crawled over to my fire pit and felt around my The bark was a rigid blanket, formed to the curve of tin pail for matches. Of course, just one left. O, God of my back. Pine needles gathered on my chest, floating Matches, deliver me from failure, I thought. I introdown from the warmth above; the sun’s hand brushed duced the waxy red head to a cardboard rectangle, my folded eyelids. The aroma of charred birch was on and as quickly as they met, my hand forced a schism in a first-name basis with my pores; the scents of the last the narrow wood. seven days gleamed beneath my fleece. Today was Frustration flooded my veins. I heaved the match. Skipthe second day of Solo, a three-day period during my ping rain hit its first leaf. I peered up at the covered two-week winter group exploration, spent in solitude, moon, and I laughed for the first time in several days. deep in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. And The shadowy trees lightened my chest; the disconsolate for the first time, I felt exposed; I forced down the iosky assured me that I was fine. Still me, just matchless, dine-polluted water, the taste of homesickness. chewing on raisins in the rain, singing off-pitch to the The night came quickly, the air angrily swirling around my rickety tarp, reverberating howls seeping through the hickory bark. A poorly typed letter from my mother, smothered with synonyms of the word ‘pride,’ looked different in the moonlight; the thickly pleated printer paper was out of place in the crippling dark. The Hershey bar my brother gave me had frozen; my father’s headlamp had no more light to fight the new night. I adjusted my tarp hoping that the lonely linear lambency penetrating the canopy would find my

inky abyss. Completely out of my natural setting, far from the Boston clubs vibrating with bass, so close to nothing I knew. “Everything happens with a reason, Look at me and the place I be in.” I sang my lyric to the unknown with a fire in my voice. This is why I think of the woods: because they humble you, redesign you, discomfort you—like life. Once the unfamiliar night comes: embrace, laugh, sing.

Francis Parenteau Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Left and Above: Hailee Grisham

Qianyi Zhang

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Little Pin By Ximo Xiao “Hello, little pin,” I murmur softly. “Thanks for being with me.” It isn’t until I reach into my pencil case and prick my finger that I see my little pin shining in the light. Staring at it, memories begin to flood in.

cross that one bridge to get into good colleges, and the only way to do that is to study extremely hard for the final exam at the end of senior year. This exam determines your life.

Maybe it was at the moment I requested with burning cheeks for the fifth time in broken English, “Can I Three years ago, I was still the girl who had unrealistic please have a hamburger?” in McDonald’s; or maybe it was the time I sat alone in the corner during a dance dreams about coming to America. Every time my friends and I talked about American high school, all the party; or maybe it was when I forced myself to laugh visual images from popular American movies came to with others even though I didn’t know what they were laughing at; or maybe it was when I worked so hard in mind: teenagers our age partying every day. It a US history class because I couldn’t tolerate a “B.” In seemed that American students didn’t have the same amount of homework we had; their assignments paled these moments I realized how hard I was trying to behave like an American. However, it didn’t matter what I in comparison to what was expected of us. They seemed so carefree about getting a perfect SAT score did or how “Americanized” I became, I was still the same person. I still retained elements of the single-lane and getting into college. bridge image which require intensity, hard work, and Having a Chinese background, I automatically comdiligence. pare my life in the US to my life back home. If one im“Hello, little pin,” I murmur softly. “Thanks for being age can vividly describe high school education in China, it is a single-lane bridge. Everyone is trying to with me.” It still looks as delicate as the day my father gave it to me on my fifteenth birthday. Chairman Mao’s bust with a scarlet background is always unobtrusive, about the size of my finger tip. Mao was the most influential leader in China’s contemporary history. When my father was eleven, in 1966, the Cultural Revolution started. At that time, everyone was wearing pins with Mao’s bust on them to symbolize their approval and protection of Chairman Mao. Although the end of the revolution led to the destruction of much of China's traditional cultural heritage and the government required all icons to be handed in, my father still wanted to keep the pin as an historical relic. As my father wished to protect me and bring me good luck while I study abroad, this little pin has always lived in the same place in my pencil case. Whenever I see it, it reminds me of home. The dull pain in my finger disappears like the pin prick never occurred. Carefully closing the pin back into its home, I suddenly experience a feeling of release. After so many attempts to fit into a different culture, I can finally be myself. Being unique and becoming versatile in two civilizations is a gift. Crossing borders and adapting has given me confidence. Moving forward, finishing high school in America, and thinking about four more years of college has helped me to see a wider bridge. There have been times when I have ignored the existence of my little pin, but whenever I see it, I know who I am and that I am not alone. Temple Spires in Ceramic by Dan Do Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Lines By Katie Draper I trace my fingers down my spine, following a thin scar, passing over predictable numb spots only I can notice. I draw lines spot to spot, past to present. This scar is a part of me; I can’t remember what life was like before it. I awoke in a hospital bed, barely conscious. Over me stood my mom and dad, my view of their faces blurred from the hours of forced sleep from which I had just awakened. I smiled and looked up with puffy eyes and an itchy face. I remember saying, “That wasn’t that bad,” then being overcome by sleep again. I spent the next few months healing. I was no longer a victim of scoliosis, but I still had a long recovery ahead. Sophomore year – half a year after surgery – I pulled on my grimy goalie jersey, wiggled my feet into new socks and cleats, and stepped onto the field. I stood tall – taller than I’d ever stood. The scent of autumn filled the air; the wind threw a breath of air into my face and rustled the leaves around me. The thick, rubber padding of my goalie gloves enveloped my fingers. I took a deep breath and began one of the worst seasons of soccer I have ever faced. Each practice, I gave my all. I was ready to play… but I rarely did. Of 15 games I played only three. The coach was protecting me from hurting myself. My back was delicate, but I was strong enough to handle it. Each game I came ready to play, but coach saw this readiness as a

threat. She drew lines from cause to effect, from surgery to weakness, from scar to vulnerability… but she overlooked what only I could feel. Recently, a friend went away to basic training for the army. She returned completely changed. She was a regular girl who pushed herself into this future, laying aside her normal civilian life and turning herself into a soldier. She went through hell and came out alive. It was inspiring… but also infuriating; I’ve wanted to join the military since I was a child, constantly “playing soldier” in the thick mud of my back yard. I will never be allowed this career because of this medical condition I have been cursed with. I could be the most disciplined and determined individual with the biggest heart; still, they will reject me. They will set my limit, but – like my numb spots – they will never be able to draw that line: only I can. Conflicts have made me stronger. My medical condition alarms some people, and I understand when they think I can’t do something. However, I know my limitations like I know the numb spots on my back, and nobody understands how much I can push myself before I collapse. Scoliosis has made a huge impact in my life, from before surgery to after. I am a victim of scoliosis, but I am determined enough to push myself to my own established limits.

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Wait By Celine Pichette

stand what I did not at the age of eleven. I was defeated.

“Wait! You’re not coming with me?” When I was eleven, I was dropped off in an African bush village alone. It was planned that I would stay in this village for three days; I lasted a day. I wish this was a remarkable story, but it is not. It’s humiliating. I cried every minute I was there. I did not cry due to an overwhelming sadness about the poverty in which these people were living, and I didn’t cry because of their suffering; I cried because I was alone. All I saw was dirt and strangers, and I had no way to communicate with my parents. I knew that what I should have been feeling was compassion, but my parents had left me with people who wanted me to kill a chicken for dinner that night. The kids wanted me to play soccer with a ball made out of old tissue paper, in the dirt. In the morning, the women followed the family male to his work, and we walked ten kilometers to school. At eleven, this was not a learning experience; this was torture.

There are moments when I am still ashamed of my reaction to the village in Zambia, but now I see that the long-lasting impact of this trip has influenced how I have navigated my life since then. Since that trip, I have completed a volunteer work program in Northern California, a ten-day winter Out Back experience in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, a summer internship at the Stanford Shumway Surgical Summer Internship Program, a Wilderness First Responder certification course, four cycling centuries, a half marathon, and a triathlon. Every event has become an opportunity for me to push myself to overcome my eleven-year old fears, and to transform my weaknesses into strengths.

Returning home, I could not shake my feelings. No cliché and no documentary about African hunger could help me adequately frame my experience. I was overwhelmed with a sense of shame and longing to under-

I have been privileged to continue to travel with my family through Australia and New Zealand, to trek through Switzerland, and to live in Toyko. But, without fail, my thoughts always return to my eleven-year-old trip to Africa. The trip has become my signpost. I am not scared anymore. Wherever I go, and whatever circumstances challenge me, I know that while I might cry again, I won’t be defeated.

Chance Wright Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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friendly sentence brought me back to reality and made me realize that everything would be okay.

Chance Wright

I Believe in Not Taking Life for Granted By Reed Carpenter I was confused, my thoughts empty and scattered. I was also in pain. Blood was running down my leg and my chest was heaving as I struggled to find my breath. I felt my distress and pain drift away as I sunk forward, no longer supported. A continuous pounding in my ears and the worried cries of a woman pulled me away from my tranquility. Suddenly the air cleared and I was guided to my feet, staggering for a few steps before I found myself. I was alive. I had survived a head-on collision at forty miles per hour. I sat on the side of the road, confused, shocked, and filled with disbelief as the crowd of spectators began to grow. The constant throb in my head, the soreness in my chest, the blood running down my leg, none of it mattered. I was alive. I was taken to the E.R. in an ambulance as a precaution, and as I lay on the gurney, staring into the bright white light above me with the subtle beep of the heart rate monitor in the background, I was scared and lonely. The paramedic put his hand on my shoulder and told me, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a pretty nurse,” and laughed. Though this might seem stupid, his words meant the world to me at the time; that simple

As I lay in my hospital bed, with my family at my side, I had a sudden realization. I had come within inches of death and walked away with only bruises and a few stitches. I was overwhelmed by a rush of worries and questions, but at the same time an incredible sense of relief and happiness. All of a sudden, I appreciated everything. I realized how fortunate I was; not only was I still alive, but I was fortunate to have the life that I have. At the same time, as morbid as it sounds, I found myself asking, “What if I had died?” I thought of all of the things I had yet to do and all of the people that I had yet to meet. There have been too many times that I have been too lazy to do something, saying, “Maybe later,” or, “I’ll do it tomorrow.” But what if there is no later or tomorrow? I think that most people, myself included, don’t truly appreciate everything that we have until we are put in a situation where those things are threatened. I thought a lot during the few days after my accident. I thought about everything I had done and everything that I was going to do; but they all seemed unimportant. I promised myself that from that moment on, there would be no more “Maybe later” or “I’ll do it tomorrow”; I would live life in the present and make the most out of every opportunity and experience. I believe in not taking life for granted.

Chance Wright

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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First Memory (Writing) and Current Parallel Experience (Visual) Photography I

First Visual Memory By Christian Bladon

Soon, each crayon had taken on the same haggard look, each a soldier being pushed and worn down. Even the pristine, new crayons, recently added to the Sitting on the floor, barely a toddler, I stared at a blank piece of paper, waiting for my imagination to platoon, began to look torn and sloppy—each label spill onto its insultingly barren surface. To my right ripped and each tip worn to nothing more than a was an opaque bowl filled with crayons, a mixture of smooth head. Although the white of the paper had freshly bought and age-worn slivers of color. Loom- disappeared, in its place resided an unsatisfying mess ing nearby stood the great refrigerator, a white behe- of random colors, overlapping each other in a dark, shapeless void of brackish brown. moth that seemed even bigger on the inside. That day, I had worn a royal blue and white striped shirt, Despairing at what had become of my canvas of damp and darker in some spots due to the wretched creativity, I failed to notice the ever-nurturing presence of my mother, her shadow falling across my heat. My hand reached into the bin, enclosing itself upon a unwavering face. Flash. The sudden burst of white crayon, a crimson color soon to be transformed into a roused me to finally notice her and the small camera long streak across the page’s center. A tumult of dif- she held pointed at me. ferent colors followed, each successive color as different as the last. The naked white soon gave way to the chaotic scribbling of a 4-year-old me, trying in vain to bring some faded image into reality.

“What a lovely picture,” was all she said as she tenderly picked up the paper and placed it on the fridge, holding it up with nothing but a small block of dark metal.

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Later I discovered that I had a giant fear of the tooth fairy. - Allie Solms

- Eliana Mallory

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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I lifted my arms in anticipation and just like that I was free. - Hailee Grisham

First Memory and Current Parallel Experience (Continued)

Engraved in the fabric of my mind. - Caroline Plante

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Tree Series By Greta Davis

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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This fall, senior Fabián Štoček, under the guidance of photography teacher Franz Nicolay, worked on an independent project in which he hung five masks around campus and created an interactive exhibition. Fabian gave names to each mask and used fluorescent paint to provide them with expression and meaning. Jim hung from a tree near Alfond Library, while Hati hung near the entrance to the school across the road from the Head of School's house. Kuma hung out on Southside, and Malick watched students pass by from a tree between Weld Dining Hall and Connell Dormitory. The last mask, Hilbert, observed life behind Carpenter. Later in the semester, Fabián created a display in Carpenter and gave students a chance to react to his project. On this page and the next are photographs and descriptions of just two of the masks. Blind Minds By Fabián Štoček At the beginning of the year, I wrote a proposal to the Academic Committee and requested permission to conduct an independent study in the field of art. One of my main goals for the study was to create art that would influence the environment and that the environment could influence. In an attempt to break community members away from their everyday routines, I wanted to get them to think about something else, something outside of its usual bubble. New Hampshire has one of the most densely forested areas in the US. Trees live for hundreds of year, especially at Holderness School. Can you imagine how much

the trees in front of Schoolhouse have lived through? How many students have they seen and how many walkbacks have they witnessed? How many experiences and feelings are piled up inside of them? And yet, they do not have any way to express themselves; only the breezy wind can help them talk with their branches. But even this kind of communication is like whispering into the dark with only moths listening. The trees have little chance to influence the lives around them. However, I believe trees have a true spirit, so I decided for the first project of my independent study to give the trees a way to express themselves. I gave them a communicative device they could use to influence the environment and show how they feel after a lifetime of silence. Below are their reflections.

Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Name: Jim Position: Alfond Library Basic characteristics of the tree and the environment: Studious, relaxed, fun, communal Description of the painted layer: Glasses, light bulb, coffee mug, music notes, spiral, beard Intended artistic influence: Reflects how we combine relaxed studying with fun. It is an image of the usual Holder night—two hours of listening to music, studying, thinking, conspiring, coming up with solutions. Sometimes we choose to socialize and do not always gear towards productivity. Student Reactions: “It’s funny to connect ‘relaxed’ studying with fun. I guess when people see him, he can be our motivation for ideas/solutions. He looks good.”

Name: Hilbert Position: Behind Carpenter Basic characteristics of the tree and the environment: Playful, creative, mystical with complementary expressions—Yin and Yang Description of the painted layer: Highlighted mouth and eyebrows, curly hair, machine head, document, polka dots Intended artistic influence: Realize that two sides of the life equation are important for living in equilibrium. The yin and yang. Study hard yet entertain yourself in order to refresh your thoughts. Try to use the right side of the brain as much as you use the left. The balance—of food, academics, athletics, arts, and socializing—is an everyday struggle for Holderness students. We are always forced to make compromises with associated costs. It is a challenge to face this equation and be able to solve it effectively every single day. Student Reactions: “I find this slightly frightening.” “The one-eye-open, one-eye-closed concept really does well in illustrating the yin-yang balance.”

Significance of Paint Colors in Masks Green: positive, happy Yellow: neutral/ upcoming Orange: negative, danger

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This fall several junior classes read Shakespeare’s classic story Hamlet. In addition to discussing the play and acting out scenes in class, students were also asked to read analytical essays written by Shakespearean scholars and to recreate certain important scenes in cartoon format. On the following pages, you will find a couple interpretations of the text in cartoon and essay form.

Act 4, Scene 1: Gertrude tells Claudius that Hamlet has killed Polonius! Claudius insists that they must send Hamlet to England to save him and get him away from Denmark.

Act 4, Scene 1: Now that Claudius has a reason to send Hamlet away, he starts scheming about Hamlet's fate. Everything is falling into place!

Act 4, Scene 2: After Hamlet disposes of Polonius's body, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern arrive and ask Hamlet what he has done with Polonius's body. Hamlet responds with smart-aleck remarks that confuse them both. He then accuses them of being spies for Claudius. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern then take Hamlet to see Claudius.

Act 4, Scene 3: Claudius confronts Hamlet and asks him where the body is. Hamlet pulls his strings too but finally reveals where Polonius's body is. After, Claudius tells Hamlet he needs to leave for England, and Hamlet agrees.

Act 4, Scene 3: Claudius sends orders for Hamlet be killed on his way to England! Mosaic ● Volume 11, Issue 1 ● Holderness School ● www.holderness.org


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Act 4, Scene 4: On his way to invade another country, Prince Fortinbras asks his captains to ask the king for permission to cross his land. Hamlet, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern come across his path on their way to leave for England. After having a conversation with the captain, Hamlet decides he must be more vengeful.

Act 4, Scene 5: Meanwhile, Horatio and Gertrude talk to Ophelia. They believe that she has gone mad because of her father's death. She then sings songs to them about her feelings.

Act 4, Scene 5: After Horatio and Ophelia leave, Claudius talks to Gertrude about how he feels bad for her, but more importantly he hopes that Laertes will not blame them for the death of his father.

Act 4, Scene 6: Horatio receives a message from Hamlet. He says in his message that pirates attacked his ship, and he has returned to Denmark alone.

Act 4, Scene 7: Claudius and Laertes decide they will both try to kill Hamlet and begin plotting together. They agree that they will kill Hamlet during a fencing match in which Laertes will be his opponent. If Laertes does not kill him during the match, Claudius will poison him with a glass of tainted wine.

Written and Illustrated by Michelle Hofmeister Mosaic â—? Volume 11, Issue 1 â—? Holderness School â—? www.holderness.org


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A Critique By Dylan Arthaud

And perhaps Sophocles before Shakespeare. Freud was the first to blatantly idenify the “Oedipus comMarjorie Garber critiques Hamlet and a Freudian hy- plex” of a puerile mind. Yet, like Sophocles, Shakespeare reveals the “complex” through a play. And in pothesis of Hamlet in her book Shakespeare After All. Throughout her book, Garber makes her own hypothe- both, the latency of the desire provides the surprise, or the confusion. Oedipus gouges his own eyes out upon ses, one of which describes a technique of Shakediscovering what he has done, and Hamlet cannot speare’s that she coins “splitting,” in which different bring himself to kill Claudius for reasons he cannot figaspects of a person are broken apart into different characters. She draws on a critique of Hamlet offered ure out: by Sigmund Freud and his disciple, Ernest Jones, which Yet I, a dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, describes Hamlet not to be unlike Oedipus Rex. And can say nothing; no, not for a king, Freud’s “Oedipus complex” is a rather well-known psyUpon whose property and most dear life choanalysis of Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex, who mistakenly A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward? (2.2 558) kills his father and has his mother. Freud concludes that in every boy there is a latent sexual attraction to his mother and a desire to kill his father. Freud and Jones answer the question, “Why does Hamlet delay?” with the notion that he admires Claudius, for he has done what Hamlet cannot—murder King Hamlet and marry Queen Gertrude. “He hath killed my king, and whored my mother,” Hamlet says. The next line sets Freud up perfectly: “[he hath] popped in between th’ election and my hopes” (5.2 70). And here Freud seems correct. Hamlet slips, revealing his latent desires—ones that perhaps even he did not know. Only when he tries to describe what he feels to his only true friend, Horatio, does the truth reveal itself—to the audience and to Hamlet. Therefore, “How can [Hamlet] kill Claudius for acting on desires that Hamlet himself has had?” suggests Garber. If he is not making a simple allusion to Sophocles, perhaps Shakespeare figured out the truth before Freud.

The latency is perhaps the most interesting aspect of the “complex.” To have your own mother, and to kill your own father, are things so unfathomable that no one can even admit them or think consciously about them. Hamlet is supposed to hate Claudius. He wants to hate Claudius. He does hate Claudius, but he cannot kill him. Hamlet sees himself in Claudius, but does not know why. He does not know that he wanted to have his mother, or that he wanted to kill his father. Of course, if his father—the king—is dead, and if his mother—the queen—was his wife, who but Hamlet would be king? However, Claudius beats him to it, and Hamlet cannot kill him for that. Hamlet has not only lost his father, but he has lost his chance, he has lost his mother, he has lost Ophelia; he has no more to lose. His latent “hopes” are revealed to himself, and to Horatio, and to us.

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Photographs of Yellowstone and Badlands National Parks by Connor Marien

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In another endeavor to understand Shakespeare, Lea Rice, who is in Mr. Durnan’s AP Composition class, began by changing the font of the text to show instances of emphasis, parallelism, and other stylistic techniques. Lea then followed her graphic understanding of the poem with an analytical essay.

Henry V Act 2, Scene 2, Final Stanza

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Analysis of Henry V By Lea Rice A leader is resolute. A leader recognizes an undertaking’s fallibility but chooses to pursue the favorable outcome when it is possible. Strong leaders possess a prudent confidence that, if they have the skill, determination, and an achievable goal, they cannot and will not be hindered. When Henry V learns that some of his closest nobles have betrayed him, he doesn’t falter for a moment. He instead faces them, one of whom is his cousin, in a gesture that displays dignity and grace. His reaction to their convictions of treason is imperative at a time when his country stands on the precipice of a war with France, and Shakespeare looks to build anticipation in this pivotal moment in the play. To insinuate uncertainty could be disastrous for their prospects. Henry’s words following the departure of the traitors affirm his confidence in victory over France, citing God as an ally and appealing to the nationalism of the British, all the while relating himself to the common people. When Shakespeare writes that one of his characters invokes God as a supporter, it is with the knowledge that both the people Henry V would have spoken to, and the audience of 1600, value religion above much in their lives. To suggest that God was on their side would not have been unusual for the Shakespearean time period, given the crusades and the Spanish Inquisition that took place in the preceding centuries, but it would nonetheless have been very powerful. God’s divinity was practically unquestionable, and when monarchs such as Henry V were still believed to trace their power to God Himself, Henry’s words about the deity would have carried even more weight. First, Henry portrays God as England’s gracious savior who has uncovered the traitors. This perpetuates God’s omnipotence and is an example of how He has already favored the British. Henry then goes on to urge them to deliver their “puissance into the hand of God.” This encouragement depicts God as a mighty power to whom they can trust their strength, validating his earlier claim that it would be a “fair and lucky war” because God was helping them.

ters in Shakespeare, a reflection of the English’s low opinion of the French. Henry begins, “Now, lords, for France…” in a statement that implies that France is easily conquered. France and England have long stared each other down across the narrow English Channel. Two of the greatest powers in Europe for the better part of modern civilization, they have been both rivals and allies. At the time that Henry V delivers his remarks, the relationship between England and France is undergoing an interesting transformation. England and France had previously been synonymous, two territories governed as one. Henry’s speech, however, is advocating the invasion of France in order to maintain the English king’s right to govern France as well. The closing line, “No king of England, if not king of France,” summarizes the English desire to continue to control France, and powerfully communicates the desire for supremacy over the French. Using a technique popular with many politicians, Henry indicates throughout the passage that he relates to the common man. The most prevalent and subtle way that he does this is to invoke the use of the word “us.” Referring to the invasion itself, Henry urges his subjects, “let us deliver our puissance.” This would depict the war to be a communal effort, in which everyone must contribute their strengths. Henry uses this method of uniting the people not only when addressing the conquest of France, but its outcome as well. He speaks of victory over France by saying that it will be “to you, as us, like glorious.” This choice of words asserts that a victory for him will be a victory for the people as well. Henry’s more obvious tool of persuasion is his use of the word “countrymen.” Countrymen stand together, united by a common love for their nation. Countrymen will fight for their people’s best interests. Knowing this, Henry addresses his “dear countrymen” in an effort to convince them that the fight for France is a collective endeavor that they should partake in and succeed in. United by not only this, but by their hatred of France and trust in God, Henry’s audience would believe the conquest of France to be not only possible but necessary.

To appeal to British nationalism is not only to bolster England, but also to put down France. Henry succeeds in both of these tasks, which would have elicited a favorable response not only in the fifth century setting in which he speaks, but in the Globe Theater as well. The French are portrayed as humorous charac-

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Watercolors By Jingyi Wu

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Tranquility By Steven Wilk II

Deeper and deeper I nestle myself in the snow. I breath in, I breath out. I listen to the wind blow. The sun’s rays shine upon it, gleaming fluorescent light. I look around, nothing surrounding me, left nor right. Looking above into the sky, the white clouds in sight. I dream of being high, well above the clouds in flight. Closing my eyes, thinking of the possibility. I open my eyes, blinking, complete, with tranquility. The wind stops, and I am refreshed by the silent peace. I’m at rest, and I am unstressed, free of any concern. Trying to recollect my thoughts, I think of the past. I am circumspect, cautious to bring back memories. My body is numb, but the snow is only comforting. My mind, not my body, is what is suffering. I forget both, and I let my spirit take over. I’m blocked from the world, surrounded by this enclosure. I inhale the winter air through my nose, cool and clear. Hearing the coyotes howl, with only modest fear. Resting in peace with only the spirit of nature. Alone, I am. Only searching for a simple answer. I ask why? I’m only looking for my remedy. At this point, I wonder: is it safe to be carefree? My mind is shattered, and my body is paralyzed. My spirit, the single part, is keeping me alive. At once, in peace, I close my eyes and begin to breath. Cycling the air. Dreaming. I’m finally able to relieve. My breaths get deeper and deeper. I’m at equilibrium. I forget everything, and I fade away in peace.

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Ximo Xiao

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Holderness School Plymouth, NH 03264-1879 www.holderness.org 603.536.1257


Mosaic: Volume 11, Issue1