IVY LEAVES
AP-T
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A REFERENCE GUIDE TO THE STUDENTS OF ANDERSON COLLEGE ON THE SURVIVAL OF ART
ART
OFFICIAL RESPIRATION
A^ Before starting any kind of
artistic
endeavors
make
sure you are clear of any of distractions.
Keep
all
that
senses open
may come
your
to
any creative ideas
way se*
FIGURE! A
FIGURE
Look,
listen,
and
feel.
Look
what
is
inside you
are trying to say.
A
at tiie culture
around you, to insure you stay relevant. to
1.
Listen
and determine what you
Feel around and begin to
get a sense of what you have to work with.
See FIGURE
1.
B
FIGURE 1.B
Begin breathing
be sure not
to it
flow naturally.
its
own. Once
into
life
your work.
to force or
Soon
this
it
Remember
over work anything. Let
will
be able
to breath
on
happens, step back and examine
what you've created.
see FIGURE 1.C
FIGURE 1 C
Jonathan Tribble Level
2'x6 Oil
on
One 1/2'
Wood
What
If?
In a
the world
What
if
is
rain puddle,
upside down.
you could go into
and look
at
Would you
a
puddle,
the world?
have to stand on your head?
That would make the sky upside down and the world
down
side up, and
you wouldn't know where to go, or
how
to go
— and
the world would be resting
on your head, and the sky would always be at your feet
and you would have to wear a helmet, and
your shoes would always be shining, and you wouldn't
know what
to
do
with your hands, with the world always on your head
and, if
the puddle dried up,
your dog would bark
at
you and
people would stare, and wonder
why you were
on your head in
the middle of the street.
Margaret Hayes
standing
Brian Irving
Faced with a Fear 5 V4" X 8" Intaslio Print
Daydream I
had a dream while waking
You were there
.
.
.
.
.
.
darl< eyes,
black hair
I
stretched out
my hand
to touch your face,
and sweet elation, I
DID
Mumbling something, I
then turned
and
fell
effortlessly
from the spot where Strange; having a
Wesley Ramey
I'd
loved you
dream while waking
Kari Pettit
Untitled
5"x7" Black and
White Photograph with
Ink
Bonfire Flame blasts from
a bonfire in the dark,
Awaiting innocent souls as
A
it
grows.
cinnamon, pumpkin powder erupts with each spark.
Enchanting hungry children as
Two
it
creeps through every nose.
cauldrons sizzle with a magic potion of sweets
Poured into the
fire
to create the tantalizing smell.
Trailing forth, the visitors
Unaware
A tall
hope to
find a treat
that they are under a spell.
lurking tree
is
a
witch disguised.
The protruding branch, her
pointing arm.
Turning youngsters into pumpkins while they stand hypnotized.
She burns with
a passion to
avenge through harm.
At midnight, she prepares her feast
as she
throws
Into the fire the pumpkins, the offspring of her foes.
Ashley Posley
Matt Mantooth Like Father, Like Son
AT
X 36"
Acrylic on Canvas
Seventeen Magazine clippings In
the center,
of Claire's purple journal, is pasted between handsome Structure stud
a Secrets logo a
and
a stylish
Circling the
model duo,
the outer ring of a Target,
like is
Express chick.
the Pink glittery Hallmark
Claire loves Sean Jean for Eternity
with scratches as thick as a Briar Patch
through Tommy's name. Limited overlaps a glossy
one-dimensional bottle of Dream,
and a pair of Wranglei^ Jeans straddle Unique Expressions.
Gap Jill
ads
fill
Morris
the empty spaces.
Slums Dreaming of Thailand I
at
two
the morning,
in
tossed and turned beneath the sheet
Yet didn't recognize the scene
until
I
felt
The
suffocating heat.
And And
there you stood, with your bloodstained shirt
I
dangling from your wrist, sterile gauze.
reached out
my hand
to fix
but
it,
You backed away.
I
read the solemn stare you gave me, with
Bitter questioning.
Words
in
You craved
broken English
fell
essentials,
its
not hospitality.
clumsily
From your mouth.
I
tried desperately to
decode the message.
Frustrated, you turned aside. So, Left the rice and
And turned
in
silence, until
Into the rickety bus.
Shed
I
still
I
left
quietly
to walk away.
You followed me down the
We walked
I
water by your cardboard home
I
dirt path. I
stepped up
waved good-bye, and
a tear.
hear your muttered voice.
you
in
To haunt me as lay awake with Alone in the moonlight. I
Shannon
I
the slums, but you've
Griffin
thought
come back
guilt,
here
Matt Mantooth Poppy 40" X 28" Oil
on Canvas
Discarded The suns arms are not long enough To shroud their bodies Twelve
panes with flames
tiny
Snuffed out by her drawing shelf
They've been
He
in
love for forty-six hours
loves her dark
rooms
Black paint splattered
Weak She
in
some
lazily
areas and thicker
in
others
mouth leaving bumps on her frail shoulders
feels his
Tiny
chill
She sees Still in
this
morning's breakfast ingredients
the buckets
His whisper smells of apples
Remnants of the
Too
ones
fallen
enticing not to keep
Ripening into rich rusts and yellows
At
first
they picked
in
Luscious cranberries
leisure
â&#x20AC;&#x201D; but then
Their greedy fingers pulled leaves
now
Both
bathing
Never one
in
the sun
for cooking
She prefers the midst of her garden Stealing the frozen earth's gifts
Reserving hers for
She'll
And
moments
like this
be bored by hour fifty-two
she'll lick
All that will
the juices
remain of him
Off her fingers stained pink Staria R. Wilson
A
Grace
Little Girl's
Our weary van slowed to a stop As we pulled In front of the house. Excitement pounded inside my chest While
I
I
twitched and fluttered about.
newborn
Like a
colt,
tumbled out of the
all
arms and
legs,
car.
And proceeded to gleefully roll about In the grass of my new front yard. Then
And
I
sprang to
my
feet,
Then with an expectant I
brushed myself
off,
sprinted for the open door.
found myself
.
.
.
leap
from the porch,
back on the floor
...
my stinging eyes teared up A result of my newly smashed face And the smudge of my nose on the clean Bore the last testament of my grace. Confused,
Lori
Hughes
glass
storm door
Digging His family
men
tool< turns digging
under the shade of the Iroko tree.
They cursed when the shovels bruised their palms, the soft skin giving
way
to rough calluses
as the loose dirt
and
thick.
They
became dark dug, heaving earth
over their shoulders
The
sun's glare
in
rhythm.
on their backs
and the sweat stinging their eyes
reminded them that they were men.
He had been until his
a
man
like
them,
bronzed shoulders and
his
ridged palms could dig no longer.
He had been
a man like them, brown heart began to beat to the rhythm of the brown earth. They buried him under the Iroko. The women dressed him in a kaftan and slippers. He wanted nothing more. The women, in tears, hummed to the slow, somber drumbeat. The men, dry-eyed, until his
lowered the
coffin into the
ground
they had dug. The scrape of shovels, the thud of earth on stained wood,
reminded them that they were men.
Adaobi N. Ezeokoli
Golden
On
proud
rings sit
strong green poles held above
The ground, sunflowers. Tennille
Owens
The Black Snake
We I
were not
feel a little
friends, yet
sad
seeing him lying
in
the middle
of the street,
the thick black rope of laid
open by the
fatal
his
body
blow,
the raw red flesh glistening in
the sun.
Innocent of the curse of crossing the street,
he
coils as
and
one
in
holds
his
best he can last effort,
head high,
as defiant of death as he in
was
the
Garden.
Margaret Hayes
now,
Kamila Bobrova Blue Color Study
#3
15" X 19"
Pastel
on Paper
Epitaph of a Station I
can only hope that you
Will find
my
But
all
what truth you
can.
you never
will.
fear
is
must inform you. Ralph Jones set me on
So
Owner
I
fire,
And he did it because He thought was running Around with his wife. I
But what they won't Is
that
I
puddle of mud,
In a
And Ralph
set
me on
fire again.
were wide with
His eyes
And he kept throwing All
you
tell
put myself out
anger,
gas
over the place.
There was no reasoning with him. I
tried to
Was
tell
him that Edna
who kept my station. coming by asking me
the one
Hanging around She kept
To pump her
gas,
But her tank was always
She started whispering
And
full.
in
my
ear,
saying Ralph couldn't satisfy her.
Then one day I'd had enough. And that was the day Edna tore the shoulder of her dress
And
told Ralph
But you
Any I'd
all
will
I
attacked her.
probably never
of that because
it's
rather burn on earth, than
With Ralph and Edna. Tennille
Owens
know
the truth. in
Hell
Lauren Leggett Four Hearts
I8"x52" Oil
on Canvas
Alvaro and Christina Bright blue, threaded with light blond stitches,
The door stands out. Deep cuts furrowed by sharp claws. Its frame weathered by time and feeble hands As if the pain were tired, imparted, absorbed. Grayed out,
lying useless as
the trembling hands
That once clutched them, the tools are subdued.
Dust gathers here,
Among Never
rich,
What once And
it
As you
in
the bristles of
falls
at
a skeletal
home
broom.
but thriving,
dwelt here remains. across you, independent and beautiful.
enter, the
Blue door.
Amanda
cobwebs
Burgess
way the
light falls
on that
Kamila Bobrova Purple Color Study
#
I
15" X 19"
Pastel
on Paper
r
'£tLL^.wi'im.'
Becky Bradstreet Untitled 4" X 3"
Photograph
The
Kite
The wind
picks up and
I
begin to run,
A swirl of primary colors A tortured, dragged dog. Finally! In
the
flailing
whipping
air,
its
behind,
snake head,
Each color strikes at the taunting clouds,
The venom
My
From
A
uniting yellow and blue.
knuckles whiten as the twine
dull knife
This
rubbing into flesh.
â&#x20AC;&#x201D; an unadmirable attempt
Suddenly,
One God
it
slips
on the spool,
side to side
at escape.
stands erect before the sky.
last plea for
mercyf
doesn't grant
it.
Neither do
The wild air beats, making me With a great heave rein it in.
I.
squint.
I
Carefully though, so as not to break Its spirit
for the next great wind.
Marissa Sullivan
Leie girls She
under the udala tree,
sits
legs crossed, eyes closed.
The rhythm
of the
drum
hands on taut goat skin
Mama
crier's
pulls her.
braids her coarse dark hair
and talks about a day long ago
when her own
hair
under the same Seven
girls sit
was braided
tree.
behind her,
crushing green leaves that
produce
With
it
a red
dye called
lele.
they paint their palms,
their feet, their navels.
Tonight the
when they
men
smile
will
dance, jigida beads
around their waists, their ankles.
Her
feet,
her palms, the grooves
of her braids are also painted
Tonight she does not
in lele.
dance with
jigida
beads around
her waist, her ankles.
She
lies
on the
raffia
mat,
legs crossed, eyes closed,
the rhythm of
lele girls' feet
on moonlit sand soothes away the wave of pain between her
She
is
a
woman
now.
Adaobi N. Ezeokoli
legs.
X iKWsr^nr rr
,,
Adam
.
vr r.
Lynch
Urban Remedy 4" X 6" Photograph
When The Time Comes When When When
the time comes, brings
it
I
Anything at
When my And
is
when
I
will
storm.
roam
sky,
will
I
will ride
I
will
in
still
more
a part of
I
On
all,
eyes are
don't cry no
That
Be
me home,
won't need
the wind,
soar to sun
wide spread wings.
And beneath the
clouds.
Right across the sea.
We will
fly
together.
Only wind and me.
Kamila Bobrova
Shelly
Sawyer
Minature Tea Set Clay
Alicia
Marquez
Psalm 18 40" X 32" Acrylic on Canvas
L'etranger Her
soft, fair
hands place
my mocha
on the caramel-hued coffee
Memories
unfurl
in
latte
table.
the rising steam
Your rough-hewn hands, crevassed, stained, a
Hands
map
of your manual past.
that, in thought,
dreads rolled thick
Those
like
callused hands,
you would run through Cuban cigars.
warmed
by the kitchen
spun ancient tales out of the night
Now
sky.
and then you would pause to take
sips of black coffee laced
with rum.
Under the moon's watch, those hands would lift
me
my
eyes tracing fire sparks to the stars.
up slowly, play with
my ebony
curls,
At the cock's crow, my eyes heavy, those hands,
now
earthed, brought
cafe-creme and hot croissants.
my reflection mocha face, the black irises; my hands wrapped around the empty coffee cup. In
the window,
The
I
I
catch
thin braids, the
should not be here.
Adaobi N. Ezeokoli
me
fire,
the Golden Calf the Golden Calf sings on broadway, drinks from the chalice of the stars,
speaks with Aristotelian wit, fairy dust in his eyes,
melt him into another dream a cure, a
(he will
remedy
fix
you)
and never disappear:
enamored
vision
passion, greed, lust for the
unknown,
he huddles inside
Us All.
Maghan Lusk
IVY LEAVES STAFF
LITERARY ADVISOR Dr.
Wayne Cox
LITERARY STAFF Amanda Burgess Shannon
Griffin
Tannine
Owens
Jennifer
Roman
Marrissa Sullivan
DESIGN ADVISOR Jane Dorn
DESIGN STAFF Joshua Fleming Brandon Fricks Katy Gray Shelli
Hanshew
Bnan
Irving
Misty Kelley Kristen
Lambert
Matthew Mantooth Theresa O'Rourke Jessica Parks Shelly
AN EMERGENCY!
THIS IS
Sawyer
Emerald Shumer Jonathan Tribble
Art,
whether
it
be
drama,
literature,
dance, music, or the visual arts can
be found
in
every culture,
period of time. survival of is
personal is
no
life.
is
essential
in
it
it
alive.
One
Matthew Mantooth
the
any people group. The
what keeps
argue that
It
COVER DESIGN
every
in
art
ILLUSTRATIONS
could even
Matthew Tolbert
even applies on a more
level,
and without
In this realization
art
there
we see
the importance of the situation at hand.
m MUST KEEP ART
ALIVE,
BECAUSE
IT
KEEPS US ALIVE.