Ivy Leaves Journal of Literature and Art — Vol. 81

Printmaking

Title: Alphabet Artist:

Maggie Erwin,

Hillary Stewart, Ervin,

Amber Dumas, Bonnie

Bob Green,

West,

Travis Selman, Barbara

Dorian Gunnels, Karen Wallace, Melissa

Johnson, Hanna Kowlowski, Luanjenkins

Medium: Printmakine

&

Introduction

Art it

is

a

word heard often on

be visual,

buildings.

literary, Ivy

as possible.

campus of Anderson University. Whether

the

or music

Table of Contents

—

art

is

everywhere within the walls of AU's

Leaves strives to encompass the best representation of that art

From

the artists whose creations

make

Leaves to the literary editors and graphic designers publication becomes they leave

Anderson

a

it

on

who put

University.

It is

a tangible representation

and

at

the university

is

ultimately less for the recognition of

its

audience. Art, in any form,

walls

it.

Ivy

is

a

meant

to strike

its artists

and more

some reaction

in those

that experience

both for

and the audience.

-Jessica

Sopolosky

Lierary Editors:

Literary Advisor:

Jessica Sopolosky

Dr. Wayne

Charlie Grant Phyllis

of the talent re-

Leaves takes the art of Anderson University beyond the

and beyond the grounds in hopes of extending

the artist

together, this

way to leave their mark. However, the

fined by their time

for

it

keystone in the memories of those involved long after

goal of Ivy Leaves

who experience

to the pages of Ivy

Cox

Creative Director:

Publication Design:

Joshua Rigsby

Robbie Cobb

Goins Eric B. Whitlock

Making

9. Poetry

17.

Graphic Design

Table of Contents

10. Poetry

18.

Graphic Design

Poetry

11.

19.

Painting

1.

Print

2.

3.

4- Sculpture

Poetry

12. Poetry

20. Poetry

5.

Sculpture

13.

Photography

21. Poetry

6.

Photography

14.

Poetry

22. Drawing

7.

Painting

15.

Poetry

8. Poetry

16. Painting

-2-

On

nude shoes

of

Amidst the waves our ship was

the sidewalk a pair lie,

the

first

on

a vessel

side

its

and a few yards down the other upright as

is

if

of

most

forlorn

hope, soldiers borne of adventure.

Mighty waves and

preparing to receive

the slender foot at any

full

moment.

terrible

struck with such force,

if

wonder since the day she

is

is

taper-toed

and

salty

somewhere bowing, being pious

whatever undertaking

for

breaking

pumps

half in the

left

of

how

judgment upon choices

cursed upon

through this mystery she

if

tenderfoot venture.

this

of the gallery,

Tragic fate held

as

what gives the dying hope

its

is

to the plight of

teaching

me

testament

one whose vestment

held the scars of but a single

start-

that leaving things behind

is

an

voyage on

art.

this unforgiving

main, which feasts upon us

Poor Title: Early

Artist:

own

Morning Sunday Maghan Lusk

soul, clutching the

hopes, future, very

his

I

chose

heart and

fit.

To

I

disappear with This

poem

was inspired by

pair of expensive shoes

line,

mine

chiefest

let live

among

my all

his

countenance

hesitance the reasons

abandoned him choosing here as

for

outside of the National Gallery of Art in

life

compassion must mingle.

Thus as watched

Comment:

living.

foremast

property to take and give

him as

a

our

knees trembled that hour

which were not from our voices

her

lying half in light

shadow

winds

can't begin

I

proper descriptions of I

torn,

Now

Washington, DC.

this

for

hungry schools of

spot for

communal

his port.

fish shall

sport

dining

a solemn feast of pining.

Young blood washed away by the

tide,

crimes of a faltering mind hide

beneath

Title:

brine, this brother's treason.

The

Privateer

Artist: Charlie

~3~

Grant

SCULPTURE

1

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BSflpi

Comment:

I

try to

push

my

art in a

meaningful and contemporary direction, often finding myself addressing

subjects of identity

Title:

&

opposing

forces.

Withered 4, Reverse

Artist: David Slone

Medium: Stoneware. Raku

-4~

Fired

ScUPTURE

Title: Tall

Artist:

Lidded Vase

Diana Morrow

Medium: Stoneware

Ph OTOGRAPHY

Title: Untitled Artist: Molly

Medium:

Digital

Mudd

Photography

Comment: My work

in painting has

developed into a balance of pattern and portrait, of structure

and chaos, of beauty

and repulsion.

Title: Pious Infidelity Artist: David Slone

Medium: Oil on

Cavas

PoE

Goethe's defense of his

To

my

When I

dear

in

friend,

the face of doubt

see the face of God,

Shears to trim

my

in

God

I

And

heart of

from Nature's

that

all

shook

am

Open mouth

does resound the

heart

in

I

a Holy Book.

is

fixed,

whole;

fall

face-first into,

a story true, that the sits

God

upon the

The cold rock beneath me

don't.

don't

soft

and

fluid.

within this cloud,

know where

to step.

the million-year-old granite,

once unmovable,

is

now

unsteady,

changing with the breeze.

with

And here am,

Deepest hope that Nature's myth

The chapel walls now

I

Swathed

bearing

my

I

without

engulfed

zenith.

somewhere between

obscurity,

in

and the earth

Title:

rolling,

alone looking

almost want to

but

you, dear friend, must never doubt

tell

I

becomes

portrait,

That Heavenward

Does

me

I

divine amenities than ever written

that

swallowed

and

soul, with paring

Likeness more than Eucharist, and sharing

More

thick

over the ledge into the seemingly endless fog

look,

the staring

steadfast faith and took

My eyes

The cloud,

and

Klettenberg,

Eyes of the human

My

faith

I

rapture

have forgotten.

To Klettenberg

Artist: Phyllis

Goins Title: Engulfed Artist: Jessica Sopolosky

Comment:

I

wrote

this

poem

after

1

stood

edge of Stone Mountain in Georgia and got lost in

â&#x20AC;˘8~

a

cloud of fog.

at

the

literally

Poi

I

my

have spent

entire

life in

Each day spent the same,

in

a 120 by 85 feet grid. repetition of

my

Would

Say Soon, however, the white

my name no

lights will

longer echoed out

I

wear

be taken

will

off,

time?

in

to twenty-one.

Not on your I

This jersey

go back

fade

the loudspeakers.

in

I

craft.

not

life,

because

had not begun.

in

celebration but to be matted and hung on the wall.

Me was

moment

there from the

of birth.

This

is

not just the turning of the

page

but the closing of a book, no more to be written.

Tomorrow

will

come

my

meeting with

Their purpose and

new

prints

in

with

first

nowhere

love.

my

My

fingers

to be,

be

left

some

revelation of

life

to unearth.

Me

fought myself,

my

peers, then took on the

no

feet will not

will

Waiting on

know

to find

world amidst

my

many

elders,

tears.

this world.

Instead of winning the battles

How does one spend when

endless hours

the have only lived

90 minutes

at

a time?

of

life,

constantly

in

strife.

Me died some

in

Title:

me was

time ago.

me's place, continues to grow.

The End Of My Soccer Career

Artist:

Stephen Henderson Title:

Me

or

I

Artist: Judi Stephens Harris

Poi

The crunching

welcomes my

gravel

Marching them up the drive to the

Red

house— the

brick

She knows

flat,

king of the mountain.

It's

That rusty swing-set sings sweet memories,

And

the

Its

think she

will

Though her

break

frail

lips,

Into

my

if

bones

me

Cookies beckon

My

I

still

seem

as laughing grandkids run around the hearth, crashing shins

— out the window,

weeds speak

of

But her eyes,

And speak

is all

is.

it

teaching her

fault, for

it's

its

uses.

wrong.

in

of the

wonders

will

turning back,

never be

motionless

Now

sweet

of getting better,

and

trying to

of a

be healthy.

pound would

Or two, or as much as

And

the plate

the plate

is

tea.

In front of

occur,

five

became broken

again.

put back together

With bolts and screws.

lost,

of that healing

together.

of grandeur.

Hope and wants

Then the gain sits

a different language,

old stories that

been smashed, broken, cracked,

work undone.

garage— a boulder as strong as he was.

Tell familiar

round ceramic disk,

society's fault, for teaching her

She had ideas

stronger than me.

from the oven and sweet tea puckers

Four o'clock brings only silence now.

the

her parent's

And then put back

hug her too hard.

Grandaddy's faded, dusty black truck In

at this

that a ceramic disk

smells of skinned knees and hide-and-seek.

air

It's

I

downward

Staring

feet,

sits

It

her as an icon.

Mortos scribbled and strewn across

it

as a constant reminder:

Title: Healing Sweet Tea Artist:

Brandon Clements That nothing tastes as good as thin

Title:

Quid me

nutrite.

me

feels.

destruit

(What nourishes me, destroys me) Artist: Rachel

Runion

Comment: This poem began Nathan Cox's

der"; and then

-IO-

as a

response to

Dis-Orbecame something more persona

exhibit entitled "Eating

Poi

The sound

my

of

as

I

footsteps echo

in

lonely ears

pace across the barren room.

Half past six

a quarter

Thoughts

fly

till...

my mind

through

perhaps

this is

like bullets

my second

on a

battlefield

chance-to

live.

Comment: When writing this poem, The shadows come out

imagined to play for the

as the

sun lays down

fiery

his

head

to rest.

Seven

o'clock...

me

They make

The

floor

creaks under

Seven

sick with their joyful notes.

my

unsteady high-heeled shoes.

listen intently, straining,

I

forâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; nothing.

o'five

The seconds

tick by...

Suddenly, a frantic siren screams making

watch as an ambulance and

I

Ten

turn

heart

pound

like

entourage race by

a hammer.

my

forsaken

minutes more...

away form the windowâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; hopeless with the

My

my

its

after seven.

A few I

full

knowledge

heart cries out against

own

its

of a

broken promise.

revelation.

He's not coming.

Seven

fifteen.

The world walks Clutching

my worn taking

Ashamed,

I

many

out coat,

one

last

I

turn to leave

look at the dying sunset.

wipe tears from

He wasn't so

silence.

in

my

face and close the door softly behind me.

different after

Title: Savior Artist: Kristina Johnson

all.

alley.

to

change her

heartaches and

moment-only waiting

hear the bells chime gleefully from a nearby church tower.

the author

an abandoned building waiting

man who promised

has experinced

Six fifty-nine

I

a lady in

for

soemone

life.

She

lives in the

to save her.

Poi

you

I'll

tell

I'll

quit

And on Till

I'd

my

plan,

old job

you swear not to laugh.

if

and

that small raft

I'll

I

build a small

would

drift

that small island

I'd live for

build a small hut, hunt

And when had I

and

Some

raft.

on the blue

It

On

that balloon

would higher ascend.

I

Enjoying the view as land on a glacier

I

It's

sailed with the wind.

somewhere

in

Till

it

I

would

drift

down

insects are frightful,

But

my compass and

it

river

I

soon would be

a very long fly

But the stars

Title:

rains everyday,

would show

Artist:

me

Comment: Written

I

trip, full

lost

after a

summer

will

Andes, "My Plan"

is

My

Plan

Anna

Franklin

indefinitely without the confines of time

-12-

and disappearing

a wistful

I'd

obtain

of

Away Lands.

danger and dread -

dream

and

to travel

responsibility.

lightning

shine brighter after

of reading adventure books

as early flight

long ago.

must keep a cool head.

the way.

and researching such topics glaciers in the

were

flying to Far

the stream

joined with the river and rapids extreme.

The

behind.

assemble my new gyroplane.

to

order to

In

Then hike down the mountain and buy a canoe.

With that canoe

find pirate ships that

The storm tears my plane and the

Peru,

left

might take a week, working there on the sand,

But

air.

equipment someone

diving

The parts

finished exploring there,

build a balloon that could fly through the

might find

search on the seaside and there

I'd

I'd

I'd

And

the wild,

I

walk on the floor of the ocean below

I'd

a while; fish in

reach the Atlantic and there

I'd

found a small island that nobody knew.

I

On

my

it

is

clears.

near,

Photography

Title:

Beyond Appearance

Artist:

Medium:

Bonnie West

Digital

-I3~

Photography

Pot

now -

Come, come,

hurry

And

Moon do wane

Mistress

the Night

we now

as

speak,

Our words illuminated by Her whim.

Tonight there

we

For

And

more work

is

for us,

young one,

are bastard children of the Night

Mistress Moon, and though we're

By Sun and To us

The

need, and

in

Blight

And send The

He has

children

we

bade

did

mocked and scorned

blessed, they called their call.

has brought us more to dig to hell as only

priests

we can do

-

and fathers cannot purge these ones

For fear their hidden blotches grow from touch.

paid us well - you

Dumas

Father

Whose own

white robe hides

And people who might To

know

the man,

shame from Sun

him sick and be forced

find

on us to send another down.

call

You 'member the man, eh Simeon, who called You "dumb" or "witch" or whate'er slander he

mock

Befit to

you, and

We

send him to the Lake

So

spit

upon

this grave,

You have more mercy For you. That

turn,

in

mock me?

of Fire tonight.

so he might know

him than he ever had

for

what makes us

is

different

Simeon? As we, humble heroes

Eh,

That

On

ripe with plague, the

is

As we

toil

mark

Sun and the

citizens of the

for

from them,

a town

of sin

light

they worship,

and work and hide the shame

From the Sun, they sleep and dream, and spread Their

But

filth

we

women

to

of the Night

we do

of the Night,

and Moon.

not fear

The Sun nor His pox on man and woman nor Their child, for

Are

just

the night, the spots of black

as dark as spots of earth. And that

Dear Simeon,

Whose

in

love

is

we

wage

our

paid by Night, and Moon,

against our backs tonight,

feel

Shines brighter here than Sun had ever done for us.

Title:

The

Gravedigger's

Artist: Justin Jessel

-14-

Sermon

POE

I

I

am

a child of the universe.

am

a creature of the earth.

for

I

am

invite fly

me,

to

be

at

here.

myself to soar over the tree tops,

I

to the mountain.

I

his

I

eye sharp and discerning.

hear the water

falling into

of the

call

dove

in

the morning,

I

crevices

I

across the sea

savor the rosy glow of breaking day

am

mountain with

hills

and valleys no one sees.

am

eagle with clear sight and

am

water, flowing with ease

am

cricket

am

lofty vision.

and leaping

and sparrow with songs

hummingbird, secretive

beauty

like

on the horizon

beside green fern and mossy rocks,

moon

dawn.

swift like

I

the

walk the golden path of the

at sunset,

see the eagle surveying the world from

eyrie,

I

a part of the earth.

was destined

to I

i

listen for

the haunting song of the mockingbird at night.

that belongs to earth belongs to

All

I

I

like

sunset of the sea.

at

I

for joy.

to sing.

I

mantis.

am

light

dawn.

the crash as loud as the crashing breakers of the sea,

as swift as in

I

I

fish leaping for joy

I

a mountain stream.

I

am

a child of the universe.

am

all

these things.

was destined

to

be

here.

hear cricket sing, crow shout his Title: After Walt

Whitman

displeasure.

Artist: Margaret Hayes I

I

I

see frog under a

leaf in

the garden. the cone flower.

discover mantis hidden

in

see sparrow perched

a vine,

spider

hammocked

in

in

her web,

hummingbird mesmerized by a butterfly

flower,

choreographing her wings to the

Comment: This poem

rhythm of the sun.

Song of Myself hy Walt

-15-

is

an imitation of

Whitman.

am

Comment:

Art.

The expression of my

deepest feelings and personal values,

mingled with the brushstrokes and the forms

that they create

Title:

on my

canvas.

Groaning Inwardly

(Waiting for the Redemption of

my Body)

Hanna Kozlowski Medium: Oil on Canvas

Artist:

-16-

Graphic Desig>

death of a

salesman a story

by Arthur Miller directed by Joe Rowling

Comment: The purpose the

demeanor of the

for this poster was to encapsulate

play, while

still

leaving mystery to in-

trigue the potential audience.

Title: Death of a Salesman

Artist: Robbie Cobb Medium: Mixed Media Awards: Gold ADDYÂŽ, Greenville SC I

â&#x20AC;&#x17E; I7 ~

Graphic Design

STOMP Performs March

1

0-13 at The Peace Center

Tickets available at Ticketmaster.com or 708.45 1 .800

Comment: The concept

for this poster was to convey the

energy and essence of what Stomp the

show

is all

is all

about. Showing that

about movement, colors, and sound.

Title:

Stomp

Joshua Rigsby Medium: Mixed Media Artist:

Awards: Best In Show ADDYÂŽ. Greenville SC I

I

Gold ADDY*. Greenville SC ADDY*, Third District

Silver

-18-

Title: Untitled

Artist:

Jamie Moore Oil on Canvas

Medium:

-19-

Poi

Wet At

splinters

my

The

and crusted barnacles scrape

heels as

tread carefully

I

Salt

fills

Still

the

Dark clouds looming overhead burst

And

pier.

me and

my

nostrils

keeping

me warm.

and burns my tongue.

By the hungry sea;

The

struggling against the sea, a bucket

Its

contents fish

Touch my

spilling

over

its

edge onto the

pier.

strewn about, stretching to

lie

There

feet.

is

The

Something

touches

my

me wretch

as

bitter

At the empty bench and

My

chum

Become

further,

And snaps that

at

is left

my feet,

to

life

Sweat drips down With the sea's

own

to

my

lips,

and grasps

slow steady drops

to the gallows or the

Title:

Chum

Bucket

Artist: Justin Jessel

on the dock, picking up beaks.

fighting

bitter mist.

~20~

me

of inside,

at

my throat.

scurry out and off the edge of the

I

me

in their

knees, forcing

see something

I

As stand alone on the

bucket.

looking to devour

Pieces of unidentified meat

my

unknown contents

the sea and the sky

at

to

like

squad.

Those hollow footsteps echo back

intermingled and nondescript.

chorus of hungry gulls caws

All

comes

falls in

A man

down

waves crash against

me

eyes turn to the sea, the waves drawn

To me, and

A

full

stare

swallowed

away the bucket and watch

A crab

tongue, I

flesh

kick

Rain

Almost making

into the

is

Like a darker part of me, or a severed hand.

I

no one else here.

its

and knock

The chum bucket.

White shattered bones stands beside the bench,

Gutted

pier

To stare

and

fluids

taunt, yearning like piano wire to

something. The dim sun

Kill

waits at the edge, a fishing pole

Brimming with pink chunky

with the fury of a squall, the invisible line

Goes

thick here, like a sea-green scarf

air is

Wrapping around

A bench

down

pier.

to

me

pier.

Poi

I'm standing

on pins

Lord, place this soul on top of the

razor sharp needles

of prayers

barb-wired suspensions

lift

my

hanging by throat

is

for the

burning,

my head beyond heart, well

it's

in

awe

to the

of angels

the sky

in

heavens on high

good, no organization could buy.

Grateful hurting...

and thoughts

my hands

list

am, speechless

i

of the

wonders

i

am

of the Glory.

these pens and needles are the regeneration

struggling for

on thoughts and feelings

understanding of the Glory.

of a

new

creation.

but actions do speak louder than faith, will

words are the only thing keeping

death, predestination, free

you answer

my

desires and

let

me

I

can't sleep with ease,

mind

it's

more

of a disease

will

death, predestination, free

you

please

of uncertainty.

just let

answer my desires and

me sleep.

uncertainty?

You give and take on a heart worth breaking a soul of negotiations Title: Pins

lawyers would to

wear

this

bow down

Artist:

crown

of total affirmation.

speech I've

got

of mortal it

all

men

raise

me

breathing

sleep... faith,

that steals the

me

up, wait. ..what?

wrong.

-21-

and Needles

Joshua Rigsby

let

me

sleep.

Di

i'S&$M

wsZrJsr

Jfyay^i^

Title: Untitled

Artist: Kelly

Shaw

Medium: Colored Pen

-22-

isil

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