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Welcome to the Eleventh Year of the MOCAZINE! The Museum of Contemporary Art, North Miami, is delighted to work with the talented young people of our community to create an arts and culture magazine by and for teens. The goal of the MOCAZINE is to acquaint teens with career opportunities in the fields of art and communications, as well as introduce teens to the world of contemporary art. All of the articles in the MOCAZINE are written by teens. This publication is meant to serve as a teaching tool, and showcase the hard work and efforts of the actively involved teens that bring fresh energy to MOCA. The MOCAZINE enables teens to make connections with MOCA’s exhibitions, and with one another. Please feel free to contact me with any questions or comments at . Looking forward, Lark Keeler Interim Curator of Education

MOCA’s teen programs are made possible through funding from The Children’s Trust, National Endowment for the Arts, The Florida Department of Education and the School Board of Miami-Dade County, Jan and Dan Lewis, The Arnold S. Katz Endowment, Florida Department of State, Division of Cultural Affairs and the Florida Arts Council, John H. & Ethel G. Noble Charitable Trust with Deutsche Bank acting as Trustee, Ethel & W. George Kennedy Family Foundation, The Columbine Foundation, and Citi Foundation, Mickey and Madeline Arison Family Foundation and the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation.

Bonnie Clearwater Joanne Katz Cindi Nash Lark Keeler Jillian Hernandez Karla Kennedy Gus Miranda Noelle Theard Sydney Richardson Rachel Zaretsky Tommy Ralph Pace


MOCA Director and Chief Curator Board of Trustees, Co-Chair of the Education Committee Board of Trustees, Co-Chair of the Education Committee Interim Curator of Education Education Outreach Coordinator Summer Journalism Instructor Drawing Instructor Photography Instructor Editor Editor Graphic Design Advisor




Shinique Smith.............................................................................................. PG.4 Convention..................................................................................................... PG.6 Soy Mi Madre................................................................................................. PG.8 Fascinated with Football............................................................................. PG.10 The Digital Frontier...................................................................................... PG.12 Admus Cain and God.................................................................................... PG.14

STUDENT ART PROFILES Lucia Sanchez............................................................................................. PG.22 Audrey Gair.................................................................................................. PG.24 Azura Wannman............................................................................................ PG.26 Daniel Young................................................................................................. PG.28 Christopher Labora...................................................................................... PG.29 Jennifer Mendez........................................................................................... PG.30 Rachel Zaretsky............................................................................................ PG.31

MOCA PROGRAMS Perspective : Selections from Photography classes at MOCA................. PG.32 Render : Selections from Drawing Classes at MOCA................................ PG.38 WOTR!............................................................................................................. PG.42 Young Bohemians........................................................................................ PG.44 Teen Programs............................................................................................. PG.46


shinique smith this summer, mOCA student Vivian Azalia had the opportunity to sit down with sculpture and painter shinique smith to learn more about her upcoming mOCA exhibition menagerie, her history, inspirations and influences. IntervIew by: vIvIan azalIa Vivian: So I have seen some of your work and it’s kind of abstract with the graffiti and calligraphy. How would you describe it? Shinique: I’m really bad at making labels, but for me it’s a combination of many influences of my life occurring in one space. I’m taking this chaos and making a harmony out of it. When i was a kid I tagged, so there’s an element of that. I studied calligraphy. I use words as my tool of abstraction and also I use it as a form of meditation. There are affirmations or bits from songs. Vivian: Which element of your composition is the most important and that you like the most?


Shinique: There isn’t a hierarchy. I try and make things equal. I don’t want anything to be higher; it just has to move the story along. It’s a mixture of being emotional & analytical, I don’t want to have something in there just because it’s cool, and it really has to move the story along. Vivian: Which message are you trying to communicate with your artwork? Shinique: I’m just declaring something to be true and try to be honest--as honest as I can be. As far as politically there isn’t one specific message. I think with what I use, it symbolizes how everyone ties into together, how everyone consumes, we all desire. It symbolizes memories of our youth, when you feel invincible and everything in that ur-

MOCA ZINE 2010 ban environment seems beautiful. It’s bringing the high and the low, the cheap and the expensive, my grandmother’s stuff next to someone’s grandmother’s stuff. There’s text, with notes that I found. It’s more of an essence that connects us all--all the little things--our residue. Vivian: How did you cross over from tagging to now sculpture and painting? Shinique: Well my graffiti career was very brief. I have friends who were more informed than I was. The writing in my art work is more of a ribbon that ties everything together. When I tie sculpture, it’s the same kind of linear gesture as writing. Vivian: Do you like painting or sculpting better? Shinique: It depends on the day. You have a love/hate relationship. I don’t even know if I know how to make a sculpture, because I didn’t study it. I figure it out as I’m going along. Both things--both rely on collage. I don’t love one form more than another. Vivian: Which piece is your favorite? Shinique: I have a few favorites. When I look at the work and I ask if I made that, it doesn’t even feel as it came from me. I’m kind of a pack rat. That I attach to my work. Vivian: So you have used your own clothes to make your work? Shinique: Yes. I have regretful moments when I see my sculptures, especially when I first started and didn’t have anything. It was a sense of discovery and taking things people have discarded, and giving them a new energy. Most of the things I use have history in them and I try and stay away from that and not play that up too much. I don’t want to hit anyone over the head with “oh this is old, and this has meaning.” People connect to things in different ways. Vivian: Do you have any of your pieces in your house? Shinique: I do. I have a couple things I’ll never part with. When I first started using script in my work and using graffiti remover, I would write and then remove it, try and make it clean, and remove it, and buff it write again. It has this

“scroll feel” to it. My first sculpture-- I’ll never let that go, but for the most part is to not live and die around it. Work can loosen energy when not seen, so I don’t keep too many things. I like to have it out in the world where people can see it. Vivian: I was wondering with the use of calligraphy in your work, do you have any Japanese ancestry? Shinique: Nope, I just studied it. I’m more Native American, German. A lot of my art has the “scrolly nature” of Celtic art. I love it. Vivian: On a funny note, what does your comforter look like? Is it funky? Shinique: You would think I’d have one but no, the most Celtic room is the living room. Apart from that my bedroom is simple, robin egg’s blue. Vivian: What does your closet look like? Shinique: Well, my closet looks plain. I wear a lot of black. Vivian: Where do you find most of the clothes for your art? Shinique: I get it from people I know or people they know. People are forever buying stuff they don’t need just because they like the fabric. I have a lot of material. My work has this super hero vibe to it that I guess some pieces have soaked up. Vivian: What inspires you? Shinique: Well my mom worked at a magazine and fashion has always inspired me. I’ve always been around fabrics and cloth even though I hated the smell. I’m also inspired by music, lots of female singers, lots of rock and roll, and when rock and rap came together, as well as fashion designers.


Hilary Higgins 11th Grade Miami Lakes Educational Center



The Museum of Contemporary Art’s exhibition, Convention, centers on the idea of professional and social gatherings in a fast-pace culture dominated by the Internet and other forms of media. Convention is a group exhibition that raises questions as to how people meet in the world. The pieces displayed showed ways that people could convene, provide critiques of conventions, or pose opportunities for actual gatherings. “It is important to network, and for social and professional groups to gather, and that’s why this exhibit was created,” Ruba Katrib, Assistant Curator and creator of Convention said. Convention delves into other ways of gathering that don’t include the social networking sites, e-mail programs, or cell phone services, that people in the contemporary world usually resort to. “Convention shows people that there are other ways to meet other than the internet or thorough the phone,” Amber Mark, a student who attended the exhibit with the summer journalism institute said.

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MOCA ZINE 2010 The exhibit, open from May 21 to September 13, 2009 is interactive. Many pieces require audience participation, and allow for actual gatherings to occur. “What appeals to me is the fact that the exhibit is a very active one. Each piece really engaged me in a different way,” Donna Fields, the director of communications said. Pieces in the exhibit range from different types of mediums such as photography, film, sculptures, or installations. “This show is probably the most engaging one, and the pieces reach beyond the traditional art objects. Every work brings something to the show,” Katrib says. Miami also plays a part in the exhibit’s meaning. As a center for diverse groups and convention culture it is a place where many social and professional conventions are held. Katrib wanted to create a platform to gather professionals especially those in the art world. “The idea started with the rotating cast of people that come to Miami, and gather at the Miami Beach Convention Center. Miami is a city that is affected by this networking,” Katrib said. The exhibit is composed of pieces from local and international artists. In itself it is a meeting place for many different groups. Dancers practice in a piece called the Rehearsal Space. Presentations are held in The Helga platform. Groups of people gather to see the exhibit, and artists go to explain their work. One of the pieces displayed at the museum is the Salon Colada. Fritz Haeg created the piece. It explores the places people gather. Haeg is working with a Coral Gables couple who agreed to have their living room furniture transplanted to the museum. The couple was provided with furnishings that would be used to host salon discussions in their homes. “ It’s really an extraordinary project. It’s pretty

remarkable what’s happening in the home of the couple, and then the meeting of people here in the living room,” Fields said. The Museum of Contemporary Art in North Miami usually hosts about eight to ten exhibits a year, each about two to four months. The museum is involved with the community, and hosts programs correlating with the current exhibit. “MOCA is very closely knit with the local community. We do it through the exhibitions, outreach programs, free jazz shows, and we work closely with schools. Reaching the community is the heart of what MOCA is all about,” Fields said.


Synopsis ‘Soy Mi Madre’ depicts a story in which stereotypical Spanish culture is the pinnacle as far as humor goes. The husband, Sergeant Sainte, is portrayed as a womanizing aristocrat. His wife, Sable, is a vicious woman who treats her servants with suspicion and resentment, accusing Solana, her younger sister and servant of stealing an heirloom. Although the servants had stolen the heirloom, they sold it to help treat Solana’s husband who had been injured working for the Sainte’s as a landscaper. When Sable was asked for money from Solana and her mother Clara, she scoffed at the two and accused them of being ungrateful. Enraged, Solana secretly plotted to seek revenge upon her employer Sable. Eventually as the film climaxes, Solana’s husband dies, she becomes angered and pulls a gun on Sable. Clara in a moment of desperation to end Sable and Solana’s feud reveals that she is Sable’s mother. Solana then breaks a vase on the floor and orders Sable to get on her knees and clean the shattered vase. “Clean it with your precious little hands!”

Phil Collins, Still from “Soy Mi Madre”, from the exhibition “The Reach of Realism at MOCA. 8


Phil Collins, Still from “Soy Mi Madre”, from the exhibition “The Reach of Realism at MOCA.

Critique This dramatic portrayal of a twisted family concealing truths from each other in times of dire need and cooperation is dynamic, humorous, and suspenseful. From the audiences view the mother seems suspiciously cautious which is logical when we find that both women, servant and the austere rich woman, are her daughters, although neither know. The husband complains about his wife and their lack luster relationship and drinks heavily to cope. The tension that is invisible to them is absolutely uproarious considering that they are equally self-righteous and spiteful women who despise each other, and yet they are sisters. The cinematography takes a likewise comical approach, showing us what a novella set is like; scene changes with replaced characters, and propped-up walls. The closing scene gives us a real view into the mind of the servant daughter, who feels entitled and unappreciated, when she pulls a gun on the rich woman. All in all this novella ends with truths revealed and hierarchy balanced.

by Christopher Labora and Jennifer Mendez


FASCINATED WITH FOOTBALL By: Mauricio Yepes Grade 11, North Miami Sr.High

“I would like to be in the NFL,” Edmee St. Louis said. St. Louis is an eighth-grader at North Miami Middle and unlike most girls her age she plays football. “I’m always pushing myself,” St. Louis said. She is competitive. She runs track to help her keep up with the guys when it comes time to play. Her attitude is reflected on the field as well as in the classroom where she takes only honors and advanced classes. St. Louis used to play football at Dupont Middle in Jacksonville, Florida. She had to leave the team, because her mother is a nurse and her long hours no longer gave her time to care for her daughter. “I would go back in a heartbeat,” St. Louis said. She wishes she could return to Jefferson City, Kansas where she lived for years. St. Louis had to move down to Florida from Kansas, where her aunt and uncle could take care of her. Born in Jacksonville, Fla., St Louis is the third of eight



siblings all of which she adores. She has an identical twin sister. She said “me and her just don’t get along.” She is aggravated constantly by her many sisters, her twin in particular. She did Ballet before becoming a football player. Although she hated it, she did ballet because it allowed her to spend time with her mother, something she has difficulty doing to this day because her mother is a full-time nurse. Diversity runs in St. Louis’s family. Her grandmother is from Panama, a Central American country. Also her uncle is from Granada, a country located in the Caribbean. St. Louis finds it difficult sometimes to understand her uncle. She can understand Creole quite well as her mother is Haitian. St. Louis’s plans for the future, other than playing football, are to become a surgeon, lawyer or a police detective. “Other people look up to you,” St. Louis said. She wishes to lead not follow. She would like to meet Ellen Degeneres, a talk show host who is also a comedian. St. Louis is amazed by her antics and likes her personality. Oprah Winfrey and Barack Obama are a few of her idols. Along with Lil Wayne and Young Jeezy, both famous hip-hop artists. St. Louis practices with local football teams and is able to see her mother a few times a week.


THE DIGITAL FRONTIER By : Makana. Levy Grade Level: 9th Doctors Charter School



The Internet has a power like no other. With such a power, good or bad, can be done at extreme levels.

possible,” Joseph Malek said, according to Internet-posers, scammers, and sexual predators are using the benefits of the Internet to try to harm others.

“The digital frontier has given society a wealth of resources to share knowledge,” Leigh Goessl said, according to

They exist, but it is the possible victim’s duty to protect themselves as much as they can.

This knowledge is the main ingredient in the Internet’s fuel. Online, web-surfers, are able to learn, provide and share information. They decide whether to use that information to help or to hurt. “My favorite thing about the Internet is that anyone can add information,” Eban Thomas, a computer engineer, said. Sometimes, though, people wonder if information not meant to be shared with the world is as private as they suggest. Crimes against this suggestion are committed easily with the Internet as a tool. “With everything digital, we are dependent on others to protect our information and unfortunately this isn’t always reliable,” Goessl said. Although profiles can be stolen, they can be used to network and communicate. “Social –networking websites are designed to allow members to connect and communicate with one another,” Lauren Litwinka said, according to Social-networking websites give people a sense of convenience with the need to speak to friends, meet others, advertise, and spread news. It is fast, simple and easy. Still, out of all good energy the Internet has to offer, some decide to use it for their satisfaction, no matter who gets hurt. “It’s really a shame that there are people who are surfing the net who seek to cause harm any way 13

Admus Cain and God

When this monster entered my brain, I’ll never know, but it is here to stay.

The claustrophobic apartment opened its foul mouth and swallowed Admus Cain whole. He sat, motionless, in the belly of the beast, observing the fetid juice that ran down the walls. He sat for twenty one days. A red flashing light; his voice mail was full. He made his way over to the recorder and pressed play, then stumbled onto the couch and waited. The first few hundred messages were from Elizabeth. His mother. He wrinkled his brow in annoyance and reached over to the recorder and pressed delete. He erased Elizabeth over and over again. The next message was from Dr. Bleuler. Delete. When he came to the final message; his muscles tensed and his eyes widened. Her voice resonated throughout the tiny room he called home and shook the thin plywood walls. That voice— her voice—it was talking to him. He quickly reached over to the recorder and pressed replay. “Admus? It’s Violet.” He soaked in the warm, languid honey of her voice, and it dripped its way down as the message played on loop. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you! Where the hell are you? It’s like you dropped off the face of the Earth! God, Admus! I thought you were healthy again. Just call me back when you… when you get this.” He listened to her voice for a long while before drowning in her honey and forcing himself to move into the furthest corner of the room, the kitchen. It was empty, just the way he liked it. The cabinets and a sink and a stack of dishes were piled together haphazardly, alone in their culinary pursuits. Kitchens had always been too loud for Admus. Refrigerators were romance novel-addicted idiots, microwaves never tired of informing the world on the complicated politics of their insides, and he hated all food because food never really said anything he wanted to hear. However, Admus always had a thing for listening to 14

by India Huff

MOCA ZINE 2010 animals, chiefly domesticated ones. Lucifer, his pet chicken of six years, was the most interesting person Admus had ever listened to. He had listen to animals, and even plants, ever since he entered junior high school. Admus could still remember his first conversational encounter with a creature. His name was Goliath, ironically he was a gerbil. Goliath had begged Admus to kill the neighbor’s cat. Admus refused, but deeply regretted it when the cat ate Goliath one week later. Chicken feed was the only food that was allowed in the kitchen because it rarely spoke, except for the occasional hiccup, which amused Admus. He reached into a cabi-

a small orange bottle in the uppermost shelf beside the sink. It read: Zyprexa, consumed orally with every meal, for treatment of adulthood schizophrenia. Violet’s smooth voice echoed throughout his brain again. (“You know what I think? I think you shouldn’t make your mouth swallow something it can’t even pronounce. It just isn’t right, you know?”) Admus tested this. “Zeeeee uh preeeee sha? Is that it?” He couldn’t be sure, since he hadn’t been taking the prescription for a few weeks now, his tongue had forgotten how to curl around the word. To taunt Lucifer, Admus asked, “Hey, how do you pronounce it? Zuuuuu pruuuuu sheeee—”


“I stopped taking the Zeeeeeee preeeeeeee shayyyyy.”

net and poured out two bowls of feed, one for Lucifer, and one for himself. Both were consumed quickly and without anything else. Admus reached for his medicine out of habit,

The chicken cut him off coldly, cocking his head to one side. I believe you are aware of how I feel about Zyprexa, Admus. “Come on, don’t be mad at me, Lucy! I stopped taking the Zeeeeeee preeeeeeee shayyyyy.” For now. “Forever! Uh, for forever? For forever and forever.” Admus laughed at the words tangling in his mouth. How do I know? “I can prove it to you!” How? Admus was at a loss. “Let’s go outside. I’m tired of this place.” He stared meaningfully at the sink, who blushed. They were already down the stairs of the emergency exit behind his apartment complex, the cold January air biting at his bare arms and legs, Lucifer tucked in the nook of Admus’ elbow. Admus had thrown out all of his winter clothes, because Lucifer had 15

told him to. Even if he didn’t understand why Lucifer told him to do it, he knew it was right, partly because of the army of ants whom had told him so, and partly because the chicken gave him the companionship he’d always craved—unobtrusive and inhuman. “Where we headed?” Destination: Washington Square, Lucifer commanded. Admus walked, then ran. As they approached, he winced. Even on a Thursday night in January, Washington Park was always full of people and their noises. He had never been fond of these types of humans, even when he’d been medicated, and now, after weeks of solitude, their mind pollution was giving him a headache. When they reached Hangman’s Elm, Lucifer clucked violently. There—across the rows of gossiping, crotchety old roses, was a bleached blond head of hair that seemed to glow in the midst of the dissonance. André. Lucifer stabbed at Admus’ hand. André! André! Both owner and pet enjoyed spending time with the eccentric insomniac. André’s slender frame was planted firmly to the wet grass. His eyes danced wildly in their sockets, dodging from left to right. His fingers tapped rudiments on top of the garbage bin he was standing behind. André “Lucifer said.” was a coke fiend, but he was also the only André nodded. “Talking to the chicken human Admus seemed to be able to tolerate. again? Off your meds then, eh?” They had met in middle school, both in their “That, I am.” school’s extremely under-populated Remedial “Why’d you stop takin’ em? Not that I’m program (only two students, in fact), and against it. Let the mind roam free!” both with a knack for being left out. It was “I was tired of being alone, you know?” the formula for a quick friendship. André nodded again. Even though he Admus made his way over to André’s wasn’t a schizophrenic, he understood. That luminous figure. André spotted him. was the plus side of being friends with a dope “Hey, hey! My Adbrother, and Lucy fiend. Goosey. Long time no see! What brings you A pause. to the jungle?” He stuck his hand out, wait“So, Admiral. Where’s that babe you ing for the customary knuckle-brush. None used to go around with?” came, and the hand was withdrawn, André Violet? Admus tried to evoke an imundaunted. age. What had happened to her? He tried “Lucifer said.” 16


“I don’t remember...” to conjure up anything, realizing there was absolutely nothing only when Lucifer started to cluck impatiently. “I don’t remember.” “My Adman, that don’t matter! You know I say, a girl you can’t remember is a girl worth forgetting!” “I guess so.” “Yeeeeahhh, so anyway, you’ll never guess what went down yesterday. Remember that punk Joey? Well, he…” André’s voice trailed off, as Admus was now focused on the flock of night pigeons that flew overhead. Pigeons, especially the ones that came out after dark, were as wise as they were tough from living in the city. Admus closed his eyes to hear them better, thing he’d done since the diagnosis. Lucifer rolled his beady black eyes as if incredulous at the fact that Admus could find interest in the pseudo-sage pigeons, but made no other move to stop him.

Admus, I’m sure you can at least recall my feelings towards Violet. “I know. But, you don’t understand—” Lucifer interrupted him. Don’t. Lucifer had felt bitter towards the girl ever since she’d made a mindless comment regarding him, the pet chicken. (“Why do you insist on keeping that creature? He’s so filthy. And do you have to talk to him? Are you crazy, or something?”) Though Admus knew that Violet could be pompous, she was also wonderful. But the one axiom he knew above all others was that it was better not to challenge Lucifer, so he dropped the subject. His brain had started to rattle in his head, like a single marble in a glass jar, and

“Lucifer started to cluck impatiently”


Admus pondered their proverb for a while, but his interest waned as his headache waxed. He opened his eyes and glanced over at André, who was speaking to himself at this point. Violet’s voice trickled into his veins, “Admus” she called out from behind his frontal lobe. Admus then looked down at Lucifer, whose small eyes pierced his own. Lucifer spoke in his typical warbling, high

all he wanted to do was loosen up. His focus returned to André, who was now picking through the Big Mac wrappers and old clothing inside his former drum. “Hey, how about a party? I don’t feel too good.” André stopped looking for a midnight snack, and turned to Admus. “You? Party?” He burst out in to ovine laughter. Admus, the king of the socially stunted, was not the typical partier. “Not that sort of party.” Admus knew that André could whip up the right concoction to relieve him of his headache. André’s smile widened, revealing weathered teeth. “Alright! Let’s go, Adbro!”


The three left the park, and soon arrived at a seedy looking building. A dull sign pulsed l’Hôtel Heureuse. Heeeeee uhh rooooo eeeeeezz? Mick decided the building was inedible. André darted inside, patting the goose bumps on his arms. Admus, on the other hand, was numb to both cold and pain, and took his time entering the building, but Lucifer was freezing, and for his sake Admus followed André inside. André waved them over and put his index finger over his dry lips, motioning for silence. Admus didn’t understand why, for the crusty lobby was full of noise. He looked around but saw nothing. He walked over to the nearest wall and pressed his icy ear against the flaking floral wallpaper. The noise increased about twenty decibels… cockroaches were atrocious creatures. Nothing to listen to; just noise. He lost interest and followed André up the stairs. One flight became six, and they were in front of room six sixty one. They walked in cautiously. André locked the door behind them, and turned on the solitary light, a bulb which hung undulating overhead. Its sharp yellow rays muted by the shadows of countless flies. The walls were bare, with the exception of a lonesome clock. It was nearing two in the morning. “Whose place is this, André?” “Ours, for the night.” André made himself comfortable in the middle of the room. Admus put Lucifer down and joined him. “What’s your poison?” André was no longer smiling. Admus looked over to Lucifer for advice. He always did, when there was an important decision to be made. Lysergic Acid Diethylamide. Tell that oaf to be generous. “I’ll have some sugar. Lots of sugar.” “And would you like a side of Tootsie 18

rolls with your sugar? Go big or go home, my Adman.” “Okay.” Admus pondered. “I pick big.” He was handed the desired dosage. They were silent. He devoured them. The relief for his anticipation as to what was to come was almost immediate: trails of light from the swinging bulb wrapped their arms around him and squeezed; the numbers on the clock rearranged themselves, performing a numerical ballet (it was, apparently, midnight again). Then, billions more people entered the apartment. Where


were they coming from? The corner of the room’s floor caved in, and Admus could see the storey below. More people crawled out from the crater. Their doe eyes burn holes in the crumbling walls. Butting their antlers, they yelled. They were yelling at him. Yelling at André. Yelling at Lucifer. People were out to get him. They always were. “Come on. Make them leave. Go, go, go.” André didn’t question Admus, then again, he seldom did. Nothing happened, and the deer people kept coming. A few more capsules, and the entire ceiling was collapsing down into showers of liquid mercury

that splattered deep into the sky. Cockroaches fell from the new-formed clouds, and they poured from cracks in the walls. They covered every inch of the floor and a violently spasming Admus. André began to contort; shiny black holes replaced his once electric eyes, and a hard black shell seeped into existence from his pores. Black is the absence of the reflection of light, observed Lucifer, calmly picking off cockroaches from his lustrous white feathers in the midst of the chaos. “Help me, Lucifer! Lucifer!” Admus was crying, and the cockroaches drank his tears. “Help me, Lucifer, please!” What do you want me to do? “Make it stop make it stop make it stop oh Violet oh Lucy make it stop!” Admus was curled up into a small ball now, crushing cockroaches in the folds of his stomach. Why don’t you just get up and… leave? Admus parted his lips again with an answer ready, but the cockroaches beneath his tongue ate it. He stared up at an ethereal reflection in the face of the dancing clock. Mary Magdalene looked back, wagging a sinister finger. His eyelids grew heavy and locked themselves shut, but the key was back in Washington Park. Lucifer marched over to his side and began to peck on his trembling carcass, searching for chickenfeed. The street savvy night pigeons, the cockroaches, Goliath the gerbil, the housecat that killed him, they all appeared in the corners and joined Lucifer in the raiding of Admus’ pockets. When this monster entered my brain, I’ll never know, but it is here to stay. How does one cure himself? I can’t stop it, the monster goes on, and hurts me as well as society. Maybe you can stop him. I can’t. - Dennis Rader High School Student Award Winning Short Story 19

Rachel Zaretsky Watercolor and Colored Pencil on paper.





Featured Artist:

Lucia Sanchez New World School of the Arts

Faced with a culture so deeply rooted in its own twisted ideals and expectations of the productivity of women and of the natural world, I strive for sanity and reconciliation within myself and for others. I am hoping to present through my work, what I believe is wrong with the way we view nourishment and feminine roles (personas) in the context of age. I do this in a way that considers the domestic home as the modern stage for socialization and our stray from natural order, that began when humans shifted from a hunter gatherer society, into an agricultural society. At this point in history, women were removed from their long held place at the intellectual and powerful height of society and rather, they were now to be machines, placed in the modernly defined “home� where they would serve, passively, as producers of labor. Bounty, that which has been held at such high esteem, the woman’s ultimate power, now her original oppressor. I seem to subconsciously draw from the imagery of mandala-like, deity figures throughout history as a way of working off the very attraction to things that I have learned the human maintains. I present image they will be drawn to, but under closer inspection, find to be slightly disturbing, unnatural, lamenting, and strangely, tightly contained, and exposed.




Featured Artist:

16� x 20�, Mixed-Media

AUDREY GAIR New World School of the Arts Like most young women, I find it natural to indulge in moments of secret vanity. Yet I find that girls my age are afraid to be honest with their true features and traits- whether they be good or bad. Instead of suppressing the natural urge to explore myself, I decided to create self portraits that exploit my vanity. In doing so, I am able to honestly express myself in a way that subtly pokes fun at my ego but also confronts vanity in an approachable and slightly satirical manner.


10” x 12”, Mixed-Media



Featured Artist:

AZura Wannman Design and Architecture Senior High Sometimes I can stay in bed for hours, my eyes still blurry with sleep, but my windows are full of day and the walls open wide. Weaving between the foggy blur between sleep and consciousness, I dream of a small boat in a gray sea, with nothing but a thin white horizon blurring into the pale of the sky. There are two passengers in this boat, and they have never been lonely. They are not hungry. They are not tired. They are as awake as the water. There are no birthdays to remember or forget. The liminal spaces throughout which we drift create a context informed by the objective and subjective, the perceived and the imagined. The significance attached to an experience dictates how our identities are reflected and, in turn, how our identities translate our awareness. Awareness parades around in costume and in camouflage; mild spectators look on and strangers pass by. I try to see things, little by little, as they are, as realities as dependent on feeling as on fact, existing within both realms as malleable truths. I wish to wake up on one of those mornings, soggy not with rain but with light, and experience life unclouded by superfluous words, stray glances, directionless steps, purposeless thoughts. All I seek is a truth I will be able to carry and a philosophy that will not destroy my life’s integrity but feed its growth. To step out of bed, where notions of life and death are implicit, and to bead day after day onto a string of pearls where each pearl is as radiant as its sister.



I want to hear stories. I want to question their context, to re-imagine each happening within the context on my own memories, to shift meanings until they bleed together. I want friends and strangers to share their childhoods, to exchange the significance of toys recovered from tired old boxes with one another, for them all to cry that the others can’t feel what they have felt, can’t be where they have been, can’t grasp the meaning of that quiet summer or that day in the forest where they discussed the things that meant nothing to anyone else. I believe in ghosts, the kinds which are manifested in the everyday, which appear in the form of memories, distortions, impressions of past on present. The ghost is an unrecognized consequence, a revelation of time, the sentiment found along with an old photo, the guilt of losing one’s innocence to rationality and complexities, relationships, the weight of selfsufficiency, decay despite preservation,

the way one’s stomach feels when one leaves home, the elusive synesthesia experienced only in a dream, a faint glitter in a preserved animal’s eye, the death of a tree, the lump in the throat that prevents stories from being told, the luxury of the continuance of tradition, the relics of the attic, the old wallpaper soon to be replaced, a loose tie between scattered ideas, the nostalgia that feeds as a ghost flower upon memory. The awareness of the present, indivisible from the impressions of the past. I am for an art which supplements living instead of rejecting it; art capable of providing an environment ideal for self-realization and growth rather than selfdestruction; art that can be applied to understanding instead of rewording questions; art that yields conditions for both the definition of ego and its dissolution, while still rooted in the reality of life.


Featured Artist:

Shewolf 2D; acrylic paint, charcoal on paper; 24” x 38”

Daniel Young New World School of the Arts

Questioning the boundaries of what is and is not “animal” while making the connections between humans and what we refer to as animals creates the foundation of both Shewolf 3D and Shewolf 2D. Whether or not people have evolved past being considered animals alludes to the sculpture Capitoline Wolf, depicting two young children sucking from the teats of a wolf. Teats serve as a common thread between humans and animals in Shewolf 3D where similarities between animals and humans, such as teats/breasts are brought to the attention of the viewer. Showing the contrast of what is and is not animal through the blurring of person and wolf is depicted in both Shewolf 2D and 3D.



Featured Artist:

Christopher Labora Design and Architecture Senior High Christopher Labora is, contrary to popular belief, not an artist, however he does attend DASH with his fellow MOCA’ZINE conspirators and is focusing on graphic design classes. Originally introduced to the fine art world via graffiti his art work still holds true to the loose and quick marks portrayed by street art.


Featured Artist:

Jennifer Mendez Design and Architecture Senior High Jennifer Mendez is a morbidly comical graphic design student at Design and Architecture Senior High. Her artwork, although stark, is composed of many layers which juxtapose topics of domestication and indifference between the major role players, like housewives or cherished pets.



Featured Artist:

rachel zaretsky Design and Architecture Senior High


PERSPECTIVE SelectionS from mocA'S yeAr long photogrAphy clASSeS.



Robert Lopez Zuniga


Alyssa Panaganiban



Elizabeth Newberry


Kayla Delacerda



Katerina Resek



Images from MOCA’s year long Drawing Classes.



exhibition shots.






Since its inception in 2004, Women on the Rise! (WOTR!) has served over 1,400 at-risk girls ages 12-18 through its series of workshops on contemporary women artists who deal with issues of body image, identity and female empowerment in their work, addressing issues of self esteem and positive choices. Experienced artists trained by MOCA educators conduct sessions with girls who attend alternative schools, rehabilitation centers or are part of the juvenile justice system. Contact



check us out on facebook.


Young Bohemians night A moca teen art force event

Students in MOCA’s courtyard.

MOCA Junior Docent, Christian Dougnac explaining his peice of art.

Toad Eyes performing at Young Bohemians Night.


Teens from all over Miami-Dade and Broward Counties took part in the museum’s first-ever Young Bohemians Night. Conceived by MOCA’s high school Junior Docents, this showcase for artful teens and creative thinkers featured outstanding performances by students from New World School of the Arts, LaSalle High School, North Miami Senior High and Dr. Michael Krop Senior High as well an exhibition curated by the Junior Docents featuring paintings, pastels and drawings, ceramics and photography. At the end of the evening, the band Toad Eyes was voted Audience Favorite and awarded a Holy Explorer guitar donated by Gibson and a scholarship to Live Modern School of Music’s summer program.


Virginia De Las Pozas performing with her guitar. 45




MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART Joan Lehman Building 770 NE 125 Street North Miami, FL 33161


Richard Shack, Chairman Emeritus Lou Anne Colodny, Founding Director

Janice Lipton Sandra Muss Harold Philipps Evan Reed Peter Robbins Michael Salke Raquel Scheck Carl Schwartz Jackie Soffer

Michael Collins, Chairman Irma Braman, Chairman Emeritus Dr. Kira Flanzraich, Vice Chair Ray Ellen Yarkin, President Carlos J. Arrizurieta, Treasurer Cindi Nash, Vice Treasurer Francine Birbragher-Rozencwaig, Secretary Monica Kalpakian, At Large

Andre Pierre, Mayor Michael R. Blynn Jean R. Marcellus Scott Galvin Marie Erlande Steril


Sheldon Anderson Paul Berg Francie Bishop Good Rosalind Jacobs Joanne Katz Dr. Shulamit Katzman Jan Lewis Diane Lieberman


Mocazine 2010  
Mocazine 2010