The Magnolia, Spring 2025

SPRING 2025

MVice President

Sarah MacDougald (‘25)

Head of Writing

Melina Traiforos (‘25)

Head of Photography

Blythe Green (‘27)

Head of Design

Oliver Hale (‘25)

Editors

Breanna Laws (‘25)

Ella Klein (‘26)

Design

Kathryn Bakewell

Claire Bedley

Cate Goldman

Oliver Hale

Elizabeth Hodges

Writers

Adam Coil

Miriam Fabrycky

Kathrine Kiersted

Mia Springer

Beza Zelalem

Photographers

Tess Adams

Zac Anderson

Sophie Fionda

Blythe Green

Piper Saunders

Kait Sharkey

Photo by Tess Adams

Cover photo by Blythe Green

Pictured: Adam Coil (President)

Sarah MacDougald (Vice President)

LETTER FROM THE PRESIDENT

Art is always in motion. Dancers glide across the stage, novels move through time and music moves up and down a scale.

We know this, but we do not always understand or appreciate all the ways in which art moves. We rarely get to see all of the slashing and reorganizing that goes into producing a film script. We often do not consider that an artwork purchased in New York and brought to Winston-Salem is made up of paints and materials curated from all around the world. We forget that there are countless hours of training embedded in every movement a performer makes.

In this magazine, you will encounter five stories about how art moves among people, across time and through space. You will begin to see that behind every film, play, painting, dance and piece of clothing is a story, often told by multiple people. My hope is that, as you continue reading, you will also get a sense that art is always moving us.

One of the most rewarding aspects of making this magazine has been learning about how much enjoyment and fulfillment people find not in the completion and presentation of the artwork, but in the unnoticed efforts — whether that be rummaging through the Goodwill bins

or surveying New York’s finest galleries — that make the art we have around us possible. I find it compelling that it is often the difficult stuff — the editing, decision-making and physical exertion — that brought these artists and art-lovers back to their craft time and time again.

I want to thank all of the artists who laid their struggles, insights and triumphs bare. This magazine would not be possible without their vulnerability and sincerity. I also want to thank the executive team and the writers I have worked with closely for these past two editions. Their dedication to finding and sharing stories that would otherwise go unseen has spurred me on through difficult times and made the triumphs all the more rewarding.

When I think back to my first time visiting The Old Gold & Black office, to my final publication for The Magnolia, I am filled with profound gratitude. I am grateful to have found, in journalism, something that I could throw my whole being into, something that never felt like work, even when I was putting countless hours into it. Of course, it was the people I met who made this dedication possible. And it is the people I will remember long after I graduate.

Adam Coil (‘25)

Photos by Blythe Green

6

Building Momentum

The student collective finds an inclusive home on the dance floor

By

10

A

Tempest

Brewing

What all goes into making a play, anyway?

By

22 Vintage In Vogue

Self-expression never goes out of style

By Beza Zelalem ‘26

Mia Springer ‘25

Adam Coil ‘25

30 “A World Alive with Possibility”

Guerilla filmmakers, a gluedtogether community

By Kathrine Kiersted ‘25

38

An Ever-Growing Time Capsule

Wake Forest owns more than 4 million dollars worth of art — what does it say about the school?

By Miriam Fabrycky ‘28

IN MOTION

by Mia Springer

On the dance floor, it’s all smooth moves. Off it, this hip-hop group cultivates something deeper.

Inside room B201 of Reynolds Gymnasium, every Friday and Sunday from 5 to 7 p.m., Wake Forest University’s student-run hip-hop organization, Momentum, takes over the dance floor.

On a typical Friday, members roll in for practice around 4:55 p.m., a diverse group varying in age, gender and race. Air Forces, Converse and Hokas squeak on the vinyl floor, and clothes range from typical athletic wear to sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie. After chatting at the door, the crew takes their spots and begins warming up. They stretch harmoniously—arm and quad stretches and even backbends—while giggling and talking to their neighbors, catching up on the week’s activities.

Momentum is a hip-hop and urban dance group that started at Wake Forest in 2003. As its Instagram bio states, Momentum emphasizes “family, diversity, inclusivity and artistry.” Tryouts are held every fall, and this year, the crew expanded to include about 30 students.

Today, head choreographer Ciarra Velazquez agreed to teach her choreography of Rihanna’s “Breakin’ Dishes” to 30 students. A blue JBL speaker sits at the front of the room. On its left is Velazquez, and on its right is Momentum president and senior Isabella Gerace.

At the start of her presidency, Gerace encouraged each choreographer to come prepared with facts about the music they decided on. With a quick shout, Velazquez gets the group’s attention. All eyes are on her as she shares why she chose “Breakin’ Dishes.”

Momentum emphasizes family, diversity, inclusivity and artistry.

The crew traditionally performs at Holi and Wake ‘N Shake and occasionally competes at NC State University’s annual dance competition. In the fall and spring, Momentum showcases all its choreographed pieces on the Manchester Plaza stage just before finals.

Cardi B, Rihanna, Kendrick Lamar, Drake and many other rap and R&B musicians are what the crew leans toward for their music. Momentum touches on the breakdancing element of hip-hop through their dance moves, empowering dancers to support social change and give back to minority communities.

“Two years after releasing this song, one of its lyrics, ‘I ain’t gon’ stop until I see police lights/ I’ma fight a man tonight,’ sadly proved prophetic when [Rihanna’s] boyfriend Chris Brown attacked her in his car,” Velazquez said.

The song resurfaced on social media, specifically TikTok, earlier this year, leading to a different interpretation of the song, “one of female rage and empowerment instead of a love song.”

“[This interpretation] is really what I wanted to capture in my dance, and I am so happy to see it come through,” said Velazquez.

Velazquez hops in the middle of the group with her black low-top Converse to showcase her choreographed piece. She starts with her back to the crew, then transitions into a sequence of steps; whoops and “ow-ows” echoed off the mirrored walls. Now, it is the crew’s turn to learn.

They are counted off and divided into three smaller groups. Each group does the learned choreography with Velasquez once while the other groups watch.

Next, each group does it again, but without Velasquez. Finally, they sit back in front of the large mirror and watch as she performs her choreography again. This gets recorded and uploaded to the shared Google Drive so members who missed the practice can catch up and learn to perform it at their next showcase.

A haven on campus

“When I entered college my freshman fall, I was in a horrible place — an all-time low,” said Gerace. “I sought Momentum at the involvement fair and immediately jumped in.”

Two sophomores at the time, Morgan Scott and Sadie Austin, noticed her struggling. One day after practice, they tapped on her shoulder and asked her to go out to dinner with their friends. They became two of the first comforting faces for Gerace around campus.

The same year, another Isabella joined the crew, so Gerace became known as “G.” Whenever she walks around campus and hears someone shout “G!” from across the quad, she knows it is one of her Momentum friends. Now, Gerace reflects on how Momentum has consistently been a safe space. The practice room itself acts as her little haven on this bustling campus.

“I have since made my way out of that dark hole and tried to pay it forward to some new members,” she said. “It has been my priority to foster this as a safe space on the dance floor and off.”

Senior Olivia Goldstuck, who has been involved since her freshman year, attests to Gerace’s success.

“I was having a hard day, but I came in, and G texted me after checking in and giving me advice… that sort of thing happens all the time,” said Goldstuck.

Moments like these speak to the supportive and uplifting environment Momentum fosters — not just during practice but in its members’ everyday lives. The team’s bond is evident through a thoughtful message or a shared laugh on the dance floor.

Senior Dami Dawodu joined Momentum in her first year after dancing competitively all her life. At practice, her cheerful energy is contagious. Everyone around her is always having fun.

“The biggest reason I joined was how Momentum made me feel,” said Dawodu. “It’s an outlet for me, whether I’m stressed, happy, sad or just bored.”

Left: Isabella Gerace; Right: Dami Dawodu

Photos by Tess Adams

Observing the group’s effervescent energy on the dance floor, one can sense that Momentum is an outlet for a lot of members.

“Most dancers tend to fit a certain look — white and skinny — which I absolutely did not,” added Dawodu. “Momentum helped me separate the negative parts of dance culture and replaced them with nothing but good vibes, inclusivity and family.”

A place to overcome

Jen Schretter danced competitively from sixth grade to her senior year in high school. She tried out for Momentum her first year at Wake, but has been battling Lyme disease since October 2023. She had to leave campus at the start of her senior year for treatment.

choreography on Manchester Stage. The showcase was divided into three “sets,” each five to seven minutes long with alternating music and choreography.

The grass between the fire pits was crowded with supporters. Gerace gave a welcoming speech, followed by Dawodu and Goldstuck, who introduced themselves as the “emcees” of the next hour, a hip-hop term denoting the event’s host and facilitator.

“Momentum helped me separate the negative parts of dance culture and replaced them with nothing but good vibes, inclusivity and family.”

- Dami Dawodu

Schretter went into this semester, her final semester on campus, not knowing whether she could dance due to chronic seizures. She couldn’t work out, and it hurt to do excess movements.

“It’s frustrating because most days I don’t feel my best, but I have a high pain tolerance and try to push through,” said Schretter. “Dance makes me feel so great mentally, so it’s a trade-off.”

“If I’m going to be in pain no matter what, I would rather be doing what I love,” she added.

Upon Schretter’s return to campus last fall, her teammates celebrated her homecoming with open arms and warm smiles. She choreographed a piece to Beyoncé’s “ALIEN SUPERSTAR” and performed it for the whole squad wearing heels. She distinctly recalls Gerace saying, “She’s back!” Schretter recalled tearing up and feeling joy to be back on the stage.

“I went from being able to do so much physically and not being grateful for it at all, and then I couldn’t do anything,” said Schretter. “This really changed my perspective. I’m just now so happy and grateful I can move my body more.”

“I have good and bad days, but returning to dance means so much to me now,” she said.

A place to showcase

On March 13, Momentum showcased its spring 2025

The crew dressed alike in purple T-shirts with a large white “M.C.,” which stands for “Momentum Crew.” Purple balloons and streamers wrapped around the metal poles leading up to the stage. After the first set, Wake Forest’s K-pop group, Lost in Translation, did a guest performance, showcasing solidarity between dance groups on campus.

To kick off the second set, the crew performed Velazquez’s choreography to “Breakin’ Dishes,” followed by Schretters’ choreography to “Turn Down for What.” The crowd was energetic, giving encouraging whoops to the crew on stage.

The third set ended with a special senior showcase, with each senior member performing a 30-second solo. This was the crew’s last performance of the year, and anyone in the audience could feel the sheer joy of dancing with best friends one last time.

Finally, at the end of the showcase, the crew asked audience members to join them on the stage in a dance circle fashion. People with no dance experience were alongside their friends in Momentum, laughing, smiling and trying their hardest to bust a move.

Seniors were then given silver token necklaces with their name, year and a “Momentum Crew” engraving, hung around their necks by underclassmen. They ended with a group hug and a loud “Momentum on three!”

“It was so bittersweet to perform for the last time with the whole crew…I was also overwhelmed with gratitude to have been part of such a special group over the past four years and have found something that makes saying goodbye so hard,” said Goldstuck after the performance.

A TEMPEST BREWING

I watched a Shakespeare production grow from page to stage. There’s more to it than you’d think.

by

Adam Coil ‘25

Photos by Zac Anderson & Blythe Green

From left to right: Aderinola “Nola” Adepoju, Gabi Velinova, Mary Caroline Kolar, Leah Roy, Allison Sweeney and Senya Li

PROLOGUE

In the movement from the two-dimensional world of the page, to the three-dimensional world of the stage, an uncountable number of decisions have to be made. Understanding a theater production begins with the task of recognizing these decisions. Decisions that could have been very different. This is a difficult practice, because talented performers (like we have at Wake Forest) convince us that the play could not have been any other way.

A few months ago, though, I set out to track these decisions in the hopes of better appreciating one play.

Following Michael Kamtman’s production of “The Tempest,” I tried to answer the question: what all goes into making a play, anyway? As I tracked the progression from page to stage, I came to see how the theater company — from the production crew to the director to the cast — perhaps does nothing but make countless decisions. Sometimes they are rejected, and sometimes they are invisible to the audience, but they always leave their trace on the show.

The tale of how “The Tempest” arrived as it did at Tedford Stage is one that spans across continents and over hundreds of years, but for our purposes, it began in the summer of 2024. It began with a gift.

Michael Kamtman

Ellie Howell

Act I

If you were to run into Kamtman while working with his actors on stage, he would be the first to tell you that he wasn’t supposed to be there. Despite holding an MFA in directing and a lifelong passion for the stage, he was hired by the Wake Forest theater department with an understanding that he would be a teaching professor only — no directing.

So when he was given the freedom to direct his own show, it came as something of a surprise. “It was a gift from my colleagues,” he said. “I’m a teaching professional, so my job description doesn’t involve directing.”

Still, Kamtman knew that he wanted to direct a mainstage production, particularly one of Shakespeare’s plays, whose work he specializes in. Relaxed, but confident, he told his colleagues from the start, “You know what I can do. I’m on the bench, ready to go, if ever and whenever you need me.” After 14 years of patient waiting, Kamtman finally got his chance.

Things only got better for Kamtman when Ellie Howell, a senior at Wake Forest, approached professor Brooke Davis about the prospect of a summer research project. She had no idea what aspect of theater she might dive into, much less who she might work with, but when Davis told her about Kamtman’s need for dramaturgical work, Howell knew it was the perfect fit.

or Bobby Boy’s, and I would sit in front of my laptop, going through all sorts of sources, using ZSR, Google Scholar, texts in the library…” Much of the work involved taking shots in the dark, getting lost in “rabbit holes” and compiling as many notes as possible for Kamtman.

“I still have a Google folder of all of the pages and pages and links and links of stuff that I have,” she said.

As the two worked together, they began to figure out what was going to work and what was better left in the growing graveyard of notes. After stumbling upon something interesting, Howell would ask, “Does this spur anything?” She said that “sometimes [Kamtman] would be like, ‘I don’t know, let me think,’ and other times he would be like, ‘Yes! We should do this!’” Many of the ideas that began on Howell’s laptop did ultimately find their way onto the stage.

“The thrill for me is being able to transfer some of the experiences I have had into storytelling.”

“I’m a history major as well as a theater major, so it is the perfect crossover of my two interests, but also as someone who wants to pursue theater, I felt like I needed to work on a Shakespeare project,” she said. “It just made sense.”

Like many summer research projects, Howell’s work was a slow, steady, often isolated process. Aside from her weekly or biweekly meetings with Kamtman, Howell said, “I would get up, I would go Louie and Honey’s or Smith’s

One of Howell’s primary focuses was on Chinese storytelling techniques, particularly shadow puppetry, which needed to be adapted to a larger scale. This was crucial for Kamtman who, from the very beginning, grappled with the challenge of presenting the entire backstory of the play in an efficient, digestible manner: “I thought, okay, that is a lot of words, how can we vivify that so that it helps the audience, but it’s also part of the world of the play?”

Howell’s work bears the most tangible influence on Kamtman’s production of “The Tempest,” but he has had countless inspirations from a wide range of sources. For example, on a visit to the Biltmore house last summer, he saw a special exhibit of sculptures by Dale Chihuly.

“He is famous for these gigantic, glass shapes that look like they could be in the ocean or in the jungle,” he said. “I actually had to sit down for a minute because it just took my breath away. I was overwhelmed.”

It was not just the bright exuberance of the sculptures, but also the resonances with “The Tempest” that piqued Kamtman’s interest: “Chihuly has these sculptures all over the world, all made of sand, which is what this island is made of,” he said. “They are like the magic of turning sand into something extraordinary.”

That there are echoes of that in the production is what gets Kamtman excited: “The thrill for me is being able to transfer some of the experiences I have had into storytelling.”

After exploring his creative vision, Kamtman’s next task is to cast the show. He admitted that this is a process that sometimes begins before the formal auditioning process.

“You start to think, okay, maybe this person could do this role, this person could do that role, just to give yourself some relief that you can cast this,” he said.

In other instances, like with senior Isabella Biricik and freshman Ashlyn Collings, it doesn’t come together until the night of auditions.

“I didn’t just cast her because I have known her for four years,” Kamtman said of Biricik, “but she really brought it at the audition.”

On the other hand, Kamtman had never worked with Collings before, but he still knew she was perfect for Caliban “from the minute she opened her mouth at auditions.”

“She had this freedom of going to that monstrous, creature-like place that nobody else really had… and that shocked me,” he said.

After the first round of auditions, Kamtman held “call-backs” for the promising actors he wanted to see more from, which was relocated to the Theater House off-campus after a campus-wide power outage. Kamtman was forced to climb a fence alongside his troupe in order to make it, but the call-backs persisted, and the show was fully cast in early March.

“We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.”

Act II

Once the actors read through the script, it is time for the first rehearsal. The entire cast and crew are in attendance the first night, and the energy is palpable on the Tedford Stage. Stage manager Callie Wittmann takes attendance while everyone rushes to grab a seat. Side conversations break into laughter, and Stephano and Trinculo — played by Zac Anderson and Annie Daly — do their best to cause some chaos, just like in the play.

After everyone has formed a giant circle on stage, Kamtman begins to explain that instead of an island between Naples and Milan, this play will take place between Selpan and Nalim in a nebulous age. Kamtman’s vision was for the setting to be “all places, but not any one place; all times, but not any one time.”

Then, each leader of the production team gives a presentation detailing their plans for the stage design, lighting, costumes, etc. Some presentations feel like Pinterest mood boards, while others incorporate AI-generated or hand-drawn models. The idea is to give the actors and actresses a sense of what world they are immersing themselves in, what their characters might be wearing or using as a prop. Stage designer Rob Eastman-Mullins, for example, has already drawn up what the stage will look like — layers and layers of verdant and mystical false prosceniums.

Professor Kevin Frazier, who was in charge of lighting, was invested from the beginning in making the island a character in the play.

“The Earth does what it will,” he said, and closed his remarks to the actors by quoting Prospera, who says, “The rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.”

He said, “[Prospera] is someone with immense power

but willfully gives it up.” So in his approach to the lighting design, he “wanted the scope of her power to feel fully realized so that when she makes that choice, you understand that it’s a big deal.” Frazier’s vision is evident in the dynamic, responsive lighting that one sees on stage. It is not just that the lighting is always moving and active, but it seems to be reacting to the words and actions of the characters, as if it has its own opinions on the matter.

When actors speak to each other in character for the first time, connections from previous productions are rekindled and new relationships burgeon. Some actors begin to sound out their character’s tone and emotions, while others are still deciphering Shakespeare’s register. Professor Leah Roy, who plays Prospera, already seems ahead of the rest of the crew. One could not help but notice the tenacity of her work ethic.

In between scenes, or during a “take five,” she would invariably be off to the side of the stage, mouthing and pantomiming the lines to herself, as if she never left character. Some cast members, like Biricik, took notice.

“She was almost like an acting coach on hand for me,” she said. “It was a really beneficial experience for me to be on stage with someone who’s had professional experience.”

As though he could sense this incongruity in experience and confidence, Kamtman calmly reminds the crew that they are only at the beginning, a time to have fun and enjoy the process of learning their roles. “Tonight is not a performance,” he said, “just explore.”

He sits back down, but he’s fully leaning into the circle. “Listen to each other,” he says. “Start to put the pieces together yourselves.”

Act III

After the first night, the production crew and the performers mostly go their separate ways. Wittmann sends out the “Daily Call” every morning for the actors, letting them know if and when they will be needed for rehearsals that evening. Wittmann and Kamtman show up before six every night, Monday through Saturday, and do not leave until after ten, but some actors are only needed for hour-long stretches.

The production crew, meanwhile, meets every Tuesday at 8:30 a.m. in a room littered with dioramas and concept designs from past productions. The first order of business: determine which projects belong to which department. The second order of business: bring those projects to life by whatever means necessary.

The meetings allow production teams to hold themselves accountable for their mission, but they are also an opportunity for Kamtman to make sure that the spectacle — the technology incorporated in the play — is in line with what the actors are working on. “Sometimes the spectacle aspect is one thing in your head, but another in reality,” Kamtman said. “But this is what we talk about in our design meetings — can we do this?”

Given the immense constraints with respect to time, resources and labor, there is a lot of ad-hoc problem solving going on here as well — this is the unglamorous, quotidian work that makes the on-stage rapture possible. In the last meeting before dress rehearsals begin, there are still a lot of pins up in the air. The lift must be booked for touch-ups on the set design. Fabrics still need to be ordered. Dressing rooms need to be reserved.

Stowers and other production leaders can allot time for student volunteer work, but they cannot rely on these sessions.

“I’ve had some students come and help me out,” he said, but noted that they are often only showing up for “an hour or two” at a time. “I’d say 85 percent of the work has been my own.”

Typically, people think of the play as that which they see and hear the actors do on stage, but his role has given Stowers “a greater appreciation for all of the work and just how many people go into putting the show on.”

Like all members of the production crew, every decision that Stowers makes has to be run by Kamtman, but he tends to exercise as little authority over people’s creative choices as possible.

“Sometimes directors can be pretty picky with what they want… but I have found Michael incredibly great to work with,” said Stowers. “It doesn’t feel like he’s in charge, it feels like he’s the head of all of us as we march into this battle that is ‘The Tempest.’”

“It doesn’t feel like he’s in charge, it feels like he’s the head of all of us as we march into this battle that is ‘The Tempest.’”

One crew member volunteers his truck to fetch a table for the banquet scene. The prop designer needs the dimensions of this table in order to make the dishes and decorations, and the actors, in turn, need to practice with the table and the props to nail their movements. Everything hangs in a delicate, interdependent balance.

In between meetings is when the work really gets done.

“Anything that the characters hold that isn’t wearable or attached to the set was either made or found by me,” said sophomore JM Stowers, the head of prop design. “Unless I ask for help, it’s all me.”

Stowers ended up taking on a bigger role than he expected — due to the unique setting, almost everything had to be built by hand. There are work calls, in which

Part of that battle includes setbacks, compounded by the fact that Stowers and many others were working on multiple shows concurrently with “The Tempest.”

“It’s been kind of a journey,” Stowers said. “I lost [Prospera’s] staff.”

As in, the staff, the most central and prominent visual component in the entire show. Tiny catastrophes like these pop up all the time, especially in a production as big as “The Tempest.” On the acting side of things, sophomore BG Cave contracted norovirus in the middle of production. She ended up going to the ER and had to take a few days off from rehearsal.

When this happens, it is up to the stage managers to fill in for missing actors. Being an understudy for every single character is only a small part of the stage manager’s responsibilities. When I asked Wittmann what her job description entails, she said, “God, what doesn’t the stage manager do?”

For most of the rehearsal schedule, she is responsible for “administration and logistics for the show.” Aside from the Daily Call, Wittmann makes sure rehearsals go according to schedule, handles interpersonal conflicts, records how the scenes are blocked and organizes everything backstage.

“Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

“My biggest role beyond organization is liaison,” Wittmann said. “I am the go-to point of information for everything… I am a spokesperson for the actors.”

Once the show is underway, however, Wittmann spends almost all of her time up in the booth, where she can orchestrate the rest of the production crew as the play is performed. Every sound and lighting effect is dictated by Wittmann.

Creating the props, wardrobe and light effects is a pretty straightforward process. Progress, from the perspective of the actors, however, is far more ambiguous. There are straightforward milestones, like “getting off book” — when the actor has memorized their lines and no longer needs to read from the script — as well as learning the meaning of each of their lines. But even these markers of progress are not so certain. It is not uncommon for an actor who is “off book” to still rely on Wittmann and Kamtman for an occasional forgotten line or two. And the meaning of each line is always changing and developing as rehearsals play out.

Senior Will Rothschild was looking for a character he was unfamiliar with. He often finds himself “picking characters who go with [his] personality, where they’re the silly little guy.” Thus Alonso, king of Selpan, who believes he has just lost his son, “allowed [him] to step away from that.”

Biricik chose Miranda for similar reasons.

“When I first did a read-through of the script, I did not find myself relating to Miranda as a person,” she said. “I was like, how is it possible that someone falls in love with someone the second they meet them?”

Biricik continued: “As an actor, I’m someone who really loves challenges. I love when I read a script and there’s someone who I instinctively am like, Oh my God, we couldn’t be more different… I really want to get in this person’s head.”

This thought process seemed to be prominent among the actors, and it’s a struggle that brings them back to the stage every season. As Cave said, “You’re not just going to get your role, and that’s how it is with everyone… What’s the fun in that if you can just get your role right off the bat?”

Different performers have differing opinions on how to figure out their characters. Junior Callise Young, who plays Prospera’s sister Antonia, came into “The Tempest” completely blind, drawing inspiration for her character from popular media like “Game of Thrones” instead of past productions of “The Tempest.” That decision partly stemmed from the fact that Antonia is traditionally Antonio, forcing Young to rethink how gender dynamics dictate the scene. Antonia spends most of the play alone with Sebastian, Gonzalo and Alonso, and so Young thought about Antonia’s power grabs as an assertion of

“A southwest blow on ye And blister you all o’er.”

legitimacy: “Because she’s the only woman,” Young said, “she wants to assert her own power and make sure she’s an important figure in that group.”

Rothschild intentionally avoided any interaction with past iterations of his character, Alonso.

“I don’t like to watch the characters that I’m playing,” he said, “because I don’t like getting the influence of other people’s choices before I’ve made my own.”

This was a sentiment echoed by Collings. “I do want to make the role my own,” she said. “I’m not trying to play someone playing Caliban, I’m just trying to play Caliban.”

Part of the task of playing Caliban, though, is the toll it takes on her body. Collings described the work as “physically very daunting.”

“It’s hard getting down and low, and the bruises I get after, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” she said.

One silver lining, though, was that Collings did not have to endure it alone, as Kamtman once played the role himself.

“He’s been in my shoes too,” Collings said, “so he knows the physical strains of what you’re doing. He knows the vocal strains of what I’m doing as a girl playing a decrepit fish-man-monster.”

In such a scenario, many directors might push an actor to approach the role as they did, but Kamtman has a lot of faith in all of his actors.

“There has been an understanding between the two of us that he just wants to see me make it my own,” Collings said. “Every now and again, he’ll nudge me, maybe think about this, or chew on this… but it’s been about letting me explore and play.”

Watching each role develop throughout production was one of the most rewarding aspects of the show for Wittmann. “Some stuff people brought day one, and other things we’ve added as we’ve gone,” she said, “and it’s been really cool to see that grow and change.”

As Cave said, this is equally gratifying from the actor’s perspective: “Once you’ve rehearsed something so much… suddenly there’s a moment where it just clicks… and that is the most satisfying moment.”

Sometimes this does not happen until opening night, though, like Miranda’s scene with Caliban.

Biricik said, “Right before opening night, [Collings] came up to me and was like, ‘Can you really just give it to me?’” Biricik, of course, was all in: “I went a lot harder in the on-stage productions, and it got to somewhere that it wasn’t in rehearsals, and I was happy with that.”

Act IV

The murmurs of the audience blend in with the lull of the waves and the calm sea breeze. The house lights go down, and Prospera takes the stage, her staff glowing a menacing red as she galvanizes the tempest. The waves grow louder; lightning flashes. All eyes are on the Ariels now, played by Nola Adepoju, MaryAnna Bailey, Mary Caroline Kolar, Senya Li, Allison Sweeney and Gabi Velinova. You would not know, but they have worked with UNCSA dance professor Trish Casey to choreograph their movements and the use of silks to animate the storm. They have practiced this scene for months, repeating their movements around the auditorium so that now, with the lights down, everything feels natural and automatic.

You also would not know that all through the air around you, undetectable conversations are taking place. Connected by their wireless headsets, Wittmann and her crew are orchestrating every single sound and lighting effect that takes place. Over the course of the show, Wittmann has roughly 300 cues that she needs to time perfectly for the show to come off right. At the same time, Wittmann needs to be in contact with her assistant stage managers, MacKenzie Himel and Liwen Zang, to ensure that the actors are on their marks before they enter the stage, and that they do so at the exact right moment.

Listening to Wittmann guide her crew through the opening of the play was like listening to a pilot in “Star Wars” prepare their ship for a jump to hyperspace. There is a moment between the precise, coded message and its material effect that is charged with anticipation. It is because of this intimate relationship with what transpires on stage that Wittmann said she feels both in and outside of the play at the same time.

“There are some sequences for eight pages where I only have a single cue, and I sit back and enjoy the show,” she said. “Other times, if I am calling a lot of stuff, I feel like I am performing. It’s like the conductor of the orchestra: you’re not doing the art, but you’re facilitating the art.”

As the play begins, I cannot help but watch Kamtman watch his actors perform before a near sold-out crowd on this first Sunday performance. He has watched this scene dozens of times, but his eyes light up as if seeing it for the first time. No doubt, he is making mental notes, minuscule suggestions for his actors to review before heading into the second weekend of performances, but he is mostly watching for his own pleasure.

“There’s a point where the director hands off the show,” he said. “It’s the actors’ show now.”

The mariners take the stage as they attempt to salvage their ship, their voices broken up and hoarse, just as Kamtman directed them from the beginning. From the outset, there is a sharp contrast — in dress, tone and vocabulary — between the mariners and the royals, foreshadowing the rifts and power struggles that will define many relationships in the play.

It’s the little things that magnify Shakespeare’s genius and make it accessible. I do not have the space to go through each scene, but the second scene of the first act, in which Prospera explains to Miranda how she lost her political power in Nalim and ended up on this island, is a good example.

I love how the shadow puppets are directly behind Miranda’s head as she listens to Prospera, so that we are invited to imagine them as Miranda’s imaginings. The fuzziness of the puppetry reminds us that these events happened when Miranda was a little girl — she has no real framework with which to imagine a city like Selpan or Nalim. The lighting team enriches this when the shadows of many characters are flung on the walls, stage left and stage right, which nicely matches the silhouettes of their shadow puppets.

I also love Roy’s decision in this scene not to speak toward Miranda but away from her, so that when she repeatedly asks Miranda if she is listening, we view Prospera more as a self-absorbed maniac than a caring mother. This ambivalence is heightened by the fact that her staff, which was glowing red in her first appearance, is now a calm green.

Stowers said of the shadow puppets, “This thing that we’re going to see in the show for, like, two minutes that’s going to look relatively simple, has had at least six people involved.” This is something that holds true for almost every aspect of the play.

All across the stage is a delicate dance between personal freedom and collective constraints. Collings, for example, has to discover how her Caliban moves — does he walk, crawl, roll, hop or some permutation of each — but she has to eventually hit her mark on stage. Her facial expressions and vocal intonations are entirely her own, but her overall appearance has also been dictated by costume design, makeup and lighting.

It is impossible to keep track of all of the artistic choices made for a play to happen, and perhaps one does not wish to do so anyway, but there is a thrill in recognizing that these choices lead to more questions than answers. Questions that expand the world of the play.

“The rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance.”

Act V

After the first weekend wraps up, Kamtman only has “little tweaks” that he will go over at a speed rehearsal on Wednesday night before the second round of performances. This is more of an opportunity for the cast to refresh their memory of their lines than actually act them out.

For the most part, Kamtman has nothing but positive encouragement for his actors, and the feedback across the community has been overwhelmingly positive. But he also wanted to stress both the transience and the gravity of the moment.

“Hold on to that energy,” he told them, “and let’s keep moving forward.”

Kamtman seems attuned to the fact that many of the actors and designers working on “The Tempest” are getting further immersed in their other projects, which will debut in the coming weeks. Like most arts departments at Wake Forest, the small number of contributors means that most students have to throw themselves into multiple projects at once, leaving little time to bask in previous successes. After months of brewing, the euphoria of opening night strikes like lightning in a tempest, but it’s gone just as quickly.

From the first auditions, Kamtman has been focused on soaking in every moment. Every time I spoke to him, he was cognizant of being in the midst of a special, finite moment, and he now seemed invested in making sure everyone else was aware, too.

“Honor your work, honor each other’s work,” he said. “You just don’t know whether you’re going to change a life tonight.”

After just a few more performances, it is uncertain whether Kamtman will get to direct again, but he is satisfied with his career. Instances in which Kamtman took a second to reflect on life after “The Tempest” were rare, but they did happen.

“I am much older than Shakespeare was when he wrote this play,” he said, “and I was thinking, what if this is the last play I get to direct? It would be a great one to finish my career with.”

“How beauteous mankind is! O, brave new world That has such people in’t!”

VINTAGE IN VOGUE

Every vintage piece has a story. Now here’s mine.

Ididn’t have a personal style in high school. Like most people my age, I wore whatever was trendy and inexpensive — if I saw someone in a cool outfit or scrolled past an Instagram influencer promoting a product, I had to have it.

That changed the summer before my freshman year of college when a friend invited me to go thrifting with her. I didn’t have high expectations and, quite frankly, the thought of wearing used clothes wasn’t all that appealing. We headed to the Goodwill bins, prepped with masks and gloves. After some digging, I found a brown and pink polka dot tube top with lace trim — I was in love. The thrill of finding that one-of-a-kind piece filled me with adrenaline, and I couldn’t wait for more.

That summer, I slowly started curating my dream wardrobe. While others found going out and partying fun, I loved staying in and playing dress-up. There were so many different ways I could pair my clothes and accessories together to make a variety of outfits, and I found myself looking forward to mornings — a time when I could piece together items based on how I was feeling that day. Did I feel like dressing up in a mini skirt and heels, or was it a low-waisted jeans and bedazzled tank kind of day? Next, my mind would jump to accessories. Gold or silver jewelry? Waist beads or a chunky belt?

You may be asking why I put so much thought into what I wear each day. Truthfully, I love the idea that someone can glance at my outfit and learn something about me — about my personality, mood and interests. However, after arriving at a university where uniformity is the norm and standing out can feel like an act of defiance, I hesitated to share so much of myself. There were some mornings when all I wanted to do was give in — throw on a basic t-shirt and jeans and call it a day.

As one of the few Ethiopian students on campus, I was already aware of how different I looked from many of my peers. The thought of wearing outfits that drew even more attention to me felt daunting. I was stuck between what I felt drawn to and how I thought I was expected to present myself. I felt so lost and out of place.

What I needed was community. A few weeks into the semester, I found exactly that when I stumbled upon the Wayward Fashion booth at my freshman year involvement fair. Out of all the campus organizations, their name alone caught my attention.

I met the founder, Alyse Harris, who explained that the club’s mission was to promote a culture of sustainable fashion on campus. She listed many initiatives, ranging from educational outreach on fast fashion to their annual spring fashion show. These all sounded like things I want-

ed to be involved in.

After attending a few club-wide meetings, I decided to apply to the executive board when positions opened and was ecstatic when I was elected. I remember sitting at my first meeting, younger and less experienced than the other girls. I was in awe of their outfits and how unapologetic they were about their creativity as we brainstormed ways to promote sustainability on campus.

I left that meeting feeling excited and hopeful. I had found my people.

Kendall Hermanson, a senior member of the Wayward executive team, started thrifting in middle school thanks to her best friend Evelyn.

“Her mom was a big fan of antiquing and thrifting, so a lot of our hangouts revolved around tagging along with her to local antique and thrift shops,” Hermanson said. “We’d spend hours wandering through aisles of vintage clothing, bizarre knick-knacks and antique Tupperware.”

One thing I’ve noticed from almost everyone I’ve spoken to about thrifting is the sense of community and bonding that the activity creates. There’s something special about grabbing a friend and an iced latte, then spend-

ing hours looking through pre-loved items and imagining how to give them a new life.

For Hermanson, Wayward also became a meaningful part of her Wake Forest experience.

“Coming from Chicago to a smaller town like Winston-Salem was a big shift,” she said. “During my fresh man year, I struggled to find friends who shared my in terests.”

She added, “Sometimes I felt out of place for wearing outfits that didn’t quite fit the unofficial ‘Wake uniform.’ I often questioned if I looked too weird or silly for dress ing in the clothing that I felt the most comfortable in.”

What Hermanson didn’t realize was that resisting the pressure to conform inspired younger students like me. In time, I found the confidence to wear my own silly lit tle outfits. One of the most rewarding aspects of being involved in Wayward is providing representation on cam pus. Younger girls of color often approach me, saying they appreciate seeing someone who looks like them embrace a bold, expressive style and that it has inspired them to stop caring about outside judgment. That alone is rewarding.

From left to right: Natalie Minnetian, Beza Zelalem, Lanie Kotler

One reason Wayward is special is because it connects members to Winston-Salem’s vintage scene. Through our annual fashion shows, where various vintage vendors supply clothes and accessories for student models, and my time as Environment Editor of the Old Gold & Black, where I profiled local thrift stores for my column, “Secondhand Stories,” I connected with various unique individuals in the Winston-Salem community who share these passions.

The first store I ever wrote about was Design Archives Vintage and Handmade Emporium in downtown Winston-Salem. Unlike traditional thrift shops, Design Archives operates as a collective, allowing independent vendors to sell their curated finds and handmade goods under one roof.

Sarah Jenkins, the current owner of the Winston-Salem location, didn’t originally set out to run the store.

What many may not know is that Design Archives has two locations: one in Winston-Salem and the other in Greensboro. When Kit Rodenbough, the original owner, sought someone to take over the Winston-Salem branch, Jenkins, who had grown to deeply appreciate the Design Archive’s model as a vendor, stepped up to the role.

Jenkins, dressed casually but chic in a sweater and jeans, explained that she doesn’t hope to personally relive every past fashion trend.

“I love everything from the 90s, ditsy florals and grunge, mostly because that’s what was popular when I was a teenager,” she said. “But when I was in high school, everyone wanted 70s style.”

Jenkins explained how fashion trends often resurface as they follow a 20-year cycle.

“I remember spotting a maroon Miss Sixty skirt in Finder’s Keepers’ booth at a market,” she said. “I reached out to the owner, Riley Phillips, telling her I had owned

that exact skirt at 16 after receiving it as a Christmas gift. I even sent her a picture of me wearing it back then, and we laughed about it.”

“I’ve watched the clothes that were trendy in my youth turn vintage,” joked Jenkins. “It’s honestly sobering.”

When I first entered the thrift scene, I hadn’t considered how deeply the fashion industry was tied to issues of environmental and social justice. The more I learned, the more I realized that sustainable fashion means challenging the wasteful and exploitative systems behind fast fashion, not just shopping secondhand. I started paying attention to the clothes I wore, not just for their aesthetic appeal but also for their history. Who made them? What materials were used? What conditions were they produced in? These questions reshaped my relationship with fashion, making me more intentional about building my wardrobe.

A lot of the people around me, even those closest to me, don’t understand my love for thrifting, but in a way, I like that. It presents an opportunity for me to explain why curating a secondhand closet matters to me. Why I’d rather dig through the Goodwill bins than spend an afternoon at the mall.

standing at the Goodwill bins, waiting for new items to be rolled out, only to be nearly trampled by “t-shirt bros” hoping to flip a three-dollar tee for $40.

***

I love the notion that thrifted items get a second life. What one person gives away might become a treasured piece for someone else. I experienced this during my time studying abroad in Venice.

Each day while studying abroad in Venice, whether heading out for groceries or taking an evening stroll, I would pass a small antique shop. I’d pause briefly, drawn to one particular necklace in the window, but I never went inside. Not until my final day in the city.

Miraculously, it was still there. Even more stunning up close.

When fashion revolves solely around aesthetics, we revisit this cycle of trends, which often leads to overconsumption, contradicting the principles of sustainability.

Convincing my parents has been a journey of its own. As immigrants who worked hard to provide a different life for their children, the idea of wearing used clothes feels like a step backward. Something you do out of necessity, not by choice. And in all fairness, they raise a good point. It’s important to remember that for many, thrifting isn’t a hobby or aesthetic. It’s for survival.

This is why thrifting requires mindfulness — a balance between discovering personal style and environmental responsibility.

When fashion revolves solely around aesthetics, we revisit this cycle of trends, which often leads to overconsumption, contradicting the principles of sustainability.

Jenkins captured this idea perfectly with a bit of humor: “[Drivers] always hit the curb right outside the store, so we put up a sign that said, ‘Every time someone hits the curb, a t-shirt bro makes a sale on Depop.’ It’s really great to have funny signs out there to draw people in.”

It’s a lighthearted joke, but it also speaks to a real issue. If you thrift regularly, you’ve probably experienced

“I’ve noticed you eyeing this piece,” a voice called out from the corner of the store. Startled, I turned before replying to the shop owner, “It’s beautiful.” I took in the gold and brown hues of the oval pendant. Trying it on only confirmed what I already knew. It looked as if it were made for me. I couldn’t help but think how incredible it was that someone had left behind something so perfect for me. What were the chances?

Whether it’s a vintage necklace or a pair of perfectly worn-in boots from a flea market, all secondhand pieces hold a story.

One of Wayward’s initiatives that embodies this idea is our clothing swap program. During my sophomore year, I noticed that while thrifting had become popular among students, overconsumption and waste remained a problem. Since a shirt might only cost three or four dollars, some people didn’t think twice about letting clothes go unused.

In response, I worked with the other executive board members to create a small collection of pieces we no longer wore. We set up tables on the lower quad, inviting students to trade their own clothes for something new to them.

That’s what I mean by a collective movement. There’s something beautiful about fashion becoming a cycle — about clothing getting many chances to be worn and loved.

“I love the notion that thrifted items get a second life.”

From left to right: Micaela Gutt, Virginia Bensch, Kathrine Kiersted and Sam Sebree

Critical and Creative Media majors rely on their imagination, not their equipment, to make their dreams a reality.

By Kathrine Kiersted

Photos By Kait Sharkey

Ijust love making films.

I remember watching Richard Linklater’s “Boyhood” for the first time. I was eleven, and it was the first movie I saw that made me feel the power of film. I couldn’t explain exactly how, but I knew it made me feel something I hadn’t experienced before.

I got to college, planning to be a communications major. I thought I’d find my way into marketing or PR — something somewhat creative, but that would get me a solid job when I graduated. As I sat in these classes, I felt myself craving something more. My mind wandered to film — that magical feeling I’d felt almost a decade ago watching “Boyhood.”

I enrolled in COM 120, Introduction to Critical and Creative Media; this class consisted of watching movies, analyzing them and talking about how movies were made. I was enthralled, and my curiosity only grew from there: what if instead of just watching films, I created them? I enrolled in Professor Cagney Gentry’s screenwriting class in my sophomore spring.

I immediately fell in love with writing for the screen, rather than just the page, and the sense of freedom that came with it. I then took Media Production I, where I learned how to work a camera and edit. I made a short essay film in that class, “Tell Me a Story,” in which my dad

tells the story of how he met my mom while looking at old scrapbooks. Creating this was equal parts frustrating, exhilarating, satisfying and ultimately addicting. I realized this was something I wanted to keep doing forever.

As I took more film classes and officially declared a major in Critical and Creative Media (CCM), I found myself becoming part of a small but mighty community of filmmakers at Wake Forest. I met Virginia Bensch, a senior and fellow CCM major, in our Narrative Production class in the fall of 2024.

Before coming to college, Bensch wasn’t sure exactly what to study, but she knew she didn’t want to take a traditional career path. Her objective was to avoid being “stuck in a cubicle for 12 hours a day,” hating her life. In high school, she dabbled in photography, and eventually she found her way into film production classes at Wake Forest, which she enjoyed. But she yearned for something more. Bensch found that screenwriting was more creatively demanding compared to other types of writing.

“It’s thinking about every detail that you would want to be on screen,” she said.

Screenwriting required her to not only think about what is happening inside characters’ heads during a scene, but also to consider the best way to visually portray the story. In January, Bensch began work on her first feature-length script. Under the guidance of Professor Gentry, she spent the better part of this semester mapping out plot points, building characters and landing on a premise for the film: “growing up means confronting the hard things.”

“It essentially follows a young woman returning home to her small town and learning to navigate the world she grew up in with her life being so wildly different now,” Bensch said.

The writing process is very rarely a linear path, but that’s part of what makes it so exciting. After Bensch began writing her film, she realized very close to the end of the semester that instead of a 90-page feature, her story might fit better as a TV series. This sort

of last-minute change would usually stress her out, but this time it actually made her feel more excited about the project. Bensch explained that “it gives me the opportunity to follow a larger cast in this character-driven story and follow more possible storylines that would have been too much before.”

“I channel everything into writing stories.”

Sam Sebree, a senior who came to college with every intention of doing the pre-law track, also discovered that he has a passion for screenwriting. Even before college, though, Sebree had a proclivity for storytelling and worldbuilding.

“Growing up, I would always do this thing, and I kind of still do, where if I was ever in a bad place, I would just write in as much detail as possible my perfect life,” he said.

Sebree often draws inspiration for his screenplays from his own life, using storytelling to process his experiences and the people around him.

“I channel everything into writing stories,” he explained.

Of course, this means that there is a high level of vulnerability involved in the writing process. Sebree admitted that he still gets nervous showing his work.

“As an aspiring screenwriter, I have to get feedback from people,” said Sebree. “I have to put that work out there and make sure that people are being real with me and they’re being as critical as they can be within reason.”

Sebree is currently in the process of writing his first feature-length script, which has proved to be a bit of a learning curve.

“Everything I’ve written in the past, I’ve been able to go into writing without much planning and write whatever I’m imagining in that moment,” he said.

With feature writing, he’s had to create a carefully thought-out plan — and then stick to it. Otherwise, he risks ending up with a final product that is far too long or full of plot holes. Sebree has also had to adopt a new editing process. Before, with shorter screenplays, he was

able to write the entire script and then begin editing. To do this with a feature, though, would be incredibly time-consuming and inefficient; instead, the writer must edit in smaller chunks.

“Editing before continuing with the script is definitely something I’ve had to get used to, but it has definitely helped me stay on track,” he said.

Learning a new creative process is difficult and can be very taxing, but Sebree still feels positively about everything he has learned.

“Writing this feature has been a great experience and feels like a big step forward towards my goal of becoming a professional screenwriter,” he said.

The life of a screenwriter, or anyone involved in the world of filmmaking, is one full of constant learning and adapting. Micaela Gutt, also a senior CCM major, always knew she wanted to go into film in some capacity.

“I remember going to the movies and seeing these crazy fantastical worlds and then hearing from my parents that those ideas came from someone’s imagination,” she said.

“Without all those resources, what’s left is you just have to have a kick ass f**king vision”

- Professor Cagney Gentry

Gutt herself has always had a very active imagination, so the possibility of being able to create fictional stories that still felt real became her greatest passion. For Gutt, film is the art form that makes her feel the most, whether it’s anger, excitement, sadness or pure joy. But she also loves the complexity and the collaborative nature of filmmaking.

“People from all different specialties have to come together to make the film, and my favorite thing is seeing the value that everyone brings to the table,” she said.

Gutt experienced this firsthand when she shot her first semi-professional short film during her semester abroad last fall. She wrote and directed the film, but she also had producers, professional actors, a crew of about 15 people and funding. When she returned to Wake Forest, she knew she wanted to make a film of the same scale, but she had to think outside of the box to achieve this.

“I had no funding and didn’t know anyone that had proper technical experience in filmmaking,” she said. “I just assembled people who wanted to be part of the process, even if they didn’t know what that process looked like.”

The end product was a film titled “Second Hand High,” which is Gutt’s favorite project she’s worked on to date. Creating the film brought together CCM majors, as well as Gutt’s friends in the theater department, and even peers who had no film experience, just a passion for acting. She premiered the film in Wake Forest’s Annenberg Forum, located in Carswell Hall, which had a turnout of over 50 people.

“The nervous excitement that we all got before showing the film was unlike any sensation I’ve experienced,” she said.

creativity manifested for me,” he said.

Gentry fostered his love for movie-watching from a young age as well, recording films on VHS tapes and revisiting them time and time again. Gentry came into undergrad at Wake Forest with a talent for math and science, but he quickly shifted gears towards a more creative path. In the spring of freshman year, he took a first-year seminar course with Candace Leonard, a former film studies professor.

“I just remember being like, ‘Ah, I love this,’” reflected Gentry.

He decided to take another film course, this time with Professor Mary Dalton. Dalton helped him “see not only was [screenwriting] fun, but it was also intellectually stimulating and challenging.” What really solidified Gentry’s passion for filmmaking, though, was the moment he got an actual camera in his hand.

“It started with cinematography, but then how complex and rigorous editing is, and then how rewarding it is when you start to see it come together,” he said.

Gentry went on to get his MFA in Cinematography and Film/Video Production from UNC Greensboro, and is now an award-winning filmmaker. That being said, the filmmaking process is not all sunshine and rainbows, which Gentry realized early on in his filmmaking career.

“It sucks a lot of times when you’re making a film,” he said. There’s a million things that could (and often do) go wrong: an actor could drop out at the last minute, you might inadvertently lose all your footage, or it might just rain on a day when you really needed it to be sunny. Time and resources work against you constantly, and on top of this, you have to try your best to shut down any self doubt or criticism in your head and keep going anyway. “But then you get it done, and then that sudden rush of like, oh, this is done and it’s actually not bad.”

Professor Cagney Gentry also had a natural inclination toward imagination and storytelling as a young child. Although he was an only child who lived far away from his friends, he never felt lonely.

“My parents say I never asked for a sibling because I think I had such a busy life inside my head… that’s how

He continued: “In fact, maybe it’s good…then you forget about all the terrible things that happened while you were trying to make it, and you just want to chase that feeling again.”

Screenwriting, and filmmaking in general, allow us to take the most painful, exciting, joyous or even mundane experiences of our lives and use them to make something

beautiful. Film has a life to it, a potential for a level of humanity and aliveness that you don’t get with still images. According to Gentry, a film is “a piece of art that’s time-based, and once it starts, it keeps moving and people typically can’t reread a sentence over and over again like they would with a novel.”

Watching a film forces the viewer to be present in that exact moment, before the moment is gone, just as in real life. In this sense, film is able to transport the viewer into a new world that is active and in motion; within that world, there is no limit to what might occur next.

“If I just sit here and keep watching, anything could happen, any thought could pass through my head, and the person in the theater with me, they could be having a completely different thought, but we’re sharing the same experience of watching this thing on this screen, watching this world unfold on the screen,” Gentry observed.

There are also different expectations and stakes involved with film versus the other art forms.

“With some of the plastic arts, like painting and sculpture and other types of visual arts that go into a gallery,

there’s a little less pressure for that to entertain, whereas I think most people arrive at a movie screening with the idea that I’m going to be entertained,” said Gentry.

At Wake Forest in particular, filmmaking can be particularly challenging. It often feels like the arts are overlooked, or not taken as seriously as something like the Business School, or even Greek life. At least Scales Fine Arts Center exists for visual art, theater and dance — there is a physical space that allows for community. For film, there is no true equivalent. In fact, the Critical and Creative Media major was only created in 2022 — before this, there was only a film studies minor offered in the communications department.

From a professor’s standpoint, Gentry has noticed a big impact on community building since “we don’t have a home dedicated to film people.” He has also found that there is some division between students who are passionate about filmmaking and those who are passionate about film studies. These students may not be in overlapping classes, and without a dedicated space to gather, they are unable to connect with each other. Additionally, it lacks

Professor Cagney Gentry

many of the resources and funding that a conservatory or dedicated program might have.

Gentry loves being a professor, and he loves being a professor here at Wake Forest. He wholeheartedly enjoys connecting with students, assisting them through project after project and encouraging them to pursue their dreams, but he faces a dilemma.

“How do I wholeheartedly put all my effort into [encouraging] a student who I think has so much potential and I can see that they really love it… when I know that that may not lead to any financial rewards,” Gentry asked.

Any aspiring filmmaker or artist will face this struggle, but it especially stands out at a school as expensive as Wake Forest. There is an expectation, whether it be from parents, teachers or even fellow students, that graduates will walk away from these four years with a job and a salary that makes this expensive education all worth it.

But that sort of security and consistency just doesn’t exist in the world of the arts, and especially not in the film industry.

That being said, the film community at Wake Forest is distinctly vibrant, diverse and incredibly collaborative. While filmmaking at Wake Forest presents a myriad of challenges and setbacks, it also creates a learning opportunity for students and professors alike.

“Without all those resources, what’s left is you just have to have a kick ass fucking vision,” pointed out Gentry. “What we have going for us here is an ability to really zoom in on…concepts that work despite not having all the technical capabilities that a bigger school would have.”

“Whenever one person has an idea or an opportunity for other people to help out, everybody’s very eager and willing to jump on to whatever that project is, which is

cool,” said Sebree. “Everybody just wants to be a part of the creative process.”

Some more equipment and financial attention from the school would be great, but Gentry still believes that “this dynamic is maybe what’s best for beginning a film education.”

Filmmaking is a process that is constantly in motion. There are endless choices to be made between the stages of idea generation and the final product. Often, even when you reach what seems like a final product, you might let it rest for months and then come back to it, only to realize a million changes need to be made, and start over. It’s this very process, however, this endlessly

active experience, that allows film to be so special. What you’re left with, what the viewer is able to interact with, is a product that (ideally) takes you out of your reality and into an alternate one. Gentry always says that a good film should feel like a snowball effect — gradually building upon itself as you watch it, getting bigger and bigger until all of a sudden, it ends.

At this point, I’ve taken several classes with Gentry, and in each one, he says the same thing: the objective of filmmaking is to create a world that feels alive with possibility. I think about this every time I sit down to workshop a new idea, or as I put my finishing touches on the final cut of a film.

In many ways, filmmaking has made my world offscreen feel alive with possibility, too.

An Ever-Growing Time Capsule

For decades, the Reece collection has captured the student body’s perspective on contemporary art. Where will it go next?

by Miriam Fabrycky

Photos by Sophia Fionda and Piper Saunders

Most Wake Forest students don’t know that there is a Picasso in Benson University Center. I didn’t, until I started researching the Mark H. Reece Collection of Student-Acquired Contemporary Art.

The collection’s 200 works, created by 100 of the biggest names in the contemporary art world, are prominently displayed in public spaces throughout dozens of campus buildings. These priceless pieces are chosen to blend seamlessly into the fabric of the university, and sometimes they fade into the background. Students work on homework, walk to class and eat La Sabrosa bowls next to the crown jewels of Wake Forest’s extensive art holdings, which in total were valued at $4 million in 2016.

There is one campus community, however, for whom these works will never go unnoticed: the students who have built the Reece Collection over the past 62 years. Since 1963, a small cohort of undergraduate students has travelled to New York City every three or four years with a $100,000 check from the university administration and one instruction: purchase contemporary art that “reflects the times.”

as a whole. Although Wake Forest doesn’t consider the Reece Collection to be a financial asset that could be sold in the future, the cohort still sees the pieces they bring back to Winston-Salem as investments: ideally affordable at the time of purchase, but increasing in value as time progresses. Above all, they hope to curate a body of art that speaks to — and sparks conversation within — the student body.

Since 1963, a small cohort of undergraduate students has travelled to New York City every three or four years with a $100,000 check from university administration and one instruction: purchase contemporary art that “reflects the times.”

For six decades, students have accepted this challenge and, informed by the university’s evolving values, led an art buying trip with near-complete autonomy. They canvass the echelons of the national art scene to scout out up-and-coming stars, seeking works that both create a time capsule of the year and contribute to the collection

It’s no easy feat to meet all these criteria, especially considering that the identity and culture of the university have changed markedly since the student art acquisition program began. When the Reece Collection was founded in 1963, Wake Forest University was Wake Forest College: a regional institution that had recently left its original location in Wake Forest, N.C. and moved 100 miles west to Winston-Salem. Wake Forest’s first Black student had enrolled just one year prior. There was no art department, meaning there was no permanent source of funding for the collection and no clear vision for its future.

Now, Wake Forest University is a top research university with a small but strong art department that has, for the most part, standardized the student art acquisition process. The members of each cohort undergo a selective application process and prepare for their capstone trip to New York with a prerequisite class. This course equips them to understand the dynamics of the complicated and often cutthroat contemporary art world. Then, they meet for a

half-semester seminar in the spring to research artwork, artists and galleries and plan the logistics of their trip.

The most recent art acquisition committee travelled to New York in March 2024. These eight students strategized for months to participate in the cohort, sacrificing other valuable opportunities during their undergraduate careers. They’re proud of the eight pieces they purchased in the end.

There’s the delicate “Box Unlimited,” a silk painting by Chinese artist Xiaoli Zhang.

Then “Calm Touches” by Jonathan Lyndon Chase, a moody painting depicting three individuals hugging one another. The vibrant “Summer Bloom” wool tapestry by artist Melissa Cody draws from Native American weaving traditions, and Adebunmi Gbadebo combined human hair, plants, indigo dye and paper plantation records to create “Untitled 3, Dolly.” The oil paint of transgender artist Willa Wasserman’s, lengthily named “Making the shape of the letter x or ‘no’ with my body reflected in this northwest facing mirror version three,” shimmers over the piece’s bronze foundation, blind artist Emilie Gossiaux captures her love for her service dog in ballpoint pen and crayon in “Dancing Again” and Tunji-Adeniyi Jones’s

“Orange Quartet” bursts with bright watercolors. “I Win Again (Race Car Track)” by Melvin Nesbitt Jr. inspires childhood nostalgia with playful collage textures.

Unlike the vast majority of opportunities for art students at universities across the country, the undergraduates on the art acquisition committee have full control over the artwork they purchase. Apart from the budget set by the university and faculty members who serve as facilitators, there is little administrative control over the trip.

The students work to maintain the professional relationships that previous art committees have built with many prestigious galleries. Over the past six decades, Wake Forest has made a name for itself in the New York art world, but some gallerists are surprised to see undergraduates with actual purchasing power. Sometimes, gallery employees attempt to only speak with the faculty until the students insist that they are the leaders of the trip.

“I feel like [students] take risks a little better than adults,” said Erin Kye, an art preparator who cares for the

Jay Curley

physical needs of Reece Collection artwork. “They have the passion because they are buying [for the first time].”

Since 2009, Dr. Jay Curley has accompanied students to New York. After being “thrown in the deep end” of organizing the art-buying trip during his first year at the university, Curley has worked with the art department to standardize and “professionalize” each cohort’s trip.

Regardless of their major, any undergraduate student who has taken certain 100-level contemporary art cours-

es is eligible to apply. Curley compares the significance of such courses, many of which he teaches himself, to teaching the periodic table to a group of students about to conduct a chemistry experiment.

“It’s really important for those students who are going to embark on this journey and transformational experience to have some background in contemporary art,” Curley explained. “Contemporary art is so intimidating.”

“Even having a PhD in art history and first going to a Chelsea gallery in New York, you open the door and get a glare from the desk attendant,” he continued, “but I think knowledge is power, so I’m trying to equip students to feel that they can enter into a gallery and have something to say about the art on view.”

Curley added that while most of the students on the 2024 art trip had a studio art or art history major, he encourages non-art students to explore opportunities with the Reece Collection as well.

“We want as many voices as possible,” he said.

To make the collection accessible to students who may not have a background in art, Curley structures his classes around weekly themes. He teaches tangible topics, such as Blackness in America and climate change, while gradually introducing more abstract artistic concepts.

“Thematic and political approaches are a good way to avoid overloading art talk in the first few weeks,” Curley said. “Thinking about how contemporary art engages with very political issues is a way to lower the barrier of entry.”

When assembling each cohort, Curley said he looks for “students who have some sense of the commitment and incredible privilege it is to leave this legacy at Wake Forest — those who recognize it’s not just buying decorations, but really influencing curriculum and providing future generations of Wake Forest students with this understanding of what was important to them.”

Most of the students on the 2024 trip aspire to have careers in the art world. According to Jessica Burlingame, the University Art Collections manager, some particular-

Left: Jessica Burlingame

Right: Erin Kye

“I’ll always be a patron of the arts... For the rest of my life, I’ll go to galleries and museums.”

Georgia-Kathryn Duncan ‘25

ly passionate students have even decided to attend Wake Forest because of the trip, which is a truly unique experience among American universities.

2024 graduate Jason Najjar, who is currently employed as a fine art underwriter at an insurance firm, credits the Reece curation experience with developing his calling to the business side of art.

“It’s just an opportunity that’s not available anywhere else, certainly not at this stage of life,” Najjar said. “I was interested before, but the buying trip solidified me wanting to do [art] as a career path.”

While preparing to apply for the trip, Najjar and Sabrina Bakalis, another 2024 graduate who is aiming to work in loan originations that use art as collateral, would walk around Benson together, quizzing one another on the details of each piece and practicing professional interview responses.

Senior Georgia-Kathryn Duncan knew she would have to choose between studying abroad and participating in the art purchasing trip. After weighing her options, she decided to commit to the trip before she even knew if she had been accepted.

The summer before applying for the Reece Collection trip, Duncan would drive hours from her home in Blacksburg, Virginia, to the Z. Smith Reynolds Library to read art books and newspapers. As an art history major, Duncan is planning to pursue a graduate gemologist degree, a key credential for jewelry specialists. She’s eager to return to the world of “art and luxury” she discovered for the first time at the auction houses and galleries in New York City.

“I’ll always be a patron of the arts,” Duncan said. “For the rest of my life, I’ll go to galleries and museums.”

Artwork: Bill Jacobson, “Song of Sentient Beings #1600,” 1995

Art acquisition students begin to determine which perspectives and styles they want to highlight in their year’s time capsule before even applying for the cohort.

“We all studied the collection like the back of our hands,” Duncan said. “We had to understand what the collection already had and where those gaps were that we wanted to fill.”

“The last art buying trip did a great job of not buying artwork from, like, straight white men, so we wanted to continue that,” she added.

Like the 2017 and 2021 committees before them, the students were committed to diversifying the collection in terms of artists’ backgrounds as well as artistic mediums. A theme board with key concepts describing the experiences students felt were missing from the collection included phrases such as “gallery ownership,” “desexualization of the human body,” “divided political sphere,” “accessibility,” “experiences of all types of people and all histories” and “sustaining conflict = #democracy.”

Junior Roksanna Keyvan is unusual in that she is the youngest cohort member and designed her own major in environmental and social justice. After fully familiarizing herself with the Reece Collection, Keyvan noticed how the selected artworks have typically been created by white, male artists — a microcosm of art in general. In her application materials, Keyvan described her goal of diversifying the collection.

“I wrote about capturing these movements of identity and self, and what it means to really show up and be present and be represented in recognition of these cultures, experiences, spaces,” said Keyvan. “Getting artworks by Black owned galleries, and getting female representation and blind representation was what we wanted to bring to the table.”

When they gathered for class in the months prior to the New York trip, students presented different artworks they had found to the group. The class would then deliberate on each work’s merits.

“We spanned a lot of different touch points in the art world to see what other people were thinking about and who was on the up and up,” Duncan said. “But we didn’t just buy artworks because they were gaining popularity— they had to fit our themes.”

“There was a lot of artwork that we loved, but it just wasn’t going to spark dialogue with non-art students,” she added.

Sometimes, class discussions would become heated as students came to different conclusions about the same piece of artwork.

“You would leave the meeting kind of pissed,” Najjar said. “You’d say, why are they coming from that perspective?”

“That’s the point of the buying trip,” he added. “Not everyone’s going to agree with everything.”

“I think the collection has done a really good job of talking about the identity and the experiences of people at Wake,” explained Bakalis, who added that representing “the world” was not their goal and cited the 2024 presidential election and the war in Gaza as examples of issues the group refrained from exploring. “Let’s stay away from conflict. There are things going on here that are more in reach for us.”

Keyvan, on the other hand, was eager to pursue a political stance and found her fellow committee members were reluctant.

“You can’t be scared, because the whole point of art is to be confrontational,” she said. “You can’t represent the past three years if you don’t acknowledge what happened to American politics, what happened to global politics.”

“I think the next art committee won’t even have a choice,” she added. “They have to be political with what

Left: Georgia-Kathryn Duncan

Right: Roksanna Keyvan

they do because of the state of the world.”

The Reece Collection has already accompanied Wake Forest University through substantial transformation, and more may be coming. In 2025, higher education is mired in shifting political tides as the nationwide backlash to diversity, equity and inclusion efforts is beginning to sweep academia.

While Wake Forest students frequently refer to the university as existing within a “bubble,” the line between the political and the academic is increasingly blurred at elite universities across the nation. Since Donald Trump’s second inauguration in January 2025, the federal government has taken aim at institutions it considers to be promoting political stances at odds with its goals. This includes investigating universities, rescinding funding and detaining student activists.

Wake Forest has not been significantly affected by these crackdowns so far, and the school administration proactively expressed in a letter that the university will continue its commitment to “academic freedom and free expression.” However, it is possible that programs with an explicit purpose of increasing diversity, like the past several Reece Collection trips, will come under scrutiny in the next few years. For some students, this is all the more reason to continue their advocacy.

“Artwork really opens up these conversations that can be uncomfortable in the classroom,” said Duncan. “I’m glad we are able to share that, because that might not be something highlighted in education for future generations of Wake Forest students to come.”

On the last night of each trip, the months of class debates culminate in an intense deliberation, when the students make their final decision of the artwork they will bring back to Winston-Salem. Each cohort approaches this high-stress task differently — some require unanimous agreement on each piece, others only a simple majority. The 2024 committee settled on a ranking system, but their democratic approach did not eliminate tension.

“Getting artworks by Black owned galleries, and getting female representation and blind representation was what we wanted to bring to the table.”

Roksanna Keyvan ‘26

Artwork: Robert Longo, “Eric,” 1984

“Once you notice them, you can’t unnotice them... And if the walls were bare, it would give a much different feeling walking around the university.”

“We reconvened in someone’s hotel room and deliberated for at least four or five hours, until 3 a.m.,” said Keyvan. “By that time, we were so drained, our nerves were on end, and everything was so tense.”

“Things were said that night that maybe shouldn’t have been said,” she continued. “Everyone was exhausted, but in the end everybody was happy with all the works we picked because we had a very democratic [process].”

Kye described the meetings, which are traditionally closed to staff, as “legendary.”

“We always hear about the deliberation nights,” she laughed.

“I remember telling the students that [they] could text me up until midnight, and that’s it,” said Dr. Jennifer Finkel, the former Acquavella Curator of Commissions at Wake Forest and co-chaperone of the March 2024 buying trip. “I woke up seeing a text at like 3:30 a.m. [that] they figured it out — that was a long night!”

“This is their legacy,” she added. “They take it so seriously, and it’s really quite special.”

ing leaning against the wall. Many of the most valuable and fragile pieces in the Reece Collection are housed here. Kye and her supervisor, Burlingame, had carefully organized the millions of dollars in this room into rows of rolling stacks like one might find in a dense library basement.

The art-buying cohort feels that the university undercuts the art acquisition program’s value by ignoring the need for a permanent display space for the selected pieces. Although the art collections staff strives to treat the artwork according to best museum practices, limited resources — especially the lack of a campus museum — mean many pieces are either exhibited at risk to their physical integrity or are stuck in off-campus storage.

Burlingame explained that most of the works in the warehouse are kept off display temporarily to avoid material damage from prolonged exposure to harsh lighting. Kye agreed that while it may be disappointing when signature pieces are unavailable for viewing, it is imperative that these precious, delicate pieces are preserved for future generations of students.

On a sunny Friday afternoon, I drove down Reynolds Boulevard and pulled into one of the two parking spaces in front of a nondescript warehouse next to the Wake Forest ballpark. A university sign discreetly labelled the building “Materials Management.”

Kye, the art preparator for the University Art Collections, met me at the door. She led me down a long hallway with huge, dark, windowless rooms on either side. I peeked into a room with racks of theatre costumes that reminded me of a dry cleaner. Another was brimming with furniture — chairs, desks, refrigerators and two enormous Moravian stars suspended in wooden crates.

An eight-foot-tall, gape-mouthed face greeted me when we at last reached our destination. “Welcome to art storage,” Kye told me with a laugh as I examined Alex Katz’s “Vincent with Open Mouth,” the dramatic paint-

“We have to consider that art has to rest,” Kye said. “It’s a hard balance with wanting everyone to be able to see [our art] and access it and spend time with it.”

Other works are kept in the warehouse for more than routine maintenance; the university has deemed these pieces too vulnerable for public access.

“Famous Last Words—The Death of a Poet” by renowned artist Robert Colescott, for instance, is kept in the warehouse for safety. In 1992, as the painting hung in the Benson, a vandal took a Sharpie to a corner of the painting that portrays a Black man and a white woman having sex. Similarly, Christopher Chiappa’s “Lazy Boy Crucifix,” a 2001 buying trip acquisition, is locked in the warehouse for fear that students would attempt to sit in it if it was displayed in a public space. According to Professor Curley, someone once stuck a thumbtack into a $100,000 painting in Benson, as if it were a bulletin board.

Artwork: Willa Wasserman, “Making the shape of the letter x or ‘no’ with my body reflected in this northwest facing mirror version three,” 2023

Other pieces remain on display throughout campus, primarily in Benson, despite the risk of wear and tear or more dramatic injuries. Some of the works are intended to change alongside the university through natural material deterioration. The bronze patina in Wasserman’s “Making the shape of the letter x” will change color over time, and the human hair incorporated into Gbadebo’s Untitled Three, Dolly, will gradually disintegrate, separating from the rest of the artwork and gathering at the bottom of the display case.

“We knew that it was going to be destroyed in the next 60 years, but it would live with the university,” Duncan said.

“If [we] were a museum, works on paper would be up for three months and then in storage for a couple years,” Burlingame said, explaining that the collections team is not always able to handle the artistic demands of the university. “[The art has] been a part of the school’s DNA for so long that if we start taking everything down and only

have a few pieces up, we’ll also hear, ‘why isn’t this up?’”

University Art Collections staff often form partnerships with faculty to integrate artwork into their curricula. Beyond the expected fine art classes, professors from departments as diverse as sociology, psychology, engineering and chemistry have taught from the collection. These opportunities become much more challenging, if not impossible, when the artworks are kept out of view. It can cost thousands of dollars to move even one of these pieces out of storage, and it is risky for classes to meet in the warehouse itself.

Students on the most recent art-acquisition trip agree that seeing artwork in person is vital. After researching pieces online for months in preparation, the students scheduled their New York trip with back-to-back gallery visits from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. in order to immerse themselves in art.

Duncan personally called “50 to 100 galleries” in preparation. One gallery shipped artwork from Califor-

nia so that the students could view it in person.

“When we do the in-person viewing, we may change our attitudes,” Xinyu Lavender Wang said. “We see them on the screen and they’re very good, but [seeing them] in reality, something changes.”

“[Calm Touches] by Jonathan Lyndon Chase was in a narrow hallway,” Bakalis said. “Once we moved it into the light, it really spoke volumes and looked so much more rich in the way that it was sharing the story.”

The cohort sought to extend this experience to their peers at Wake Forest, so they selected works that fit available display spaces at the university.

“The students were really focused on how [the works] could be incorporated,” said Finkel. “It wasn’t just about [the] eight students that got to travel and go to New York. How does this collection impact the whole community?”

they feel frustrated to see Wake Forest embarking on new construction projects while laying hopes of a future museum to the wayside.

“It’s really disheartening to see [the university] building the Grounds and all this office and restaurant space— why not a museum?” said Duncan. “I went to that space meeting and I stood up and said my piece and I was pretty feisty about it… I’m hoping in the next 20 to 30 years, that’ll change, because we can’t keep collecting work if we don’t have the proper places to store it.”

“It wasn’t just about [the] eight students that got to travel and go to New York. How does this collection impact the whole community?”

On the most recent art trip, the students passed up on several works that couldn’t be displayed safely at Wake Forest. They decided that a neon sign, for instance, would be too difficult to repair if harmed. Several students wistfully remembered a very large — and very expensive — tapestry by the Navajo artist Melissa Cody that many had set their hearts on. After an intense negotiation with the art gallery, the students achieved a significant price reduction. The purchase, however, remained out of reach for their team.

“The only place it could be would be in a stairwell in Farrell Hall, and that’s not accessible for students,” said Duncan. Instead, the cohort selected a tapestry by the same artist that is around a quarter of the size of the original piece.

The team hopes for a more permanent and traditional gallery space in the future. Several students expressed that

Burlingame said she believes the university will not establish a dedicated gallery space unless major donors specifically choose to support this effort. However, she is curious to see how the school’s planned renovation of the Benson over the next few years may provide a more efficient gallery space.

“Benson wasn’t created with art in mind, so if we can do that now, that would be good,” Burlingame said. “Hopefully, we’ll be in talks with the project manager and the construction team. Since it’s from the ground up, let’s actually start off with appropriate spaces for art, lighting and safety — without stair rails or fire alarms in the way.”

“People will see [the artwork]. They might engage with them. They might even think about them,” said Keyvan. “But most people won’t. They’ll just brush past them.”

The committee is hopeful, however, that as more students learn about the Reece Collection, they will appreciate the cultural wealth it brings to Wake Forest.

“Once you notice them, you can’t unnotice them,” Bakalis said. “And if the walls were bare, it would give a much different feeling walking around the university.”

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