Eleven Rivers Review Vol. 2.1 (Spring 2016)

Eleven Rivers Review Vo l u m e 2 , I s s u e 1 Spring 2016

Acknowledgements The ERR thanks everyone who made our third issue possible

Cakky Brawley, Professor of Art Dr. Alba De Leon, Professor of Art Lee Ann Epstein, Tiger P.A.W.S Director Dimona Esparza, Senior Multimedia Specialist Vicente Guillot, English Department Chair Mark Hogensen, Lead Professor of Art Dr. Mary-Ellen Jacobs, Dean of Arts and Sciences Shirley Lejia, Financial Aid Associate Director Karen Mahaffey, Assistant Professor of Art Thomas Murguia, Tutoring Services Coordinator Dr. Denise Richter, Professor of Journalism Matilda Staudt, INRW Lead Instructor Beth Tanner, Vice President of Academic Success Juan Tejeda, Mexican-American Studies Instructor Lloyd Walsh, Associate Professor of Art and many others

Editorial Staff Student Editors

Staff Editors

Nathan Cantu

Hunter Bates (Coordinator)

Deidre Carrillo

Selina Bonilla

Sarah L. Lopez

Larissa Hernandez

Abraham Rodriguez

Tyler Moses

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Table of Contents Mane River / Michelle Alvarez .......................................................................................... Cover Rapid Trap / Gracelyne Davis ................................................................................................... 5 The Womb / Elizabeth Rodriguez ............................................................................................. 6 Adam and Eve / Melinda Huizar ............................................................................................... 7 Imagine / Iris Ledezma ............................................................................................................. 8 Blue Jay / Roman Sanchez ........................................................................................................ 9

Cheap Sugar / Melissa Tarin Croom ....................................................................................... 10 Isolated / Summer Dinscore .................................................................................................... 11 Stormy Night / Iris Ledezma ................................................................................................... 12 Mission Espada Garden Cross / John Martinez ....................................................................... 13 Unsure / Santa Perez ............................................................................................................... 14 Rivers of Imagination / Stephen Ratliff .................................................................................. 15 Vehement / Ivone Ortega ........................................................................................................ 16 Ribbons / Melissa Tarin Croom .............................................................................................. 17 Snake Eyes / Abigail Barrientez .............................................................................................. 18 Cleopatra’s Last Kiss (Snake Lips) / Sean Campos ................................................................. 19 Dance of a Rigid Woman / Roman Sanchez ............................................................................ 20 Blossom / Ashlie Dix Walpole ................................................................................................ 21 A Letter to My Papa / Alyssa De La O .................................................................................... 22 Emotions / Samantha Gonzales ............................................................................................... 23 The Angel / Ivone Ortega........................................................................................................ 24 Riverflow / Ivone Ortega ........................................................................................................ 25 King of the Jungle / Sarah Losoya .......................................................................................... 26 Untitled Clay / Kimberly Bustos ............................................................................................ 27 Fiesta Skull / Brendon Vidaurre .............................................................................................. 28 Medicine Tome / Jose Luis A Nunez ............................................................................... 31-33 Anatomy of Stone / Ashley Rodriguez .................................................................................... 34 Princepe de los Ciervos / Nathan Cantu .................................................................................. 35 Fishes and The Flow of Time / Stephen Ratliff ....................................................................... 36 Daddy’s Turn / Michelle Alvarez ............................................................................................ 37 Man Behind The Mayan / Stephen Ratliff ............................................................................... 38 I Am One / Sean Campos ................................................................................................... 39-41

La Virgen / Jasmine Trevino ................................................................................................... 42 Just a Dog / Mike Mullinix ..................................................................................................... 43 Students Remember Poetry Archive Mural / Abraham Rodriguez...................................... 44-46

This photo was taken in Concan, Texas on the 1050 bridge. I heard, "MOM, I’m stuck," so I leaned over the side and saw a boy stuck in the rapids of the river.

Rapid Trap Photography

Gracelyne Davis 5

The Womb Elizabeth Rodriguez

A drop of you will tear the flesh of me, and my skin will shelter it, and it will indeed swim in my ocean.

It will make images of the lines that are my veins.

It will rest upon the clouds of my heaven until it falls from grace.

Adam and Eve Mixed media on canvas Melinda Huizar 7

Imagine Digital art collage Iris Ledezma

Blue Jay Roman Sanchez

Blue Jay, Beautiful blue bird...

Serenade soft, sweet sonnets to the red Cardinal bird sitting high above mountainous pedestals, perched upon arthritic riddled trees Blue Jay, Beautiful Blue Bird...

Charm the cherry colored bird Flutter your wings, Sing of things, With wondrous reddened things Blue Jay, Beautiful Blue Bird...

Equal her splendor to that of a scarlet red rose, Sing of the bellowing blue skies hope and dreams where Crimson and Cobalt wings take flight Blue Jay, Beautiful, Blue, Bird.

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Cheap Sugar Melissa Tarin Croom

A kiss hello, and a kiss goodnight; cheap sugar.

A backyard picnic on a cloudy day; slow dancing to a song on a second-hand radio; cheap sugar.

Heart-shaped chocolates

the day after Valentine’s; cheap sugar.

Coarse white granules spilled across the floor; clumpy crystals caught in the bristles of a broom; cheap sugar.

A bruise on the cheek and a bouquet of bluebonnets; the mantra, whispered, “never again.”

Cheap sugar.

Isolated Photography Summer Dinscore 11

Stormy Night Acrylic paint on Bristol paper Iris Ledezma

Mission Espada Garden Cross Photography

John Martinez 13

Unsure Santa Perez

I can’t talk now, I’m too busy hitting rewind Since each mistake makes me want to go back in time I’m thinking in questions such as “What the hell?”

“Where did this come from?” It was all going so well I’m on the move again trying to find a new place This time I don’t think I should leave a trace I want to be heard even though I don’t have much to say I just want someone to look over so that they could stay.

This isn’t what I ordered so can you please take it back?

I want to start over but I can’t find the right track

Rivers of Imagination Black-and-white photography and Photoshop

Stephen Ratliff 15

Vehement Ink drawing and mixed media

Ivone Ortega

Ribbons Melissa Tarin Croom

Ribbons around my throat tied in bows to remind me to be good to be alluring

to be worn for the evening.

Ribbons around my ankles

because he knows what to do.

In a single touch with great precision; those weary thoughts are sliced to ribbons.

twist and tumble with each step a taunt to follow a truth to grasp a taboo to discern.

Ribbons threaded through my hair ready to unravel just one pull just one tug just one more.

Ribbons around my wrists hands gently tied together giving up control granting me my freedom gratifying a darker need.

Tangled to-do lists strangle my soul paranoid what-ifs weigh me down low but not here

but not now 17

Snake Eyes Photography

Abigail Barrientez

Cleopatra’s Last Kiss (Snake Lips) Sean Campos

“…and when the things you wish to perpetuate are as lost and forgotten as your meager lives and your attempts to solidify them in the consciousness of the people, I’ll have a great laugh. I may not be around, but I’ll have my progeny which is merely me reborn, and you’ll have nothing. What do you have? A few centuries? I have eons.

I have millions of years behind my fangs, and neither of you can outlast the dust of the Sahara that sweeps and swoons and grants you mercy to exist at all. This is the eternal. I was here before your ancients’ pyramids. I was here before you ever spoke the first word. I saw you fall from trees like poisoned apes, then stumble in the hot sands barefooted. I met you in the garden: a clumsy being that should have been dealt a deathblow from mercy before you created a misery for not only all of us, but yourselves especially. So can I have this last kiss?”

“What is this thing, Antony? We don’t believe in magic anymore, foolish creature.

What lovely fantasies this land entertains. Talking snakes are for Judea—not Egypt... Go!” The asp: he’s sand that clatters with a leather coil down stairs.

Cleopatra: she drops a sloppy pomegranate, And pulls gold pins from Egypt's hair.

All of Rome can lick its lips and every Spaniard tear his veil— the world is balanced on one snake’s hump and Time's sand slithers down his scales.

His kiss that rips the prince or pauper, discards them like an empty shell— he kisses, fangs curled back to taste her hand seized in two silver nails.

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Dance of a Rigid Woman Wood sculpture

Roman Sanchez

Blossom Compressed charcoal Ashlie Dix Walpole 21

A Letter to My Papa Alyssa De La O Papa, you are the funniest and most whimsical person I’ve known. I wish you were this person every day. It has been told to me that we will never have the parents we dream about. I have finally accepted that.

However, that period was short. It dimmed faster than the afternoon sunset turning into night. But I am thankful for that short span of time. I never expected it to last long anyways, just the way I see it when good things happen to me. You helped me You taught me what the definition of abbelieve that those times will never last. normal is. It took me years to finally trust From the moment I have known you, you a man, since I could never depend on you. have been destructible, irresponsible, and However, at the same time, you taught me undoubtedly crazy. You make me mad to live without ever needing one either. He sometimes. You never came to realize that says he loves me and adores me, pero with I had to fix the pieces that you broke, the way I saw you lie to ma, makes me while you slept away in the night without a think he saying differently. You know the care in the world. I always stood by your time where you would bring your five side, despite the fact you had always let sanchas to our home, while ma was in me down. I always believed something school trying to better our future. It was a would change for the better with you. Now perk that I got such lavishing presents that I have accepted you, I no longer wish from them, but they could not replace the for that kind of fantasy. Except, I have love I saw you broke with my own mother, learned to love you as you are. and most importantly, your esposa. How could I ever trust anyone, I always Your mistakes and downfalls have only thought, with your false hopes and dreams made me a better person. An independent that you had promised me? I was not person and a successful one too. Without enough to love, to give, or to care for? No, your dedication, attention, and affection, I I accepted. have learned to find what it takes to do that for mis hijos and myself. I will always You are independent. You never needed remember you as the one who spoiled me the love of others, especially your daughat times, to make up for the bad things you ters. There was a time though, when God had done. You only show affection when entered your life for the first time, with the you drink, and if it takes that drink to help and support of what you forget: your make you become the dad I always wantfamilia. You were different. You were ated, then I am grateful. I always will be and tentive. Of course, you were the best thing for everything that is given to me. Thank that ever happened to our lives. God had you papa, for loving me the way you did, given you the strength to prosper and beand again, I am grateful. come the man you were always expected to be.

Sincerely, your Chiquita

Emotions Watercolor drawing Samantha Gonzales 23

The Angel Ivone Ortega It was a shame. Alonso had built a small fire on this frosty night but this fragile girl could not attain warmth from it. Her lips were pale blue and fingertips purple. White teeth chattered and her body quivered even as he pressed her close to him.

Irene sneezed, followed by a quiet giggle that barley made a sound. Life wasn’t fair was it?

The night was bound to only get colder, but he felt her hopeful eyes on him. It was a while before Alonso’s brown eyes met her gentle ones.

“It’s okay. I’ll keep you in my heart. You won’t be forgotten.”

Those words were enough to ease her mind and with a bit of relief, she pressed her cheek against her protector’s shoulder and began to drift away. She fought against it at first, fearing that she wouldn’t wake up if she slept, but eventually gave into the slumber.

Suddenly, a warm hand was on her shoulder and Irene opened her eyes to find herself staring at an older man with beauty unmatched by any other.

He could not be real, could he?

“I am your angel that will take you to heaven.”

Irene turned to look at Alonso who had fallen asleep against her. The fire had gone out; he would get cold. She tried to pick the stones that Alonso had used to light the fire but her hand passed through them.

“What?”

Irene turned to look at the winged man who waited patiently where she had left him. Alonso was still sleeping against Irene’s lifeless body. She noticed then that she had walked out of her physical form.

“I don’t want to be dead. This isn’t real, is it?”

He stroked the hair of her lifeless body, “It was your time to die.”

“But I’m still starting my life. I’ve suffered so much. I wanted…”

“I shall show you happiness.”

“In heaven?”

“No, here on earth.”

“How? I never got to see happiness here.”

“I’ll show it to you.”

“But you said I am dead.”

“You are but you must gather happiness here on earth to plant in heaven.”

“What happiness, my angel?”

“Call me Damian, Irene.”

Damian took a step back from her and then pointed to the white flowers that surrounded the area where Alonso and Irene’s bodies resided.

“You asked him to bring you here because you like flowers. They make you happy.”

“Yes, they do.” Irene crouched down and gently stroked a petal, “Is this happiness?”

“It’s your happiness that we will plant in heaven.”

“Is it beautiful in heaven?”

“Once you plant your flowers, you’ll see for yourself.”

Irene nodded and began to pick the flowers as Damian watched over her.

Once her arms were overflowing with flowers she returned back to him, only sparing a last glance at Alonso who slumbered with her human body at his side. She didn’t feel cold anymore, nor was she in pain. It bought her a sense of hope for what lay ahead.

“Are these enough?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’m ready to go to heaven.”

“Not, yet.”

“Huh?” Damian wrapped his arms around her shoulders and whispered into her ear, “Close your eyes.”

Irene did not question him and mentally said her simple farewell to Alonso who had been so kind to her, even when it had been her last day.

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When she opened her eyes once more, she was in a field covered with flowers and a gasp escaped her.

“It’s beautiful.”

Damian took Irene all over the world and showed her many astounding places filled with flowers of all kinds. Irene laughed, played, giggled and asked Damian to bask in this happiness she had found.

“If it weren’t for you, I would not have known true happiness, Damian.”

She watched him pick up the flower and place it in his robes.

“Let’s go to heaven.”

“Wait, Damian.”

“What is it?”

Irene grabbed his sleeves and tugged him down slightly as she stood on her toes and kissed him gently. After a moment she let him go and smiled, “Thank you for loving me the way you did. I wouldn’t be this happy had it not been for you.”

Damian was a bit taken aback by her affection, but held no annoyance for the gift she placed on him. His amber eyes spoke kind words to her and after a moment he articulated them: “Your happiness is all that matters now.”

“Will, I become an angel like you?”

Damian chuckled and pressed his forehead against hers. She smiled back feeling a bit foolish. He brushed his fingers along her face and closed his eyes. Irene’s eyes widened seeing such a tranquil smile on his lips. It was haunting as if it was too beautiful to watch yet her heart sang at the sight and blood rushed to her cheeks under his touch.

And within a blink of an eye he was gone and so were her surroundings.

Irene stood in a vast plain of lush grass filled with the flowers she and Damian had picked.

Face flushed, she looked up at the cloudless sky spreading out her arms and smiling.

As she ascended into heaven, without a hint of regret or sadness, Irene spoke honest words: “Here is the happiness that I’ve found on earth to bring with me to heaven.”

Riverflow Digital art

Ivone Ortega 27

King of the Jungle Acrylic and marker

Sarah Losoya

Untitled Clay (unglazed) Kimberly Bustos 29

Fiesta Skull Acrylic and pencil Brendon Vidaurre

Medicine Tome Jose Luis A Nunez

Deep within the darkest days of nightly shadow, lost within the winding winds of whistling time from pillared wisps of smoke arose the titan Kobol, and he did call to all his titan kind: “Brothers! I bid you all to come, and find! smell and see the oceans stir with salt hear here, how bright lightning strikes the sea! feel as wind climbs up her mountain, jumps!

She spreads her wings and flies, dancing all throughout the sky for what eyes might spy.

But what need have we of this? None whatsoever.

Listen to my tongue, and then do decide: We need not food to eat, nor do our throats cry out parched in seek of splashing drink Are we cold with winter? Do we romance in spring?

Let us build him, then, a one not of our kind.

He shall hunger, he shall thirst, he shall curse the iron wrists of old man winter's bones, yet too shall drink and feast, and too shall greet the golden sun upon a golden throne!�

It was understood, the words of Elder Kobol.

By fine praise they took his words and then his words they took were made their own and so was made a mold of earth and clay Upon him, then, they did pronounce his name, and then out did shout, the earth, the sky, the Titans could not themselves deny, 31

Galadriel! Galadriel! Oh what happy day!

All was given unto him, and with no delay he asked for food and drink and ate and drank they give him warmth and beauty to deflower Titans taught him wisdom, taught him pride They were fools, and for that they died.

Word spread fast. A strange event occurred, for Eliohim had fallen and his body found pierced and burned. The titans wept, and out did Kobol cry: “Why, oh why, has this been done? Why have you, him killed, our one and only son?”

But there came no answer, none at all.

Eerie silence only could they ascertain.

One day long past, within the wilderness They found Yocticel had joined the ranks, stuck on savage pikes, his head and flanks.

Again, did eerie silence dance and dance Sohroheyim, and Malluleyal were next; then followed shortly Falyatier and Semuduin.

Until at last, the eldest one, Kobol lived and into eerie silence, cried so sadly out: “Why, oh why, why have this you done?

My dear Galadriel? My dear and only son?”

Finally, there came reply as silence left thunder and howl from the mountains: “Oh my father, you who had created I Do, truly, you decline the reason why?

I hungered and thirsted, I wandered and roamed You fed me with food, left me with drink.

But you did not leave me on my own. Titans,

you do not need to drink nor need to eat.

You are home in cold or heat, your bones.

How could you understand? I need to need.

Without hardship, how can heat be welcomed?

Why would cold be feared? Darkness and light— two of a kind, yet at opposite ends, this is why the wind wends and stirs the salty sea.

This is the reason the wolf howls at the moon why lightning and thunder strike as monsoons It wasn't for you to treat me so well, for I needed to fight, and conquer, and kill.

I required sustenance, and now you require hell.�

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Anatomy of Stone Oil pastel and Indian ink

Ashley Rodriguez

Princepe de los Ciervos Digital art

Nathan Cantu 35

Fishes and The Flow of Time Digital art collage

Stephen Ratliff

Daddy’s Turn aaAcrylic painting

Michelle Alvarez 37

Man Behind The Mayan Photography and Photoshop

Stephen Ratliff

I Am One Sean Campos E: The sea is coming in.

S: Doesn’t it always? You can’t stop tides or surges, can you?

E: But I think this time it will be more severe than usual. I’ve built this brick wall to protect my garden. I’ve constructed these walls, bastions and ramparts to protect my home. But you haven’t done anything to protect your own house from the sea. It’s right on the shore—shouldn’t you go home and do something to save it?

S: Not really. The sea’s going to take what it wants no matter what I do. Nothing I can do is going to stop it. Anyway, even though your garden is on a cliff and has a wall around it, it’s really just as close to the sea as my little house. Do you think a few feet of elevation is going to make a difference? Anyway, it’s much more important for us to finish this match.

E: Well yes, of course the elevation will help protect the garden—that’s why I put it there. And the wall is made of re-enforced stone—unlike the flimsy construction of your house, which is going to be swept away even in just a high tide or minor storm. Building my garden and wall farther from the sea would have been a good idea, I admit, but it just wasn’t possible at the time. Anyway, how can you think this game is more important than saving your house? Oh, well—I’m fine with continuing the game, since I know my wall is going to protect the garden from tides and waves. Your move, isn’t it?

S: I’ll move my knight. Knight fork. Choose—your queen or your castle.

E: It’s a clever move—you always do this to me. I should anticipate it, but it still catches me off guard. But it doesn’t matter—I have other plans.

S: Since you’ve convinced yourself that it doesn’t matter, I can’t call you a liar.

But have you ever noticed that the knight is really just a horse? An animal? It’s not something you can understand. It doesn’t move along human lines, but in an animal pattern that you simply can’t comprehend. Your logic always fails when a wild card is introduced. It must be very frustrating for you. Now move.

E: You can have the queen. The castle is more valuable for my purposes. It’s all about position and the end game. Besides, any pawn can sacrifice itself and be-

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come another queen. So, I move the castle. You won’t see the advantage of it until we’re near the end game. The sea is coming in, you know? Don’t you ever think longterm?

S: What good’s that done you? You want everything pristine and unchangeable. You are so myopic! How will your pawns ever make it to the other side of the board to become queens when you toss them away like they’re nothing? For you they’re just worthless, expendable soldiers. But all right—I’ll gladly take your queen. She’ll be a lovely addition to my boneyard of pieces that I’ve already captured. I don’t care about your castle—it’s just as useless as that wall you’ve built to protect your garden from the sea. How will stone stop the movement of men, or of the elements? Such a sheltered little world you live in: never changing and all things in order.

E: It’s better than that hovel you live in. Cobwebs in the cupboards; snakes in the garden. Chaos! What chaos. And you don’t know this game as well as you think. I’ll have mate in just a couple of moves.

S: I admire your simplicity as much as I despise it. Too bad that you think a cupboard is just for cups and a garden is just for plants. Where else are these creatures to go?

Besides, a spider in the cupboard kills mosquitoes; and a snake in the garden eats rodents. They’re not all equally worthless—although you seem to think so.

E: Speaking of cobwebs: that’s the flaw in your thinking. Pawn takes knight.

S: Scaffolding and fitted stones. That’s your weakness. They make you feel secure only when sun and rain are drenching your garden. But come storm or wind, and all your peace is washed away.

E: It’s my move again—I take your bishop.

S: You can have him. Worthless diagonals—he does what he does because that’s all he can do. Easily blocked and good for nothing but some small support—or getting in the way. Like his human equivalent, he’s little more than a nuisance—one to block the path towards freedom. He douses people in guilt and cold sweats for eating a pork chop on Friday.

E: So at least we agree on something.

S: Okay—I move my queen to threaten your rook.

E: Why? Move her one more space and you would have had mate! How foolish can you be? Like I said, you really don’t know this game like you think.

S: I’m no fool. You just don’t see it from my perspective. What good is a king to me? He matters in your world, but not in mine. I don’t answer to others the way you do. As much as I might love to commit a little regicide, he adds nothing to the running of the board; so he’s worth less than nothing. Just an old fool we think we have to protect for some forgotten, antiquated purpose.

Just then the sea rolled in. It was pleasant at first, with warm water washing over their feet. But then it quickly rose over E’s small cliff in cold thrashes. The walls worked for a little while, but soon started to falter. In a few minutes nothing visible remained of the fortress E had made for his garden but barely visible foundations. Everything in the garden was poisoned by the salt water. E looked at his hard work ruined, and shuddered. S could see his own home in the distance, shifting in the sand, leaning and then claimed by the sea; A sudden wave knocked S down and dragged him towards the open waters. E turned white at the thought of his own mortality. But S went peacefully, as though he was one with the sea. “I’ll see you tomorrow, brother. We’ll rebuild the wall and replant the garden.”

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La Virgen Photography Jasmine Trevino

Just a Dog Digital art collage

Mike Mullinix 43

Student Artists Remember Poetry Archive Mural Project Abraham Rodriguez (and ERR staff editors) Between fall 2015 and spring 2016, a group of students from associate professor Cakky Brawley’s ceramics and sculpture classes spent countless hours creating a massive mural for the Ozuna Library as part of the San Antonio Poetry Archive. The resulting 12foot wide, 6-foot high ceramic mural features a painted South-Texas landscape, including a girl reading beneath a tree and pages of poems blowing in the wind. The Eleven Rivers Review spoke with the student artists who worked on the mural to document their experience on this unique collaborative project.

Deborah Clary worked on the mural from September 2015 until its completion. She explains, “It has been a long process from rolling the 2,000 pounds of clay it started with—that’s how many pounds of slabs we rolled.”

While laying the slabs for the foundation, the group was also deliberating on the concept for the piece. Continuing ed. student Dixie Yarbrough states, “I was involved from the conception and that was the most frustrating part for all of us… trying to bring all of our ideas together, and that really took the fall semester. We got started [with] the major layout and got started on the trees, but we took most of the first semester getting the concept.”

Ken Cruz, an engineering major, played a crucial role in the project as the art workstudy. He notes: “In a group setting sometimes there were too many ideas to input and we couldn’t decide on just one, so we wouldn’t get to places quickly. Last semester, that was when it took us a long time.”

Eventually, cooperation led the group past differences of opinion. Yarbrough says her favorite part of the project was “seeing it come together. Not anyone’s ideas dominated, not anyone’s work dominated; it was truly a group project, and that’s not something you get to experience real often.”

The experience of working on a project of this scale was not just a rare experience for the artists we interviewed; it was completely new. Ceramics student Kallie Deavers, who contributed a gecko, tree bark, and leaves to the mural, states, “I never experienced anything like that before—doing such a big project. It looked like it would be challenging at first. I was shocked and surprised [at] the end. . . . I was very excited.”

Similarly, continuing ed. student Mary Lance states, “I’ve never been involved in anything this big, and many times I thought, ‘This is never going to be finished.’ But Dixie and Cakky had vision and stick-to-itiveness and just did it.”

Ceramics student Kassandra Sanchez’s initial doubts were more about her own abilities: “It was my first time doing something like that. I was with all these people more advanced than me, and didn’t want to bother them, but they are just so nice and supportive about everything and they just want to teach you everything that they know…it’s really cool to see that. . . . My worst fear would be, God forbid, messing it up or destroying something or dropping it by accident. I hate having that type of responsibility, but with Cakky’s reassurance . . . not doubting my ability, it really helped me open up with just relaxing about that whole idea. So to me the coolest part was getting past that fear and overcoming my fear of pretty much the whole thing and just really relaxing and having fun with the project.”

Like Sanchez and Lance, Yarbrough also cites Brawley as a key to the success of the project: “Cakky’s done a lot of public big projects; she knew what it took. I think for all of us, [It was a] very different experience to work collaboratively and to work on a huge public art piece. . . . I am more of a hobbyist. . . . We are very fortunate in Palo Alto to have an artist of Cakky’s experience and ability. If it weren’t for the fact that she has done public art and big projects, I don’t know if an instructor would be willing to take on something like this.”

Photo courtesy of Cakky Brawley

One defining quality of the project that came up consistently was its collaborative atmosphere. Yarbrough, whose husband helped with the project, states, “Like everyone has mentioned, the collaboration was great. Like anyone who walked in the door—students, boyfriends, girlfriends, my husband, you know—if they walked in . . . they would paint.”

She continues, “Anytime there was something to be done . . . , somebody would just step in to do it. I don’t think I ever heard anyone complain or refuse to do something.” She also credits the Palo Alto maintenance staff for their “terrific job” with the installation.

Yarbrough claims, “One of the strengths of Palo Alto is that we have a multi-generational student body,” something she and Lance, as the two senior contributors to the project, both saw reflected in the group of artists. Lance notes, “The age differences were marvelous. It was very beautiful. In fact, I even had this funny letdown after it was over.” She calls it post-mural depression.

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Lance, a onetime drama major, says working on the project has been “just the most wonderful collaboration project I have ever been involved with. It reminded me of when I was in a play, where everybody has a part. But in this particular case, there was no rivalry; there was no fighting.” Lance continues: “Everyone was of a single mind and having fun, and there was no grade involved… It wasn’t like you were working on something to send to a jury.”

Photo courtesy of Cakky Brawley Ownership over individual contributions seemed less important to the artists we interviewed. Kassandra Sanchez contributed the swirls in the blue sky, but she points out, “I mean really everyone [collectively] did every little thing, so it’s really hard to be like, ‘I did this specifically.’”

One student, Deborah Clary, found fellowship and therapy in the project: “Working as a group was a lot of fun, and I started because I thought it would be very therapeutic. I was diagnosed with cancer three years ago, and that’s when I started my first class with Cakky.

[It’s been] very therapeutic, and I’ve grown to love everyone. There’s several of the ladies—they are like family to me now.”

The project was also special in that it covered both engineering and arts. Yarbrough notes, “I learned so much from Ken [Cruz] in terms of the engineering . . . how to put the clay together, how to cut it out, the holes in the back. I didn’t know any of the stuff . . . It wasn’t just the artist concept, creating it in the clay, it was also the engineering to put it together. It was fascinating to see the engineering, the technical part of it. It was definitely an eye-opening experience.”

Similarly, Lance says the project was “incredibly technical and complicated and fun.”

Finally, after five weeks in which Clary says the students worked on the mural every day for “maybe 8 hours, 9 hours,” the group completed the mural, two weeks ahead of schedule. Asked for her final thoughts on the project, Evelyn Perez, a young student who painted many of the details on the mural, summarized the experience: “I guess you could say, when I leave Palo Alto I can come back and look back [at] what we all did, and be proud of it and show . . . future kids . . . our work.”

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