dearest readers, Racing Minds is finally at a year, but honestly,
it doesn’t even feel like that. I started this magazine just as something that I watned to do in my free time, but now I feel like its spreading, and honestly it’s a wonderful feeling. Hearing people tell me what they think and how much they love being featured and just knowing that Ive been able to give people exposure when they wouldn’t otherwise get it. Well, that’s one of the real reasons why I absolutely love being able to create this magazine. This past month, my godmother passed away from cancer, and like a few years ago when another friend passed away from cancer, it made me think about life a little more. We cant keep saying things like “oh, I have a migraine and Im having a horrible day, Im dying” because that’s not dying. Just keep living life the way you want to, because one day it will slip away from you when you least expect it. I hope you consider that. As for this issue, I would really love to thank my dearest Racing Minds staff, who are friends more than anything, who help me completely. I definitely would love to thank Caiti and Abbi for all of their help, because without them, I don’t know where I would be. Thank you to the readers who have helped us get this far and who have helped create an amazing magazine. You are all so wonderful. Sincerely, Sarah
ehind the Scenes creator // Sarah Nieman
Laura Leal Aparicio Olivia Bidleman Rachel Dowda layout design // Emily Golitzin Lindsey Gray Abigail Wright Grant Heinlein Skye Horgan cover design // Nicolette Iles Sam Rogers Amel Kerkeni Louise Leppard aff // Daniela Majic Nina Pak general St Franey Miller Bruno Postigo Gibson Regeste Kay Rodriguez Mary Claire Roman Conrad Roset Jessie Roth Emily Ryder Craig Schlewitz Guilherme Silva Jane Stapleton Melissa Lakhena Taing Angela Wu Pariesa Young
Caiti Borruso Kayla Deines Rachael Hyde Maria Kaffa Elizabeth Turner
what’s Inside ?
A LITTLE Q+A
10 HB RACING MINDS MARY CLAIRE ROMAN 18 EMILY GOLITZIN 22 BRUNO POSTIGO 24 JANE STAPLETON 28 LINDSEY GRAY 34 LOUISE LEPPARD 40 GUILHERME SILVA 26 MELISSA LAKHENA TAING 50 KAY RODRIGUEZ 52 POETRY 54 CRAIG SCHLEWITZ 60 EMILY RYDER 68 GIBSON REGESTE 76 THE FOREST LAKE LAURA LEAL APARICIO 82 JESSIE ROTH 88 ANGELA WU 90 RACHEL DOWDA 92 PARIESA YOUNG 98 SKYE HORGAN 102 DANIELA MAJIC 110 OLIVIA BIDLEMAN 114 GRANT HEINLEIN 120 TRAINSPOTTING FRANEY MILLER 128 NINA PAK 132 CONRAD ROSET 138 AMEL KERKENI 140 LADY OF SHALLOT NICOLETTE ILES
What is your favorite day of the year?
Q2: What is your greatest desire? Q3: What do you want
A1: “It’s not really a particular day, but just those summer days where you
laze outside your house with your friends, and you forget all the bad, and everything is just bliss.” A2: (This is cliché) “To be happy doing what I love with people that I love.” A3: “I want to be open to new experiences, to get out of the house and actually
A1: “I don’t really have a favorite day of the year, actually. I just love
days that make me happy and make me laugh.” A2: “My greatest desire is to find love. That is all.” A3: “In the fall, Im starting college, and I hope that will help me start again and become a new and improved person, someone I am proud to
A1: “My favourite day of the year is when school closes for the sum-
mer, because that opens up a completely different world for me. It brings back everything I do in the summer and all the people I get to see.” A2: “To move to a cold country and offer something to the world, even if it’s done in a quiet manner.” A3: “Less stress, more love.”
A1: “Thanksgiving, hands
MARIA KAFFA CAITI BORRUSO
down.” A2: “to be happy. nothing more.”
est of the year to hold for you?
A1: “My favorite day of the year is right after winter finally
breaks. You can smell spring, and all you want to do is run around and frolick in fields and go on adventures.” A2: “My greatest desire is to see the world. everything.” A3: “I would love for the rest of the year to be perfect in everyway possible. I want to get my license, go visit colleges, and discover who I really am.”
L”ast year my favorite day of the year was September 22nd because it was the beginning of fall. Fall is my favorite season because I love the smell of the air in the early morning. Fall also leads into winter, which is a close second for favorite season.” A2: “My greatest desire? That’s a tough one. As cliche as it may sound, my greatest desire is, when I’m old, I want to look back upon my life and be happy with my decisions. Although I sometimes make mistakes, in the long run I want everything to work out.” A3: “This year is going to be a big one for me. In the summer I will be applying to veterinary schools, fall I will be entering my senior year of college, and winter I will be finishing my 365 project. I hope this year brings many adventures, challenges, and of course fun! Also, I hope to FINALLY meet Sarah after being her pen pal for almost 2 years!”
happy birthday, racing minds Photos by: Mary Claire Roman Models: Lacey Tripp and Nicole Stafford
15 // SF Bay Area // California http://www.flickr.com/photos/emilygolitzin/
JANE STAPLETON 19 // Florida http://www.flickr.com/photos/48482590@N06/
â€œAs cliche as this will sound, art is my voice. It gives me the ability to turn the intangible thoughts and feelings in my heart into something real that is right in front of me. Art is how I reason with myself and communicate with others.â€? -JS
(A Story Within Firefly the Second Written by Lindsay Grey
There was a house. But then, of course there was. There are houses in most stories, because, well, there are people, and, in most cases, these people have a place to live. But this house was alone, and it didnâ€™t understand. This house, it was fine house. There were three stories, when considering the basement, which was large enough that it truly did function as a whole other floor. These floors, they were all hardwood, the sort that makes you feel so fancy when you walk across the luxurious surface, and you canâ€™t help but walk with an air of great significance and wealth as it makes a sweet little sound, even from the flattest of shoes. This house had a winding staircase that makes walking up feel like a sort of dance, and you have to hold the railing softly with your right hand, simply because it seems only fitting. This was the staircase that you would imagine girls would wear long blue dresses that can dangle off of the edge, and they feel as if they are in Vogue. The wallpaper, it was faded, but not the dingy sort; it was the sort that made it look Victorian, vintage rather than aged. The pattern was of flowers, all blues and golds repeating themselves across the endless surface of the vast walls, and the image was so sweet that you could see the fragrance, and every room was made that much more lovely.
Just outside of the door was a brick walkway, framed with obscure plants that nobody really knows the name of, and they hadn’t been planted, not on purpose, but they looked so planned. Many acres away, there was a gate, black with patterned holes that you could see through, which weren’t all too necessary, because it only reached as high as the average waist. The green canopy of trees shaded the house, circular rays of sunlight moving with the leaves to dance across the entire scene, and everything had the tint of a forest, that earthy-green tone that seems so full of life. This house was the epitome of ‘welcome home.’ Really, this house could be everything. Full of tones of life, but this house was alone. The windows were like eyes, and they watched the world pass them by. The soil, it was full. Earthworms burrowed through, letting in bits of air as the dirt became lose around them. There were centipedes. Millipedes. Snails. Ants, entire colonies of them, building their homes in the soil. There were the trees, filled with squirrels racing about them, spiraling around their trunks as they chased one another. So full of life. There were the lakes, the oceans, the seas, filled with more fish than had ever been discovered, whales and sharks. There was the sky, always inhabited with v-shapes of birds, flying North or South, together, never lonely. And this house was full of nothing. -LG
the Sun and the Moon (an autobiography) Lindsay Gray
The Sun was awake and the world of the people was with her. She was shining and they smiled, because they found comfort in the soft serenity of her warmth. The night had been cold and the wind was harsh to them through the morning, but the Sunâ€™s afternoon light melted away the shivering in their faces and the world looked kind again, rather than haunting. The Sun was simple, the same every day, but she pleased the world of the people, and this made her content. Everywhere that she looked, she found people relieved at the sight of her as they left the bitter coolness of the dark and entered into her lightness. They would look back over to her and thank her, and this, too, made her content, for the Sun, she was plain, and contentment was all that she knew. The Sun was well versed in time, always punctual and precise, and the people noticed this. It gave both she and them a feeling of habit that made them collectively so comfortable and safe. It gave them the mundane sense of time that they needed to feel calm. And they were all pleased, for they were with the day. The days went on so pleasantly this way, and the Sun and the world of the people spent their time living in harmony, for they were attached to her simple ways, as was she to their many praises. This was the repeating clock-work of it all, and it was all just fine. The Moon followed and many of the people were either settling themselves down or filling themselves with sleep. She was unhappy and the world of the people did not smile, because they were tired with the day and only wanted to leave it behind. The day had been beautiful and the Sun had been warm, and the Moonâ€™s wintery breeze was not welcomed.
The Moon was complex, always changing and trying to better herself and to learn, but the world of the people was indifferent to her. This often brought her sorrow, but she would not let herself blame them. For they loved both night and day, and with what they considered the same measure of affection. They did not notice, but in the time of the morning they would marvel at the light, and in the nighttime they were weary, and if asked, they would be unable to deliver which of the phases the Moon cast. This favoritism often made the Moon feel heavy, but she tried to remain kind. The Moon saw only glimpses of the Sun, and she worked greatly to rid herself of any resentment that she may have felt toward her. The slight bits that she was able to see, she couldnâ€™t help but admire, but she also saw the simplicity, and it bored her. The Sun always did as she was told, never moving behind a cloud without collective permission. And the people were pleased, and so the Sun was content, but the Moon wanted more. She knew that there lived a vast spectrum of emotions past that of neutral satisfaction, and she needed to seek them out to be fulfilled. She had watched and studied for years, trying, when she was younger, to find ways to outshine the Sun, or even if only to measure up, but it was all far too written, and the monotony had nearly driven her mad. For the Sun, everything had always kept to one colour. The world of the people and the space around her, they were all a lightly-faded shade of white that she never questioned. It was a bit sunken, a pure white rather a wintry tone, but it was missing something. It was only a colour, and it needed to be more than that. It needed to be dissected, so that there could be something more to it, but the Sun wanted nothing more. It wasnâ€™t empty, because everything was far too impartial to lack or have anything. To her, it was lovely enough, and it required no further thought than simply that.
For the Moon, there was no whiteness. There was no one colour to block out any unpleasantness. There was nothing bright to keep her safe. The Moon had seen such a vast sum of shadows, and when she was touched by the darkness, there was nothing aside from the repetitive memories moving about her in the black. The Moon had always been afraid of the dark, and she needed comfort, but the Sun ran away from her, leaving her alone through the hours. And the Moon felt as though she was losing her mind, touch after touch. Existence was long and cold, to her, and she began to lose her trust in anything. The innocent notion that all is good, it fell from her so quickly. And she was afraid of everything: the world of the people and the space around her. She shut it all out and tried to be simple and content, like the Sun, but she could not. She was only unhappy. The Moon felt fragile, and she tried to shatter, but still she somehow remained in one full piece. One full piece that would never again feel full. And night after night, the darkness came and took from her, and after, when the memory of the embrace was still fresh on her skin, she tried to find ways to no longer exist. The Moon spent years trying not to be there. Because if she hid herself, she wouldn’t be. If she didn’t notice anything and nothing noticed her, she would be gone. She would fade out, and it would be lovely. So she spent her time doing nothing. She didn’t allow herself to think or to see, but each night, the darkness came back to her, and she was unable to think nothing when there was so much spilling from her. The hatred built up and she forced herself not to show it to the night, so she was still and quiet, and the time took life from her. But still, she could not remove herself from the space. She was stuck being.
These failed attempts finally brought her back out to the way that things had been before the black had found his fondness in her, and she watched the people once again. And they were still indifferent to her, and they still marveled at the Sun. The Moon both loved and admired the Sun, but she knew that she, too, had numerous things of significance. It was painful for her to know that the Sunâ€™s normal wonder was held so highly while her own unique splendour went on unnoticed. Still, she shut out any resentment, because she already felt so much toward her own self, and she could not possibly contain any more. She did not want to be outwardly bitter, but every night she was forced to feel things so evil from the dark, and in every moment she envied the world of the people, for their lives were short, and they were able to find death. And with the end of a life, only the people surrounding were hurt, and the Moon had no one. No change would come from the loss of her. For she had lost so much of herself already, that her death would be insignificant. It would not be a change, at all. -LG
Louise Leppard 19 // Brazil http://www.flickr.com/photos/ghastly/
“Im a bit of a geek, I admit”
20 // Brazil http://www.flickr.com/photos/40500714@N04/
ELISSA LAKHENA TAING
16 // Northborough, MA
A Tale of Truth
By Lubna Safi It’s not that I was confused or that I didn’t know where to go but I stumbled down the path of needles and pins where the Wolf was standing waiting, plotting, cunning. And I leaned against his warm, pulsing chest his cold heart beating softly then loudly as if speaking in my ear of desperate measures in not so desperate times. And I felt my hood turn red with the loss of innocent hope that I clung onto him and his arms tightly wrapping my arms quivering frame, squeezing out the hope that he was the prefect predator and I the prefect prey. Both lost in our fairytale where every action has a moral to be gained and an innocence to be lost for good.
A Violent Lullaby
By Rebecca Khera I close my eyes But I can’t find dreams. My memories just twist another nightmare. A violent lullaby, Forcing silent screams, Unheard by all but me. I still feel you against me. Your hand on my face, My shoulder, my back, Placing that purple so elegantly. The marks you left are more than temporary, And they will forever haunt me, So I cope in a way that I know would make you proud. With warriors of sharpened silver, Fighting against the flesh, Ivory smooth, with rivers of blue, They dare not cross. Soon enough it’s victory, The soldiers plant their crimson flag, To stain the temple with its war. Remnants of battle scars fade, But never truly disappear. The marks stay concealed In fear of being seen, And life becomes a game of hide and seek. It’s the scars you’ve left that keep me from loving. It’s the scars I’ve left that keep me from living.
17 // Wisconsin // http://www.flickr.com/photos/capslockreverse/
THE LOOKOUT Photographed by Emily Ryder
The Lookout By Emily Ryder
GIBSON CLAIRE M
RM: Tell me a littl
My name is Gibson Claire
rifies me. Iâ€™m so scared of another prodigies, and as I age I start losin
le about yourself, like your full name, age, location, and a w random facts if you wish..
e McGuire Regester. I am 16, soon to be 17 in March. Which ter-
year added to my life; I have always wanted to be one of those child ng hope. I’m crossing my fingers still, I haven’t lost hope yet! I was named after the early 1900s illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson known as The Gibson Girls, and a bath and hardware supply store in the deep south of Alabama. My Mom liked how Gibson looked in giant letters. She also decided, if I hated my name, she would give me lots of names to choose from (Hence the two middle names). However I stuck with Gibson, I praise my mother for being so extraordinary with the naming game. I reside in the quaint town of Parker Texas; a facade of Texas country side, but only really 5 minutes from the suburban city of Plano. A hop and a skip north of Dallas. I’m homeschooled, private schooled, community college-schooled, and self-schooled. I’m vegetarian, and an on and off vegan. My relationship with yogurt could be viewed as not very healthy.
RM: Why and when did you start photography?
What determines a starting point really? I began snapping pictures when I was old enough to press the button. Was I a photographer then? Absolutely; I took pictures of skies and trees and things that amused me at a darling young age. One point of view of photography is what is art in the eyes of the photographer. Mind you, it’s not always good, or pleasing to anyone else, but that really shouldn’t matter. However, to answer this question in a more normal way; I really started adoring, loving, yearning for, striving for, practicing, and snapping photographs in 2009. I took a class that challenged me to put meaning and creativity into my pictures, which then made them photographs. I then started attempting to seep parts of myself into each photo I took, and continue to take.
RM: Whats your favorite concept to portray
in a photograph? Simple life. Parts of life the average human sometimes takes for granted. A morning, a sneeze, a smile, laugh, a glance...etc. The list is infinite. Everything beautiful, and everything ugly. More of just everything simple, made extraordinary.
RM: What does your average day look like?
I don’t believe I have those very often. I wish I did. Since I’m homeschooled, and private schooled, and go to community college, each day is different. Mondays I sleep in. Tuesdays I have every class I signed up for excluding one. Writing, Algebra 2, cello lessons, and drawing. On Tuesdays when I fail a math test, I occasionally cry in the bathroom stall, go to the thrift store to shop my depressionof-failing-math away. Wednesdays I sleep in. Thursdays mimic Tuesdays. Fridays I go to anatomy and physiology and see two of my best friends. We have tea time. Everyday I run, and wish I wasn’t so busy, so I could take more photographs. I also drink coffee, and tea each day.
RM: What are you currently listening to?
Mozart. I heard his music regenerates brain cells, which blows my mind. He’s a genius. It was also his 550th birthday a few weeks ago. I just like classical in general. I have old lady characteristics every once in a while. With seven cats and all....
RM: What do you find most challenging when tak-
ing a photo? Making it mine. Not subconsciously copying anything I’ve seen before. Putting meaning, creativity, art, and a piece of myself into it. Getting perfect colors. And then remembering that a perfect piece of art doesn’t exist, or it wouldn’t be art. Apparently anyone can be a photographer these days. Yes you can, get a degree and people will automatically trust you with a camera. My challenge is not to be one of those “photographers”. Why is photography important to you? How does it draw you in? It can be challenging, and it can be simple. It’s when I stop talking, stop listening, and become completely entrenched in the image I’m producing. It’s like the perfect hug, perfect kiss, perfect story; when you can’t think of anything else, until it’s over, but then you keep recalling it through out the day thinking “wow”. That’s what draws me in. That’s what’s important. It’s something I love, something I value and spend time doing. Everyone should have some form of something they love and care for this much. I think we’re meant to.
RM: If you could eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be? Grapes. Red seedless organic grapes. The firm and slightly crunchy ones.
RM: Do you have a favorite photograph that you
have taken? Yes. The one I took so effortlessly one day. I put my cat Scout on my lap of patterned tights, set the tripod in front of us, and waited 2 seconds for a click. Out came my favorite Photograph. It’s a bit of a mystery photograph to me. I don’t get it, and I took it
RM: Where do you hope to find yourself in 10
years? 20? Oh that is such a frightening question. I expect too much out of myself. Well, so says everyone, however I don’t think so. I hope to have some name, some place in this world, making clothes, styling clothes, taking photos, photos, and more photos. Being in photos. I want to Model, because my sister thought it was dumb, because I’m tall, because I used to hate how I looked.
RM: What is your greatest pet peeve?
Watching people eat, people watching me eat, people saying they can’t try something because they have gum in their mouth. There’s lots of room in that mouth, move the gum over. Spit it out! I have many problems with consumption.
RM: How much do you think your photography –
and you – has evolved since you started? Once I completed my 365 project in the beginning of last year, I would say my photography made a 180 degree turn. Not 360 degrees, and even quite 270 degrees, but 180. I think now I could be nearing 270. Don’t think I believe I that once I reach a 360 turn-around, I’ll be a perfect, and wonderful photographer. Oh no, I hope to make many many 360 turn-arounds in my future. 360 is a full circle after all, and circles are infinite. Me on the other hand? I have changed my style about 100 times, lost 55 pounds, changed what I believed in, loved more people, saw things from different perspectives, cried a lot, smiled a lot, got tons of scars from bug bites, wrote a lot, started talking a lot more, slept a lot. As a human, I believe I have made my first 360. However, I’m a bit different every single day.
RM: What do you think has been your greatest achievement, in photography or in life? I think it’s yet to come. Maybe tomorrow?
FOREST LAKE PHOTOGRAPHED BY
LAURA LEAL APARICIO
create because I want to Remember.”
Remembrance of the Sea “What are you supposed to do when everything becomes too much? When you don’t know what to do and who to trust anymore?” she asked. “You run, you run away.” I whispered back. And so she ran, as fast as she could. In one hand, she held onto a yellowed, beaten up photograph. It was the only picture ever taken of her family, her family as a whole. It was from a distant time, when everyone was happy. “Everybody does things they aren’t proud of, things that they want to keep secret,” her dad’s voice echoed through her mind. She instantly looked down at the scars on her arms and remembered how it felt. She remembered what it was like in middle school, where everyone made fun of her just because she was different. She remembered all the pain she suffered and how she so desperately wanted the pain to disappear. “I want someone to care about me,” she whispered. She continued running, on the deserted streets, thoughts drifting through her mind. The wind carried her along, until she had reached the vast, blue sea. Memories flooded back to her as she looked at the precious photograph, one last time. Slowly, deliberately, she tore the picture into millions of pieces, until one could no longer tell what it used to be. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she took these pieces and tossed them into the water. She breathed her final goodbye, to the family that never was.
The ocean sings its own tune on repeat. The waves crash, over and over again. Everything at sea is calming, serene as the water whispers its best kept secret, â€œLet go, and just be free.â€? Because sometimes, we all need to throw our worries away and lay on the beach under the bright sun as we watch the careless waves dance. Nothing matters anymore; everything is simple and beautiful.
By Angela Wu
15 // South Florida, USA.
“I do my best work when it’s lat one awake and my thoughts are ra morning when my mind really wake brushes in random colors, and th instead of creating it. I did th and scraps of an old National Geographic, really anything I had within an arm’s length to work with. It means exactly what it says: you’ll never know me. No matter how close you are, you’ll never truly know me, no one will. My art is nothing more than my jumbled thoughts, the things I want to say but can’t. This is my way of opening up my head for everyone to see.”
te at night, when Iâ€™m the only acing. Itâ€™s two or three in the es up. I start to sketch, dip my hen hope to discover the piece his with watercolors, markers,
â€œThis piece was obviously inspired by the poetry ways been a favorite poem of mine and I find myse from literature. This line especially resonated w I think or hear or read on tiny scraps of paper. the day I got a roll of film developed, tossed my seemed to go together. I could never be just a ph mix everything up. I think thereâ€™s a level of emo or a few words but when you put them together, it
y of Sylvia Plath. Mad Girl’s Love Song has alself drawing a great deal of my inspiration with me. I am constantly writing down things . This was one of those scraps. I wrote it down my prints on my desk, and the two pieces just photographer, or just a painter or writer, so I motion that can be achieved with a photograph it’s a new thing entirely.”
New York // 16 http://www.flickr.com/photos/skye--horgan/
Photographed by Daniela Majic Model Brittany Veritis Make-up by Amanda Celina Rankin Dresses and Styling by Lidia Majic Designs
OLIVIA BIDLEMAN 16 // Seattle, Washington http://www.oliviabidleman.zzl.org http://www.flickr.com/livbidlema
17 // Kansas City http://www.flickr.com/photos/33692820@N02/ www.grantheinlein.com
photographed by Franey Miller Model Taylor Hayes
Nina Pak Vancouver, BC
Model: Cristiana Cole
Model: Cristiana Cole
Model: Gabrielle Pietrangelo
27 // Barcelona, Spain http://www.conradroset.com/ http://www.flickr.com/photos/conradroset/
LADY OF SHALLOT Photographed By Nicolette Iles
1.Rebecca Tan 2.Aundre Larrow 3.Yusrina 4.Dea Botica 5.JJ Mehasic 6.Kellyn Boyden 7. Danielle Pearce 8.Sarah Ann Loreth 9.Melissa Taing 10. Melanie Esau 11. Shannon Wise 12.Melanie Gwendolyn Ocean Ruta Zarina 14. Maxwell Runco 15. Megan Hastings 16.Julia Schmidt 17.Kala ilkins 18.Elizabeth Lim 19.Kathryn Pearcy 20.Abigail Wright 21.Emma Pulido 22.Annika Larson 23.Anne Garrity 24. Brianna Saba 25.Betiatto Junior