The Pendulum 2018

The Pendulum WJ/ume XXVIII 2018

The Pendulum 2018

Volume XXVIII

St. Luke’s School 377 North Wilton Road New Canaan, CT 06840 203.966.5612 slspendulum@gmail.com

“The Veil II” Meg Adams, Digital Photograph

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Editor’s Statement Beyond the intentional creation of This year’s Pendulum theme, The

Veils by writers and politicians, all of us har-

Veil, attempts to articulate the many ways in

bor subconscious Veils. In this respect, The

which reality becomes obscured and mud-

Veil represents the unique and unnoticed lens-

died — with all the positive and negative

es that each of us use to perceive the world.

connotations the process rightfully deserves.

For a child, a simple car ride may seem like

In literature, obfuscation takes a central role:

a journey through magical kingdoms, where-

creative writers differ from essayists in that

as an adult might view the rush hour traffic

they employ metaphors, conceits, and seem-

as being pure torture: such is the subjective

ingly arbitrary narratives, instead of simple,

nature of the human experience. While our

deductive arguments, in order to present a

personal Veils produce the individuality we so

particular worldview. Hamlet does not sim-

cherish in modern society, they can also lead

ply come out on stage and say, “Huh, should

to harmful racial prejudice and empirical bias.

I commit suicide?” Rather, Shakespeare adds emotional heft and resonance to his words

Through both written and visual arts,

by writing about arrows, oceans and dreams.

we hope to explore the myriad of ways that

We all agree that The Veil is useful in liter-

Veils shape our perceptions. In the follow-

ature because it gives readers clarity on a

ing pages, photographs and paintings of fog,

more fundamental, emotional level; howev-

haze, and liquid refraction emulate, in physi-

er, The Veil, especially in politics, can act as

cal terms, the sublime mystery and off-putting

a nefarious force. This year we’ve seen the

uncertainty of The Veil, while various written

inclusion of “fake news” into our national

works attempt to expose our pre-existing as-

vocabulary. The prevalent conspiracy-mind-

sumptions and then subsequently turn them

ed skepticism of basic facts often leads to

on their heads. We hope to make you, our

bad policy decisions, which have had tangi-

treasured reader, more cognisant of

ble effects on individual lives across globe.

the The Veils that are imposed on you by oth-

both

ers and those that you impose on the world.

“The Veil III,” Meg Adama, Digital Photograph

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Table of Contents Literature Haiku A Triptych of Haikus

Mrs. Spencer, Tucker Menzies and Brendan Casey

81

Essay To Bare Or Not To Bare

Lynden Steele

“Floral Woods,” Matthew Crispi, Acrylic on Canvas

4

38-41

“Sleepy,� Anonymous, Graphite Drawing on Paper

Prose Riding North

Tucker Menzies

Concerto For Words

John Krill

51

Strangers

Chase Zammit

55

Under My Thumb Prompts

The Pendulum Staff

66-67

vignettes of her; more joyous/ pantone - 130

Tucker Menzies

72-73

College Wash Room

Christopher Besgen

74

Burn and Learn

Cate Van Elslander

83

Beneath The Veil

G Period Creative Writing Class

48-49

86-87

50-Word Stories Thinking About a 50-Word Story Ajit Akole

42

Common App

Adiah Price-Tucker

42

Me

Hope Jackson

43

Regret

Sophia Dellarusso

46

The Metro Station

Hannah Haden

47

I Do Not Want My Tears To Be In Vain

Kristen Beaumonte

64

The Trees Are Graying

Tucker Menzies

65

Jeremy Gerome

Lucia Wiggers

71

5

“TIME IS LIQUID,” Alexandra Schwartz, Chalk Drawing on Chlakboard

Dialogue Ready For Lunch

Kristen Beaumonte and Kate Stamoulis

Civic Enagement

Jack Thies

88-89 100

Poetry

6

The Next Step

Dominic Demarco

One Layer

Mia Mitchell

16

Imprisoned

Kristen Beaumonte

18

Black Lines

Bilal Memon

22

dilapidation

Alexandra Schwartz

25

The Space In Which We Dissolved

Sydney Adamsen

26

The City

Jack Thies

28

Phantasmic City

Will Pond

30

For Your Information

Rebecca Taylor

31

14-15

What If Laine Partington

35

He Fell From The Sky Clara Pakman

37

You Are Invited Lucia Wiggers

45

I Flood Amelia Wyckoff

57

Ugh, Not Again! Tucker Menzies

60

Look

61

Emma Castiglione

Classroom Clash

Matthew Murphy

63

Holiday Horror Clara Pakman

77

After All These Years

Leo Van Munching

78

It’s The Eve Of The Olympics

Max Lyakovetsky

84

I Will Be Diamond Kristen Beaumonte

93

Where Oceans Meet Lizzy Adamsen

94

Ice Laura Mercedes

98-99

“Hummingbird,” Chloe Kekedjian, Pastel Drawing on Paper

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Artwork The Pendulum 2018 Cover: “The Veil,” Meg Adams, Digital Photograph

Ceramic Votive

Lucia Wiggers Stoneware Sculpture

103

Printmaking Arizona

Tierney Schiff Monoprint

69

Foliage

Tierney Schiff

90

Monoprint

“Bone Study,” Moli Ma, Acrylic Painting on Newspaper and Map

8

“American Hockey,” Lars Ernberg, Digital Imaging

Painting Floral Woods

Matthew Crispi

Acrylic on Canvas

4

Bone Study

Moli Ma

Acrylic on Newspaper and Map

8

Flock

Anna Raleigh Acrylic on Canvas

The Destruction of My Desires Failenn Aselta

Acrylic on Canvas

13 24

From Above

Emma Castiglione

Acrylic on Canvas

34

serenity

Alexandra Schwartz

Acrylic on Paper

41

Study Number One

Laine Partington

Acrylic on Paper

50

Mandolin Player

Haley Bloch

Acrylic on Canvas

70

Abstracted Landscape

Maya Klein

Acrylic on Paper

76

Finch

Chloe Kekedjian

Oil on Masonite Board

91

Pond

Elise Scott Acrylic on Canvas

Window in Córdoba

Maria Minuesa

Oil on Masonite Board

92 101

Digital American Hockey

Lars Ernberg

Digital Imaging

9

Red Riding Hood

Meg Adams

Digital Collage

23

Satanas Malleatoris Incus

Matthew Murphy

Digital Illustration

62

Sleeping

Meg Adams Digital Imaging

20

9

“Bone Study,” Samantha Schwartz, Oil pastel Drawing on Newspaper

10

Drawing Sleepy Anonymous Graphite on Paper

5

TIME IS LIQUID

Alexandra Schwartz

Chalk on Chalkboard

6

Hummingbird

Chloe Kekedjian

Pastel on Paper

7

Bone Study

Samantha Schwartz

Oil Pastel on Newspaper

10

you have my heart

Alexandra Schwartz

Ink on Paper

18

Femur Jenna Volpitta Graphite and Paper on Wallpaper

19

City Rebecca Taylor Ink on Paper

29

Untitled Olivia Schwartz Graphite on Paper

39

be casual

Alexandra Schwartz

Graphite on Paper

40

happy happy

Leo Van Munching

Digital Drawing

42

ink gem Alexandra Schwartz Ink on Paper

43

Portrait of Bertrand Russell

Jack Maguire

Graphite on Paper

54

switchblade

Leo Van Munching

Digital Drawing

55

small potatoes

Alexandra Schwartz

Graphite on Paper

64

buyshoesonline!! now!

Leo Van Munching

Digital Drawing

74

Wrench Moli Ma Graphite on Paper

75

Chilly Stroll

Leo Van Munching

Digital Drawing

80

Unknown Sigil 37

Leo Van Munching

Digital Drawing

83

Inner Archdemon

Leo Van Munching

Digital Drawing

85

Lighthouse in Galicia

Maria Minuesa

Pastel on Paper

90

Miss Me?

Leo Van Munching

Ink on Paper

98-99

Rhinestone Eyes

Leo Van Munching

Digital Drawing

96

11

Photography

12

The Veil

Meg Adams

Digital Photography

Cover

The Veil II

Meg Adams

Digital Photography

1

Midday Fog

Emma Duryea

Digital Photograph 14-15

The Veil

Abbey O’Meara

Gelatin Silver Print 17

Stripes

Lucia Wiggers

Digital Photograph 21

Menemsha

Isabelle Stone

Digital Photograph 26-27

Brooklyn Bridge

Brendan Casey

Digital Photograph 30

Deserted Pickup

Sam Boston

Gelatin Silver Print 31

Skater 8

Sam Boston

Color Photograph

Zion

Brody Menzies

Digital Photograph 32

Desert Road

Cate Van Elslander

Digital Photograph

Zebra

Jack Durvasula

Digital Photograph 33

Cacti

Lucia Wiggers

Digital Photograph 36-37

32 33

In Pursuit of Magic Bridget Dalton

Digital Photograph 44

Bard Light

Bridget Dalton

Digital Photograph

Railroad

Emma Duryea

Gelatin Silver Print 47

Submerged

Meg Adams

Digital Photograph 48-49

The Veil

Emma Castiglione Digital Photograph 52

Abstracted View

Jack Fitzgibbon

46

Gelatin Silver Print 52

Desolate Landscape Rutger Zenner

Digital Photograph 53

Mountain Mist

Rutger Zenner

Digital Photograph 53

Song Of The Sea

Bridget Dalton

Digital Photograph 56-57

Narnia

Bridget Dalton

Digital Photograph 65

Diamond In The Rough, Stratton Jack Conti

Digital Photograph

66-67

Oh, The Places We Will Go

Gelatin SilverPrint

68

Kathryn McCarthy

Portrait of Eugene Bridget Dalton

Digital Photograph 71

The Veil II

Meg Adams

Digital Photograph 72-73

The Veil

Claire Watson

Gelatin Silver Print 77

Blood Wall

Matthew Murphy Digital Photograph 78-79

Hemingway

Ping Ryan

Digital Photograph 81

The Road To Anywhere

Cate Van Elslander

Digital Photograph

Chilmark

Isabelle Stone

Digital Photograph 86-87

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Nature’s Triptych Emma Cropper Digital Photographs 89 Shallow Bridget Dalton Digital Photograph 94-95 Blood Lake Emma Duryea Digital Photograph

97

Basil Goose Ansaldi Gelatin Silver Print

97

Vague Schuyler Keno Digital Photograph

102

Cup of Coffee Lucia Wiggers Digital Photograph

104-105

The Virtue of Light and American Pride

Nick DiCorpo

Gelatin Silver Print

80

Iconic Due Alexandra Schwartz and Brody Menzies Digital Photograph The Veil III Meg Adams Digital Photograph

97

106-107

The Veil II Meg Adams Digital Photograph

108

“Flock,” Anna Raleigh, Acrylic on Canvas

13

The Next Step Dominic DeMarco

“Midday Fog, Emma Duryea, Digital Photograph

14

Who am I but a rabbit in the web of life Fumbling into the crosshairs of a hunter’s longbow Wandering blindly in a forest maze, alone But for looming presence unknown and unseen?

Who can say if to my flesh a poison arrow flies To drain away the hope of future bright Or if before my feet lie traps of fallen leaves To pull from underneath my progress sweet?

Who knows if this labyrinth has a center Or if the route to my goals can be achieved Perhaps it is easier to accept defeat And slowly stew in eternal failure.

What then would become of my hapless self If the arrow pierces my fragile skin And I enter the realm of endless void From which no death pact or dark bargain can save me?

A shadowy voidwalker I would become Shuffling through the chills of endless night Searching for meaning in darkness unlimited Never again to see triumphant light.

Unable to escape I know I would be As one cannot move when one cannot see Upwards mobility cannot be achieved When the doors to redemption are locked from above.

So what choice have I but to carry on Along this dismal, dreary, dangerous road And face the perils of a hunter’s mark Inside this wretche d and cursed maze?

To nothing will I concede my inner fire As with ironhide I will take the blows Endure traps of venom and dodge arrows poisoned Competitive spirit lighting the way to an exit.

I shall fight against the boundless energy of this world Seeking arcane intellect known to few Conquering the power overwhelming Sculpting the world with mind of swords.

15

One Layer Mia Mitchell

Struggling to stay afloat in quicksand that will never let up drowning in a sea of words that apparently define her Realizing that her identity was held in the hands of others that her personality wasn’t hers to determine That their first assumption of who she is is only what she’ll ever be Her identity solely revolves around her given word a singular trait that defines her existence

16

“The Veil,” Abbey O’Meara, Gelatin Silver Print

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Imprisoned Kristen Beaumonte I hate that you make me hate What I want to love.

For when my eyes meet yours, I see truth in every Painful lie.

The love I want to feel Claws at its prison.

But you built barriers That are too strong, There’s no escape.

But I will take A chisel to your wall And pound the hammer on it.

Whenever I can muster strength, Sparks will fly.

I can’t bear it any longer, How you stab my flesh And pull my hair.

I will put up a fight, And this time I will win.

18

“you have my heart,” Alexandra Schwartz, Ink on Paper

“Femur,” Jenna Volpitta, Graphite and Paper and Wallpaper

19

“Sleeping,” Meg Adams, Digital Imaging

20

“Stripes,” Lucia Wiggers, Digital Photograph

21

Black Lines Bilal Memon I like to draw lines on my paper.

I don’t doodle or sketch.

I just draw straight black lines.

Sometimes, they’re packed real close and thin -A monochromatic forest.

But mostly I draw in thick, spaced-out strokes.

Euterpe bangs and screams against her inky jail.

Finally, she breaks free.

I jot down my thesis, sentence, rap lyric -- before she runs away.

Sometimes, the idea doesn’t come.

Euterpe slinks into the corner of her cell And I’m left an idiot, scratching away at my paper.

The television says computers are coming for our jobs.

That creativity is what makes us human.

But you don’t have creativity.

Dylan, Shakespeare, Homer didn’t have creativity.

Creativity had them.

Like a virus, She latches on, does her damage, and then disappears.

Or not.

22

“Red Riding Hood,” Meg Adams, Digital Collage

23

“The Destruction of My Desires,” Failenn Aselta, Acrylic on Canvas

24

dilapidation Alexandra Schwartz a marigold cast over it all countless attempts to make a mark bleeding and overlapping amongst each other “abstract intelligence� names of all shapes and sizes slightly rumbling on these tracks traversing the water and the roads faint red glowing beneath yet another tunnel wires and spires on which they balance we sway again blinking the delicate light sleep from my eyes a pale gradient from the softest, most gentle blue to the audacious marigold decelerating the steady rhythm slows we stop swaying and come to a halt

25

The Space In Which We Dissolved Sydney Adamsen The space in which we dissolved-does it taste of us?

Security lights, barefoot, gray sheets, wet heartbeats, the open window My heart slips backward, remembering, remembering Different people alone in the daylight Than we were together in the dark Fight against a brother, fight against the ticking clock, against a future It didn’t matter that we couldn’t win Because you made my brain quiet And i didn’t have to invent a thing.

You told me last week You saw someone with my eyes That despite our history Somewhere in your nights you’re stuck when you think of me Why is the measure of love loss?

It feels more like an empty stomach than a broken heart So much of you still runs through my blood And in my splintered dreams there’s always you I do not regret it one bit.

26

“Menemsha Isabelle Stone, Digital Photograph

27

The City Jack Thies

A puff of smoke disappeared from her lungs into the city air Loud voices and flashing lights with no signs of stopping The flickering fluorescent bulb wasn’t like the sun back in Ohio Guess this was home now

Loud voices and flashing lights with no signs of stopping A small apartment in Flatbush across from the local bodega Guess this was home now The cold late night walk to her last shift at the diner

A small apartment in Flatbush across from the local bodega Rent was due in three days and she knew she didn’t have the money The cold late night walk to her last shift at the diner If only she hadn’t met him

A puff of smoke disappeared from her lungs into the city air The flickering fluorescent bulb wasn’t like the sun back in Ohio Rent was due in 3 days and she knew she didn’t have the money If only she hadn’t met him 28

29

“City,” Rebecca Taylor, Ink on Paper

“Brooklyn Bridge,” Brendan Casey, Digital Photograph

Phantasmic City Will Pond Sweet smell of ginger lingers in the air Sounds of waves crashing fills the empty space Vast skylines of rooftops, they’ll catch your stare Birds sail through the sky and soar with such grace; The quick cool cars cruise by the side lane trees Leaves fall and scratch the surface of the street Crowds gathering under their sweet trees glee The smell of the scene, oh it must be sweet; Along the young whining brook, you might find The tender sweet creatures of this great land They live in shadows of the infant time They march in this city as one strong band; Although yet this phantasma may not seem, This unknown world is but an empty dream.

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For Your Information Rebecca Taylor I hit your car in my driveway as I left the house If I’m honest, I forgot you were there and only remembered when my car backed into yours But I was distracted and had a lot on my mind and your car was already pretty beat up anyway (Inspired by William Carlos Williams)

“Deserted Pick-Up,” Sam Boston, Gelatin Silver Print

31

“Skater 8,” Sam Boston, Color Photograph

“Zion,” Brody Menzies, Digital Photograph

32

“Desert Road,” Cate Van Elslander, Digital Photograph

“Zebra,” Jack Durvasula, Digital Photograph

33

“From Above,” Emma Castiglione, Acrylic on Canvas

34

What If? Laine Partington What if it rains peanut butter And we all drown in a sludge of trans fats?

What if barbers revolt And chop off our noses with their shears?

What if all music is replaced And a fork scraping a chalkboard takes its place?

What if all art is covered by googly eyes And they are secret government cameras?

What if sheep can no longer bleep And that causes people to never fall asleep?

What if popcorn became the currency And buttery fingerprints were all we could see?

What if the children had no homework And they could play and dream all day?

What if pressure and expectation disappeared And I no longer lived a life ruled by fear?

What if you stopped loving me And I stopped breathing as collateral damage?

What if you spend your life thinking “What if �

And you forget to live?

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36

He Fell From The Sky Clara Pakman He fell from the sky with alarming rapidity Wind-whistles screeching at bright-blue lucidity Sapphire cloud-mess hastens the plummet From some other-earthly and vanishing summit He drops like a stone!

A bird never-flown!

Gasping and frantic Flailing and panicked Nearing the imminent sporadic brightness A final blue tint And suddenly (whiteness)

“Cacti,� Lucia Wiggers, Digital Photograph

37

To Bare Or Not To Bare Lynden Steele

Those who want to argue that gender equality is the practice of the day just haven’t gotten dressed for a co-ed school.

It’s Saturday evening in the Pem-

gender neutral bathroom; in contrast, the

broke quad. I release my hair from a high

guys on the hall are clearly unburdened,

ponytail and begin to unpack the clothing

opting to stay in the t-shirts and athletic

I had rescued from the back of my draw-

gear that got them through the day. As fe-

er before my visit. Georgia stands beside

male students (and visitors, I should ad-

me, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles

mit) give in to the pressure to sexualize

from her black crop top. We’d quickly

their appearances, and guys chug beers

realized, during our first trip to Brown,

and play Fortnite, I can’t help concluding

that our everyday (and even weekend)

that guys have it better. In the halls of my

clothing just didn’t work for this thing

high school and the residence halls of lib-

called higher education. Going out col-

eral institutions, girls get mixed signals,

lege-style demands a full face of makeup,

but one message is clear: dress in ways

a belly-baring top or low-cut tank, short

that work best for your male counterparts.

shorts or maybe a skirt. Heels and wedg-

es, though not uncommon, are thankfully

optional. It’s too early for me to test my

ken feminist, but, standing in the halls

ability to drink socially and navigate my

of this Ivy League university, I can see

way back to my sister’s dorm in stilettos.

the myth of gender equality crumbling.

Weren’t we supposed to be the genera-

Between 8:30 and 9 pm, female

tion that was raised free of rigid stereo-

students begin to prepare for the evening.

types and expectations? But here we are,

Georgia and I watch, at first in amusement,

Georgia and I, tying red and yellow Harry

as girls try on and reject outfits and work

Potter ties around our necks and letting

to perfect makeup in the overcrowded 38

I’m not an intellect or an outspo-

(continued on page 40)

“Untitled,” Olivia Schwartz, Graphite on Paper

39

them drop down the meager cleavage

Marge Piercy’s “Barbie Doll,” raised

we’ve carefully exposed. The dominant

on “GE stoves and irons/and wee lip-

Brown social dress code is a clear affir-

sticks

the

color

of

cherry

candy.”

mation of the fact that, despite equality in the classroom, women still feel pressure

I should have taken the hint that

to dress up like tempting gifts, pleasing

boys rule the world in middle school, in

to male viewers, whether physically or

the cafeterias and classrooms of St. Luke’s

visually. I want to think we are the girls

School. That’s where the adults in charge

or women who can have it all, be power-

first offered me the unspoken rule of el-

ful and provocative, but I feel more like

ementary education: don’t tempt or distract the boys. I was all of eleven years old when a female teacher boldly approached me in the girls’ locker room, pressing her cold metal ruler against my bare leg to point out that my uniform skirt was actually “way more than” three inches from the top of my knee. I was pouring coffee in a Styrofoam cup when a Spanish teacher slut-shamed me, warning me that my short skirt “would give boys the

“be casual,” Alexandra Schwartz, Graphite on Paper

40

wrong idea.” My advisory discussed, as a group, whether my skirts were too short or my legs simply too long. I vividly remember that my friends argued that my legs were too long, while the two teachers insisted it was the skirt, which I “needed to should

replace

immediately.”

be

coursework,

Boys

concentrating not

on

my

on

anatomy.

“serenity,” Alexandra Schwartz, Acrylic on Paper

Those who want to argue that gen-

sky grows darker and the parties empty

der equality is the practice of the day just

out, I watch cautious girls dressed up like

haven’t gotten dressed for a co-ed school.

fancy presents looking for walks home.

While guys are oblivious, neither fearful of

While the guys move through campus

turning girls on during the school day nor

without any noticeable concern for safety,

carefully dressing to be appealing, we girls

the reality of being female comes to light.

dress under pressure. No tight pants. Tight

Georgia and I adjust our tops to keep out

skirt. Hide your legs. Bare your breasts.

the damp November air, turn our heads

My short time on a progressive college

away from the catcalls, and I think to my-

campus reminds me of an unfortunate

self, “To every woman a happy ending.”

truth: it’s a man’s world. As the Providence

41

Thinking About A 50 Word Story Ajit Akole I threw the pink ball against the wall, caught it, and threw it up again. Could the ball go through the wall and into the atmosphere only to fall back down and hit Ms. Olshey’s annoying cat? Maybe by quantum tunneling. A pink flash hit me square in the face.

Common App Adiah Price-Tucker “This experience has shaped me into the person I am today and who I aim to become. This trial will always stay with me and remain a reference point for inspiration when I am faced with a challenge.

Getting lost on my trip to the Swiss Alps was life-altering.”

“happy happy,” Leo Van Munching, Digital Drawing

42

Me Hope Jackson This is my fifty word story. This is a story about me and my inability to write a fifty word story. Anything I would say in fifty words is pointless anyways. I prefer long explanations.

I’m sorry you had to read this. It was a waste of your time.

“ink gem,” Alexandra Schwartz, Ink on Paper

43

“In Pursuit of Magic,” Bridget Dalton, Digital Photograph

44

Lucia Wiggers

45

“Bard Light,” Bridget Dalton, Digital Photograph

Regret Sophia Dellarusso He now realized what he had to do. Catch the flight before it took off. She was leaving, and he thought he would be okay. When he arrived he was too late. He didn’t know the pain he would feel until she was gone. The nurse wouldn’t let him in.

46

The Metro Station Hannah Haden A 4x4 photograph fell out of his pocket, running to catch the 6:00. She lives in California now chasing impossible dreams. He stayed behind to work the 9-5. Losing sleep like he lost her, he thinks the picture was a lousy consolation prize. Even that too now is gone.

“Railroad,� Emma Duryea, Gelatin Silver Print

47

“Submerged,” Meg Adams, Digital Photograph

“riding north” Tucker Menzies

“flushing” the Yemeni guy at the bodega counter still doesn’t know my goddamn name. i’ve bought a five hour energy and a snickers every weekday for the past three months. i guess he sees a lot of white dudes who look the same as me. i know i sure do. you know the way that the february air bites your cheeks in new york city? i don’t notice it so much anymore, nor do i give thought to the black matter in the snow/sludge. all the shocks and sights are compounded in singular being, and i’m there too for now.

48

“august 18, 2017, in public” i saw a guy who looked like a husky tupac shakur shaving his head in the minnesota-st. paul airport bathroom. his shirt was fully off, he had brought a bluetooth speaker to soundtrack the experience. i wish i had been in that bathroom in the same joyous headspace that chubby 2pac was. but i saw him when i walked out, past the sinks and the stupid paper towels and after i had gotten it all out. i’d been in that bathroom, in the last stall on the left side, for what felt like a full hour, just crying like a b****. like a p*****. like every term in history equating women to weakness. but it was a woman who’d made me cry in that stall. maybe less a woman and more a girl. she was a girlfriend, but wouldn’t be for long after that. i still tell myself i love her sometimes, like when i hear certain songs or see a ferris wheel. maybe she feels the same way. maybe she really is as busy as she said she was when she didn’t have the time for me.

49

“Study Number One,” Laine Partington, Acrylic on Paper

50

Concerto for Words John Krill Andante A girl frolics in a field. Her dress is a dull yellow, and her hair has just been let down.

She dances in silly, unsophisticated circles, and the grass parts at her feet as she moves.

She is not particularly graceful, her movements are not rigid. But there is something magical about how she moves. She is free. She falls and grass hands rise from the ground to catch her. She lays and she laughs. The sun lights her face and her smile makes the plants around her a little greener.

Allegro A band plays at a wedding. The upbeat tempo keeps the guests on their feet, showing off dance moves, knowing that no one will watch, but everyone will see. The cake in the corner anxiously waits to be cut and served to all. At the front of the dance platform are a new husband and his bride. Only time will tell how their love will play out. But for now, at least, they are in a state of pure bliss, despite what their parents, the bridesmaids and groomsmen have to say. It is not the champagne, or the white dress that makes them so entranced with one another. It is not the rebellious phase of youth which they are in, and it is not the desire to fulfill society’s expectations. It is true love.

51

“The Veil,” Emma Castiglione, Digital Photograph

“Abstracted View,” Jack Fitzgibbon, Gelatin Silver Print

52

“Desolate Landscape,” Rutger Zenner, Digital Photograph

“Mountain Mist,” Rutger Zenner, Digital Photograph

53

Dear Dad Max Lyakovetsky Dear dad, I have taken The car out For a wash The one you’ve Been working on For some time I left the windows down Forgive me, the splashing Reminded me Of my favorite waterpark.

(Inspired by William Carlos Williams)

“Portrait of Bertrand Russell,” Jack Maguire, Graphite on Paper

54

“switchblade,” Leo Van Munching, Digital Drawing

Strangers Chase Zammit The young waiter walks up with down before her and she hands him the a witty smile. She is caught off guard by

paper in utter silence. They both are lost

his charm and the sparkle in his eye. Her in each other’s gazes, paralyzed. Eventupupils dilate as he talks. All of his words

ally, the waiter corrects his attention, and

blur together because she cannot man-

says, “Pick you up at 8?” She responds, “28

age to take her focus off his features. The

Millhouse Road.” Once he walks away, she

waiter speaks up, “Excuse me Ma’am, any-

grins, takes out her notebook, and begins

thing to drink?” She blushes and quickly to draw him in a steel box, gagged and responds, “Coffee please, extra milk” with

tied to her bedpost. She details the sketch

a recovering wink. The waiter smiles and

with her instruments hanging from the

fetches her coffee. Once he returns, she

walls. She then circles and labels all of his

has already written down her number

weaknesses, planning for the night ahead.

on a paper napkin. He places the coffee 55

“Song Of The Sea,” Bridget Dalton, Digital Photograph

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I Flood Amelia Wyckoff how did you turn my forest fire into running water? was I so weak that my flame only flick-

yet somehow I am still a slave to this world, this life, this wonder, this love -

ered, so small you could snuff me out?

I was not made with fire in my belly just to be doused by you.

You didn’t realize I am torrential; I don’t mist, I flood I don’t seethe, I storm, a tsunami in the making. a wave breaking with one push drowning cities with a crash. you made me just a trickle when I am a frothing ocean. you are not my moon, determining what path my tides shall follow, there is so much more than you.

There is: the never ending barrage of beauty almost painful, sharing it makes me sound vain, full of joy, I glow, full of tears, I pour, I wash over life like a tidal wave

unrequited, unreturnable, unmatchable.

I crave an intensity you can’t comprehend. is it even real? when I sing can anyone feel what I feel? they are stoic, as if made of steel. iron so hard that it withstands one hundred blows. my metal is malleable, reformed by my woes. they do not feel the weight of the earth on their shoulders they do not feel the pain of millions in their hearts they do not feel the current of the world coursing through their veins until each hair stands erect sizzling with a chord sung in unison, a raindrop tasting of spring, a word on a page that pierces my core like a dagger. my heart bleeds, my soul quakes but never, never for my own sake.

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Tucker Menzies

Look Emma Castiglione Look, I spent fourteen of your dollars On a 3 ounce Jar of chocolate Spread Forgive me, I know you said not to Waste Your Money On stupid things And that You really don’t Like chocolate The jar promised to save The elephants And, Frankly, That was reason enough For me (Inspired by William Carlos Williams)

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“Satanas Malleatoris Incus,” Matthew Murphy, Digital Illustration

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Classroom Clash Matthew Murphy Anyone want to start a fight?

We are in school not even a bar.

It’s 8:30 in the morning.

We all start talking about who would win.

We are in school not even a bar.

It started as a joke.

We all start talking about who would win.

The class starts deciding who is strongest.

It started as a joke.

Tucker said it first.

The class starts deciding who is strongest.

It turns into a full brawl in the classroom.

Anyone want to start a fight?

It’s 8:30 in the morning.

Tucker said it first.

It turns into a full brawl in the classroom.

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“small potatoes,� Alexandra Schwartz, Graphite on Paper

I Do Not Want My Tears To Be In Vain Kristen Beaumonte When you make me cry, catch my tears and bottle them. Put them in your pocket and carry them with you wherever you go next. Remember them when you come upon dry earth with wilted flowers. Water the blooms, and you will have learned.

I forgive you.

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The Trees Are Graying Tucker Menzies

“Narnia,” Bridget Dalton, Digital Photograph

The trees are graying and it’s quiet at noon again.

They’re all inside with pencils, text messages, caffeine. The air smells how morrissey sounds, somber winds and falling leaves like a major 7 chord. That same car is parked there, where I saw him touch her, I know he did.

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Under My Thumb The Pendulum Staff

While I was visiting my lemur’s crawl space in Anchorage, my potato leaked soup all over my scooter under my thumb.

Scooters are for people who can’t handle bikes. Lemurs are for people who can’t handle monkeys. This safe-space-trigger-warning society has gone too far! They’ve killed the real America and thrown its sad corpse in the crawl space. If you believe what they say, Anchorage will be drowned by the ice caps by Christmas (not the holidays) and all the ocean’s garbage will have turned the Pacific to potato leek soup.

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I hide in the crawl space, my heart pounding. I hear scratching sounds like it’s still upstairs. I check my surroundings, scanning for supplies. Four cans of potato leek soup.

Enough to last me a week. My stomach grumbles, but I push the feeling to the back of my mind. I have to focus on survival. I feel a sharp, rusty nail -- not much of a weapon, but it will have to do. Crrreeaak! I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Its little claws scrape the slate steps. He’s going to find me, I suddenly realize. I catch sight of a scooter in the corner. Maybe I can make a run for it and head to downtown Anchorage to hide in the throng of shoppers. I crack open the door and peer out. Darkness.

“Diamond In The Rough, Stratton,” Jack Conti, Digital Photograph

Suddenly, I hear a swish of a tail and a monkey-like chatter. As I look into the darkness, a huge pair of yellow lemur eyes blink at me. A tear drips down my face. I’ll never make it out alive. Nevertheless, I brandish my nail and prepare to fight.

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“Oh, The Places We Will Go,” Kathryn McCarthy, Gelatin Silver Print

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“Arizona,” Tierney Schiff, Monoprint

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“Mandolin Player,” Haley Bloch, Acrylic on Canvas

Jeromy Gerome Lucia Wiggers Tadpole, tired of his watery home; mucky floor, decomposing curtains, modest furnishings. The particulate in refracted green light felt suffocating. Seeing the listing for a fresh new place, he grew a pair and took a chance. Bursting through the bright white doors, he took a deep breath. “I’ll take it!”

“Portrait of Eugene,” Bridget Dalton, Digital Photograph

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vignettes of her; more joyous Tucker Menzies “meg.” that’s her name. short for megan, of course. megan elizabeth. her parents are named molly and greg- they thought it’d be a hoot to combine theirs for hers, so she was “meg.” i always joked that“grolly” would have been better. she lives in saint paul, minnesota, and somewhere deep in my heart too. both places are far from where i am at present. both are cold in january, but in that june held a trillion sparkling wines and peach-colored suns ready for sleep. she reminds me of a hundred bands that she doesn’t know the names of. i know she’s out there dancing, her strong legs and vibrant smile on display for some other judge -- she’s won two state championships, as it goes. i care more for the dance we shared in june, that golden low ceilinged room in santo domingo where the ladies teased at our motions and we collapsed laughing. she was meringue and merengue, like few can be.

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“pantone-130” Tucker Menzies she loves that dark but vibrant yellow of schoolbuses and suns drawn in the corner. i loved how she could say such things. she stumbled through a sentence but i’d never correct her but we know it and laugh.

we were in peru together when we slept in those little yellow homes where we ate yellow potatoes and huddled around the yellow fire, where the ladies’ yellow calluses touched the flames and they didn’t say a word. i wanted to go a million other yellow places with her, where the trees are far apart and the cities all hold homes.

“The Veil I,” Meg Adams, Digital Photograph

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College Wash Room Chris Besgen The windows at either end of the laundry

and empty, their lids flung open, with

room were open, but no breeze washed

crudely drawn signs that said “Broke!” A

through to carry off the stale odors of fab-

long shelf partially covered in blue paper

ric softener, detergent, and bleach. In the

ran the length of the wall, interrupted

small ponds of soapy water that stained

only by a locked door. Alone, at the far

the concrete floor were stray balls of mul-

end of the shelf, sat one empty laundry

ticolored lint and fuzz. Along the left wall

basket and an open box of Tide. Above

of the room stood ten rasping dryers,

the shelf at the other end was a small

their round windows offering glimpses of

bulletin board decorated with yellowed

jumping socks, underwear, and fatigues.

business cards and torn slips of paper:

Down the center of the room were a doz-

scrawled requests for rides, reward offers

en washing machines, set back to back in

for lost dogs, and phone numbers with-

two rows. Some were chugging like steam-

out names or explanations. On and on the

boats; others were whining and whistling

machines hummed and wheezed, gurgled

and dribbling suds. Two stood forlorn

and gushed, washed, rinsed, and spun.

“buy shoes online!! now!,” Leo Van Munching, Digital Drawing

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“Wrench,” Moli Ma, Graphite on Paper

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“Abstract Landscape,” Maya Klein, Acrylic on Paper

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Holiday Horror Clara Pakman T’was the morning of Christmas And amongst cake and pheasants Two children were crying By a tree with no presents.

Not a creature was stirring As the doleful clock ticked To the tale of two parents Who still believed in Saint Nick.

“The Veil,” Claire Watson, Gelatin Silver Print

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After All These Years Leo Van Munching

Lat - Long (41.113342 – 73.481798)

Something missing. A crime committed. An innocence corrupted.

1 foot under. ...

Feel free to go look for yourself.

Take it with you

You’ll be taking the guilt off of my hands.

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“Blood Wall,” Matthew Murphy, Digital Photograph

“Chilly Stroll,” Leo Van Munching, Digital Drawing

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“The Virtue of Light and American Pride,” Nick DiCorpo, Gelatin Silver Print

A Triptych of Haikus Mrs. Spencer, Tucker Menzies, Brendan Casey

Statistics is Fun Dot plots transform histograms Visualize you

together, online always doesn’t always mean forever// no time

I love the darkness I wish there was never sun The shade is tranquil

“Hemingway,” Ping Ryan, Digital Photograph

81

“Road To Anywhere,” Cate Van Elslander, Digital Photograph

82

Burn and Learn Cate Van Elslander You charge out of the driveway with

While driving the brutally low speed lim-

an added adrenaline rush from the almost

it behind someone too dinosaur to drive,

accident you just caused from pulling out

you begin to notice the scenery. The

too early. The road becomes a twisty, turny

brown farmhouse at the end of the hill,

mess gazing at the empty-looking branch-

full of empty dreams and weeds. A brick

es and grey skies above you. I usually pass

country house placed right next to a mod-

the church on the corner of the street

ern mansion. It’s the same drive you make

right as some harsh word is blasted from

morning and night, but now it becomes

the first song that came on in my “Cloud

completely different. Things are brighter,

9” playlist. Still, I don’t feel guilty. It’s a

clearer, almost dream-like. It doesn’t seem

dreary day. The type of day that makes you

real. Like at any point, you could wake up

reminisce about the warm breeze blowing

in a cabin in Kentucky, living another life.

through your hair on a casual drive in Au-

About halfway through the drive, the idea

gust. The type of day that causes you to

of school settles in and it becomes more

dream about all the better days, though in

bearable. Right as you pass the quiet hous-

your case, there might not be too many.

es still whispering with weekend energy.

“Unknown Sigil 37,” Leo Van Munching, Digital Drawing

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Max Lyakovetsky 84

“Inner Archdemon,” Leo Van Munching, Digital Drawing

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Beneath The Veil Prompts G Period Creative Writing Class Everyone thinks that I’m a regular person, A human going to school and doing normal activities.

My true underlying form is a scaly, serpentine snake alien From far away in a distant galaxy across the ever-expanding universe.

Nobody knows this, except for you, so I need to memory wipe you with my extraterrestrial technology now.

People would be surprised to know that I am married to Odell Beckham Jr, but we are keeping it low-key for now. We got married years ago in Greece and honeymooned in Guatemala. He couldn’t live without me.

Everyone thinks that nothing will get better.

For the rest of your life you’re screwed for something you did at 16. But when you are 23, graduated, and working, you come to realize none of it even mattered. If you won’t worry about it in 5 years, don’t worry about it for 5 minutes.

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Everyone thinks that I could beat them in a fight, But I probably couldn’t But maybe I could,

“Chilmark,” Isabelle Stone, Digital Photograph

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Ready For Lunch Kristen Beaumonte and Kate Stamoulis

What’s for lunch?

I don’t know but I ordered tacos. Score!

Well geez no need to rub it in I can smell the guacamole from here I hate weirdly squishy foods Well if you think about it like that all foods sound unappetizing And yet we have to eat What an awful world we live in It could be a lot worse I guess, but lately it feels like that I don’t like to think about it I just feel like it keeps getting worse, the news and everything else. It’s hard to escape it Then move to a different world I hereby declare myself the ruler of Kate World, all are welcome You know what I mean...Don’t you?

That you want to be the KateWorld Vice President? Sure, I’ll allow it

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Well thanks, but no. Haven’t you ever gone to another world?

In the literal sense, no, in the figurative sense…. I guess?

Good. In that case we both have hope.

So the only way we can have hope is to go to “another world”?

That’s just the first step.

Then what?

Then you bring your other world here.

I like that idea.

Well that makes two of us…

“Nature’s Triptych,” Emma Cropper, Digital Photograph Triptych

All this is making me hungry, ready for lunch?

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“Foliage,,” Tierney Schiff, Monoprint

90

“Lighthouse in Galicia,” Maria Minuesa, Pastel Drawing on Paper

“Finch,” Chloe Kekedjian, Oil on Masonite Board

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“Pond,” Elise Scott, Acrylic on Canvas

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I Will Be Diamond Kristen Beaumonte

Am I or Am I Not The portrait of myself I’ve painted Still incomplete. For What meaning doth have magnificence When blinded by bearer’s love? Thus I’m but A portrait of glass, seen as often as the breath of nature.

No more than a window meant only to Pour waterfalls of light onto those below, Keeping none as its own.

How’st that I, so easily cracked, do Not shatter? I will strengthen to Diamond: not the fabric Of stars but of the moon in velvet sky. Cratered And cracked completely, yet still Creating motions of waves with but a whisper.

I am but the moon, waxing and waning, Reflecting light but producing none of my own.

I once hath been the sun, but too brightly shining Burnèd inside out. For no longer Can I dream myself to be A wingèd creature, nor can I so faithfully Trust in what my eyes didst not perceive.

In present suspended Like a hatchling pushed, gone from the nest Without knowledge of flight. Poised to plummet But if made of diamond will learn to fly.

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Where Oceans Meet Lizzy Adamsen Upon the icy threshold of the still A faceless shadow, polishing a shell The burden lacking ruin would witness fill With feathered wings of beauty not to tell Of simple places our two bodies met One flowing to the east, and, of second Nature, the other west. A snaked inlet Woven together, while all but threatened The smoggy connect of a thought too late.

She suddenly linked when the spiked line ceased And as wayward claws reaching for the bait A rigid tip of purpose which she creased Just as a leaf will fade in the winter Or as once sheen wood, will rot and splinter.

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“Shallow,” Bridget Dalton, Digital Photograph

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“Rhinestone Eyes,” Leo Van Munching, Digital Drawing

“Basil,” Goose Ansaldi, Gelatin Silver Print

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“Blood Lake,” Emma Duryea, Digital Photograph

“Iconic Duo,” Alexandra Schwartz and Brody Menzies, Digital Photograph

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Ice Laura Mercedes When demons played with man’s immoral eye A looking glass of loathing they designed Which for the viewer image falsified With turn of love to mis’ry in the mind.

Then to the ground the beasts flew down their glass For Lucifer to marvel and exhaust 98

“Miss Me?” Leo Van Munching, Ink Drawing on Paper

But when they flew a gale by god was cast Untimely from the skies that glass was tossed It soared from tempest-winds to earth below In fractals cruelly sharp and coldly tender To pierce the heart I yearned so to bestow With frost that nips the robins of December.

Now in a glassy prison I must lay For ice is only melted by love’s ray.

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Civic Engagement Jack Thies

“I can’t help but think you aren’t fully understanding the scope of this mistake,” Debra said.

Bryce looked confused, “Honestly mom I don’t understand what the big deal is.”

“The car is in our kitchen! How do you not see the big deal,” she said.

“Agree to disagree I guess,” he said sarcastically.

“Honey there is a Honda Civic next to the oven I don’t feel I’m blowing this out of proportion,” she said.

“Mom I’ll do it tomorrow, just chillax,” Bryce replied.

“Don’t tell me to “chillax”, Bryce. Just wait until your father comes home,” she responded.

“Good, he’ll be on my side of this,” Bryce said.

“He’ll be on the passenger’s side because you managed to get the car in the kitchen,” she responded, loudly.

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“Window in Córdoba,” Maria Minuesa, Oil on Masonite Board

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“Vague,” Schuyler Keno, Digital Photograph

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“Votive,” Lucia Wiggers, Stoneware Sculpture

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The Pendulum Staff Bilal Memon Ajit Akole Meg Adams Max Lyakovetsky Chloe Kekedjian Tucker Menzies Sarah Powless Lucia Wiggers Georgia Rosenberg Amelia Wyckoff Brody Menzies Lizzy Adamsen Kristen Beaumonte Hannah Matthew Kate Stamoulis Emma Seel Mae “Ping” Ryan Alexandra Schwartz

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“Cup of Coffee,” Lucia Wiggers, Digital Photograph

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Acknowledgements Editors: Ajit Akole and Bilal Memon

azine, ensuring that the artistic vision of The Pendulum comes to life on the page.

The editors are the heads of the staff and oversee all activity within the group.

They lead the weekly staff lunch meetings and initiate discussion among the group while reviewing written submissions.

The editors review artwork as

well, working closely with the Art Department to find pieces to photograph and archive. They have final authority on the acceptance status of all submissions.

They also encourage the school community to submit pieces, whether it be on an individual level or at a Town Meeting during the school day. The editors decide the order of pieces as they appear in the print and contact all those necessary to

Faculty Advisor for Literature: Stephen Flachsbart The job of the faculty advisor for literature is to generate enthusiasm for creative writing and to establish a sense of what is good literature. He also helps set the bar for what constitutes “publication quality,” and fosters a positive environment with room for constructive criticism. As head of the English Department, he provides the staff with a variety of student works from his and other teachers’ classes, works which ultimately constitute a major portion of the magazine’s litera-

ensure the publication of the magazine.

ture. He is the anchor of The Pendulum,

Layout Designer: Meg Adams

a squall of unidentified literary submis-

and without him our ship would drift into sions and incomplete acknowledgements.

The layout designer is in charge of the entire aesthetic component of the magazine. She works with the Art Department to determine visual design and places all written works and artworks.

The layout designer also reviews all the works before placing them in the mag106

Faculty Advisor for Art: Jeorge Yankura The job of the faculty advisor for art is to aid the art editor and the contributing artists in preparing for the final design of the magazine. Through this process,

she is responsible for teaching InDesign

make this typeface easy on the eyes and

to the layout staff and also helps in edit-

attractive for the reader’s experience.

ing and general artistic direction. If Mr. Flachsbart is our anchor, Ms. Yanku-

Adobe Hebrew was created in 2004-2005

ra is the wind in our sails. She sees the

by John Hudson of Tiro Typeworks. This

magazine to completion every year and

serif-style typeface was specifically cre-

works tirelessly to ensure its aesthetic val-

ated for contemporary Hebrew business

ue, originality, and conceptual integrity.

communications. The Pendulum staff was attracted to the shape and crisp nature of

Technical Notes:

the letters in this type family, which allows for ease of readability by the viewer.

The fonts used in this volume of The Pendulum include Playfair Display Italic for

The Pendulum was created using Adobe In

headers and titles, and Adobe Hebrew

Design from the Adobe Creative Cloud.

Regular for text bodies and page numbers.

The 2018 edition of The Pendulum was Playfair Display is a serif-style typeface

printed with a Kodak NexPress 2500

from the Playfair Project, led by Claus

Digital Production Color Press, at Im-

Eggers Sørensen, and is inspired by both

pression Point Printing by Robert La

the Scotch Roman typefaces and sim-

Banca. It uses Enhanced Dry Ink that

ilar designs of John Baskerville, both

produces a consistently high image qual-

from the Eighteenth Century. First re-

ity, providing vibrant colors, consistent

leased in 2011, this typeface features

spot color matching, smooth flat field

relatively consistent vertical height in

and gradients, and the unique ability to

both capital and lower case letters, mak-

match the ink gloss level to the substrate

ing it ideal for printed material.

being printed.

The

bold bodily shape and delicate hairlines

The paper used is Ap-

pleton Utopia II Matte Ivory 80# Text.

“The Veil III,” Meg Adama, Digital Photograph

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“The Veil II” Meg Adams, Digital Photograph