The Northern New Yorker

Arts and Literature of North Country Community College

2020 - 2021 were tough years for everyone. Through it all, our students persevered and continued their pursuit of an education. The Northern New Yorker was not published during this time. However, NCCC students were still creating. This 2021 - 2022 online edition of the Northern New Yorker chronicles student work dating back to the beginning of 2021 through the Spring of 2022. Congratulations to all of our students whose work is included here.

Table of Contents

Abigail Kaban 28

Alaysia Bradford 35

Alexander Greenwood 31, Cover

Alexis Jackson 38

Allison Aanderud Cover

Arielmae Shatlaw 34, 32

Asya Williams 29, 37, Cover

Barbra Arquette 4, 7

Blake Bigelow 8

Brendan Lavery 11

Bruce Page 10, 27

Camille Campeau 8

Charles Jarvis II 25, 30, 34

Christine Conover 12

Cor’Niya Johnson 11

Danielle Salgado 17

DeZhenae Stewart 7, 10, 11, 31, 36

Emily Jablonski 7, 11, 19

Emily Tromblee 24

Hailey Aube 11

Haley Braunstein Cover

Hanna Thatcher 11

Jacob Colbert 10, 13, 26, 27

Jihyad Mapp 11

Justin Duprey 6, 17

Kailey Boadway 23

Kate Barrett 22

Keira Rousseau 23

Kelsey Griffin 36

Korelle Bolster 22

Kylie Malley 22

Logan Dupuis 35

Madison Clark 16, 39

Makayla Rawlins 11

Matthew Whitmore 15

Mykenzie Woods 35

Nathan Chaney

6, 7, 11, 14, 22, 25, 26, 36, 37

Odysseus Castor 16, 19, 22, 23, 34, 35

Oriana Erhardt 12, 37

Prince Owusu 17

Riley Strader 7, 19, 26

Ryan King 22

Samantha Clark 11

Samantha Gray 25

Samantha Weeks 10

Terence “Sully” Fogarty 9, 16, 22, 23, 39

Trent Smith 11

Trevor Ashline 9, Cover

Trinity Baillargeon 22 Zena O’Leary Cumber 22

Awakening

Barbra Arquette

It isn’t every day I get a clear message from above, so when I do get that calling, I listen up. I awoke abruptly in the middle of the night feeling as if I had been falling, heart racing and a cold sweat dampening my T-shirt. I felt like I was in that place between dreaming and waking, where both worlds are still touching, and reality is dream-like, or the dream feels very real. I sat up in my bed and took deep breaths until my heart rate returned to normal and I was sure I was awake. I had no recollection of the dream I was having but I was sure it was more of a nightmare considering I knew I was not going back to sleep anytime soon.

After setting up the coffee maker I went out on the back patio to get some air and look at the stars. As I opened the door, the frogs greeted me with their croaks and chirps as they continued their morning mantras before the sun came up. It was 5:00 a.m., most of the stars had faded out but there were three bright stars that seemed to be shining right above the mountain line of the Adirondacks. As I turned to go back inside my house, I heard my own voice inside my head say, “Let’s go climb a mountain”. So, I did.

Barbra Arquette

It was almost 6:00 a.m. when I finally hit the dirt road that led to Azure Mountain. It was still dark, but I could see light coming up ahead of me. The further I drove down the dirt road, the scarier it began to feel. A porcupine casually strolled across the road as I was nearing the entrance to the trail. He walked with a quiet wisdom and his presence suddenly filled me with courage, as I sat in awe of this peaceful forest warrior.

After I parked my car and grabbed my backpack, I became very aware of the noises that surrounded me. The breaking branches underfoot made music with the rustling of leaves. The crickets chiming in rhythmically, creaking, and chirping in the cool forest air. The smell of pine filled my lungs as I stretched my muscles to prepare for the hike up. A nearby squirrel drew my attention to a pile of stones next to a sign asking hikers to take as many stones to the top as possible to help with erosion. I dropped a few stones in my pack and said goodbye to the squirrel as he scurried off, and I was on my way. I had never hiked Azure Mountain before, but it was nearby, and after reading about the trail and the summit I was certain this was the mountain that was calling my name. It was only a mile up and I knew several people who spoke highly of the experience. The first twenty minutes felt fairly easy, the trail was wide and grassy, and there was enough light by then to enjoy the intricate spiderwebs and dew drops kissing the tall grass beside me. The incline was barely noticeable but steadily increasing. I could feel my pulse quicken as I came to an old rock formation of some sort. I paused for a moment to examine the oddly shaped stones in front of me. They were very large and square-shaped, like a foundation from long ago. It left me with an eerie feeling as I got back on the trail and picked up my pace.

Barbra Arquette

The grassy trail in front of me disappeared and turned into a narrow dirt path. The smell of bark and earth filled my nostrils as I clung to a tree branch to steady myself. I was now on all fours, climbing, panting, burning up and asking myself why I didn’t at least try to go back to sleep. Why did I think this was a good idea? What will I do if I meet a bear? Every positive thought I came to

the mountain with was on its way back down without me. Where was the voice that told me to climb this mountain? I was on the verge of turning around when I decided to rest for a moment. As I stood there propped up by a tree, I began to look around me. I could see the mountains in the distance through some branches and could see how high I had climbed. A rush of images came to me--my father’s funeral, my son’s accident--the sadness and grief overcame me, and I slid down onto the ground, still cold and damp, and cried.

After a few minutes of releasing my emotions, I reached out for the tree branch to steady me once again and as I did this, I looked around me and felt surrounded by the ancient wisdom of the trees. They seemed to be reaching out to me; bracing, protecting, and comforting me. As I went through the emotions of sadness, disappointment and finally anger, I became aware that this release was propelling me forward. It was giving me the strength to push forward and beyond the negative talk in my head and the ability to feel the energy all around me.

I was closer to the top than I had thought and within minutes I could see the summit and the sunrise. As I came to the clearing It was as if layers of the past had been shed on the trail behind me. The birds were singing and flying about. I stepped onto the rock surface of the summit and felt the cool morning breeze rush through me, the air so sweet with life filling me with newness and inspiration. The light that was beginning to shine all around me felt as if it was shining within me as well. I sat down on the edge of the mountain, caressing the rough rock surface below me and staring at the blue sky above me. I never felt more aware of myself. Something deep within me woke me from my sleep and guided me to the top of a mountain, where I gathered the pieces of the past and offered them to the universe and in return woke my spirit

Barbra Arquette

Justin Duprey

Nathan Chaney

The Mailbox

Riley Strader

The brown and green mailbox is made of steel

The fragility of it makes you wonder How something so ordinary Can be so significant With cars driving by in the countryside And children running past on a summer day The engraved number five is rusting off Like a cry for help But nobody notices Not even the mailman Who gets all the credit For delivering little treasures When the mailbox is carrying all of the weight But has to pretend everything’s ok Be kind to your fellow mailboxes Whomever that may be

Seasonal Depression Barbra Arquette

Dark room lit only by the flame of a candle. Somber. What is that noise?

The humming of the furnace is the only sound besides the questions rooted in my mind.

Dogs bark in the night as shadows come to life.

I am unsettled by mysteries time has not solved.

Cold seeping in through the windows and cracks, while my body grows tense with regret.

Light appears from the headlights of a passing car, waking me before I step into the darkness.

Fire of Dreams

Emily Jablonski

Fires and cracks— a burning feeling. Internal cries of a child inside, my heart that is ever-beating. As the beast consumes dreams once loved from a box long forgotten… In a fire of broken hopes. Let let go of things we love the most.

Nathan Cheney

DeZhenae Stewart

Emily Jablonski

We Should Care

Blake Bigelow

As a child I grew up in a small town with a very close-knit family. My siblings and I would regularly have sleepovers with our grandparents, aunts, and uncles. I used to stay at one of my aunt’s homes regularly, and it was always the same comforting routine. I would wake up and she would have a bowl of warm oatmeal ready for me, always made perfectly. I could never understand how she could nail the milk to oatmeal ratio correctly. And every morning she would receive a knock on her apartment door, a man saying, “Good morning, Lori!” His voice could fill a stadium, and his smile would make anyone smile; it was contagious.

My aunt lived in an apartment that shared a door with Maple Knoll, a home where individuals with developmental disabilities lived. The folks ranged from high functioning individuals to those needing full support to complete everyday tasks like brushing one’s teeth or using the restroom. She has worked for Mountain Lake Services for more than two decades, supporting individuals with developmental disabilities in many communities. Growing up, I was familiar with the people she supported, and grew to know many of them well. Watching the way she supported these individuals helped me grow into the person I am today. I grew up knowing the term “see something, say something” very well. As I went through elementary school and later on in high school, I carried this saying with me.

While receiving my education in Moriah, I shared many classes with individuals with developmental disabilities and became close friends with many of them. I was a good student, I was never sent to detention or suspended, but I wasn’t able to stop my mouth from moving at times. In high school I had the immature boys in my gym class who would laugh at those who had disabilities, and pretend to befriend them. I recall getting so angry and feeling enraged that I would yell at my peers. Some didn’t see them as “normal” and laughed at their speech, the way they ran, or the way they looked. Perhaps they didn’t grow up surrounded by those with developmental disabilities, but many of them did! I didn’t understand their behavior, and I didn’t care to, I just knew it was unacceptable. When I expressed my anger and questioned the way they treated those who were different it didn’t matter to them, it was something they found delight in it seemed. Even after knowing anything I said wouldn’t affect their behavior, I still always spoke up for others. Although it wouldn’t change the behavior of some, I hoped it would.

After high school, I went to college and worked part time for Mountain Lake Services on my breaks and summers. At the beginning I was scared—I knew what the job entailed but felt unprepared in some aspects. I had never assisted someone with personal care, and I was still a naive child I felt. I thought that I could never bath someone I didn’t know or help them use the restroom. But after starting the job I realized it was so much more than that. These people needed someone who truly cared about their needs and their health. So many of the individuals who are a part of Mountain Lake Services don’t have family. They didn’t have someone to care for them, visit them, or take them to the movies. I realized that if someone didn’t care about them, who would? I wanted those for whom I cared to know that I truly did care about them and their needs.

When I stopped attending college, I began working at Mountain Lake Services full time and formed deeper connections. Although they tell you not to form deep connections with the individuals, it was inevi-

Camille Campeau

table for anyone. Even my parents formed bonds with those I supported and would routinely come visit the home I worked at and the individuals I supported. They formed relationships with most of them and would invite them to our home to see the horses and other animals we had. The individuals I supported would hug you, come to you when they needed support, laugh with you, and say they love you. Who wouldn’t get attached? I worked on holidays and watched them open gifts, smiling at what they received from families or friends. Those were some of the best holidays I’ve ever had; I’ll remember them for the rest of my life. I cried when I experienced the first death in the home I worked at, and the next two that followed. The individuals I supported have made me a better person because they helped me grow into someone who cares for others needs and seeks acceptance for all.

Working as a Direct Support Professional (DSP) helped me better understand that many of us take basic tasks for granted. We take for granted that we are able to get out of bed on our own, brush our teeth, use the restroom, walk, and feed ourselves. So many individuals do not have that luxury. We often forget that many cannot do simple tasks that so many of us take for granted. Nations across the world suffer from lack of food, running water, healthcare, and basic necessities like hygiene supplies. As a whole we should care about the difficulties others face, not only to appreciate the things we have but also to raise awareness and help those in need.

Our country seems completely divided at times because we fail to understand others, respect them, and care about issues that don’t pertain to us directly. If we are able to bring awareness to a vast number of issues, we might better understand others and help them. If our world is united and thriving it can only provide a better future for all of us. What we do today is going to affect the future for the many to come after us; if we can create change now and improve things it will only help in creating a better life for those who are born after us.

Terence “Sully” Fogarty

Samantha Weeks Bruce Page

Bruce Page

DeZhenae Stewart

DeZhenae Stewart Jacob Colbert

English Comp

*This poem was born from an assignment in Lisa Williams’ English 101 class. It was written by: Hailey Aube, Samantha Clark, Emily Jablonski, Cor’Niya Johnson, Brendan Lavery, Jihyad Mapp, Makayla Rawlins, Trent Smith, and Hanna Thatcher. It is a crowdsourced poem. Each student contributed to it. This was inspired by George Ella Lyon’s poem, “I Am From”

I am from Florida heat

I am from soul food and mango trees

I am from store houses and long walks

I am from church music on Sundays while everyone clean

From bike rides and climbing trees for fun

From thirty-minute walks to a friend’s house

I am from a small town big on football

I am from the same class, pre-k to graduation

I am from sweet loganberry juice and grape pies

I am from the backs of rusted pickup trucks

I am from tangled maple forests tapped for syrup

I am from savory venison cutlets and Garbage Plates

From places where skylines are never city lights

I am from quiet nights

And when all my worries were beating a video game

I am from the concrete jungle

I am from a basketball family

I am from New York summers

I am from the Big Apple

From pb & j and noodles

I am from big green alligators

I am from the state of oranges

I am from where it doesn’t snow

I am from the woods

I am from the memory of the 1932 and 1980

I am from the town of tourism

I am from snow in October

From bonfires and barefoot walks to the lake

I am from the morning dew on top of the tent

I am from scrapped knees and dirt under fingernails

I am from Stewart’s ice cream and a Larkins breakfast sandwich

I am from the most diverse city in America.

Where any best rapper argument includes Jay-Z and Biggie.

Where the rats might be as big as your cat.

I am from where they only love you until you gone.

DeZhenae Stewart

DeZhenae Stewart

Nathan Cheney

Caring

Christine Conover

John’s sister burst through the door of our 8th grade English class, pink faced and sobbing, and he knew, we all knew. Nicole was coming to inform him that their grandfather, who had been fighting for his life in the hospital, had just passed. The day before, he shared with us what his family was going through. John was a rather large fourteenyear-old boy, nearly six feet, stocky, a football player, a lineman actually, and he already had the beginnings of stubbly facial hair. We quietly watched as he got up and gathered his things with the help of his sister and our teacher. I could tell he was putting on a poker face, and I felt so bad for him. His sister was sniffling in between the sounds of opening and closing backpack zippers as she stuffed books and papers inside for him. When our teacher said she was very sorry for his loss and hugged him, John broke down and cried like a little boy. He sounded nothing like the young man he looked like. No one laughed at him. This was a serious moment for all of us. I twisted in my desk to exchange a nervous glance with a nearby classmate and I saw her tears, too. Then another. A couple students got up to comfort John and Nicole and they were crying too. I started to fight back my own tears and I was a bit embarrassed.

I was a newer student, only two months there, and I didn’t even know either of them very well other than the casual classroom interactions or simple “hello’s” in the hallway. I never met their grandfather, but seeing their pain alone was enough to invoke sadness in me and our classmates. After they left, our teacher asked if we were all okay and let us know that there was no shame in crying when faced with sadness, whether our own or someone else’s. It’s our human nature, after all, she said. She gave a quick speech about sharing grief with our friends to take the burden from them and inserted something Biblical into it if I recall. Though I did not know the man they were grieving, their pain was enough to shed some tears for. Humans naturally seek companionship with others and most of us tend to share in the joy and sadness others experience. At least those of us who aren’t sociopaths, right? The entertainment industry provides us various outlets so we can indulge in scenarios that aren’t even real to our lives but invoke reactions in us when we view simulations of the interactions of others. Think about it: how many times have we seen TV shows, news articles, social media videos, posts, and images of other people’s experiences, and we share them, or feel happiness for a stranger who’s won the lottery or finds out their cancer is in remission? When someone proposes in a park, strangers watch, take photos, and congratulate the happy couple. We indulge in chick flicks so we can experience the emotional roller coaster of seeing a scorned divorcee move back to her hometown, rediscover herself, and fall in love again. What about when we see a tiny widow sobbing in the grocery store because she went to buy her recently deceased husband’s favorite cereal and for a split second she forgot he wasn’t going to be home when she got there. That happened to me, and I found myself hugging a crying stranger in Market 32 while I felt her shaking in my arms. I didn’t even know her name when I approached her, yet I felt the urge to comfort her. But why? Why did Hamlet cry for Hecuba? It’s who we are. It’s why we rush to help when a stranger’s child falls in public and screams in pain.

Oriana Erhardt

We are connected to one another by something invisible that we are sometimes unable to describe. It’s why we hold doors open for the elderly, people with full arms, moms with strollers, or moms still growing their baby. We don’t have to, we just do. And we scowl at those who don’t.

It’s why my teenager rushes to burning buildings and risks her life to save strangers, rescue their pets, and works with a team of others willing to make that same sacrifice to save their home. Most of us are hardwired to care about others and find the ways we can help them, and it’s what we hope others will do for us when we are vulnerable. It’s why we should care about Hae Mihn Lee. It’s why we want her killer to spend their life locked up. As the mother of a girl about the same age as she was when she was brutally murdered, I couldn’t help but think about the pain Hae’s mom, must have endured losing her. I pictured her laying in Hae’s bed curled up, not even wanting to wash her baby’s bed sheets ever again because she was simply there not long before, and now, she wasn’t. I’m assuming she felt such desperation for justice, that if you had told her there was a chance Adnan Syed was innocent, she wouldn’t have believed it anyway. This is also why we should care about Adnan as well: what if our system has imprisoned an innocent victim? What about the pain of his family from all of this? What about all the other 2% to 10% of those in prison who are also innocent? (John Grisham, Chicago Tribune, Mar. 14th, 2018, 4:40pm). Hearing that statistic is horrifying for me.

I feel that we help those we feel we have the power to assist as best as we can. There are those who give too much of themselves, who deplete their own resources, maybe caring too much; or maybe it’s what we all need to do? Then we have the exception of those who just don’t care about anyone else at all. Overall, most people care about others. The COVID-19 pandemic has brought to light so much of the helpfulness and the selfishness of our society. Hundreds of thousands of our nation’s citizens have died from COVID-19 and complications from it. A lot of those were preventable. I have lost two family members from this pandemic, and just recently a childhood friend. Currently another family member is hospitalized, another is at home recovering, and my best friend just lost her uncle to it days ago. I can’t even begin to count how many more people I know who have recovered from it, had to be hospitalized, or lost someone they love to COVID-19.

I work in a pharmacy and I’m sure most days I am there I am exposed to at least one person who has the virus and doesn’t know or doesn’t care. It’s disheartening how many people walk in without a mask, hacking, coughing, sneezing, obviously sick, purchasing COVID home tests, cold medicine, cough drops, and Pepto-Bismol, so casually, and I just know this person can potentially infect me, and I will bring it home to my asthmatic child, and they don’t even care at all. I must fake my professional customer service skills to them while discreetly stepping back and slathering myself in hand sanitizer and praying that plexiglass screen they are whooping all over keeps me safe from their illness and selfishness. Those same people demand that as a poor single, divorced mother in college, that I also maintain a job. A job where they expect impeccable service with a smile in exchange for poverty level wages, and they can’t even make a small sacrifice by wearing a mask for five minutes or staying home when sick so that my children and I can live. Either way, I’m damned.

Jacob Colbert

Northern New Yorker

I’ve overheard customers chatting with other customers about “Oh, I’m sure it’s just a cold, but I am waiting for results, so I have to run errands in case they quarantine me”, and they go around shopping like normal. Then misinformation gets passed around regarding the vaccine, people who could be getting it are refusing to, because they believe conspiracy theories, or simply feel they are entitled to not have to be a part of the effort to protect our most vulnerable from this virus. But as soon as they get sick, or someone they love does, they sure do line up for medical treatment or ask for prayers. I have decided to believe those types of people have something deeply damaged inside of them and they lack a basic education.

Unfortunately, by the time a person is an adult there isn’t much hope for cultivating decency, if their families failed to teach them during adolescence. Kindness is taught in the home from infancy. Babies stare at faces and react to the expressions they see. This means the ability to care about others is biologically ingrained in us. Whether it is nurtured properly is the contributing factor into one’s level of empathy after childhood. That is why our mothers told us to think of starving children who had no access to food when we declined it simply because we didn’t like the taste. It is unfortunate we have just enough people in our world that do not possess the positive character qualities such as compassion, and they sometimes ruin it for us. Thankfully, most of us cry a little when we see sad, sick, injured, starving puppies in muddy crates across our TV screens while Sarah McLaughlin sings “Angel”.

We need more of those good, kind, generous people. We need to be them, and we need to raise them. Or what hope does humanity have at all?

Nathan Cheney

Matthew Whitmore

Madison Clark

Terence “Sully” Fogarty

Odysseus Castor

Prince Owusu

Justin Duprey

Danielle Salgado

I Became Two

Arielmae Shatlaw

“What time is it?”

“It is 11:30 a.m. Dr. Pate,” “Okay, it’s time to start.”

“Are you excited, Colby?” “Yes, my love. Are you ready?”

“I –we have to be.”

“How long has it been?”

“Just over two hours.”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“You have to.”

“I can’t!”

“Just one more, Ariel.”

“I’m just so tired.” “You can do this.”

“I can’t.”

“You need to stop pushing.”

“No, I’m done!”

“Then push harder!”

I collapse. A baby cries. “Here is your son.”

Arielmae Shatlaw

The Past

Riley Strader

As the blankets devour my body I get lost in what used to be Too young to even know my own age Intertwined with my youth But it’s now all gone From jumping on my bed Light shining through the curtains Almost blinding to my clueless eyes The raggedy quilt falling over me With a wave of innocence To lying still Remembering the past It’s sinking in Still under these sheets And now older More aware But less free

Odysseus Castor

Skeletons in My Closet Emily Jablonski

Looking in the mirror the lies they look so clear. Looking at myself, will I escape this hell? Now I’m cleaning out my closet, found a part of me, can’t believe i lost it. All the bones are lying still from memories I never shared. I’m picking up the glass, stepping on the cracks… Locked it all in the past, closed the door, no looking back. So, I’m packing up myself, looking for better health. This house of glass was never made to last. Now I’m locking all the doors, can’t hurt me anymore. I’m throwing away the keys! Watch them drown in the sea. Looking in the mirror the lies they look so clear. And to the girl in the mirror: Goodbye younger me who was told she was… too small to play sports, fragile to fight back. Too Weak to succeed.

Trevor Ashline

de Triomphe, Wrapped’:

Nathan Cheney

Wilson Tarbox is a contributor to Frieze and author of the opinion piece being discussed in this essay “Understanding ‛L’Arc de Triomphe, Wrapped”. “Wrapped”, referring to the whole title of the artwork beyond this point, is the dream of the art duo Christo and Jeanne-Claude who have several other “wrapped” pieces in their portfolio. Using over 25,000 square meters of fabric and 3,000 meters of red rope, “Wrapped” takes L’Arc de Triomphe and transforms the highly detailed piece into a celebration of form. Critics to these types of works allude to the obvious; it’s architecture wrapped in fabric. So, can you simply cover a form and hail to the world that what you have done is something novel or worthy of the effort to accomplish it in the first place? My opinion on this divisive conversation is that yes, what Christo and JeanneClaude have done with this national French monument is both transformational enough to be art and novel enough to be celebrated.

In my opinion, the wrapping of L’Arc De Triomphe is transformative and should be considered at the very least art if not”High Art”. Here in lies the critics biggest argument against my previous claim: is simply throwing a sheet over something even worthy of discussion? No, which is why what was done to the L’Arc is not simply throwing a sheet over it like a simple Halloween costume. Firstly, “Wrapped” is constructed with a special synthetic fabric painted to give off a silver sheen. With the angle of the sun and the motion of the wind this sheen makes the ambiguous form warp and dance as the rigid skeleton underneath cannot. This superficial sheen is designed to degrade in real time to the installation itself, revealing a blue subcutaneous layer reflecting the passing of time. The decay and transformation of the piece highlight the beauty in scale also occurring in this installation. A true monolithic piece of architecture, with detailed inlays and allegorical stories carved in its stone surface, juxtaposed by flowing fabric of vibrant sheen devoid of any true shape or form and absent of inscribed definition.

“Wrapped” also sees the use of juxtaposition to tell a larger story. L’Arc, built by Napoleon to celebrate both his army and his ego, stands as a symbol of war and conquest. Solid, unmoving, and cold, the structure stands ominous and unmoving as a reminder of Napoleonic war and victory. By wrapping this structure with forethought, we can see some beautiful concepts start to emerge. The structure almost becomes a specter of itself, a ghost shrouding the structure, putting the true Arc in our memories much like that of a loved one passing. It also serves to conceal the war monument and give new meaning to the shape of the structure itself. “Wrapped” allows us to view L’Arc outside of its inscriptions and literal engraved interpretations and allows us to look at the form and the architecture through a new lens. We can also see connection between life and death in both this installation and the arch itself. With the shroud intended to decay through the life of the installation we can draw direct connection to both our lives and the lives that were taken through the Napoleonic wars. Instead of celebrating victory and war and triumph as the monument intended, we can take a step back and mourn for the loss of lives of conflict and reflect on the punitive damages of war. By making the L’Arc de Triomphe the ghost of the arch, it flips the meaning on its head and allows for a different perspective of a piece that cannot be altered in any other way.

‛L’Arc

Is it art just because they say it is?

We now can arrive at the question and find ourselves the answer to the title of this response, ‘L’Arc de Triomphe, Wrapped’: Is it art just because they say it is?” No, it is not art simply because an artist made it and said it was art. It is art because of the bountiful and clever interpretation and intent for the piece. It is not simply shrouding something and saying, “Ta-da!” It is conveying something in a transformative way. Jean-Claude and Christo accomplished something far greater than any critic could; they turned a monolith of stone into a liquid of iridescent fabric. They made true the dreams of alchemists and magicians by turning stone to water and making a mountain disappear. I applaud the work of these two by distilling so much into what is essentially silver fabric.

https://www.frieze.com/article/christo-and-jeanne-claudes-larc-de-triomphe-wrapped written by Wilson Tarbox for Frieze Sep 28, 2021

Photo: Benjamin Loyseau © Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation

Terence “Sully” Fogarty Kate Barrett

Kailey Boadway

Keira Rousseau

BoBurnham

Odysseus Castor

Terence “Sully” Fogarty

The Meta of Caring Emily Tromblee

Why do we care about the experiences of others when we have our own issues to deal with? Often, we face our own problems and struggles, but when we see the tragedies that other people are going through, we can feel some sadness or empathy for their situations. It doesn’t have to directly involve us or be our problem to make us feel emotions toward someone else’s situation. It is part of being human to empathize and sympathize with others. In some cases, we can see the world or nation come together to aid those who are facing tragedy or hardship. Being able to understand the emotions of families and friends involved in tragedy can help us make the changes needed to prevent more tragedies from happening and make our own environments and maybe even the world a better place.

In September 2021, Gabby Petito was reported missing by her parents; she was a young woman of twenty-two years old, who went missing after being on a cross-country trip with her fiancé, Brian Laundrie. The couple started their trip in June 2021, leaving their home in Florida to travel to the West Coast by van. She had regularly updated her family but stopped at the end of August. Her case was broadcast all over several media platforms; I saw her story on the news almost every day, and videos about her on TikTok every time I opened the app. People across the nation came together to find and bring every piece of information on her whereabouts they could to the police up until they found her body in mid-September. Many of us didn’t personally know Gabby Petito, but we are still able to feel sadness for the young life that was taken too soon. Witnessing her parents’ distress over her being missing and begging Brian and his family to give them any information so they could bring her home was heartbreaking. It is hard to imagine what Gabby’s family went through when many haven’t faced that same situation themselves. Even after the discovery of her body, many people looked for her fiancé, her murderer, who went missing after avoiding contact with law enforcement. Brian Laundrie was later found dead, bringing an end to the search. The same is true in many other cases similar to Gabby Petito’s, like Hae Min Lee, an eighteen year old girl

murdered by her then boyfriend. We as outsiders are only allowed into a small portion of the lives of the people involved—even so we can look at their cases as an outsider and still feel even just a portion of the sadness those who are close to the victims feel.

There is one case that I remember specifically that made me sob when I first heard about it and every time I see articles or videos about it. It is from April 2014 in South Korea, a large ship carrying students from Incheon to Jeju sank. There were hundreds of high school students on this ship, and most didn’t survive. The day the ship sank the students noted that everything looked tilted, the liquids in their glasses or bowls, even the floor looked tilted. That’s how they knew the ship was starting to sink, but the captain had advised that they stay in their rooms and not move towards the upper decks of the ship. Most students listened to these instructions and that cost them their lives. As the students were awaiting further instruction, the captain took the time to get himself and member of the crew off the ship and onto smaller rescue boats, leaving the kids and some teachers behind. Videos from some students’ cellphones were released; they showed the students afraid and saying they were going to die as well as sending final messages to their parents and loved ones. In total, about three hundred people aboard the ship didn’t make it and five people are still missing. There were several divers who came forward to help find and recover bodies in 2014, but the ship itself wasn’t removed from the water until three years later in 2017. When I think about this tragedy, I realize that I have no direct connection to anybody involved in this incident. I didn’t know anybody who lost their life on the ship, I don’t even know anybody who lives in South Korea. Even without having a direct connection, or any at all, I still cried. I try to put myself in the shoes of those who had a child on that boat who didn’t make it home, or the shoes of one of the students who lost their friends. After trying to imagine what emotional toll that would have on me, I can’t truly know how those people feel because I wasn’t there and I didn’t experience it, but I cried as a human who is capable of feeling empathy. It baffles me how selfish the captain

of the ship was to leave hundreds of students to die on his ship for the good of himself. All of the parents of dead children, waiting to hear information but never getting any, just to realize that their child isn’t coming home. How can I not feel sadness when I hear all of this information? How can anyone ignore tragic events like this one just because it doesn’t involve them?

It is important to be able to empathize and sympathize with others who are going through a difficult time or who are grieving the loss of a loved one. Without sharing these emotions, we lose a piece of our humanity. If we all stop caring about others, then no one will care about us when the time comes and we need it. Maybe that is why we care, because it all may come full circle, right back to ourselves? We can never really know when that could happen to us, any of these situations; we could be the next people involved in tragic cases like these and we would want people to care about what happened to us. Being able to look beyond our own issues and share the grief of others can make those who are going through a tough time feel better and as if the life they lost made a difference and impacted those around them. If we acknowledge the tragedies and horrible events that happen in our towns, countries, and all around the world, we can make changes within our own lives that can lead to bigger changes that make a difference.

The Lost Forest Temple Charles Jarvis II

An abandoned temple deep in the heart of a rainforest houses many creatures who seek refuge from the machines that tear down their home. Although it’s overgrown with vines and trees it seems lost to the times and seems invisible from a distance. Walking through these weathered stone halls brings on a wave of peace with the smell of the wet stone filling the air. This place is suitable for all who wish to reside here. The beasts and insects from the forest claim this wondrous place as their new home and any who enter will experience a brand-new ecosystem.

Samantha Gray

Nathan Cheney

Familiar

Riley Strader

I was skipping down streets that are familiar to me

I analyzed the structure of the houses And made up a song to the wind chimes blowing The jangling sounded like a nursery rhyme Ones that my mom used to sing to me

I knew every slight turn even with my eyes closed Every bump in the sidewalk I could map out my whole town without hesitation

As a nine year old, this was one of my biggest accomplishments The bar is set low when you don’t have much experience

I notice that every house has a story And I knew most of them

One morning I was told that the most vivid blue house in town That I see almost everyday Used to be home to a seemingly happy family But inside those walls a suicide took place

I can still see through the windows when I drive by I get a glimpse at their kitchen And whenever I do I wonder what’s like to want an end To truly want to die

I wish I could remain as naive before I had these thoughts But they were always deep inside of me I used to think “How could such a bright house actually be so dark?” The paint on the blue house was chipping The weeds were unkempt The front porch was caving in And the steps were rotting, with fungus suffocating it I eventually passed a yellow house with brown trim

Nathan Cheney

Jacob Colbert

It always reminded me of a banana split

It was once considered home to one of my classmates

But it wasn’t much of a home

Before he showed up to school with his skin black and blue And his eyes filled with fear

He was separated from his home With all of these stories

I know some twisted version of everyone’s life Some one-sided perspective

Through small town gossip and whispers How do I have the right to know that?

I don’t

But these stories are unavoidable

And they’re told to anyone who will listen Everything is a little too familiar

It used to be so comforting But now it’s getting sickening

I want to drive down streets and get lost Get scared because I don’t know my way back Look at the houses in admiration and curiosity Because I’ve never seen them before I want to look at strangers passing by And wonder who they are What their story is But not actually know theirs Because it’s not my right And accept that I don’t need to be Familiar with everything To be comfortable

Jacob Colbert

A Conversation with my Inner Monologue Abigail Kaban

What’s the difference between lying and pretending? I feel bad for lying to people – telling them I’m fine when in reality, I just wish someone would drag me out of the hole I have dug myself into over the years. I’m pretending – pretending to be okay so that those I care about aren’t bothered with the chaotic string of thoughts that haunt my every waking hour. Am I lying or pretending?

“I’m okay”

“I’m fine”

“I’ll do it later”

“I just need time”

“I’m completely fine”

“I just need to catch my breath.”

“I’m just getting things organized”

“*Insert self-deprecating joke here*”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine, really.”

I walk into my room, wade through the maze of clothes, and climb onto my bed. I feel like the queen of my own chaotic subjects, perched upon my makeshift throne. Clothes of all designs and colors lie at my feet. Anxiety overwhelms me as I look upon my self-destructive masterpiece. Welcome to the chaos of my fucking brain, a place in which in order to distract myself from my depression, I must enact my anxiety.

Do I function… hell no. Do I want to? Most of the time. Sometimes I would rather lie in bed, scrolling mindlessly through Tik Toks that tell me I’m enough and deserve to be loved. Yeah sure, that’s easy to say about a person that you don’t fucking know. If they knew me, I doubt they’d care. Yeah, it sounds dark, but who really gives a fuck.

Brain function. Brain work. Stop being such a dumbass, Abbie.

Cruel, but semi-effective motivators that I tell myself to get out of bed in the morning. I wish there was some magical cure for the absolute inner chaos that fucks up my everyday life. I want to be normal. I want to learn. I want to be able to be successful. But I can’t. I sit on my bed. Stare at the mess of a room. My bookbag. Everything I need to do. And I just…can’t.

Why? Why? WHY? Just Fucking Do It! Everybody else does! You’re not the only one who struggles. Stop having a pity party and get off your ass. Just do SOMETHING!

The inner monologue plays on repeat in my brain, as I fight to just move a finger or blink…do anything. And ultimately my conscience loses, and I lie down, close my eyes, and fall asleep.

I wake up to chaos. Attempt to find a decent outfit that will hide the mess of my life. Sure, that’ll work. It’s not like your personality alone reveals your instability. No one will know. Put on a smile. Keep your head low. Don’t let anyone know. Dark and muted clothing are my go-to. Should we mix it up today? Maybe a peachy color? No?

Okay.

I don’t want to be this person. The person who can barely get out of bed and get dressed. The person who can’t fucking function. Who can’t do her homework. Who can’t be a successful member of society. I want to be normal… more than anyone will truly understand. I’m begging, please. Just do something…

Sure, I have positive qualities - who knows if they’re real or a just selfish creation for my need to be validated. Am I actually a good person? Am I pretending? Do I actually care about people? Am I lying? If your therapist even knew you were asking this, she would be so disappointed. You should really set up an appointment.

What do people think of me when they see me? Am I unapproachable? I try to be nice. I really do. I hope people know that. What if I come off mean and I lose the chance to make a good impression? What if I die alone? You’re not going to die alone. I feel really bad when I’m mean. I don’t mean to be mean.

My friends say I apologize more than I should. I don’t think I do. You dropped a fork – you apologized. You fell – you apologized. You sat on the floor – you apologized. You laughed – you apologized. You apologized –YOU APOLOGIZED!

Butterball. Random, I know, but that fluffy ball of chaos and love is the only living thing that will truly understand the extent to which I struggle to exist. I can’t even begin to count the times I’ve cried into the silky-soft, white fur of that majestic creature. I miss her. I might go home just to see her. I hope Butterball knows how much I love her. I hope she’s not mad at me for leaving her. What if she’s lonely? What if she’s sad? She’s fine.

What will it take to be normal? To be functional? I’m never going to be truly okay until I can accept and harmonize my personalities and feelings plaguing my daily life. Hopefully I’ll get there soon. I hope so. Everyone does.

Aysa Williams

By the River

Charles Jarvis II

During my time of self-discovery in 2013, I lived just above a river that was surrounded by trees and brush. I would go down to the river and just listen to the rushing water while the smell of pine and wet earth hit my nostrils. I found all my stress going with the river as I took the time to reflect on how to better myself and what I could do with my life at that point since I was still unsure of what to do. This experience with nature will forever be engrained in my mind. The sound of water, the smell of the earth and trees, the feel of the soft grass while I sat and listened, all of it had become an important factor when it came to me finding myself spiritually, especially the sound of the water. Along with that, I spent some time sitting out in the snow meditating under the moon with of course the sound of the river even though it was behind the house sounded equally as loud as it was during my moments of meditation. The snow even though it was cold and wet was calming and the freezing winter air felt welcoming like a cold hug taking away the stress from the day.

Water and wooded areas have a mysterious hold over me they are most welcoming, and I seem to find myself able to let myself unwind more when I sit and listen to the breeze rustle the leaves around me. I still remember the birds singing, seeing deer across the river, and feeling the soft grass as I sat next to a tree to either meditate or read. It’s because of this experience that I have a fascination with woods, forests, and rivers as well as it is a great go-to place to just forget about the troubles that came to my mind. The bark of the trees was always so rough yet, it felt welcoming. The ants that walked up their trunk were a definite sign that this place was alive. Even though I had to be careful about ticks

I was never really worried I trusted the bushes and plants and always made sure that I was respectful, since this was the only quiet place I had to think and just be to myself. It was perfectly shaded and cool and the smell of the wet mud and grass felt enticing to step barefoot into the rushing water. This area was also a great influence on my imagination. One night I went to the tree line to try and find clovers for some baby rabbits we found. during my search, I swear I heard a low subtle growl and rustling from the bushes which could have just been the wind, and my ears playing tricks on me. Although to me it sounded like a wolf stalking me like I was its prey.

However, this place was one place I planned on doing something which would make it go from peaceful to being seen as a sad place. I planned on giving in to my struggles and going to the river where I’m sure no one would think to find me. Luckily that never happened because I got the help I needed, and I got better. I wouldn’t want people to go to this place knowing such a dark thing took place. I want everyone to go here and experience its beauty and peacefulness just like I did. This experience with nature has had such an impact on my life that it deserves to be seen as a great place. It felt so alive with the insects and animals that made their way through this wonderful place.

This one experience with nature has been such an impact on me, it has expanded my understanding of everything around me and helped me find myself in ways I never thought I would find about myself. It’s thanks to the river that I discovered that just staring at water or listening can open my mind to the possibilities of what I can write. The smell of the wet earth and trees helped me find a way to anchor myself in the now so as not to worry about the past or future. The vibrant greens from the grass and bushes helped me find my center in my life where I can feel at peace in a shaded area of trees. Nature always brings out the spiritual side of me and inspires me in many more ways than I have ever thought of. I am forever grateful for all nature has to offer and I cannot wait to see more of it.

The EARTH we LOVE

By: DeZhenae Stewart Illustrated by: DeZhenae Stewart

DeZhenae Stewart

Alexander Greenwood

Nature: February Woods

Arielmae Shatlaw

Nature, what is it but a bunch of trees, hills, and dirt? Nature is defined as, “The phenomenon of the physical world collectively, including plants, animals, the landscape, and features and products of the earth…,” (Oxford Dictionary of English). So yes, nature is trees, hills, dirt, but it also encompasses every organic and inorganic matter not created by mankind. It has been here before us humans and will stay long after. Nature is strong, self-sustainable, and everlasting. This reminds me of a walk I took almost 4 years ago through the woods behind my home.

It was a brisk late February day, the 25th to be exact. Around this time, I had just received a new iPhone 7+, and I could not wait to go outside and take some photos with it. I have always been into nature photography, but it was never anything I pursued in high school or even so far in college. However, I do consider it a hobby. And, as I was walking through the woods, I noticed even with all the snow that had just fallen, the forest was still blooming with new life. My senses were happily overwhelmed with the dewy, earthy scent that floated along the chilly air, the fresh flashes of greens and yellows as moss and grass began to grow again, the sharp sounds of birds calling to each other from overhead, and the contrast of textures under my boots as I stepped through layers of frozen snow and sloshed through thawing puddles of mud. After some time, I stopped walking and began to observe the world around me. One thing I am always on the hunt for when I go on nature walks are mushrooms. I love the variety of texture, color, size, sometimes the smell, too. I almost never touch the marvelous array of fungus as I know some can be dangerous for consumption or to even touch. Nevertheless, that does not stop me from photographing them. And, as I stood looking at the trees surrounding me, I noticed this quaint little array of fungi (Fig. 1). I loved the top of them, smooth but firm in texture, glossy from the thin layer of ice that must have frozen over from that morning’s dew. They were absolutely beautiful.

Arielmae Shatlaw

I continued a little further into the forest, looking above me this time instead of below. I was now on the lookout for some birds’ nests sitting high upon the bare branches, but I did not see any, nor any of the birds that I could hear. I stopped again to let myself absorb my surroundings and think deeply. It was like I was alone in one sense and surrounded in another. Walking in the woods unaccompanied can be eerie but is a soothing feeling to me. It is like the towering trees are showing me that life can continue, even in a hard and difficult time. Despite the cold, the ice, the wildlife that trenches through the land, etc., the grass continues to grow, the leaves on the trees come back every year, the birds sing, the bees buzz, the rain collects and falls and its never-ending cycle. Life simply continues.

I feel like nature is something that we have lost touch with as humans who honestly depend on it for our survival. Mankind has become so comfortable with nature that it is taken granted for and abused. In the end, nature will outlive us. In the meanwhile, all we can do is try to make individual impacts, thus creating a larger one to sustain nature to sustain ourselves. Our relationship with nature should be one that gives to each other, not a one-sided effort from the earth that provides us life. I know I will always appreciate nature and take in as much of it as I can in way that benefits us both. Nature has taught me to continue growing my body, my mind, and my overall life, because again, life continues, always. Works Cited “Oxford Dictionary of English.” Microsoft. com. Oxford Languages, nature definition - Bing. Accessed 9 Jan. 2022.

Odysseus Castor

Oriana Erhardt

The Stairs and I

Arielmae Shatlaw

These stairs and I are quite alike. We have been expected of. We have been taken from. We have been changed. They have been expected to serve a purpose. They have been walked on. They have been taken back by nature. They have been growing new life. They have been changed by time. They have been decaying. I have been expected to serve a purpose. I have been walked on. I have been taken back by nature. I have been growing new life. I have been changed by time. I have been living.

Odysseus Castor

Sanctuary in The Mountains Charles Jarvis II

A little fox travels through the forest thicket searching for a place to call home. After losing his family to hunters he runs away. He sees a cave deep in the mountainside during his search and makes his way inside, surely this will keep him dry and safe from the harshness of the weather and hunters who could be looking for him. He sets up a little bed of leaves in the cave corner and takes a much-needed rest after his many days of searching. In the morning he begins his day of foraging so he can bring his haul to his newly acquired home. This cave will be his sanctuary for the years to come.

Arielmae Shatlaw

Logan Dupuis

Alaysia Bradford

Odysseus Castor

Mykenzie Woods

DeZhenae Stewart Kelsey Griffin

Nathan Cheney

Nathan Cheney

Oriana Erhardt

Aysa Williams

Alexis Jackson

On the news lately I’ve heard many people talk about the water levels rising, and how if they continue to rise, we all may have to leave our homes and the city in general.

My name is Emily and I live in a small 2-bedroom apartment in New York City with my parents and twin sister, Gabby. I’ve lived in the same place as long as I can remember. I can’t see us moving anywhere else since both of my parents have great jobs. My Dad works for a construction company, and my mother works for the Daily Times newspaper. Gabby and I share a room. We don’t always get along, but I wouldn’t trade her for the world, and I would be so lost without her.

This morning Gabby went to bring our dog outside. I was inside getting the cereal and milk out of the fridge so we could have breakfast before school, but then heard a very loud scream. I went running towards the door to see what the problem was. I saw Gabby holding the dog and when I looked down, I saw the water was filled up the outside staircase about three quarters of the way. The roads weren’t even able to be seen. There were a father and son with kayaks paddling down the road. The father had a yellow kayak, and the son had a bit smaller red kayak. I wondered how all of this water had got here. What had happened overnight last night? A flood? Could this be a part of the ice caps melting? I don’t know. My Mom came out and said we won’t have school today because of the flooding, and we would be moving away from our home to a new city in a giant bubble-like contraption. She said that the water is going to continue to rise around here, and it would be much safer for all our family. She also said that she didn’t know if our new home would be temporary or not, but we needed to leave now. We don’t know how much more the water will rise between now and tomorrow.

Gabby and I went into our room and started to pack up some of our things. We couldn’t bring everything, sadly, because we wouldn’t be able to take our car. The water was already too high, so if we opened the door the water would fill the car. The engine would also drown just by going down our driveway. In my suitcase I put a couple outfits and one of my favorite blankets. My favorite blanket is a lilac color and has flowers on it. This blanket was given to me by my aunt when I was really young, and I absolutely fell in love with it. This blanket gives me comfort when I most need it. It’s a little part of home and has a deep sentimental value. I couldn’t leave it behind. Gabby packed her favorite yellow stuffed bunny along with clothes and her favorite ring Grandma left for her when she passed.

My family and I took a ferry to our new bubble of a home. On our voyage, it seemed like the water was even higher than before. There were some families on their roofs. I imagined some weren’t as lucky as we were to be able to afford a ferry to leave to this new place even before all this even happened.

About four hours later we had finally made it to our new home. It was absolutely huge. It was like a whole city in a snow globe. I had never seen anything like it. The water wasn’t all the way up the sides, but I imagine they were expecting it to be because of how the city is enclosed. The ferry first went into a small chamber that flushed out all of the extra water to make it level with the drop-off spot inside of the globe-like structure. Gabby and I were absolutely astonished by this new place. This was like something you would see in a movie. We were like the new Atlantis, but not a lost city. Life was changing as we knew it.

When we got off the boat, we went on a bus to our destination. The bus driver was a small man with a pudgy face and a wrinkle above his eyebrows. He smiled brightly like nothing was happening.

Like we all weren’t in great danger or possible uncertainty. I sat in the third row next to my Dad, who slightly grasped my hand and told me that he is very proud of me and my sister for taking this huge change so well. He couldn’t tell that I was absolutely freaked out. I would never see my friends again, go to the park I used to love to go to after school, never taste the sweet ice cream from the place on the corner across from our house, or ever get to go for walks with Gabby just to get some fresh air after a long day. I just didn’t see this place ever being like home was.

In the next five minutes, we pulled up to a little blue house with four steps that led to a black rectangular shaped door with white trim. What does this new place hold? Maybe this is a place of new opportunities.

Terence “Sully” Fogarty

Madison Clark