The Ivy | #11 | April 2017

THE IVY ISSUE NO. 11 | PHS

THE IVY

The Ivy began in the 1960s,

ISSUE N . 11 O

but its serialization began in 2014.

Editors’ Letter Dear Readers, We are very happy to present the annual “Black and White” issue! We printed our first of this series four years ago, and it has since become one of our most prominent traditions. We saw a clear shift in medium: from paintings to photography, pencil drawings, and a lot more literature. With black-and-white art, a lot of the focus that is usually placed on the use of color is instead directed toward more specific analysis of composition, style, and technique. However, the best part of this issue has to be the emphasis on literature. With over ninety pages of literature submissions, we could only accept a relatively small percentage (roughly a fifth of all pieces that were unanimously approved). Therefore, we are very glad to share this year’s “Black and White” issue of The Ivy and all of its wonderful art. Enjoy!

Best,

Daphne Kontogiorgos-Heintz & Stefan Pophristic

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Table of Contents Jasper Scott, MACHINIST

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IN MEMORIAM OF A SHATTERED PHYSICS DREAM, Sam Weinglass et al.

Marc Roberge-Pika, TARE YOUR SOUL

8-9

ESTHER S’ENVOLE, Clara Bourquelot

Lucas Padulo, WINDFALL 10-11 Anya Sachdev, INTO THE DARK

LIGHT IN THE DARK, Joseph Coonan

Grace Forrest, R(EVOLUTION) 12-13 Leslie Liu, COLOR THEORY 14-15 Eli Nathan 16-17 Isaiah Anagbo, MORTAL MAN 18-19 Abby de Riel, UNTITLED 20-21 Valeria Torres-Olivares, CLUSTER 22-23 Mildred Ouyang, TWILIGHT STEAM 24-25 Anonymous, UNTITLED 26-27 Kyle Max, WOEFUL WARBLER 28-29 Colophon 30-31

MY EYES ARE UP HERE, Keri Zhang FILM, Angel Musyimi NO SWIMMING OLD COUNTRYMAN, Jingyi Zhang ÉTUDE, Vivian Huang UNTITLED, Alexander de Gogorza Moravcsik UNTITLED, Morgan Burke POMEGRANATE, Nicole Ng REBORN, Eddie Cai Staff Page

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ph

hotography

IN MEMORIAM OF A SHATTERED PHYSICS DREAM, Samuel Weinglass with Joseph Grass, Stephanie Hu, Diane Li, and Nadia Shahab Diaz

In physics class, my heart begins to pound.

For there’s a quiz, and I am barely woke.

At sight of integrals, my pants are brown’d; I should have listened when Sir Higgins spoke.

e

c rS

ott

With glee, Sir Higgins screams, “Five minutes left!”

With pain, the groans of classmates fill the room, And my reaction: cardiac arrest.

I stood, approached his desk with imm’nent doom.

To him, my unmark’d quiz I did bequeath.

In brief, my college chances are deceased.

Dedicated to Sir Mark Joseph Higgins, may he have mercy on us all…

MAC

HINIST

, Ja sp

Don’t cry, don’t cry, I say internally…

I merely want to earn Sir Higgins’ praise, But with this quiz, my grade will reach a D. Alas, my GPA I cannot raise.

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TARE YOUR SOUL, Marc Rogerge-Pika

Find your balance, they told me— Tare your soul to bear your burden in peace.

But my pieces are loose, I feel I’ve spent decades turning the same knob, never seeing consistency in the cruel sharpness of the blood-red needle flickering ’round the face of my being.

My spring’s not wound right—too loose, too tight?— what I must carry bounces off my excitement or sinks languidly into my apathy.

I do not bear my load right, they tell me— they never get a clear reading.

Scale back your expectations, or augment your ambition.

It feels wrong to utter these words after all the times I’ve been told I can do anything (!)

—but I can’t.

Should I place the weight of my own toil on the spectrum of someone else’s scale?

No: let my needle turn I’ll cast off my weights I’ll follow its swinging magnetic finger north to the coldest reaches of my soul and there I’ll find equilibrium, neither tared nor torn, but a precise whole: a complete and singular instrument.

ESTHER S’ENVOLE, Clara Bourquelot

photography

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WINDFALL, Lucas Padulo And with a gallant effort he moves forward his rook She had taken all his money but that’s not all she took As the wind blew through the windows And the trees they gently shook All roads lead eventually To Rome if you know to look

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photography

LIGHT IN THE DARK, Joseph Coonan There was a surrounding darkness, engulfing anything and everything into its depths of gloom Then, within the atmosphere of all that is dull and quiet, burst forth a spark of colors of measurable bloom They fought and struggled with the black knight, until the darkness was overdue The reflections of light catapulted to and fro until the universe was consumed no longer by the night, but now it soaked itself in a deep spiritual blue With every hue came forth life made anew Within that life, burst forth all that is good and true Followed by a serene stillness, a wave of solidarity washed over the stardusts creation, Forming all things that move, in a rhythm so fluid the moon could not help but form grooves And so forth came the tide, and with it little ripples of life renewed

INTO THE DARK, Anya Sachdev | 11

R(EVOLUTION), Grace Forrest

skin me tear me down to your liking create the wounds, open up the thick flesh that you are quick to judge watch as my blood drips down your arms and thighs, thick and warm, as it seeps deeper and deeper into your thin flesh, leaving you with the imprint of my retaliation. rip down my core and peel off my face slowly, to make yourself content. how does it feel when my eyelashes drop to your feet, one by one? or when my lips began to crack, exposing the words you have told me never to say. how does it feel when my arms turn black and blue, or when my legs are blistered, bruised, creating polka dots that were on a dress you said was inappropriate. you hate the tears flowing out of my eyes, but they are created by your criticism of the bleeding between my thighs.

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MY EY E

SA R

E

UP HER E, Keri Z h a ng

art’s medium

now watch what happens when i become silent. deathly quiet. while my fears, insecurities, curiosities, are slowly undermined. by you. your words. and me. my “mistakes” or is it me. and my revolutionary thoughts that a woman is a person is a human. is worth more than you will ever give her credit for.

charcol pencil on paper

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COLOR THEORY, Leslie Liu

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og

p ra

“black and white are not colors— they merely embrace light or take to flight.”

Then what are they? “they are mirrors, still waters, the canvas Narcissus gazed into as his youth sauntered by, leaving him alone with his love to die.”

What should I make of them? “look into them, probe into the depths of Iris’ despair—set them into marble, etch them into your flesh with care—” Like truth? “no, no. to compare this with truth is uncouth.”

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t ho

FILM, An

gel

M yim us

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NO SWIMMING, Eli Nathan

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photography

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mortal man, Isaiah Anagbo I AM A GOD my consciousness rests upon a golden wreath the grains of my genius never sheathed love is all I know whether it be only for me the dark chasms of despair cannot touch my pedigree I AM A GOD gold and light dance in my eyes a temple cannot be brought down in disguise beauty alights upon my superior infinity the angles and shadows of my stride belie my divinity I AM A GOD i create auric visions waves laden with no untrue revisions a canvas painted with unmatched fire black stars shine in voids that inspire i am a mortal man. my mind finds pleasure in intricacy simply sewn. i walk on feet chiseled in stone. artistry paints itself in adequate space. portrayals of radiance impress my race.

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pen

OLD COUNTRYMAN, Jingyi Zhang

photography

UNTITLED, Abby de Riel

photography 20 |

ÉTUDE, Vivian Huang

Fingers tapping away Click click click The sound of fingernails Dancing across the keys.

A mistake And a stumble.

A silence and an impatient tap As I try to find my place.

What was the key signature?

Oh yeah I missed a sharp.

Where do I start again?

Tap tap tap Regain composure.

Forging ahead In this unknown piece.

The end is near.

The final chord struck.

I must remember To cut my nails.

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On the One Across from me, a seat is empty.

Its burnt orange sheen gleaming in the fluorescents, Highlighting singular desolation within a crowded car.

People, like a tide, fill the car, Only to be sucked back out again, Back into the sea of humanity.

The train keeps running.

Stand clear of the closing doors, it warns with a wry smile, Knowing its own sway over the immediate lives of the travelers, Those who are helpless to the coming and going of massive metal worms Which writhe their way through the bowels of the city, Careening around turns as black as coal n

pe

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CLUSTER, Valeria Torres-Olivares

Upon two thin snakes of metal, All that holds the world together.

A sudden jolt sends a look of primal fear bouncing across the faces of the visitors, While the weathered commuter looks on, Their visage as unmoved as the solid rock that surrounds them.

When two cars pass one another, An exhilarating rush of noise fills the mind, Streaks of lightning whip by for split seconds, Before being cast back into the darkness.

Two trains in parallel, The sweetest experience, A sudden oasis of symmetry, A glimpse of a mirror image, A peek into another life,

UNTITLED, Alexander de Gogorza Moravcsik

And then it’s gone, Replaced by an empty seat. | 23

TWILIGHT STEAM, Mildred Ouyang photography

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UNTITLED,

Morgan Burke The words are whispered, not heard.

His mind enveloped in stars and night, Desensitized by the dimmer light, Senses forget the ground under him, Reality just a synonym.

The fresh state of peace and tranquil bliss, Fear and temper lost to the abyss, He whispers his guilt, quiet but firm, And his conscience eager to affirm.

A now familiar sky and place, A familiar and a new face, Both lost in the clear void of the sky, Their senses making them wish to fly.

Fear and temper lost to the abyss, In this state of peace and tranquil bliss, The other conscience there to affirm, He lets loose his guilt, quiet but firm.

The words are heard, not whispered.

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UNTITLED, Anonymous Nice egg shapes and great curvature Very thick yellow yolk beckons The plaid shirt man those long green pants Unknown to my eyes these four years The green of the board almost blends But not quite It’s something to remember these four, Four long years Of the egg man whose shell has cracked Of the onion boy who says boy Peers that reckon sideways angles and odd puffing And clutching always was the last minute stratagem But alas the egg man brings his big shaft Upon us poorly prepped boys And stratagem is failure The egg has evolved So preserve the shell Egg shaped and hardened yolk recalls My memory cannot bring forth But all I know is the knowledge I’ve gained These past four years Experience becomes a cycle And I pander and I think about these four years As I glimpse at the green pants man and his dark green board He’s calm but I’m struggling Struggling to write Poetry.

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POMEGRANATE, Nicole Ng

acrylic and pomegranate juice on canvas

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pencil

whelved wice whopping-winding wrist wounded. Warbler weeps weekly

where water washes woe way. Wirra! Wirra! What wingless waghalter

wærloganed windlestraws, wrest wards warden’s woody wilds. Woeful warbler

wash-way woe who wrongly wrought wrack. West, where words, writing, wilder

where water wambly washes woe. What williwaw whips withes which wane wingless

with wanton wan.

what wonders. Wight warbler warble with wind, water, with willow. Westward

R E B O R N, Eddie Cai

warbler who wobble. Woe, which withers worldly wonders, wrecks writhing wretches,

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Why? Woeful warbler won’t we wallow westward

WOEFUL WARBLER, Kyle Max

Staff Page ADVISORS Mr. Gonzalez Ms. Muรงa

COPY EDITORS Keri Zhang Michelle Wang

EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Daphne Kontogiorgos-Heintz Stefan Pophristic

BUSINESS Jackie Girouard (Manager) Alexander Blackwell Jasmine Xu

MANAGING EDITORS Eddie Cai Leslie Liu TECHNOLOGY Caroline Tan (Manager) Grace Zhang Jingyi Zhang SECRETARY Lourdes Lizeth Zamora

PUBLIC RELATIONS Audrey Zhou (Manager) Claudia Orostizaga GENERAL STAFF Mayowa Ayodele, Shira Chuang, Nicole Irizarry, Maya Pophristic, Valeria Torres-Olivares, and Amelia Wright

View of Hong Kon Victoria Harbor s s g Acr o

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Colophon The artworks in this issue were accepted through standard review board voting and group discussion. During this process, the artists’ names were kept anonymous to everyone besides the managing editors, who had compiled all of the submissions beforehand. Each staff member voted anonymously either “yes”, “no”, or not at all on a Google form. All art pieces with higher than 75% approval were published. A few others with at least 60% were also accepted based on their potential, both as complements to other pieces and their abilities to unify entire layouts. The only exceptions were when a single artist submitted more than one piece with a rating higher than 75%. In these cases, the higher of the two was selected. Because of the exceptionally high volume of literature pieces submitted this issue, only poems with 100% of the “yes” vote were accepted, in order to maintain a healthy art-to-literature ratio.

FONTS COVER AND TITLE PAGE| Baskerville regular 60pt, 12pt CONTENTS | Open Sans semibold 14pt, Lora italic 14pt SUBMISSION TITLES | Open Sans light 18pt SUBMISSION TEXT | Lora regular 13pt STAFF LIST | Open Sans semibold 13pt, Open Sans light 24pt COLOPHON | Open Sans light 36pt, Open Sans semibold 13pt, Lora 12pt PRINTING PAPER | House Laser Gloss #80, 8.5x8.5 inches Printed by Short Run Printing, 2017 regular 14pt

on a Eat n n A

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