The Ivy | #23 | June 2020

THE IVY ISSUE XXIII | PHS

THE IVY

ISSUE N . 23 O

The Ivy began in the 1960s. Its serialization began in 2014.

Editors’ Letter Dear Reader, Welcome to Issue 23, our last issue of the year! While this school year might be quite different from what we’ve expected, we’re thrilled to bring you our annual black and white edition. As we near the end of our quarantine lives (hopefully!), we see a new world ahead of us. Many of the hard certainties of life have melted and a new and strange horizon sits before us. What will you do when the time comes to move forward?

The wonderful visual and literary collection of art we have collected during quarantine is now available for your enjoyment. We hope that you like this issue as much as we do! As the school’s art and literature magazine, The Ivy is committed to showcasing a diverse set of voices that represent our student body. We sincerely appreciate each and every one of the submissions— thank you for your trust. We at The Ivy hope that you will continue to foster your love of the arts and literature and keep an open mind to new possibilities in life. Nothing is off the table.

Quarantine has surely pushed The Ivy’s creative and resourceful limits forward. What first became a hindrance is now a point of strength. As editors-in-chief, we are so proud of our team for carrying on despite adversity and being able to adapt to online magazine production quickly and efficiently. We have never had a more dedicated group of individuals and we are so lucky to have you!

Stay well and stay kind, Alice and Andre

PHS 44|| PHS

Table of Contents YOU ARE HERE TO STAY ...............................................................6

Sofia Datum

ISOLATED...................................................................................... 6,7

Rachael Dewey

THE SMELL OF POTATOES ........................................................19 Charlotte Gilmore SURETY ............................................................................................20 Sam Tabeart

FEAR ................................................................................................8,9

Clara Hartman

Boundary ..................................................................................20,21 Moriah Eley

THE ISLAND ..................................................................................8,9

Thomas McGrath

THIS IS WHAT STRENGTH FEELS LIKE ....................................22 Cecily Gubser

PINE FIVE ........................................................................................10

Alex Zhang

FIGHTING SPIRIT ..........................................................................23 Amanda Shi

EYE CONTACT: THE BEGINNING OF MY ENCYCLOPEDIA OF HUMAN GESTURES ..............................................................11

Adithi Balasubramanian

GARDENING ............................................................................ 24,25 Isabelle Clayton

UNTITLED .......................................................................................24 STORIES ..........................................................................................12

Emily Smerkanich Gracie Poston

SUNBATHE .....................................................................................25 MY STORY! .....................................................................................13

Alice Feng Shantae McLeod

AT PLAY ......................................................................................26,27 BEFORE EVERYTHING ..........................................................14,15

Shaila Sachdev Katherine Chang

INTO THE GARDEN .................................................................30,31 BEFORE THE GLORY ..............................................................16,17

Harmonie Ramsden Yunbing (Emily) Qian

COVER: REMEBERING THE FALLEN UžICE SERBIA, SELF ............................................................................................16,17

Martin Mastnak, photography Christopher Bao

GLAMOUR, Lindsay Hirschman PEANUT ..........................................................................................18 photography Anonymous

XVIIXXIII |5 |5

YOU ARE HERE TO STAY,

Sofia Datum

Life may bring you loneliness As your friends fade away, It may hurl at you betrayal But like the shining sun, you are here to stay.

You will be stabbed in the back, You may be manipulated too, Things may not be as they seem, You will feel down and blue.

Like cool, flowing rivers, Like the memories of every day Like deep, blue oceans, You are here to stay.

You may become a tornado of emotions, Destroying what is within.

You may feel hopeless and scared, Don’t worry, you can still win.

So many questions shall race through your head, Why do I have to suffer every day?

I know it all, your mind is read, But like the vast, infinite universe, You are here to stay.

You may become a fireball of anger, Then a waterfall of tears.

You cannot control this, Knowing that causes you fear.

PHS 66| |PHS

Others will not understand.

It will happen every day, That you will try to reach out Just to be pushed away.

You are still here to stay, Like beautiful, fluttering butterflies, Like the steady, recurring tides, You are here to stay.

It may seem that no one cares.

That there is no more purpose in life, You may try to leave it all, But you are wrong, you must survive.

There is always someone there, And always a way out, You must simply continue, And never have in yourself doubt.

Through the years of excruciating pain You stay Climbing up and breaking the chains You stay Setting yourself free, you fly, Gracefully you sail through the sky, Like a bird with no notion of high.

You stay Letting no more shadows haunt you, Never giving in to the darkness inside You swell with confidence and pride You stay I stay We all stay.

ISOLATED, Rachael D

ewey

photography

XXIII | 7

24 8 | PHS

charcoal pencil

FEAR, Clara Hartman THE ISLAND,

Thomas McGrath

A neat, clean space A couple of inches wide Surrounded by a frothing sea of papers.

In haste, I try to expand the island But the waves just grow bigger.

A metronome stands atop this mess, Casting an ominous shadow across the room Reasserting the control that it never had.

THE ISLAND,

Thomas McGrath

A neat, clean space A couple of inches wide Surrounded by a frothing sea of papers.

In haste, I try to expand the island But the waves just grow bigger.

A metronome stands atop this mess, Casting an ominous shadow across the room Reasserting the control that it never had.

FEAR, Clara Hartman charcoal pencil XXIII XVII | 925

sculpture

PINE FIVE, Alex Zhang

10 | PHS

EYE CONTACT: THE BEGINNING OF MY ENCYCLOPEDIA OF HUMAN GESTURES, Adithi Balasubramanian I’m sitting at the back of my English class in my teetering desk, staring at the doodle in the top right corner. The rest of my classmates are flowing into the room as the first bell rings for the start of class. My gaze follows one person’s movements before jumping to the next person entering the room, and this continues until my eyes get lazy and I rest my head sideways on the desk. I hear a tawny and scratchy voice enter the room and my eyebrows furrow. I raise my head and open my eyes.

I make eye contact with him.

Black.

Mysterious.

Unsure.

I knew him in 6th grade. We were friends. Really good friends. He wasn’t like other boys. I thought he was sweet and cared for other people. We shared a lot in common. I used to think we’d be friends forever.

Then, he moved; I thought I’d never see him again. Lo’ and behold on my first day of freshman year, he was at my table in my class and we had a staring contest for almost ten minutes straight (which I’d like to say he initiated). We

never spoke to each other again, but we always made eye contact.

At this point, we’ve created a game out of it. It always feels like the person who looks away first is the loser, they couldn’t handle the...tension? Honestly, I’ve realized as I’m writing this, our relationship is quite weird. I find it solely based on eye contact!

It’s such an interesting interaction. One that requires zero physical contact but connects you emotionally and mentally to another person.

Sometimes verbal communication doesn’t convey what we really want to say. Eye contact, however, does. In any film, the club scenes are filled with sultry gazes yet zero dialogue, and that’s because you don’t NEED it for the other party to get what you truly mean. Emotions are first drawn through the eyes then spoken. I know when I’m about to get yelled at before my mom barrages me with words. Just like you see lightning before you hear it.

I think I’m getting at something here, it must be a law of physics or something: all things must be seen first before you hear it.

I dig it. I’ll add it to the beginning of my encyclopedia of human gestures.

XXIII | 11

IES OR ST

n phy sto gra Po to ie pho rac

,G

12 | PHS

MY STORY!, Shantae Mcleod People of other races wouldn’t understand what it’s like to grow up as a little black girl.

The constant question of “Is this your real hair?”, when I get braids and the surprised looks on their faces when they see the length of my naturally curly kinky hair and proceed to still ask if this is still my real hair.

They’d be surprised when I talk highly of my father and tell them I actually know who he is and that he’s present in my life.

Would you believe me if I told you the number of times I got side-eyed during history when slavery was brought up?

Would you believe me if I told you about the distraught looks, on the faces of my peers, when I tell them I’m in AP English 3 and a B student.

I’m tired of it .

I’m tired of hearing people say that bad cops don’t racially profile, I’m tired of hearing kids in the hallways using the N-word, when they don’t even know the struggle, sweat, and tears of my ancestors.

I’m tired of people having the mindset that black kids won’t come out to anything .

This world expects people of color to not be of anything great.

Are we really going to forget about Rosa Parks standing up for her rights on the bus, Martin Luther King being an activist for the rights of his people, Harriet Tubman, who led her people to freedom and helped them escape the harsh realities of racism.

Are we going to forget Paul Robeson, Marcus Garvey, Maya Angelou, Sojourner Truth and all the other smart African Americans who’ve helped to make a difference.

Well I’m here to tell you that my name is Shantae Mcleod and I’m proud to be African American and I will turn out great and will leave a long-lasting mark on! this earth.

XXIII | 13

TITLE, Artist Name Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit.

Here is a

14 | PHS 14 | PHS

BEFORE EVERYTHING, Katherine Chang photography

TITLE, Artist Name art’s medium

XXIII | 15 XVII | 15

self,

Christopher Bao i nervously step onto the stage in my hand not a page of the piece practiced for the past month and i hope this is my last recital i am a bird trapped in a cage with one hand one my violin i lift up my bow and my hands are shaking as i play a scale and I know that there is no way and i wonder why i want to cry finally the piano starts playing and i want there to be an act of delaying but it’s already too late so i put my fate into the hands of the gods to whom i am praying

16 | PHS

colored pencil

BEHIND THE GLORY, Yunbing (Emily) Qian

but then i realize that my fingers and heart not my brain are the ones who reign over this piece and my worries begin to cease my fear begins to wane I play the piece with ease and through the allegro moderato I breeze and I wonder why I was afraid of bursting asunder when the only person to please was me.

XXIII | 17

PE

AN

UT ,A

no

nym

ous

hy

p gra o t o

ph 18 | PHS

THE SMELL OF POTATOES, Charlotte Gilmore Slicing vegetables with Dad in the kitchen, I realized that my favorite smell was freshly cut potatoes.

It struck me like a memory Though I had never thought it before Potatoes, fresh and earthy and there In a way that surprised me.

My favorite thing about my favorite smell The smell of potatoes, I mean Is that I noticed it was my favorite thing.

I had not noticed things for a week.

Freshly emerged from hibernation, I smiled for the first time at the smell of potatoes, Slicing vegetables with Dad in the kitchen.

XXIII | 19

SURETY, Sam Tabeart I was in a field, maybe my yard (a yard is a field to a six-year-old), And a bird landed in a bush behind me.

I ran to it, and it flew off.

It was maybe red.

I was an odd child, I think, Although that’s been straightened out since, And now I reflect on it without A memory present enough to Know sure from maybe.

Although it might have been a blue bird, and it didn’t Sing, but it looked as though It would, in the right company.

I wasn’t that.

It was only three years later that, As I walked up the road, from school At 3:15 p.m., I remembered the Bird as anything Other than ordinary, As another bird—red, certainly— Landed on the pavement across the Street and beaked the pebbles in the crutch where the pave meets the road.

This one I ran to, and the flutter of its wings reminded me of the bird a third of my life away that wouldn’t sing for me.

20 | PHS

BOUNDARY, Moriah Eley

hy grap o t o ph

XXIII | 21

This is what Strength feels like, Cecily Gubser Your eggshell eyes, lined with gossamer fractures: they threaten to shatter again at the slightest remembrance of grief; and a hard swallow rises to the soft palate of the roof of your mouth as you clench your throat, thoughts, and fists, leaving behind the bittersweet taste of restraint.

22 | PHS

i

h aS

G

TIN

r d an colo Am ter , IT wa

IR

SP

H

FIG

XXIII | 23

GARDENING, Isabelle Clayton Yesterday my sister and I baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies for my grandmother. She’s a divorcée who lives in a quaint baby-blue house in Pennsylvania. Even though she lives alone, I don’t like to think she lives a life of solitude. I like to think that her garden keeps her company.

My grandmother has been growing flowers and other plants ever since I can remember. She’s a bearer of life. She’s encapsulated by the idea that seemingly lifeless bulbs are able to transform into living, fragrant, colorful flowers if we nourish them with water, sunlight, and most importantly, love. Peonies, daffodils, lilies, hydrangeas — they all introduce an aspect of wonder into her life.

They make her feel like a mother each and every time their feeble green stems push through the hard earth to greet the Sun and Her brilliant rays.

My father drove the chocolate chip cookies to her this morning. When he returned, he had a plastic container in hand. The container held a batch of her famous cranberry bars: almond pastries dotted with sour cranberries and covered in heaps of powdered sugar. My family couldn’t help but indulge in their buttery goodness.

The only things better than the sweet and sour combination of the bars themselves were the mustaches of powdered sugar that they printed onto our faces as we ate one, after another, after another...

24 | PHS

UNTITLED, Emily Smerkanich photography

Stuffed, we phoned my grandmother to thank her for the bars, and to ask her about her situation while in quarantine. She rambled on and on about her attempts to work out by climbing up and down her stairs, and about her neighbor’s newfound obsession with using her cane as a tape measure for the “6 feet apart” rule required by social distancing standards. We laughed and she began to speak of her flowers, which prompted my mother to join in on our conversation.

photography

SUNBATHE, Alice Feng

Oh, how my mother and her mother love to talk about gardening. They speak of their different projects, and the correct way to induce the growth of a lettuce plant. They say that if you sing to your plants they’ll grow faster, which is intriguing, yes, however, I’m not sure that I’m at the point in my life where I’m willing to give plants that much of my attention. “One day”, they say, “when you’re a mother, you’ll love gardening too.” And that to me makes sense — those who know the joys of creating life only hope to continue spreading this joy through the creation of more life. They get addicted to life, in all of its natural beauty. Growing flowers is, to them, equivalent to eating cranberry bars; they’re sweet, and a bit sour, but in the end, they make you happy, and they remind you of your family and of love.

XXIII | 25

26 | PHS

at play, Shaila Sachdev photography

XXIII | 27

ADVERTISE WITH THE IVY 28 | PHS

TITLE, Artist Name Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit. Here is a piece of lit.

Here is a

SEND US YOUR AD! theivy.phs@gmail.

XXIII | 37

STAFF LIST ADVISORS Mr. Gonzalez Ms. Muรงa

EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Andre Biehl Alice Feng

CREATIVE DIRECTOR Nina Bergman

MANAGING EDITORS Olivia Benevento Cecily Gubser

PUBLIC RELATIONS Sofia Alvarez

COPY EDITORS Chris Shen Travis Thai

30 | PHS

TECH

Lawrence Chen

SECRETARY Savannah Spring

SPREAD DESIGNERS Bella Cui Vera Ebong Heidi Gubser Lindsay Hirschman Jane Lillard Yunbing (Emily) Qian Shaila Sachdev Hanaan Sikder Ellie Cellinese-Dickinson

GENERAL STAFF Alexandra Rubin Helena Gifford

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” or “no” on a Google form. All art and literature pieces with higher than 50% approval were published. A few others below 50% approval were also accepted based on their potential, both as complements to other pieces and their abilities to unify entire layouts. We keep a consistent art-to-literature ratio. We are Princeton High School’s only art and literature magazine. We are an extracurricular club that meets after school; on normal meeting days we meet for half an hour on Tuesdays.

When we are designing layouts we meet for three hours every day for four days. For Issue XXIII, the initial distribution took place online.

FONTS COVER AND TITLE PAGE| Minion Pro regular 60pt, 12pt, Adobe Arabic 60pt, 14pt TABLE OF CONTENTS | Open Sans regular 24pt, 12pt, 10pt SUBMISSION TITLES | Open Sans light 33pt,18pt, 14pt, Minion Pro regular 18pt SUBMISSION TEXT | Lora regular 15pt, 13pt, 12pt, 10pt, Minion Pro regular 14pt, 12pt ADVERTISEMENT | Frankin Gothic Medium 48pt STAFF LIST | Open Sans bold 36 pt, Open Sans semibold 13pt, Open Sans light 24pt, Open Sans bold 24pt COLOPHON | Lora semibold 12pt, Open Sans light 12pt, Lora italic 12pt, Open Sans bold 24pnt, Lora regular 13pnt PRINTING PAPER | House Laser Gloss #80, 8.5x8.5 inches Printed by Short Run Printing, 2020

XXIII | 31