1
2
Intergalactic Journey of Literature Megan Fortney
1
Inscape 2020 Volume LII
The Ursuline College Fine Arts Annual Mission Statement Inscape, Ursuline College’s fne arts annual, provides all students the chance to have their work seen, heard, and recognized. It is a place where imagination is praised and celebrated, and we hope to highlight each contributor’s individuality and diferences within our publication.
Editorial Statement Dear Ursuline College, We, the 2020 editorial team, are thrilled to bring you this edition of Inscape. We are dedicated and committed to showing the Ursuline College community the creativity that we embrace here at the college. This magazine is for everyone – not just for students of the humanities. It is designed to be enjoyed and shared with Ursuline College and the world. We hope that this digital version of Inscape allows for a wider audience to enjoy our publication. It is our hope that Ursuline College’s collective creativity is recognized both by our campus and by the community around us.
Community As editors of Inscape and members of the Ursuline College community, we believe that embracing our community and sharing the art and literature that we produce here at Ursuline College is incredibly important. We wanted to highlight members of Ursuline College’s community and their interpretation of community through their works. This volume showcases pieces that highlight the many communities at Ursuline and communities of the world. An “inscape” is an internal, mental landscape shown through works of art. We hope our readers enjoy Ursuline College’s “inscapes” in our publication. Enjoy, The 2020 Inscape Editorial Team Ursuline College 2550 Lander Road Pepper Pike, Ohio 44124 (440) 449-4200
2
Inscape, Ursuline College’s fne arts annual, is published every spring. The views expressed herein do not necessarily refect those of the staf or Ursuline College. Inscape considers poetry, fction, plays, autobiographical sketches, essays, reviews, photography, and artwork for publication by students, faculty, and staf. The editorial staf reviews all submissions anonymously using a system of blind peer-review. No more than fve works may be submitted by an individual. Literary works for Inscape 2021 may be sent to: Inscape, c/o the English Department, Ursuline College, 2550 Lander Road, Mullen 338, Pepper Pike, OH 44124 from October 1, 2020 through January 15, 2021. Please submit an electronic copy to katharine.trostel@ursuline.edu with a cover sheet for each work that includes name, phone number, the title of the work, and a short autobiographical sketch. All literary submissions become the property of Inscape and will not be returned. Inscape 2020 is printed on 8.5 x 11-inch paper. Each piece was formatted in Adobe Illustrator. Font style for: titles, Sherlyn; page numbers, Tw Cen MT Condensed Extra Bold; subtitles, Amatic SC; medium/genre, copy text, Minion Pro. Inscape 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, and 2012 earned a First Place with Special Merit Award from the American Scholastic Press Association; Inscape 1999, 2002, 2003, and 2006 earned the Most Outstanding College Literary-Art Magazine Award from the American Scholastic Press Association. Inscape 2012, 2013, and 2014 received a First-Class rating and Inscape 2015 received the All-American Award from the Associated Collegiate Press. Ursuline College has published a fne arts annual since spring of 1945. From this date until 1952, the annual was known as The Review. When the members of Inscape, Ursuline’s literary society, assumed responsibility for the publication of The Review in 1965, they renamed it Inscape. The term “inscape,” coined by English poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, can be described as: He [Hopkins] looked hard at things until they looked back at him, revealing within the process the mysterious, glorious, and sometimes terrible presence of God who stood behind and within nature. He understood the visual image to be refexive, both a window on the world and a mirror of the created and creative self. This quality of “inscape” in a particular work was for him the touchstone of good art, what distinguishes inspired art from slick or poorly received oferings. Michael Flecky, SJ Originally published in America December 10, 1994
3
Table of Contents Cover Art
“The Promised Hope”, Photography, Abdullah Alfadhel
Page 1
“Intergalactic Journey of Literature”, Print, Megan Fortney
Pages 2-3 Front Matter
Page 4-5
Table of Contents
Page 6-7
“Mother and Children”, Painting and Collage, Nancy Lick “Passing People”, Poetry, Lilyka Pickard
Page 8-9
“We Wade”, Poetry, Ashley Serraglio “So Much More Than Words”, Essay Excerpt, Rhonda L. Booms
Page 10-11
“Two Brothers”, Painting and Collage, Nancy Lick “Foster Love”, Poetry, Lilyka Pickard “Those Happy Times in Cuba”, Mixed Media, Angelica Hanon
Pages 12-13
“Into Spring”, Fashion Design, John Porter “Long Hours”, Poetry, Ashley Serraglio “I Did This Without You”, Poetry, Sabryna Kuehls
4
Pages 14-15
“The Three Princesses”, Pen and Ink Drawing, Cassidy Way “Mama”, Poetry, Celeste Wiggins “Going Home”, Painting, Anne Campbell
Pages 16-17
“Still I Rise”, Mixed Media, Erin McCall “Pursuit of Happiness”, Poetry, Malia Ali “Sleep Paralysis”, Mixed Media and Painting, Cassidy Way “Color’s Expression”, Poetry, Sabryna Kuehls
Pages 18-19
“Boobie Cage”, Sculpture, Connor Costanzo “Without Consent”, Poetry, Ashley Serraglio “Born Again”, Painting, Sarah Osvath “It Arose from a Song”, Poetry, Lilyka Pickard
Pages 20-21
“Strawberries”, Poetry, Mimi Pipino “Reflection”, Watercolor Painting, Marilyn Valencia “Dancing Desserts”, Graphic Design, Abigail Allard
Pages 22-23
“I Fight to Live”, Acrylic Painting, Mike Boyce “Ridiculed but Changed”, Spoken Word, Tiffany Wealth
Pages 24-25
Pages 36-37
Pages 26-27
Pages 38-39
“Go Away”, Printmaking, Mariah Yoder “Fake News”, Poetry, Haleigh Platt “Eternal Peace”, Photography, Abdullah Alfadhel
“Helios”, Painting, Sarah Osvath “Coming Out”, Poetry, Rebekah Hardy “Prevail”, Pastel Drawing, Adrian Prus “Striking a Chord”, Prose, Heather Bloeser
“Alpha and Omega”, Print, Hannah Hottinger “Community Roots”, Graphic Design, Jackie Hetrick “Ability”, Poetry, Gabrielle Post
Pages 40-41
Pages 28-29
“Nature’s Paradox”, Prose, Heather Bloeser “Ever Vigilant”, Photography, Rhonda L. Booms “Mountain Mama”, Painting, Anne Campbell “Two Communities”, Poetry, Lilyka Pickard
Pages 30-31
“Through the Mist of Limits”, Photography, Abdullah Alfadhel “Ink and Harmony”, Prose, Haleigh Platt
Pages 32-33
“Pine Ridge Drive”, Photography, Rhonda L. Booms “A Place so Silent”, Essay, Ashley Serraglio
Pages 34-35
“chibiDesi Doll”, Fibers and Mixed Media, Desiree Bullock “Forward”, Essay, Malia Ali “Two Sisters Arriving”, Painting and Collage, Nancy Lick
“Two Sisters Waiting”, Painting and Collage, Nancy Lick “Awaiting the Call”, Photography, Abdullah Alfadhel
“What if God was a Woman”, Drawing, Keilah E. Yisrael “Pride LGBTQIA+”, Drawing, Keilah E. Yisrael
Pages 42-43
“Vindication”, Painting, Mo Mzik “Remember and Honor”, Painting, Caroline Ware
Pages 44-45:
High School Writing Contest “A Dystopian Euphoria”, Poetry, Sarah Carlile “EastSide”, Poetry, Emily Dicevicius
Pages 46-47 Contributor Bios
Pages 48-49
“Bloom Where You Are Planted”, Painting, Nikki Mercer Editorial Statement
- Enjoy! -
5
Mother and Children Nancy Lick
6
Passing People Lilyka Pickard
There was one with no strings Who would move far away With only a passing goodbye There was one who cried But had lived ten lives Yet still had a baby’s smile The third stayed in the background Never speaking words But writing them once in a while The fourth came out of nowhere But has an everlasting presence One who will not be budged And fnally, the ffh, who lived across the street Who never learned right from wrong And is lost amongst a crowd of faces
7
We Wade Ashley Serraglio
We wade in the water of circumstantial issues and inevitable defeats. The water was troubled, the water is troubled, the water will always be troubled, Whether the Lord did it or not. We wade in the water of being beaten and dragged kicking and screaming. Our goals of freedom and running away from the bonds that hold us are not realistic, We know this, we fght the chains anyway. We wade in the water of our disgusting history as it laps at our feet. Threatening to drag us back under its surface and drown us with water thick with the Oily sludge of shame. We wade in the water of false hope and an honest belief in something greater. If we are led astray we always come back, we move on from false teachers to Trust in the greater power who troubled that water. We wade in the water of true love and support as it buoys us out of the sludge. It settles the shame, breathes life in the defeat, gives hope to those on the run, Tells us that the fght can be won.
8
So Much More Than Words Rhonda L. Booms
The excerpts from this piece were taken from a longer essay about the libraries that were opened between 1886 and 1917 by Andrew Carnegie, and how they helped Ohio’s citizens. More specifcally, it focuses on the service of librarian Eleanor (Edwards) Ledbetter.
“However, even in the attempt to ofer citizens equal opportunities within structures of the libraries, the working-class citizens still felt ostracized when it came to the elitist middle-class patrons that shared the space. Working-class citizens were ofen foreign speaking immigrants who didn’t feel welcome and couldn’t use the facilities and its contents due to language barriers.”
... “Librarians for the most part were trained professionally to run the building like fne-tuned machinery. The women brought with them not only efciency, but feminine domestic traits which truly proved benefcial in the handling of their younger patrons, the children. Middle-class women possessed the power to create, enable and sustain the libraries with subtleties and peacefulness in order to make the environment within desirous of visiting. Women tended to view the libraries as a place of seriousness bound by ethics whereby men sought the symbolism of solidity that only a structure could ofer. It was within this space that the middle-class librarian found her niche. Eleanor (Edwards) Ledbetter was not your typical librarian.”
... “Libraries served as community centers and gathering places which brought a sense of public culture helping to serve numbers of patrons too numerous to count. Libraries and dedicated librarians helped generations to come by showing acts of empathy and compassion to original immigrants settling in America.”
9
Two Brothers Nancy Lick
10
Foster Love
Lilyka Pickard
I’ve never had a younger brother, But now there’s a boy, only 5 years old, Living in the house I live in. He’s got two siblings, who are four and three, And they live somewhere else.
So now I have a younger brother, Who has experienced more than I have. He has lived ten lifetimes in his 5 years of life. And although he should not be my brother, I will continuously foster him with love. And if he has to leave, My heart will break. But I will remember the memories we have given him, And the love we have shared. I will remember his siblings’ smiles and their willingness to trust me, Some random girl they’ve never met. And I know he will remember us as his family, Not just another foster home.
Those Happy Times in Cuba
Angelica Hanon
11
Into Spring John Porter
Long Hours
Ashley Serraglio
The subject poses, long hours a day. The sculptor stares in order to Sculpt, long hours a day. Posing and sculpting turns to Love, thanks to the long hours In a day. The sculptor remains, Pristine, pale, and pearly white, Through the many days’ long hours. But the sculptor is gone,
12
Life having lef him, afer Many days’ long hours.
I Did This Without You Sabryna Kuehls
I did this without you despite you anger rises, boils my blood pressure builds from within under my skin, shattered senses pain and numbness hold residency mental chaos, spiral mess predisposed, letting go collapsed safety, searched for home Intensity overwhelms me memories mark, imprinted soul post traumatic, tragic body shakes, struggling strength trying to undo, I become undone relived emotions, racing heart, clouded mind untrusting, crushing weight, breath taken echoed screams in hallowed walls unwanted life, faded light Protector, caregiver ... I gave my Soul broken down, exhaustion permeates my being reactive, mentally charged seeing you now ... Confused love, you abuse love survival focused, my existence, protective lost self, searching for meaning ... fnding, who I am ... without you
13
The Three Princesses
Cassidy Way
14
She was “Mommy” when we were young
Mama
Celeste Wiggins
“Mother” when we were adults “Mama” when she had grandkids, great-grandkids and, yes, great-great grandkids She loved cooking 5-course Italian meals dancing at large Italian weddings listening to the music of Frank Sinatra and Neil Diamond She cooked for us She danced with us She listened to us She lived to be 101 It was
not long enough
Going Home Anne Campbell
15
Stil I Rise Erin McCall
Pursuit of Happiness Malia Ali
16
Happiness is a state of being content. The generalized defnition can cover all aspects of life, for every person, the only diference is where your happiness lies. Anything that happens, you always have a choice to choose happiness. Happiness has three outlets: yourself, others, and the future. First, fnd your own happiness, what makes you happy, what makes you perk up, what gets you out of bed in the morning. Second, happiness in others. Cherish the relationships you do have without the person being the source of your happiness. Finally, happiness in your future. To be happy in your life and fnd a way to your goal all while enjoying the journey along the way. The happiest place on Earth is not confned to a remote location but resides where you are. You have the capability to be happy so why wouldn’t you be? Remember when the good outweighs the bad, you choose happiness over anger, forgiveness over grudges and hope over despair. Whether for the moment or eternity, always choose happiness.
Sleep Paralysis Cassidy Way
Color’s Expression Sabryna Kuehls
Color’s expression of fuid emotions Bright blues, into the abyss Sporadic friction of rushing waters Drowning in internal storms Spiraling sea, leads me, Waves crash Hope sparks in the dark Fluid art, beating heart
17
Bobie Cage Connor Costanzo
Without Consent
Ashley Serraglio
18
Her family said “proud”,
He carved and he laughed,
Her mind screamed “hide.”
He molded in lust.
Her sculptor said “beautiful”,
Her body became a prison,
Her body cried “shame.”
Her skin the bars he touched.
He demanded her clothes of,
Her sculptor remains,
Her fngers trembled in vain.
Her confdence long gone.
His patience grew thin,
He lef her broken in a cage,
Her dress ripped in twain.
Her prison now displayed.
Born Again Sarah Osvath
#
It Arose from a Song Tongue tied and in love She let herself dance in the moonlight All eyes on her. No music played but she hummed a tune, Unheard of by the audience. Cement and small rocks dug into her bare feet But she felt elevated from the earth. Her arms swung around her head, Dew resting on her skin from low hanging clouds that crowned her.
Lilyka Pickard
19
Strawberries
Mimi Pipino
Strawberries, hard and pale rest in paper bags, ripening. The sweetness of anticipation, The anticipation of sweetness Makes me smile, water Gathering in my frugal mouth And in my eyes, as I Remember the one who planted in rootless solitude.
Reflection Marilyn Valencia
20
Dancing Desserts Abigail Allard
21
I Fight to Live!
22
Mike Boyce
Ridiculed but Changed Tiffany Wealth
Have you ever served a past sentence, have you ever paid any dues? Have you ever been in bondage or oppressed and labeled as a mess, better yet no good? Have you ever walked passed a mirror and seen a black sheep with tears in her eyes? Black sheep, lesbian, fornicator baa I herd that ridicule. Baa Jesus delivers I thought you knew. Herd my petition against ridicule fock up and shut up be a good shepherd. Point no more fngers at me I’m new speak no more negativity, shush silence hush up with your black boots. That’s a dirty move, about face now salute I’m on the right track hungry for pasture good food. Throw no more stones at this house for he lives in me whether you believe it or not. Stop holding onto my past like an Easter egg basket you flthy rabbit cracking old eggs snaggle tooth. I have been ridiculed I have been forgiven, I am changed and new, believe it or not I owe no explanation. His name is engraved in my forehead Lion of Judah, exclamation point exactly he did it for me he will do it for you. No more ridicule baa baa black boots. You’ve been petitioned it’s already been written.
23
Go Away Mariah Yoder
Fake News Haleigh Platt We think we know But do we really? Phonies, hoaxes, and fake news The world is full of mystery Instead of the truth we are given clues Answers have been looked for throughout history We are force fed lies in hopes that we won’t rise Out of sight out of mind Candor has disappeared before our eyes Where is the future headed for mankind? Why should we believe if we don’t know what to believe in? The line between what is true and what isn’t is very thin
24
We think we know But do we really?
Eternal Peace Abdullah Alfadhel
25
Coming Out Rebekah Hardy I am afraid to think That I could ever Deserve Love.
Helios
Sarah Osvath
But In the morning When our eyes lock For the frst afer A long, long, respite I am reminded That maybe I do. When I call you Late in the evening Afer I’ve been awake too long And you remind me that The sleepiness only Makes me Loud I Feel like I am allowed to Finally be brash about All of these feelings that I’ve had locked inside In the closet Far
26
Far
Far
Away.
Prevail
Adrian Prus
Striking a Chord Heather Bloeser
I was four when I asked about that Beatles’ tune. Now I am twenty. I know they’re not truly bugs, and that their music is just as magical to hear as the frst time around. My upbringing probably caused these beliefs. I was raised on a steady diet of classic rock; my father, without fail, will play the oldies station in the car when we travel anywhere. The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Eagles – if they made music from the 1950s through the 1980s I heard their croons on the radio or the stereo. My dad grew up with these bands when they were chart-toppers, so he doesn’t know a world without them in it. My mother, although not keen on blaring, booming beats, is still a rock fan. She prefers Pink Floyd, Journey, and my all-time favorite, Fleetwood Mac (if I could listen to one album for the rest of my days, it would be the sweet, sad sounds of Rumors). ... Why I was attracted to that type of music eludes me. It is likely because it conveys understanding. Adolescence makes zero sense; there are a hundred diferent rules being thrown at you and all you want is a nap and a sandwich. The artists I enjoyed knew this, as it seemed their entire point was to capture the difculty of the human experience. But they also reminded us that life wasn’t all bad. As my other all-time favorite band, Paramore, sang: “And the worst part is/Before it gets any better/ We’re headed for a clif.” Those bleak lines are strangely optimistic. It’s the same sentiment Lennon and McCartney share in the Beatles classic “Getting Better”: life is “a little better all the time (it can’t get no worse)”. ... Throughout all the turbulent phases of my young life, I have found that I had a soundtrack for all of them. I hope that one day I can sit and tell my great-great-grandchildren how music impacted me. I’ll play them the songs of my youth and shed a tear while they roll their eyes and scamper of to play with whatever newfangled technology will exist when I’m old. I can’t wait. In fact, maybe I’ll just hand them a copy of this paper. Hopefully my words will strike a chord.
27
Nature’s Paradox Heather Bloeser
Here is the place where the world seems to exhale: Coulby Park in Willoughby, Ohio, ffeen minutes from home. The rush and rumble of the real world vanishes, and a leisurely hum sets in. From my side of the bridge the geese fall in a line. Pushing, paddling through the pond, they reach the bank and welcome their friends trailing afer them. It’s such a sweet sight that I can almost forget the fact that the surrounding grass is dotted with their excrement. Seems the geese are none too pleased with my observance of them. Time to move on. ... Ambling down a set of stone steps, I arrive at the gardens. Arrangements of roses and black-eyed Susans peek out of the dirt; every shade of the rainbow has situated itself among the fora and fauna. They circle around a four-tier fountain with cascading waves. Concrete statues guard the area: stoic yet graceful, reminiscent of a bygone era. A pavilion leads me around this centerpiece and to a weathered wooden arch. Countless giddy teenagers and gushing newlyweds have taken prom and wedding photos here. Today, though, the arch is empty. ... Being here makes me realize what a paradox this place is. Without people, it is a simple secret, untouched by civilization. But humans moved in and created their own memories. They even added their own little details and hoped they wouldn’t take away from the original beauty. Afer all, those teeter-totters didn’t just spring up from the ground. There’s a man-made aspect to these surroundings, but it doesn’t feel corporate or inauthentic; it fts neatly into the landscape. I wish more public areas embraced this union of new and old, human and nature. But here, worries are worthless. So, I simply soak it in. Not even geese poop can ruin this moment.
Ever Vigilant Rhonda L. Booma
28
Mountain Mama Anne Campbell
Two Communities Lilyka Pickard
I come from a place of wannabe hipsters, Where negative 10 degrees wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the wind. A place that has a serious meth problem, And our governor chose to spread awareness with the slogan “Meth. We’re on it”. I come from the Mount Rushmore state. I come from a place that is 946 miles away. But I like to round up to 1,000 miles because what’s another 54? I am separated by felds and hills and gravel roads flled with potholes. My greatest adventure has been my hardest challenge. But despite the separation from where I grew up, I stand tall and strong with my cohort, Dressed in white scrubs. I came to a place, With a community who holds me up. A place of questionable drivers and tiny lit up cofee shops. And although it is a thousand miles from home, I am welcomed all the same.
29
Through the Mist of Limits Abdullah Alfadhel
30
Ink and Harmony Haleigh Platt
Who are you? I whisper at my refection in the mirror: a question that I fnd myself asking quite frequently, yet the answer never comes. Drifing through childhood I felt disconnected from who I was because I didn’t know, or perhaps I didn’t want to fnd out. Later in life I thought more seriously about who I wanted to be and what I wanted to become; now, to my surprise, my mind produces a response. Many people would associate their identities with the culture and history that came before them; it’s beautiful, but it’s not me. I love my family and the past we share but I haven’t let it shape the person I am; I aspire to be utterly and completely genuine in my own right. I feel that I have broken away from the mold my loved ones have comfortably sat in for so long. I’ve taken my roots and replanted them; I am my own tree and I have my own roots. In this society full of labels and stereotypes, I choose to self-identify and it makes me feel free. My identity is a diverse jumble of passions and infuences, all of which impact me more than words can convey at times. I devote most of my time to music, literature, and art; these passions manifest within me and take shape as my identity. Music has always been a powerful aspect in my life; it’s the driving force behind my emotions and beliefs. Marina’s Love & Fear has taught me how to feel; Melanie Martinez’s K-12 has formed the advocate in me; Nathan Feuerstein’s The Search has given me strength in times of true darkness. I’m deeply connected to the emotions I feel when listening to music; the rhythm and harmony create a visceral reaction in my soul: powerful and irreplaceable. I feel most connected to people I’ve never met: the women and men who create the very words I listen to. Without music, I wouldn’t be half the woman I am today. As a child, I felt like an outcast around others; there was a diference in me that I could never place but I felt it lingering at all times. I had friends of course, but at the end of the day, I wanted a book much more than a conversation. I express myself through the books I read; they empower and inspire me, creating a fre inside that will never be extinguished. I see myself in all the young women I go on adventures with, growing and evolving with them as I read. I am compassionate like Caraval’s Scarlett Dragna, doing anything for the ones I love despite the risks. I have found my sense of ferceness from Uglies, Tally Youngblood being the face of a revolution. I see myself in the young women from Girls with Sharp Sticks, all of whom fght for what they deserve. The identities of these women have reserved a space in my own, rightfully so. I am creative by nature, always drawn to colors and art. For as long as I can remember, art has been a consistent part of my life and one that brings me peace when I need it most. I’ve made it the pinnacle of who I am; without art I am nothing. Creativity is more than just paint on canvas or pencil on paper; creativity is a lifestyle and I express it not only through art but also through writing and music. I pour my personality and emotion into the words I write, the graphics I create, and the music I sing. I might not be successful or wealthy yet, but I am self-made. I am a Creator and an Artist, creating my identity as I go and letting my roots grab hold of the things I love the most. I am one with ink and harmony, with paint and sound. My personal culture is immersed in creativity and imagination; I need these things like I need air to breathe. My identity feels unique and rare, as it should be. I am proud that my roots have found their own soil to grow; afer all I can’t be anyone but the person I was meant to be.
31
Pine Ridge Drive Rhonda L. Booms
32
A Place So Silent Ashley Serraglio
I have to remind myself of where the path is as I jump forward, avoiding the deadfall that is doing its best to block my way. Despite it being the back section of the woods on my own property, it’s been so long that the path is disappearing from disuse and low maintenance. Low hanging branches from arrogant tulip and stuck-up cherry trees place themselves in front of me. It’s as though they have gotten used to not having people back here, and now, they resent my presence. I ignore them and their poor attitudes; and approaching the snowmobile trail I can’t help but rest a gentle hand on one of the many young adult oaks. They’ve grown up here, in the shadow of their father and the gentle support of their friend. Their friend, I think as I hit the larger trail and turn right and then a quick lef. The path follows a curve with massive ruts from trespassing ATVs. There in the middle of the trail, forcing it to split and go around him, stands the Ironwood. This tiny little tree that doesn’t seem to have grown at all in my 18 years of life. He’s listing to the lef in his mad grab for occasional beams of sunlight. I can’t help the smile as it spreads across my face, gentle and loving. Because I do love this tree, as much as I love the giant shadow that I can see through the woods before me. I don’t dare to linger here for long, even as my hand passes across the bark in its smooth coolness. It’s a sof gunmetal grey, though the name doesn’t come from its color alone, but rather the hardness of the wood. I know without trying that no axe will remove this tree; that any chainsaw that tries will fnd itself ground down and dulled like it went through a pile of dirt instead of wood. As I stop to chuckle at the steadfastness of the little tree, the insects catch up to me from where I lef them behind in my mad dash through the fallen trees. The buzz of deerfies and the disgusting whine of mosquitoes flls my ears and I can feel their flthy little wings brushing my bare neck and the top of my head. My throat tightens, the sound becoming the only thing I can register even as I wave in apology to the Ironwood. The curve of the path is directing me right again, toward the back edge of our property that borders up to the clear cut. The hedge of briars is so thick at this point that what little sunlight makes it through is a shade of muted green. I know from experience that the air smells stale and warm even in cold weather. I absently picture Sleeping Beauty’s castle rising above the treetops as I continue straight and abandon the path that is nearly overgrown anyway. The briars have spread to have a thin layer here, and I high-step like a dressage horse. I know I look stupid but then again, there’s no human here to see it. The only eyes on me belong to the myriad of creatures that I know linger just outside my feld of view. The prickly bushes fall back as I come under his canopy, and it’s like I can breathe again in his circle of safety. His youngest children, mere saplings, grow here in the shadow of their dad. His teenage kids are just on the outskirts of his radius and add another layer of protection that not even the boldest of animals dare to risk. In the middle of an impressive forest, he towers above the rest of them, children and friends alike. The insects can’t bother me here, so I can approach his trunk and stretch up to pat his bark in peace. My hand falls short of the biggest lightning scar I’ve ever seen. It’s so old by this point that it’s scabbed over like scar tissue on a human would. It reaches from just above my fngertips all the way to where his branches spread out, dozens of feet up, as wide as my torso in places. The ground slopes down behind him, where I know that if I go to his other side that I will see the fresh-water spring meeting the bigger tributary. I’m curious how high the water is with the rainfall, so I brave leaving Big Oak’s circle of protection from his canopy to look over the edge of the valley. The spring has returned to its usual trickle, but the river level is up above the undercut of its bank and is lapping, greedy, at the bared tree roots that hang over its edge. The approaching hum forces me back to the trunk, leaning back and closing my eyes for a moment just to breathe. I can hear the oak rustling above my head, he sounds like he’s trying to talk to me. Somehow, I know what he’s saying: he for one won’t try to keep me from my forest. I think he misses when I was short and seeing him for the frst time in all my childlike wonder. Sorry, bud, I think at him from within the safety of my mind. I’m not that little anymore, but I still love you. The wind is a kiss from this almost-god of the forest in a response of love. I breathe in the smell of decaying leaves and cherry wood sap and crushed acorns. I listen to the trees and birds singing and bugs whirring. I’ve never been anywhere so silent.
33
Two Sisters Waiting Nancy Lick
34
Awaiting the Cal Abdullah Alfadhel
35
chibiDesi Dol Desiree Bullock
Forward Malia Ali
36
One who has the capabilities to infuence society is a powerful individual. To live in a world full of hate and discrimination, yet see love. To be suppressed and depressed, yet continue to climb. By faith, and by that alone was the journey made. The way was made far before a million men marched. Before the buses were boycotted. Before the Board let blacks learn. Before Peterson cast his vote. Before the 14th was passed. The way began when blacks were counted as only 3/5’s of a human. When blacks did not have a name or worth. Seen merely as a colored fgure in the feld. It began with powerful individuals who had the capability to enable themselves. One person recognized that life in that present society was unacceptable, that society needed to make a change. Motivating themselves to fnd a way out of the discrimination and hate. Finding a way towards change, despite the shackles that not only bonded their body, but also their spirit. Despite depression and suppression, they made a way. By faith, they made a way in the only direction they could. Forward. Forward from the boats to the felds. From felds to shackles. Out of the shackles to the railroad. From the railroad, forward onto the fght for freedom.
Two Sisters Arriving Nancy Lick
37
Alpha and Omega Hannah Hottinger
38
Community Rots
Ability
Jackie Hetrick
Gabrielle Post Exceptional Student
Who is a unique and special individual Who falls under a category of a disability Who has identifed and specifc needs Who requires efective instruction Who needs an individualized education plan Whose performance is measured over time Who learns from both special education and general education teachers Who succeeds in a least restrictive environment Who can learn in a resource room Who receives assistance from school psychologists, therapists, social workers, and administrators Who desires inclusion and respect Who wants to be treated as a person Who deserves higher education Who teaches patience, strength, and compassion Who admires their peers and values friendships Who is a friend to me and many Who is my teammate and competes Who asks me about my day Who is involved in the community Who competes to showcase abilities Who wants nothing more than attention and respect Who should be identifed as smart and capable Who utilizes multiple abilities out of a single labeled disability Who CAN
39
What if God was a Woman Keilah E. Yisrael
40
Pride LGBTQIA+ Keilah E. Yisrael
41
Vindication Mo Mzik
42
Remember and Honor Caroline Ware
43
“Writing in the Rust Belt” was a high school writing contest hosted by the English department and Inscape, Ursuline College’s Fine Arts Annual. Students were asked to write about community: What does it mean to create a just, vibrant, and inclusive community? What does it mean to belong to the greater Cleveland area? To a rust belt city? What is our responsibility to community and to building communities? How does art and literature contribute to a community? This year’s winners are Sarah Carlile, “A Dystopian Euphoria”, and Emily Dicevicius, “EastSide”.
A Dystopian Euphoria Sarah Carlile
Mayfeld High School
this is what my community has to be. and that’s why no one can convince me that within this society. the government doesn’t control me it’s not meant to be this way. It never was. i’m not meant to be isolated from all But i am. i’m not meant to be okay and i’m not. i’m not meant to be a puppet dictated by string yet here i stand, instead. in this world of hate and destruction. i am trapped without my freedoms and rights my humanity is gone. and if i don’t have that my individuality doesn’t belong to me anymore. i’ll never be able to say this is who i always wanted to be. this was the path i chose. this is how it really is. because that’s all just a lie. but it’s okay it’s always been like this. it’s all i know. dark, cruel, cold i don’t know how it could be anything else.
44
this is just the way my community has to be. no one can try to convince me otherwise. (now read from bottom to top)
EastSide Emily Dicevicius Mayfeld High School
Small-town folks Simple people, simple dreams With big ideas and indigenous imaginations All starting our lives the same Dressing up to go collect candy at the semi-annual town parade Riding bikes with the neighborhood kids around the block Chalking up the sidewalks so all could see... And then as we begin to grow up, We start to fall in love with those neighborhood kids Those kids turn into our best friends Friends we would never forget We would spend countless dollar bills on Slurpees and candy bars Go out every Friday night to watch the Cavs game Drive around and sing every single word to Katy Perry songs We would run and run Runaway from trouble, only to run away to some more We are wild, we are free Our limitations seem to be inevitable Yet we never truly acknowledge them When the sun begins to set We sit atop our junky cars and stare as the sun turns a dark strong yellow The nights that we wish would never end Together we move together we strive Forever this city, forever in mind
45
Contributors
46
Abdullah Alfadhel is a fourth-year nursing major. When he was 14, he took his brother’s camera and started shooting. Now it is a lifelong journey. Photography opened his eyes to the beauty of everything.
Malia Ali is a second-year English and education major.
Abigail Allard is a public relations and graphic design double major who uses the Adobe Creative Suite to create fun illustrations.
Heather Bloeser is a junior at Ursuline College majoring in psychology and English.
Rhonda L. Booms is a humanities major, an executive assistant for enrollment management, and an ofce coordinator in undergraduate admission. She has a supporting family in her academic endeavors and four wonderful grandchildren.
Mike Boyce is a published children’s book author, illustrator, graphic artist, art therapist, and counselor. He is committed to the idea that everyone’s voice is vital, and his work is focused on honoring each and every voice with compassion and respect.
Desiree Bullock is a master’s student in counseling and art therapy. Art is her life and her healing tool. Without it, she would be a robot that views the world through grayscale.
Anne Campbell is a graduate student in the counseling and art therapy program. These pieces represent two diferent communities that have been infuential in her life, her family and her friends in the mountains of West Virginia.
Connor Costanzo is a graduate student in the counseling and art therapy program
Megan Fortney is a senior with a major in art therapy and a minor in psychology. She is currently bridging into the graduate counseling and art therapy program at Ursuline and plans to continue her education here until she graduates with her master’s. Art has always been a huge part of her life and she loves being able to incorporate it in her school work and everyday life.
Angelica Hanon is originally from Nicaragua and Mexico. She is a counseling and art therapy graduate student at Ursuline College. She created this piece in commemoration of her time in Cuba, the beauty of the bond the people hold and their hope for a better tomorrow.
Rebekah Hardy is a second-year psychology, history, and education major. Her poem was written about the experience of coming out and how it’s ofen a deeply personal experience.
Jackie Hetrick is studying at Ursuline to earn her master’s in counseling and art therapy. She is returning to school as a second career to textile designing. She is the single mother of two boys ages 6 and 7.
Hannah Hottinger is a third-year art therapy major who is bridging to the graduate program this semester. She plays on the volleyball team and leads a Bible study called “Rooted” on campus. Art to her shows beauty. It shows an innate desire to create something beautiful. We were created therefore we create.
Sabryna Kuehls is an artist majoring in art therapy with a psychology minor. She remains grateful for the opportunities that led her here. Art is part of her identity and continues to cultivate her personal growth. Mental health has been a challenge but has motivated her to be an aspiring art therapist. Art has the power to captivate, inspire and heal.
Nancy Lick teaches drawing classes for the Ursuline Art Department. These paintings are samples of her exhibit this past fall titled “Ellis Island Illustrated.”
Erin McCall is a graduate student in the counseling and art therapy program.
Nikki Mercer is a graduate student in counseling and art therapy.
Mo Mzik is a business owner, art therapy major and fne artist. She has used art as healing her entire life. With art, she examines psychological states, instinctive consciousness and she sincerely explores the human experience.
Sarah Osvath is a master’s student at Ursuline College studying counseling and art therapy. She is an avid painter, who focuses mainly on the human fgure to express emotion through color and subject matter.
Lilyka Pickard is a second-year nursing major.
Mimi Pipino is currently the Director of the Ursuline Core Curriculum, Director of Curriculum, and Associate Professor of English. She can’t claim that poetry is her medium; this work is the result of artistic guidance from Daniel Moysaenko and a fortuitous moment of inspiration. She is happy it’s part of this fantastic publication!
Haleigh Platt is a third-year graphic design major with a minor in English. She is passionate about writing, making art, and singing.
John Porter graduated with a degree in fashion from Ursuline College in 2019.
Gabrielle Post is a junior majoring in English and is in Ursuline’s 4+1 bridge program in education. She is also a member of the cross country and track & feld teams.
Adrian Prus is a graduate student in the counseling and art therapy program. Concerts are a community that burns brightly for just a few hours, but leave every member with lifelong memories.
Ashley Serraglio is a senior English major who lives, thinks, and breathes poetry and creative writing.
Marilyn Valencia loves to issue a unique item or meal for others to consume. She is on the staf here at Ursuline.
Caroline Ware is a studio art/education major. The purpose of her artwork is to bring awareness to injustices and inspire a desire for radical change.
Cassidy Way is a second-year art therapy major.
Tifany Wealth is a psychology major. She is an inspiring young woman with a phenomenal testimony. She has made tremendous strides and has overcome a lot of adversity in her life, through faith and the power of prayer. Writing has always been an outlet for Tifany, to share real-life experiences in a testimonial way. She hopes to encourage others through the raw truth of her story.
Dr. Celeste Wiggins has been teaching in the English department at Ursuline College since 1993.
Keilah E. Yisrael is an art education major. The main goal of her art is to take the viewer on a journey, thinking about topics that may confuse them, stir up emotions, or make them refect on issues in our world. She takes the time to continuously push herself to be and do better as an artist and as a person in society.
Mariah Yoder is an undergraduate student majoring in art therapy.
47
Blom Where You Are Planted Nikki Mercer
Editorial Statement The LII edition of Inscape was created with the vision of emphasizing the importance of community through literature and visual works from students, faculty, and staf at Ursuline College. Inscape represents the continuity of traditions and the rich history of the Ursuline College community. Inscape showcases our collective talent through the literary and visual works included in the magazine. Inscape LII promotes the value of community and the idea that every individual contributes to the diversity of Ursuline College. The editorial team is composed of Malia Ali, Kara Martin, Gabrielle Post, and editor-in-chief, Haleigh Platt. The team’s hope is to highlight the importance of the values of inclusivity and diversity in our community. We hope that it brings you joy!
48
2020
Editorial Team Haleigh Platt Editor in Chief
Kara Martin Graphic Design Editor
Malia Ali Literary Editor
Gabrielle Post Literary Editor
Katharine G. Trostel, PhD Faculty Advisor
49