Contact 2021 - 2022

W OODLAND REGIONAL HIGH SCHOOL Region 16, Connecticut 2021-22 / Volume 1 / Issue 1

CO N TA CT

Message from the Advisors Mr. and Mrs. Geary Stories about the phoenix have resonated with people since the times of the ancient Egyptians and the ancient Greeks. The myths of that magnificent bird reflect such tantalizing ideas - the ideas of being able to start over, to something out of the ashes of the past.

This year has been a time of rebuilding. Many of the hallmarks of ?pre-pandemic?school life have been returning, especially our collective group artistic endeavors. Fine Arts Night, plays & musicals, concerts, poetry readings, book club meetings ? all of these have been returning, live and in person, and not via a computer screen.

Woodland?s artistic community is rising again, like the phoenix, from a pandemic-induced dormancy. We hope that this artistic rebirth and renewal is reflected in this issue of Contact.

...

Meaning Behind the Cover Cover Art: Keira Mulvihill The lore of the phoenix is that it rises from its own ashes. From those ashes, the phoenix is reborn. We wanted to capture the phoenix's resilience and inspire others to find solutions to adverse situations that life presents them.

Transformation makes us stronger. Part of being reborn as the Phoenix is ? also meant by doing that process of learning from past situations, letting a lot fall apart between fire and ashes, and taking all those experiences to work towards a better future.

Another important point to keep in mind in the myth of the Phoenix is ? what happens to those ashes. The wind does not carry the ashes. They remain there and they will be part of the new Phoenix bird that resurfaces, so that the fire will be much stronger, bigger, and wiser. - Emily Laput

CONTACT Woodland's Literary and Art Magazine wrhscontact@gmail.com @contactlitmag Visit our website!

CONTACT MISSION STATEMENT Our mission is to empower and inspire others to create and express themselves through various art forms.

MEET THE ADVISORS MRS. MEGHAN GEARY

MR. PAUL GEARY

Co-advisor

Co-advisor

mgeary@region16ct.org

pgeary@region16ct.org

MEET THE BOARD

GRACE SIZER

CAROLINE OSBORN

EMILY LAPUT

Chair, Depar tment of M ar keting

Chair, Depar tment of Editing

Chair, Depar tment of L ayout

grace.sizer@student. region16ct.org

caroline.osborn@student. region16ct.org

emily.laput28@gmail.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS POETRY

PHOTOGRAPHY

Beautifully Blue Past A love letter from the moon to the sun Gardens of Versailles my dear winter Your End a nordic tale Sixteen Years Old The Winning Game poem 1 - (no title) - Ashley Mayfield poem 2 - (no title) - Ashley Mayfield poem 3 (no title) - Ashley Mayfield a bloom in spring Tame Motherly Comfort Heartbroken Dangerous Thoughts Allergic to Vegetables I am a Galaxy Self Corruption It Started with a Few Questions (no title) - Ella Bernegger Crimson is the Coldest I'm Okay (no title) - Ethan Stepputtis

Kurt Ogren Maille Ianniruberto Logan Johnson Emily Laput Claire Cummings Kalle Legassey Marco DeCampos Margot Mendes Shakira Islam

VISUAL ART Hopeful Eye Blackout Poetry Hands Faces Hearts Ocean Face Bird and Flowers Pensive Ghosts Sunshine Rocking Chair

PROSE Finding Sunshine

AUDIOVISUAL Animation Normalize the Not so Normalized Podcast Photo Portfolio

POETRY

BEAUTIFULLY BLUE PAST

By Vanessa K r asnicki How do I look back at moments?

And remember them as sad?

Some of the best times of my life.

Maybe I feel this way, Because I want to go back.

But I?m grateful.

That I had the chance to live them.

And that new memories are mine to make.

Maybe? I can't go back in time, But I can go back to the same places, Discover those unseen, Create more memories.

That may grow blue as well.

Since I loved those days?

And I love to live them.

Each and every day.

A LOVE LETTER FROM THE MOON TO THE SUN

By Char li Hughes what have i done to deserve to be in the same universe as you? in a place made of nothing, you still bring light and i do nothing but float, control the planet graced by your miracle. you are radiant; you reach out to me but i cannot be phased. you try to pull me closer but it is not enough, i still cannot be warmed. why would you chose me when you are the mover of mountains, when you have the universe at your disposal? i love you, and you have no way of knowing. i love you, and you are out of my reach. you may be made of licking tongues of flame, but i still burn brighter for you than all the other stars in the galaxy combined.

GARDENS OF VERSAILLES

By Caroline Osbor n The gardens of Versailles Are a labyrinth, abundant with treasures To be adored and distinguished From the self.

Cobblestone walkways and flourishing verdure Cover its expanse; Canaries and fountain streams Delight the eager ear; And beautiful women with marble bodies, Reaching out in graceful arcs, Welcome all visitors.

They guide those who mimic their movements: That to conform is a desire best disregarded.

She who takes in the thorn of a rose Earns no honor in the blood oath, Rather her own perch, Too high to descend.

That a walk in the gardens of Versailles Is better enjoyed with the cosmos and hyacinth, The honeybees and the laurel trees.

Consider a posture on a pedestal with Crossed legs and a simple pattern of breath, Minding the difference between Pleasure and Prison.

MY DEAR WINTER

By Alyssa Gillies do you remember

do you remember

the first time

when you told me you love me?

i told you that

subtle, but your words

i think you?re beautiful?

remind me of mine.

since i was twelve,

the art of dancing

beauty has been everywhere.

in letters.

i noticed it in the old man

unintentional poetry.

and his blank face.

the question now

the beauty of his life

is less of

which i hadn?t known;

?do you remember ?

a craving for

and more of

someone?s mystery.

?do you know??

your beauty is like no other.

do you know

to be in your brain

how truly beautiful you are?

or to hear music like you do

how i aspire

would be peace.

to have music make me feel

your mind

the way you describe it?

is my favorite story.

how you fascinate me

to hear more

like no other has?

is all i crave.

YOUR END

By Vivien M ogyoros I outline myself on your body our hands interlace.

The warmth inside doesn?t translate and you remain still.

Your death reflects your past complexion, closed off, pensive.

I can?t help but feel tension, even between our closed eyes.

Did your end affect you as much as it did me?

Or, once again, did I fall to my narcissistic tendencies?

A NORDIC TALE

By Alyssa Gillies my odin,

my odin,

your salt and pepper hair

i am forever grateful

reflects the suspicions

for the new life of peace.

which i hoped were

my rainstorm,

mere paranoia.

the calm in my chaos,

i think back to

i need you to sleep.

an old letter i wrote

without your presence i am hollow.

addressed to you.

you confirm my nightmare,

i begged you

but you can?t enjoy

to defy my worry.

what you have

?endless nights of crying-?

if you don?t allow yourself

i wrote.

to experience it.

?i don?t deserve your excuses.?

i never wanted the truth,

you looked me in my eyes

but i fear the universe

that night i told you

knows what?s good for me.

i?m leaving.

so, thank you

you saw the pleading,

for loving me

the hope, and the fear.

and for letting me

you saw your consequences-

love you.

your dearest threatening to leave-

you are my peace.

and you changed.

forever, your friend

i no longer beg.

SIXTEEN YEARS OLD

By Nathan Tr umbley A boy,

This boy,

Only sixteen years old,

Sixteen years old,

Already sixteen years old,

Is still a cub,

Enters a ravine of mystery,

His mane is growing,

An abyss of discovery.

But his heart is still small.

A boy,

A boy,

Just sixteen years old,

When sixteen,

Searches for his own definitions,

Is ready to explore,

Translates his own history,

To find the hidden treasure on the map,

His own dictionary of identity.

The x marks the spot,

The boy,

The golden chest.

Sixteen,

A boy,

Is a sapling,

Who doesn?t quite know himself,

A germinated seed.

Finds acceptance in his reflection.

He has yet to understand his purpose above A mirror gives him vague consciousness. the soil.

But only part of his truth.

The boy,

He has yet to see,

At sixteen,

Because

Is a new estate,

he?s only

A fresh house on the market.

Sixteen years old.

He has yet to be purchased into his community.

THE WINNING GAME

By Char li Hughes On days like these, my feet are so firmly on the ground that the lines between the sole of my shoe and the night-sky asphalt seems to blur.

My head, still up in the clouds, is unfazed by all that is going on below.

On days like these, I wear my heart on my sleeve and hope someone will embrace it in every unique beat.

On days like these, I do not wish to dissolve with the words held in the back of my throat.

On days like these, I wonder if the universe bottled God and gave me a sip.

As if they want to make the pressure on my shoulders at least a little easier to bear.

On days like these, I wonder more than ever how to give back to this universe for never giving up on me.

(NO TITLE) POEM 1

By Ashley M ayfield As I read over the old letter she begrudgingly gave me, I cried.

My tears were always salt to her pepper, her attitude and aggression hardly ever not showing.

As I throw the letter the rainstorm takes it in its ravenous floods.

The paper dissolving into nothing as if it's a personification of my love for her.

(NO TITLE) POEM 2

By Ashley M ayfield You are love.

Touch your lips, the same lips that drink from the chalice of God. Touch your hips, mountains that waterfall down your thighs that end in the pools of your feet.

The same feet that walk you to your destiny.

Touch your arms, the arms that hug yourself while you sleep, the arms that carry the people and things you love.

You are love because you love.

(NO TITLE) POEM 3

By Ashley M ayfield I know I am far too young to say I?ve loved but Aphrodite seems to claw at my heart.

It?s almost as if whoever I love will never reciprocate the feelings to the same extent that I express.

I?ve always been a flower waiting for someone to love me as I love the sun and the water her clouds bring.

But flowers get stepped on and neglected when the wrong person starts a garden.

This is why young people so often get their heart broken.

Not many have learned to tend to a garden of relationships.

They?re just not gardeners yet.

I?ve been born with a green thumb.

I?m not sure you could count that a blessing.

These will be the years of yearning for flowers to grow when they only die in the heat of the summer sun.

A BLOOM IN SPRING

By Alyssa Gillies the worth of a single dandelion never caught my eye until i realized just how beautiful they are. the yellows and oranges in your petals help me see tomorrow and the way your leaves bend whispers promise in my ears. my garden has never made me happier. to see souls so beautiful bloom brings me the joy only a mother feels. these visitors smile. they are strong, worth more than they know. growing is hard. i?m proud of them no matter what. my dear dandelions, my love is forever. for you, i?d trade my life.

TAME

By Gr ace Sizer Lions showboating for huge crowds, perfectly trained.

Wildflowers categorized, counted, and named.

Strong-willed girls locked up and made silent.

Shy little boys broken and turned violent.

It?s all wrong.

Break the chains.

Set them aflame.

Proclaim,

...

?Some things are not meant to be tamed.?

MOTHERLY COMFORT

By Vivien M ogyoros Self deprecation, child-like humiliation.

You hide behind your mother, a veil: concealing, every inconvenienceevery feeling.

I wish you?d be more comfortable in my presence, yet the peace I try to reflect seems decadent.

The common cliché: the longing for love, it never seems like enough.

DANGEROUS THOUGHTS

By Ella Ber negger Write a poem was the prompt.

But what good is he

So I sit In a chair

To a poem built by demons who lack empathy?

On my bed

Sure, I can help you

In a car

No, it?s no problem at all

At a desk

Stop?

And I think, think, think

Of course, my pleasure

But thinking is dangerous

Stop.

Wack!

Listen to me, I love you!

A punch collides with my skull; my demons show no mercy today

STOP!

Wack!

I brush my demons away

Focus.

Or at least I think I do

Rain

Because once they find a gap

It?s raining

Where my confidence lacks

What does rain do?

Like aliens, they attack my mind

Flowers and puddles

And tell me everything I am not

Beetles that scuttle

So that I may sit

Through swamped potholes that double

In a chair

Rhyme, rhyme

On my bed

What does?

In a car

Shut up.

At a desk

Wack!

And write a poem using dangerous thoughts.

Think.

I could always write about my lover

Wac

ALLERGIC TO VEGETABLES

By Nathan Tr umbley Who am I?

I am an artist,

I ask myself every day.

What will I make of my life?

And I make no time for drawing or painting.

I wonder in deep thought.

An artist is who my genes made me.

How have I become who I am today?

I am an athlete,

I curiously and solemnly question.

But only because I was raised to be one.

A combination,

A runner, swimmer, thrower, is what they made of me.

A formula, A simple algorithm.

Who I am naturally Who others have made me Who I make myself + Who I wish to be

I am a naturalist, An environmentalist, A helper.

If only I gave the effort to take action and help the planet.

To help other human beings.

The equation?s solution is me.

A rescuer is what I hope to be.

Who I am,

Nurture versus Nature.

What I am made of,

Wants and Needs.

My complex composition,

Pros and Cons.

My moral intuition.

Successes and Failures.

When I solve the problem,

Our complications lead to our reputations,

When I simplify the variables, X equals me.

An expression of my own disagreement.

My self contradiction.

Why must my me Be so hard to read.

I am a vegetarian, And I am allergic to vegetables.

A herbivore is who I chose to be.

Leads to our denominations and obligations.

Comes from our own equations.

Limits our respirations What we say and do Becomes our who And though we may be diverse We all have the same things at heart.

I AM A GALAXY

By M adeline M ar tin I am the moon.

A big floating RO CK in the middle of nowhere.

So bored with everything.

I am the sun.

Burning with passion.

So bright and happy from other people's perspectives but in reality i'm just a big ball of flames.

I am the earth.

Filled with life.

I am the galaxy.

Things floating around inside my head that I don't understand.

I am the galaxy.

So mysterious and powerful.

I am the galaxy.

So amazing and beautiful yet I don't see that in myself.

SELF CORRUPTION

By Vivien M ogyoros Hair falling seamlessly between palms, twirling on fingers, held together by hands.

Abnormal pigmentation, almost a sky blueshivering.

I pity your beauty, but also your worth.

It means nothing on this planet, it means everything in your world.

Placed on top of your head the strands are thin and sinful.

Does God wish to punish you for who you are doing this for?

Destruction for love.

Corruption for one.

IT STARTED WITH A FEW QUESTIONS

By Nathan Tr umbley Why are attitudes and behaviors so hard to align?

Boggling brittleness

Why can?t we just do what we say we want to do?

But what about poetry,

Following orders I ask myself

What is the constraint that limits our ability to follow through on our own words?

A bundle of words,

Our beliefs and our actions.

a something of else

Our insane reactions.

What are these words,

The way that we choose to dismiss our infractions.

I?m sure questioning,

I struggle, my brain

But just simple sounds with random meaning.

It causes me pain

Needed communication.

Mental confliction

Simply our foundation.

That leads to addiction

Sticks and curves and cross hatches

My self contradiction

All forming computation

Is rubbing like friction

I?m getting off track,

There?s no clear depiction or vivid description

I think I am, anyway

I?m trying my best

What was I gonna say

To find the right diction

I?m rushing to finish

I?m making a fiction

Yet trying to slow

Of my self affliction

A constant collision of wait stop and go.

What we say

My thoughts have been portrayed,

How we talk

Every whisper, fully explained.

What we do

My head untamed,

How we walk

A story claimed,

I must get back,

Inflamed Cognitive dissonance

Proclaimed

Mental disorders

Ashamed and aimed.

IT STARTED WITH A FEW QUESTIONS

By Nathan Tr umbley Completely, utterly, honestly strained And trained and frankly unchained.

The same lame rain game.

I just keep on writing, With no little tongue biting.

Typing and thinking and rhyming and fighting.

For what do I have if I end my work here.

Maybe perhaps I should conquer my fears.

Leaving is hard, But I guess so is life.

Maybe just like, The stab of a knife.

It?s so hard to think and to do just the same.

We want to be lazy but try and attain fame.

I?m sorry for myself and for all of you others.

This poem was stupid, why did I bother.

(NO TITLE)

By Ella Ber negger I?m a lamp.

It seems

I?m shattered

I look at the cord now

But remain intact

I say

I sit on a side table

Let me go.

That shouldn?t be standing by itself anymore

It tells me

Much like me, I guess

Then tugs tighter

I don?t know.

I say

It took me a while to get here

I?m tired

To balance on the edge

I say

But I haven?t got much strength

I have no purpose

Now that I?m here

I cry.

I don?t know why I hold on

Please

I long to break

It looks at me

BOOM!

I see no pity,

Into a thousand

Only purpose

Tiny

Then I hear the cord

Pieces

Tough as nails

Gravity doesn?t mind

Ask me

Either way

Then what am I?

I am but a civilian

What purpose do I serve

Following its laws

Should you shatter?

I am restrained

I pause

However

Consider

By the cord that tethers me to this life

Then a train derails

Umbilically Much like the sun I suppose For its rays only bless me To tease me

No.

A car explodes A war is lost I?m ashamed And I?m angry Shame, shame, shame

(NO TITLE)

By Ella Ber negger Then I look at the cord and I expose its perfect core

And then with no great struggle

You have no say!

And puts me back together again

When I go

Piece by piece

You will be fine

By every

FINE!

Tiny

Then I tell it everything I don?t mean

Piece

And the cord

Until I?m shattered

Burned now

But remain intact.

Lets me go.There is only one thought in my mind

OH AND THE SUN!

As I fall Down, down, down I think I wish not to shatter BOOM! But now As I lay In a thousand Tiny Pieces I look up Trying to spot the cord Whom I NEED But it?s right beside me now I say I?m tired I say I need help I cry Please

It extends its hand

How it shines On my unbroken pieces Its rays I realize Aren?t teasing me But remind me Just how beautiful Broken can be.

I?m a lamp.

I?m shattered But remain intact I sit on a side table That shouldn?t be standing by itself anymore Much like me, I guess I don?t know.

It took me a while to get here To balance on the edge But I haven?t got much strength Now that I?m here I don?t know why I hold on I long to break BOOM! Into a thousand Tiny

(NO TITLE)

By Ella Ber negger Pieces Gravity doesn?t mind Either way I am but a civilian Following its laws I am restrained However By the cord that tethers me to this life Umbilically Much like the sun I suppose For its rays only bless me To tease me It seems I look at the cord now I say Let me go.

It tells me No. Then tugs tighter I say I?m tired

I say I have no purpose I cry.

Please It looks at me I see no pity, Only purpose Then I hear the cord Tough as nails Ask me Then what am I? What purpose do I serve Should you shatter?

I pause Consider Then a train derails A car explodes A war is lost I?m ashamed And I?m angry

Shame, shame, shame Then I look at the cord and I expose its perfect core You have no say!

When I go You will be fine FINE! Then I tell it everything I don?t mean And the cord Burned now Lets me go.There is only one thought in my mind As I fall Down, down, down I think I wish not to shatter BOOM! But now As I lay In a thousand Tiny Pieces I look up Trying to spot the cord Whom I NEED But it?s right beside me now I say I?m tired I say I need help I cry Please And then with no great struggle It extends its hand And puts me back together again Piece by piece By every Tiny Piece Until I?m shattered But remain intact.

OH AND THE SUN! How it shines

(NO TITLE)

By Ella Ber negger On my unbroken pieces Its rays I realize Aren?t teasing me But remind me Just how beautiful Broken can be.

...

CRIMSON IS THE COLDEST

By Sophie Greber When you're given half you long for the whole, but there's something about laying in yearning, the missing half appears in a soft ruby light, just out of reach.

Oh how you lament the moment it enters your clutch, nothing left to want, nothing left to harness your hopefulness on.

What's the next thing? my next object of affection?

Everyone hopes that once they have it, the garnet tinted night will bathe them too, paint their life in blushing shades.

Light, however cant be held down, can't be forced to stay.

The bulb burns out, the glass breaks, the air gets sharp.

Somehow with a whole I?m emptier than ever.

I'M OKAY

By Evelyn M eade I?m ok.

Maybe I?ve successfully

I?m always ok.

Taken all of my emotions,

I may be

Shoved them in a bottle,

Racing,

And closed the cap.

Hurrying,

Maybe I closed myself in there.

Scrambling,

Maybe that?s where I am.

Running,

Maybe I?ve closed myself

Running from

In a bottle with my overflowing emotions,

My failures, My fears,

And while I drown in self-hatred and regret

My dreams,

everything I?ve done,

My goals,

While I cry and scream and choke

Myself.

on the desperate cries for

I might be

help, love, some or any acknowledgement

Sinking,

At all,

Falling,

The bottle is

Plummeting,

Speeding,

Drowning,

Soaring,

Drowning in

Flying,

Sorrow,

Flying through

Confusion,

The present,

Anger,

The future,

Silence,

Life.

Emotions.

Then again,

Emotions,

Maybe I?m just

Emotions that I can?t say,

Creative,

Emotions that I can?t express,

Overdramatic,

Emotions that I can?t understand,

Annoying.

Emotions that I bottle up.

But,

Maybe that?s what this is.

I?m definitely ok.

I?m always ok.

(NO TITLE)

By Ethan Stepputtis Heavy bodies lunge like a broken language, an elegant jump shot slowed to a stumble.

In love again, just like the old days, a fire that never went out.

Seeing the ball soar through the air, dribbling the ball like a heartbeat pounding the hard wood.

One last shot, as the ball jumps into the hoop.

The net singing, as the ball flows through.

Just like the old days.

Keira Mulvihill

VISUAL ART

"Hopeful Eye", Claire Cummings, Digital Art

"Blackout Poetry", Juniper Araujo, Digital Art

"Hands", Jahmani Agard, Pencil

"Faces", Jahmani Agard, Pencil

"Hearts", Jahmani Agard, Pencil

"Ocean Face", Jahmani Agard, Pencil

"Bird and Flowers", Kalle Legassey, Paint

"Pensive", Nathan Trumbley, Colored Pencil

"Ghosts", Claire Cummings, Digital Art

"Sunshine", Claire Cummings, Digital Art

"Rocking Chair", Claire Cummings, Digital Art

PROSE

FINDING SUNSHINE

By Emily L aput ?You are not the darkness you endured; you are the light that refused to surrender,? - John Mark Green.

I called my anorexia ?Swiper ? because it stole my happiness. I wanted and needed to release myself from its clutches. I was fresh out of recovery, and I was seeking a purpose.

I could no longer lean on my self-destructive habits; I needed a new hobby.

My mom and I passed by the Seymour Pink gift shop in all its pinkness, and to my seventh grade self, it had an alluring element. That day transformed my life and began my awakening of service to others. Seymour Pink helped me discover who I am and how I can help and learn from other people.

My volunteer debut was at Seymour Pink?s Pasta Dinner. Not only did I learn what they were all about, but that event affirmed that I was in the right place with the right people. I was surrounded by survivors: survivors of breast cancer, traumatic car crashes, and difficult family lives. Despite their hardships, they exuded resilience and determination. Their stories taught me that everyone has personal issues; it?s the reaction that makes the difference.

My involvement in Seymour Pink intensified during that following year when I began volunteering at the gift shop every Saturday and organized a fundraising volleyball tournament at my midde school. I was filled with gratitude and pride, and this broken girl was starting to feel whole again. I craved more, so I organized a community-wide Spike for a Cure event during my freshman year.

I was admitted into the cardiac unit of the hospital the day after I volunteered at the Seymour Pink 5k Race. Unfortunately, as I focused more on my new interest, I was ignoring the struggles that still lingered from my eating disorder. It was back, more medically serious than the first time. From being surrounded by my Seymour Pink family one day, to being isolated in the hospital the next, it was a shock to my system. I was scared because my heart health had diminished to the point it almost stopped beating while I slept.

How was I going to handle this adversity? Thinking of the survivors I?d come to cherish, I was determined to heal. Swiper would not steal my passion.

This time, I genuinely invested in my recovery which allowed me to have clarity, authenticity, and affirmed the importance of a strong support system. I focused on myself, something I?d never done. I had been on auto-pilot for so long that I hadn't practiced self care. During that year of personal growth, my crucial realization was that I needed to maintain a better balance in my life, which is still a work in progress. Another lesson I learned was that my goal should be progress, not perfection. In recovery of any kind, people discover that it's not a linear path.

There will be bumps in the road, but resilience is critical.

During the early months of the pandemic, I organized a virtual health and

wellness conference called THRIVE. I brought together professionals, willing to volunteer their time and expertise, for a free day of self care to anyone who wanted it. My virtual event connected people through yoga and exercise sessions, nutrition information sessions, and interactive discussions and games that were held throughout the day. THRIVE proved I could have an impact and still maintain my health. I am thriving, not just surviving. Since the spring of 2017, my events have raised over $10,000 for Seymour Pink and I have found my passion for service along with a more balanced way of living. Volunteering was my therapy and it provided me with a positive outlet that lifted me up.

My mom has called me ?Sunshine? for as long as I can remember. I never really believed in the nickname until this period in my life when I discovered my true self and the light that shines within me.

PHOTOGRAPHY

Kurt Ogren

Kurt Ogren

Maille Ianniruberto

Logan Johnson

Emily Laput

Emily Laput

Emily Laput

Claire Cummings

Kalle Legassey

Marco DeCampos

Marco DeCampos

Margot Mendes

Margot Mendes

Margot Mendes

Margot Mendes

Margot Mendes

Margot Mendes

Shakira Islam

Shakira Islam

Shakira Islam

Shakira Islam

Shakira Islam

Shakira Islam

Shakira Islam

Shakira Islam

Shakira Islam

AUDIOVISUAL

ANIMATION

By Claire Cummings

NORMALIZE THE NOT SO NORMALIZED PODCAST

By M olly Sweet and Abigail Hannus

...

PHOTO PORTFOLIO

By Ava Falcone

CONTACT WOODLAND'SLITERARY AND ART MAGAZINE W OODLAND REGIONAL HIGH SCHOOL Region 16, Connecticut