MARCH/APRIL 2020 VOLUME 9 ISSUE 6
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ARTICHOKE
CONTRIBUTERS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
KATHERINE COLLIER
ASSISTANT EDITOR
LAURA BOURBONNAIS
WRITERS
CHARLOTTE AYAZ
KALIA GALLACHER
MADDISYN FISHER
MARVIN DARKWA
MELANIE ROSE GAZVODA
BRIANNA COGGANS
DESIGN EDITOR
DESIGNERS
EMILY ONG
HOLLY YOON
KAILA GALLACHER
SAMNEET MANN
SARAH CARRIERE
SHARYL MAN
COVER IMAGE
CARLY BALESTRERI
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CONTACT US FACEBOOK.COM/ARTICHOKEMAG
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WITHIN THIS ISSUE
2 4 6 8
LETTERS FROM THE EDITORS
MARCH & APRIL CALENDAR
SPOOORTS CALENDAR
MENTAL HEALTH WEEK
CREATIVE
10 12 14 16 18 22 24 OSTARA
SPRINGTIME
OCEANFRONT
SPRINGTIME MAGIC
SERAPHIM
WITHOUT SPRING
PHOTOGRAPHY BY CARLY BALESTRERI
LIFESTYLE
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SELF DOUBT IN AN UNDERGRADUATE DEGREE
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LETTERS FROM THE EDITORS EDITOR-IN-CHIEF WINTERS, IT HAS been one hell of a ride. I have met so many of you. I have been a part of the team here at The Artichoke for the past two years and I know I am going to miss it. I have helped create this thing that so many of you read (and thank you for that) but now I think it is time to say goodbye. Not forever but for now. Thank you to my wonderful team, Laura and Brianna, for putting up with me when I went off schedule or shifted things around last minute. I could not have done this without you both. Thank you so much for taking initiative on projects and being so flexible and innovative for the readers. Thank you to my writers, for without you we would not have anything to publish. You are the people that make this magazine worth publishing. With that, thank you also to the wonderful design team that make our submissions look amazing. You are small but mighty and I appreciate everyone of you. There is a saying about March: in like a lion, out like a lamb. As this is our March/April issue, I am going to extend that into April. To everyone graduating this year, you all came in as lambs, not sure what to expect, but ready
for anything, and you will be leaving York a lion. Wear this with pride, for you have seen so much and endured so much over your time here. You deserve it. It is with this parting thought that I say goodbye to you all. I hope you continue to read and contribute to our little publication.
Thank you for this amazing year, Katherine Collier
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ASSISTANT EDITOR
DESIGN EDITOR
YOU’RE ALMOST THERE!
AND SO ANOTHER year is coming to an end.
It can be so difficult to stay motivated until the end of the semester as everything wraps up and you’re no doubt drowning in final projects and exams. Please remember to self-care and take breaks. You’re human; forgive yourself.
If you’re like me, you’re feeling burnt out already and counting down the weeks until the year is over. It feels so close which is exciting —but it also reminds you of how much work you have to do in the short amount of time. That’s the giant rain cloud following everyone around.
During this busy time, try to hold on to all that you have accomplished in the past school year and congratulate yourself on all of the energy and work you have put into your classes, your extracurriculars and your part-time job(s). You have made it through once again. You should be so proud. As you trudge through these last few weeks, make sure to picture the finish line (summertime, free time, trips and traveling). It will help get you through. Thanks to you, fellow reader(s), we have published lovely monthly issues and we could not have done it without you. So, thank you. Sincerely.
Remind yourself that even though finals season is approaching, you don’t need to be working day and night. It is okay to maintain a balance and put aside your work for other things —within a creative field especially. Put the looming deadlines aside and socialize, self-care, or get those personal to do’s checked off your list. It will save you from hitting a full creative block at the worst possible time. When you’re faced with a crossroads of productivity or time away from your work, just remind yourself that this is the last chance to build as many memories of this time of your life as possible. You’ll reminisce on that more than however many hours you put in on that project.
Don’t give up yet - you’ve got this! Prioritize sustainability over productivity. Best, Best, Your Assistant Editor, Laura Bourbonnais
Brianna Coggans Design Editor Winters Free Press
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March & April CALENDAR
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MON
WINTERS COLLEGE YOGA 3-4PM
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MUSIC @ MIDDAY: CLASSIC INSTRUMENTAL CONCERT, 12:30-1:30PM NAT TAYLOR TUESDAY & YORK@50 PRESENTS FESTIVAL OF (IN)APPROPRIATION, 12:45=2:45PM
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COALITION: VISUAL ART & ART HISTORY OPEN HOUSE 2-8PM
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KARAOKE NIGHT (WCC)
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MUSIC @ MIDDAY: STUDENT SHOWCASE
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RAGE VOLLEYBALL (SPORTS!)
10-14
THEATER@YORK PRESENTS ELIZABETH REX
WINTERS COLLEGE SHOWCASE 6:30-10PM (WINTERS COLLEGE)
23 25-26 25-28
WORD NIGHT (WCC)
YORK DANCES: LUMINOUS SURROUNDINGS | DUSK AND DAWN
SCENES BY DESIGN 2020: EXHIBITION OF STAGE DESIGN
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YORK UNIVERSITY SYMPHONY NOISE: YORK UNIVERSITY DEPART ORCHESTRA CONCERT MENT OF VISUAL ARTS & ART HISTORY SENIOR STUDIO EXHIBITION GALLERY 1313 YORK UNIVERSITY SYMPHONY
6-14
17-21 18
PILLOW FORT MOVIE NIGHT (WCC)
DEVISED THEATER FESTIVAL
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ST. PATTY’S PUB NIGHT (WCC)
12-13
WORLD MUSIC FESTIVAL
16-19
JAZZ FESTIVAL
CONCERT
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YORK UNIVERSITY GOSPEL CHOIR PERFORMANCE
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FORMAL (WCC)
13-14
YSDN2020 GRADUATING SHOWCASE
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SPOOORTS CALENDAR
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MON
MEN’S BASKETBALL 7-12AM, CO-ED WATERPOLO 7-12AM
TUES
CO-ED FUTSAL 6-12:30AM
WED
MEN & WOMEN’S VOLLEYBALL 7-12AM, CO-ED ICE HOCKEY 7-12AM
THURS
WOMEN’S BASKETBALL 7-11PM
SUN
CO-ED CRICKET 4-10PM
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OSTARA BY KAILA GALLACHER
air, breath, life after living enclosed in grey in a shuttered world we begin to see dawn’s weary light breaking through boxed-in skies trees come alive; the cyclical beginning, as the wheel turns again, new fire stirs; life begins again we remember to breathe
CREATIVE
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SPRING-
TIME
CREATIVE
BY LAURA BOURBONNAIS
SPROUTS OF SPRING singsong to one and all, plush buds sprinkling sleet streets into garish wonders. cherry blossoms line the path, spellbinding smitten strangers submitting High Park to circulation, sunspecked Frisbees circling.
dwindling ducks doze in the shade, seagulls whirling into home base, toads studying grazing gazelles, readying their hind legs. a toddler giggles over a pond, digging out pulsing worms, a scruffy dad in the shade of his ball cap, splashing her clean with stream water.
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OCEANFRONT BY LAURA BOURBONNAIS
O C E A F
O C
CREATIVE
UNFURLED, THE CURRENT licks sunscreen mosaics, off sandy kids, cackling like coral clowns.
A N F R O N
popsicle tongues dip at the last droplets dwindling down their chubby cheeks. uncatchable the tide retreats, cradling tourist treats in its breast, feeding foggy fins. flying fingers follow sea monsters searching for sweetened seaweed, surging back to the surface. elated yelps sprawl over frosted ebb stern sunglasses yanking squirming limbs back to shore. 
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SPRINGTIME MAGIC BY MADDISYN FISHER
This one goes out to the puppy love I feel when the season changes and the world rejoices. Spring. Flowers. Showers. Desire. Desire to be Desire to be seen Desire to be seen by you Boy, you are magic The sun can’t shine like you do The world can’t make me spin like you do The sky can’t mesmerize like you do I think about you... Us, And the trust it would take. I’m jumping ahead Leaping miles and miles And you haven’t even asked me on a date. But it’s springtime.
Renewal; Rebirth; Redemption. What are you waiting for? I stare off at the possibilities. The probability that you see me How I see you... Through and through it all. The world is turning a new leaf New ecosystem New life. You could be my turning leaf... My ecosystem... My life. It’s springtime. Bring your magic, I’ll bring my flowers. Through the desire, Let’s take a shower.
Love, MadFish xoxo
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Seraphim BY MARVIN DARKWA
REFRAIN, FROM ESSENCE. Beyond the Solaris time flows. An embrace captured; for journeys unknown… Makala twisted; the rough ebony strands of her hair with white flower-dress in check. She did this as the teacher droned on-and-on. With an eternal-cool she stared at the figure next to her. There it was… That eternal crux, that forgotten truth, that euphoric gaze. “She” was all that this world promised its crazed youth (and more) … As the sands of time moved forward, she would be closer to that heavenly embrace. “Who are they to judge?” Makala stated. Her usual sweet demeanor being undercut by impulse; as if Goliath gave way to David. “Patience Kayla,” she always said that. Makala adored even more for saying it the way did just then. With an earnest-civility. They sat, hand in hand amidst the blanket of awkward gazes in the class.
Bathed in, omnipresent light from a supposed eternal-ruler they traded thoughts. “Think it’ll hurt,” Makala asked. The girl turned back; her milky skin seemed to flow beneath the stainedglass windows. “Doesn’t, matter either way… Passion, Pain, and Pleasure are just different words for each other. Whether it ‘hurts’ or not really shouldn’t be an issue.” She slid back into her seat; draped in the eternal glow of the heavens, the rustic carpentry of the church, and the students behind them preparing for communion. “Patience Kayla.” And because she said so Makala believed it. “Come on, let’s bounce,” stated an energized Makala, her white flowerdress lingering on the floor. They walked amidst the ever-so-coy stares and the mad-intrigue from the priesthood whose eyes darted at them as they sauntered out of the church. They walked. The curious students parting through them in the center of the hallway like Moses and the red sea. Their chatter continued. They dismissed them. Their words rang out. They dismissed them. They pelted insults. They dismissed them all. Once more Makala stated with a happy-apathy “who are they to judge?” “She” turned around almost-
CREATIVE
immediately at the sound of those words. Like fallen nectar from her afro lips. And why wouldn’t “they” stare… (Back then) her heart palpitated, raced, and screamed forevermore. At her lowestlow her eyes locked and fused with the forgotten twilight of a gutter alley. Her worst human impulses sang out then. She “used,” “popped,” and “scraped” needles amidst bounded flesh…. all in a bid to get that tragic-euphoria. “She” saved her that day, and for that she would always be thankful. What seemed like a million “men of the cloth” pierced the surrounding structure then. A coliseum made human simply by their presence. “She” appeared at that time. Mute. Masking. Marauding. Water swelled then; the harpies cried their vulture screeches… and the world was made black. Makala walked among those ink spotted visions. Dueling identities raptured her. As she walked amid the priesthood, she began to float (ever so casually). Black roses rained down from, a clearing in the structure and flooded the crumbling building as the priest screamed in the distance. Makala continued walking, nay, floating (nonchalantly); ever-happy to be a slave to this new reality. As she glided, she
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passed faceless students (giggling). She stopped. The cries from the religious being drowned out by a new will. A vision of an all-to-forgotten “Black Jesus” descended down on Makala just then. His pupils dilated, while his “ashy” charcoal skin popped in the pitch-black sky. His charcoal dreadlocks stretched eternally into the night-mimicking realm. Just then, his voice beckoned to Makala. “If you want better; do better.” After that, the world around her drowned itself with a blackened-clarity. “She” appeared then. Like magic. Her guardian. Her protector. Her sentinel. Makala arose after a death lasting 4 seconds. She got up from her druginduced trance, her beaded-braids beckoning to the clergy members in the mighty vestibule. Her head surrendered to sleep just then, and she dunked her head into the nearby pool of water and squirmed about (breathless…). A rouge glare carpeted Makala’s vision, and she liked it. “She” muttered something intensely-gentle in Latin. They immediately backed off of trying to secure Makala. “She” walked up to Makala shortly after. She poked Makala with a brown ruler a couple of times (probably forgotten by a nun; from a class), and smiled. She stared that dazed-smirk that
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Makala was all too proud of and said: “You won’t have to be alone anymore.” Those angelic words gave Makala strength then and always. They walked into the atrium of the school’s church; in a trance with hand-in-hand. “She” inhaled burning smoke from her blunt. Makala turned; her eyes reddening from the vapors. “Now?” Makala asked her with a mature innocence. “Patience Kayla,” she said, then gave an empty grin back. They strolled to the top of the clergy, religious graffiti eyeing them as they did. They stopped then took a gaze at the empty pews. Each one of them filling the silence with vacant-laughter. “She” looked at Kayla with those blue-eyes; and yelped “alright now.” And with that, Makala slid a ring onto “her” finger; and all the sad-magic of their tortured realities seemed to melt away. They stripped down just then; nubile goddesses who were exploring each other’s tenderness and preparing to take flight. They took a gaze at the pews below them. Dreamscapes and ecstasy flowing through them now. They continued on like that, blood sprayed onto a remnant Makala’ white flower dress (not yet off). “She” took a match and studied Kayla’s eyes.
An approving glare depositing from them. “She” set the floor ablaze; the brightdarkness enveloping their happy cries. They devoured each other then. Consumed by the eternal flame of emotion denied. “Good things, truly do come to those that wait,” Kayla stated, muttering something-sweet inside “her” ear. All while that continued, the dying light of ancient structures cleansed themselves in fire ravaging the church. At this moment, Makala couldn’t be swallowed by more bliss. And maybe because it was like “she” said; you have to have “patience.”
CREATIVE
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BY MELANIE ROSE GAZVODA
WITHOUT
Spring
CREATIVE SHE IS THE panacea, bandaging all of winter’s wounds, I walk alongside her in the park to the bustling bee sounds. She is a sun-filled hour-glass that comes and goes. The voice of a robin’s mellifluous singing flows. She is a reawakening. I beckon for her arrival, Newborn ducklings are dependent on her survival. When she cries her teardrops are grounded freckles, Collapsing her eyelashes like pink peony petals. She sways in the sprinkled mess, Splashing the overflowing pools of liquid excess. Her irises are the colour of periwinkle lilacs, A twisted supernova stellar parallax. Her tangled tresses scatter in a fresh breeze, Admits a picnic of red wine and cheddar cheese. Joy would be an understatement to when I see her, A four-leaf clover, teeming with succour. She is vulnerable like a short pastel skirt, exposing bare legs, Giving the feeling of finding hidden chocolate gold eggs. She walks barefoot on uncut gentle grass, Moving light and lively with chassé. She is unforgettable, and the dirt underneath your fingernail, A swift bunny’s breath and the wind in my sails. As colourful, and bright as a canary freesia, A decorated ivory shell that gives you the opposite of amnesia. She grows on you like a new maple tree, I am a fool for this sweet pea. Tulips tower, but she never stands in their shadow, Because she grows, like a vernal budding meadow. Although she is ever-changing, she remains the same, She is the spring and eternal sunlight that shall never fade.
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PHOTOGRAPHY BY CARLY BA
ALESTRERI
CREATIVE
Melissa Affrunti, Matthew Angell, and Theo Ahluwalia —2nd Year Film Production In their editing suites working on their documentary.
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ARTICHOKE Arianna Cancian and Alex Lo —2nd Year Film Production In their shared editing suite, editing their documentary and experimental films.
CREATIVE
Sax Drive Jazz-Funk Band (Jason Hayward, Lauren Barnett, Scott Pearce, Micaela Morey, Nicole Auger, Tavi Diez de Bonilla, Trevor Yearwood, Greg Bruce) —AMPD student led band Performing at a local venue.
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Wasifa Noshin — 2nd Year Theatre Design and Production In the lighting lab.
CREATIVE
Cole James —2nd Year Film Production Cutting 16mm film for his experimental film.
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Laura Bourbonnais —2nd Year Screenwriting Working on a screenplay in her room.
4th Year Theatre Class Rehearsing for the Devised Theatre Festival.
CREATIVE Dr. Chambers’ Orchestral Class Rehearsing.
Serena Kobayashi-LeBel —5th Year Visual Arts, specialized in painting Painting in her studio.
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SELF DOUBT IN AN UNDERGRADUATE DEGREE BY CHARLOTTE AYAZ
As the end of the school year approaches, all I can think of is how relieved I will feel once it arrives. I will be finishing my third year at York University, and it is with the combined cynicism and impatience of a high school senior that I look towards my final year.
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I remember receiving my acceptance to the theatre program the day of my audition, the way I cried tears of hope and excitement when I read it, and I cannot help but wonder now if I have let that person down. My time here could not have gone more differently than I had imagined. I lost conviction in the path I had chosen not long after my first semester and switched majors my second year. I struggled emotionally to adapt to the stress of leaving home for the first time, and my naivety put me in traumatic situations that I had to overcome. I was forced to come to terms with my own lack of life experience, to part with the arrogance that I did not even realize I had clung to so strongly coming out of high school. I lost friends and made new ones.
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I do not know if I will be leaving university with all of the knowledge and confidence that I had hoped to attain when I enrolled. I do not know if even obtaining a Master’s degree will give me that knowledge. I do not know if the choices I have made were the right ones, or if my life would have gone in a better direction had I had chosen differently. I relayed these feelings to my dad, who told me that a degree is not valuable simply for the information you are given in your classes, or in your textbooks. It is a life experience, and it equips you with the skills that will allow you to make the transition into the real world with ease. It is an opportunity to mature into the adult you will need to be, and it will give you just what you put into it. I like to think that he is right.
LIFESTYLE
Even after three years in my program, I have no idea what I want to pursue once I graduate. Maybe I will figure it out next year, but maybe I will not. Either way, I am learning to accept the fact that the future will most likely look nothing like I expect it to, and that regardless, I am capable enough to find my way. 
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