2016 - 2017 Hippocrene by Avon Old Farms School

ISSUEâ&#x20AC;¢25

Hippocrene 2016 – 2017

The Arts & Literary Magazine of Avon Old Farms School

LITERARY & ART EDITORS Xavier Vega '17 • Leo Luo '17 • Connor Preen '17 Andrew Liptrot '18 • Graham Deckers '20

WRITERS Cole Kammler '17 (p. 6) Reza Badiee '19 (p. 16)

Leo Luo '17 (p. 22, 31) Jeremy Awe '17 (p. 24)

Sean Flanagan '19 (p. 35)

POETS Chris Stephan '18 (p. 5) Owen Safe '18 (p. 5) Andrew Liptrot '18 (pgs. 9, 40) Greeley Wells '62 (pgs. 13) Jake Morris '19 (p. 20)

Joon Ho Lee '18 (p. 27) Matthew Son '20 (p. 28) Cole Kammler '17 (p. 37) Gary Zuo '20 (p. 39) Connor Preen '17 (p. 41) Peter Chandor '19 (p. 44)

Bobby Bivona '19 (p. 44) Khamal Cumberbatch '20 (p. 46) Barton Gardella '19 (p. 49) Jackson Berry '17 (p. 50) Preston Sayyah '18 (p. 50)

ARTISTS Yoshi Niimura '18 (p. 4) Matt Jensen '19 (pgs. 8, 29, 38) Cole Kammler '17 (pgs. 7, 12, 45) Xavier Vega '17 (pgs. 11, 34) Brad Deflin '17 (pgs. 15, 36, 37) CJ Calcinari '18 (pgs. 17, 32)

Greeley Wells '62 (p. 18, 19) TJ Brooks '17 (p. 20) Joe Stallmeyer '17 (pgs. 21, 50) Will Fellows '17 (p. 23) Sam Krupnikoff '19 (p. 26) Cam Andrews '19 (p. 30)

Graham Deckers '20 (pgs. 33, 45) Chris Stephan '18 (p. 43) Andrew Jung '17 (p. 47) Daichi Ono '19 (p. 48) Boon Bhakdibhumi '18 (front and back cover art)

Faculty Advisors Samantha Jensen

•

Cristina Pinton

•

Bob Dully

•

Chris Bolster

AVON OLD FARMS SCHOOL

– Yoshi Niimura ’18 4

(SIGH...) 20 min Class begins in twenty minutes 19mins18mins17mins16mins Only 3 sentences Four Sentences

Five

n t

c e

Why didn’t i do this last night – Owen Safe ’18

She She sits with a rain drop or tear on her cheek the drop rolls and reflects the outside onto her cheek – Chris Stephan ’18 5

The Shining Relic – Cole Kammler ’17

It all started with a five pound block of clay. Press the wire into the center of the mound, push down, then pull toward you. I never imagined myself creating anything I would care about. Now, I find molding clay is one of the most satisfying things in the world. Peeling the clay off the block and forming it, I feel the coldness and the wetness as soon as it touches my hand. This small piece of clay starts to become a palm. With more clay from the block, I create fingers, something I naively thought would be beyond my skill level. I use a large mound of clay and start molding the wrist, pressing and pushing the clay to expand. Until now, all I have done is make small pinch pots, a task performed by elementary schoolers, but now I am trying something new. Incredibly, I have created a lifelike appendage… the perfect hand. Up to this point in my life, I had never seen myself as an artist. When I finished forming my hand, I realized there was a side of me I could explore and form into something special. The next day I walk into the art center, and see my teacher by the kiln. I rush over, eager to see the finished product, and when she opens up the kiln top, my piece is nowhere to be seen. Instead, I see my blood, sweat, and tears in six broken pieces. Two months of work, ruined. I am able to recognize a finger, a thumb, a section from the palm, the remnants of my hand. My teacher takes out glue, super glue, and Mod Podge to try to salvage my hand. The Mod Podge is the only thing that can fill in the cracks. I grab all the paints I think I will need and start mixing. Once I achieve a golden color for the cracks, I mix it with Mod Podge, and take the thumb, lining it up with the broken palm. It is a painstaking process, but finally I add the wiring to the lamp, and with the turn of a nob, my hand lights up and becomes a shining relic with the Mod Podge-filled cracks - the highlight of my piece. My broken, restored hand pointed me in a new direction and helped me to find unexpected treasures in life’s scars. Reflecting on what I learned as both an artist and a person from this experience, I see the importance of perseverance when faced with things not going as planned. What we perceive in life to be broken and worthless can often be put back together and the new, repaired entity becomes even more valuable due to its journey of healing. The ancient Japanese technique of kintsugi repairs broken pottery by filling the cracks with gold. When I tell people that the golden highlights were unplanned and the result of a disaster, they are as shocked as I was when I looked in the kiln. 6

– Cole Kammler ’17 7

– Matt Jensen ’19

R E T A E E R I F THE You wealthy who steal your power from the poor by masquerading as their savior You city boys wearing 10 gallon Versace hats and singing about country life You poets who strive to find original truth with borrowed language You who kill for a merciful god that he may favor the bloodthirsty You wolves that shepherd the weak You good men dressed in red You sinners dressed in white You wrothful smilers You cowardly lions You pained grins You joyful tears You You set an alarm at 6 to wake at 8 then You work to stay alive only to forget to live You turn on those that you love to hate and You return to those you hate to love. You swallow truths you don’t believe From liars paid to speak the truth Who hand you your opinion and convince you it’s yours And even they get it from somewhere else From a parent, from their boss, from their boss’s boss From an aged book with golden pages That preach fire disguised as tonic And pour it down your throat all the same. (cont’d on p. 10)

(cont’d from p. 9)

R E T A E E R I F E TH Blessed truly is the fire eater. He who inhales the blaze and when he exhales Written in orange and black and yellow letters Is the shadow of his lungs. The imprint of his capillaries Spill forth in front of disbelieving onlookers Who scorn his miracle. Hypocrites all. Spit on into the blue black night, See your personal inferno reflected in toy shop windows, In deactivated TV screens, in an old man’s glasses That he may remember the moments of his youth, And see your creation as a kindred phoenix. Then your flame steals away into the night sky, Living only a beat longer in the hearts of those who saw. You knew it would. You’re no fool. So you spit again And again And again. Until your throat chars and your heart cooks to medium rare, Just the way you like it. And when you walk home and see the sun Rising over your duplex apartment on the lower east side, Feel that heat on your face And remember. – Andrew Liptrot ’18

– Xavier Vega ’17

– Cole Kammler ’17

Maple leaves Got to 20º last night and the maples decided it was fall Their huge leaves are now yellow maybe they’re right

– Greeley Wells ’62

See-through sheet

Maple leaves Got to 20º last night and the maples decided it was fall Their huge leaves are now yellow maybe they’re right

– Greeley Wells ’62

– Brad Deflin ’17 15

Growing Up – Reza Badiee ’19

When I was younger, I thought the day you found love was the day you became an adult. I looked around and saw all the adult figures in my life. I tried to sort out the differences between what made them grown-up and what made me a kid. They looked human just like me, would eat food just like me, had feelings just like me, so what made them adults? I would always watch my uncle kiss my aunt and pay for her food and ask how her day was at work. They would always travel together and go on dates. In my mind, this is what a definition of a man, not a boy. A boy would not tell a girl that he loved her, he would not take her on dates and travel with her, and he most definitely not pay for her food, you know, ‘cause we’re too young to do that and that’s “gay.” I knew if I wanted to become an adult I would have to find real love. A girl I could treat with respect and give everything I had to offer. I talked to my uncle one day and asked him what I should do about this girl I liked. He told me to act mature in front of her. He said that girls mature much faster than boys do, so if I acted like a gentleman she would see me as a respectable young man and not a boy. I was around 14 years old and would do anything, and I mean anything to be cool and fit in. Being in 7th grade, it was the farthest thing from cool to take a girl out and pay for her meal and tell her she looks beautiful. I made the decision to try to kiss her. I felt that if I was able to plant a kiss on her lips, I would grow into an adult. No one in my grade was making out and hanging with girls; they thought girls were gross specimens put on this earth to spread cooties amongst the boys. It was a Saturday night, and my friend was having a small pool party with just a few friends. We made the decision to invite some girls. Now understand that we invited them as friends. We had no sexual intentions with any of them. None of us had ever experienced a touch of a girl or even our own touch for that matter. When the girls arrived, we decided to play Marco Polo in the pool. That was cute and all, but I had other intentions. I was going to play a little game I call “get the girl alone, and fricken kiss her.” While all my friends were invested in this game of Marco Polo, I called the girl over to “show her a cool video.” We went behind the trampoline and just stood there. I felt my heart beating up my throat and out of my mouth. I closed my eyes and planted a big kiss on her plump lips. I pulled back and looked at her. She was shocked. She smiled at me and told me she always wanted to have her first kiss but never knew how to do it. I lied and told her I had done this before, and I could teach her a thing or two. You know, “practice.” On that night, I felt like I entered the life of a man.

– CJ Calcinari ’18 17

– Greeley Wells ’62

Alumnus

GREELEY WELLS ’62 Mr. Wells started at Avon Old Farms in 1959. Avon was a guiding influence that set a course for his whole life. He tried sports, but polio had damaged his foot and limited his involvement to swimming. The Nimrod Club played a significant role in developing his love of nature, as he carries fond memories of hiking through the beautiful acres and forests of Avon. He loved the art department and yearbook. Upon graduation from Avon, he headed to central Florida and Rollins college for its great art department. He received a BFA and MFA. He moved to Los Angeles where, over the course of his career, he taught design, and was granted a National Endowment of the Arts grant. He worked as an “artist in residence” at a school in Glendale, California. He remained a California resident for the next several years until he heard the call of southern Oregon. At 72, he has spent a lifetime making paintings, drawings, prints and photography up until about eight years ago when he rediscovered film making. He shares his art through his website (www.greeley. me) and his film “Greeley’s Nature” has recently won a “Best Short Documentary Film” award at Columbia Gorge International Film Festival. His next film, NUDE, won an “Audience Choice” award the following year. Both of these films were born from the inspirations of art and nature formed so many years ago at Avon Old Farms.

How can you say you are an explorer, When you try to find already-found wonders? The real exploration is in a place nobody else has been: Yourself. Dig deep into your own soul, And try to find what makes you tick.

– Jake Morris ’19

– TJ Brooks ’17

– Joe Stallmeyer ’17

Finding a Home Thru Music Eyes closed. Head swinging back and forth. Strumming. Bending. Vibrato...

The drumbeat, starting slow, began to climb as the bass and piano joined the fray. Within a second, every sound fell away and all eyes were directed at me. I stood up with my Les Paul guitar in hand to embrace the moment. While I played the solo, the notes jumped from my guitar strings and even the particles of light danced as I played along. I imagined myself as a painter, coloring the mountains green, delineating the shape of heaven and the starry night. An intoxicating world of possibility instantly surrounded me.

***

Despite the sense of self I possessed during that jazz performance, I had to earn my right to feel like an individual at my predominantly white boarding school. When I first arrived in the US, each day felt like a struggle against racially motivated comments or labels. They loomed over me like a dark, invisible cloud that always threatened to storm. Those subtle acts, which categorized all Asian people into one homogenous racial group, deprived me of any feeling of personhood as if I was simply not worth noticing. These problems intensified when, one Sunday night, I heard loud, scattered footsteps fall outside my dorm room, jolting my attention away from my book. I would have normally returned to reading, but a sudden derisive laugh piqued my interest. I leaned back in my chair, peeked through the gap in my doorway, and saw my dorm mate and his friends quickly enter the room across the winding hall. By chance, I heard a muffled sound through their closed door. “Do you know who lives on the other side?” Rather than saying my name, my dorm mate replied, “Just some Asian kid. He’s chill, though.” This was my dorm mate, a person who would share his hopes and fears with me many Friday nights when we sat and talked in the hall outside our rooms. If even he didn’t think of me as an individual, who would? At the same time that I was struggling to make sense of my environment, I opened myself to a new form of music: jazz. I first learned about this music when my music teacher showed me B.B King’s “The Thrill Is Gone.” Hearing jazz for the first time, I found something genuine and yearning about B.B King’s guitar playing. Every bend of the strings was deliberate as if he attempted to translate his experiences right into the notes of the song. Contrary to the beautiful but rigid classical music I was used to performing in China, jazz gives musicians an opportunity to improvise and infuse their own personalities into their music. As I began learning jazz on my guitar, I realized that the various scales and arpeggios could manifest unspoken emotions and express my own self. Each performance and improvisation felt distinct and ephemeral. Unlike a name--my name--which people could abuse, erase, and ignore, nobody could steal this art from me. Through jazz, I was able to discover my individuality at a time it felt lost. But I’ve also come to learn that jazz is simultaneously personal and communal. In a jazz ensemble, different instrumentalists contribute their unique sounds while conversing with each other to synthesize the perfect harmony and create a spontaneous community. It was during that last jazz performance of my junior year when I stood up to play a solo that my thoughts turned toward my band community. Although we all have different backgrounds and personal struggles, every single one of us nodded along with the rhythm. A few minutes later, our bassist gave me a gentle nudge at my back. Lost in the moment, I had played my solo in a daze only to awaken to myself in midst of the applause. – Leo Luo ’17 22

– Will Fellows ’17 23

Chapel Talk – Jeremy Awe ’17

Over the past several years of my life, I’ve experienced many inconveniences that I considered “hardships.” When I was nine my dad was offered a position on the board of a company that was just starting up and would be based out of Phoenix, Arizona. We packed up the car and drove there from Long Island. This was a horrifying experience. It was summertime, our car had no AC, and my youngest brother was still in diapers. We spent six days driving across the country. After what felt like hell, we finally, we arrived at our new house in a totally different state. This would be my first time ever being “the new kid;” however, I fit in rather well and truly began to enjoy the desert. Two years after moving in, the stock market collapsed and so did we. My family ended up moving back to New York and living in my grandparents two bedroom condo (there were seven of us, so my brother and I usually fought over the bed). I also attended two more new schools, but I knew my dad would have a few tricks up his sleeve as he always did; we would be back on our feet in no time. Four years ago, he was offered a job in Rhode Island. So again, we packed the car, and anxiously waited until we arrived in another new house, eager to start over. This would be my 5th house I’ve lived in, and my 4th new school. However, the schools weren’t much. I was worried I would lose interest in academics. For some reason I felt like I needed another change, so I decided to apply to Avon. When I arrived at Avon, I was stunned by the architecture, personalities of the faculty, and all of the impressive athletic teams; However, I kept hearing one phrase that never really caught my interest; “Aspirando et Perseverando” (Aspire and Persevere). Honestly, I ignored it. I thought to myself, “Great, I’ve already done all the persevering in my life.” I made it through my sophomore year with ease. As junior year began, I started thinking about colleges and possible careers. I had good grades, played sports, and had everything moving exactly in the direction that I wanted it to. In the midst of my success, I was starkly reminded that life will throw whatever it wants at you. On April 7th, 2016, I held my father’s hand as he passed away. This experience is not something I can put into words. A wave of emotions crashed onto me, and I had suddenly forgotten how to swim. On that car ride home, I had thoughts I’ve never had before. Where is God now? How long does anything really last? I was now staring into an abyss, dark and lonely and hopeless, and it stared right back at me.

My perspective didn’t really change until my nine year old little brother, Hamilton, asked me a profound question: He looked up at me and said, “Jem, who’s gonna make the pancakes in the morning now?” Suddenly, the school motto became very real. It hadn’t previously occurred to me that I had a new role to fill. Whenever I used to complain about anything, my dad would tell me to suck it up. I wasn’t sure exactly how I would this time. All I knew is that I would make Hamilton some pancakes the next morning. I was able to muster up enough courage to return to school about two weeks later and finish out the rest of the year. Now, when I come home my mother hugs me just like she hugged my father when he came home from work; Hamilton then hugs me and asks me to make pancakes.

I guess this is what manhood feels like.

– Sam Krupnikoff ’19

The sun shines on nobody I wake up as the Morning sunlight gleams straightly into my eyes as if It’s going to sting. I look at the window, the flowers are blooming, the leaves are falling, the people are walking busily. I hear others Talking of how their day was, How thankful they are, Complaining how hard their life is, With their mouth, not with their heart. I feel with my sense That weathers are changing, My friends are changing, And my feelings fluctuating. Then I sit down on the bench by the tree Thinking ‘what a beautiful world to live in.’ – Joon Ho Lee ’18

TWO FEET Living away from my family Trying to hold the tears falling from my eyes Living in a different country Speaking in a different language Voices whisper You are awful To make myself stronger I tell myself Keep trying Keep trying To stand on my own two feet Working out in the gym Studying for tests Making myself better Pushing myself I will get stronger I will be able To stand on my own two feet Throughout the journey of life

â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Matthew Son â&#x20AC;&#x2122;20

– Matt Jensen ’19

– Cam Andrews ’19

D e ad

li ft

The two dark plates at the right side collapse into each other as each tries to exert its dominion over the other. After hearing the click of the clamp that locks the naughty weights in place, I know it’s time. Mid-foot under the bar. Hip-width stance. Toes out. Knees bending until shins touch the bar, I hang my hands outside of my legs to grab the bar. Feet plant on the plywood floor; shoulders back, chest up and here comes the pull! Straight up from the floor, the iron floats. Deadlifting is a poem.

Every motion is rhythmic, like the meter of a sonnet.

Every sound as the bar starts from the floor is alliterative,

like different words in a verse.

The strict form ensures the safety of the deadlift;

however, within such form, there are many variations:

there is the sumo deadlift with a wider stance

and the snatch grip deadlift with a wider grip.

Sonnets have their rhyme, but the deadlift has its unique tempo.

The poetry of deadlifting lifts me from the everyday

and makes me feel more alive.

– Leo Luo ’17 31

– CJ Calcinari ’18

– Graham Deckers33 ’20

– Xavier Vega ’17

They ask me, “who are you?”

Who?

so I can either tell them the truth or I can just say my name.

Do I know who I am? I think to myself, How can I not know who I am? Who has led me to this point?

I am barely one quarter of my way through life, but I somehow thought it would seem that I should know who I am. All I know is my name is Sean Flanagan, I live in Warren Township in the state of New Jersey in the greatest country on earth, America. I have two fluffy cats we got for Christmas one year, and the dog the year after. I love my family, and like to think they feel the same about me. I go to an all-boys boarding school that’s basically in the middle of nowhere, Connecticut. These are all “facts,” but is that who I am? Do I know where I’m headed off to in my future? Do I know when I’m supposed to “make it big” or become the “most rich and famous?” No. Because the little I do know about me knows I don’t want that life. I don’t want to have to deal with all the unnecessary problems people in the spotlight take on. The only problems I face now most people wouldn’t even call problems. Like how can you be a nice guy but still become what society wants you to become and get a girlfriend? How do you balance school work with your social life while at the same time getting a good night’s rest? How can you tell if someone isn’t being fake? I certainly don’t know this. I hope by some miracle of God that I can figure all of this out. – Sean Flanagan ’19

– Brad Deflin ’17

Damaged Goods Ocean crashing over the discarded remnants Pushing the debris closer and closer to the mainland Clutters the beaches with unwanted guests Blemishes ruining the purity of the sand Tainting the ocean with threats to all its life Entangled in the abandoned fishing net Struggling to get free from the plastic noose Survival uncertain Large sharp threats crash with each wave Escape is impossible Swimming through waters mankind ignores The one item that has been forgotten Is the cause of so much pain and suffering Leaving the animal wounded Damaged goods – Cole Kammler ’17

– Brad Deflin ’17

– Jeremy Awe '17 37

– Matt Jensen ’19

It is dark. At night from my camp Sleepy It’s my sweet dream of the sky.

Sky-dream

The brothers, The star and the cloud, Fighting For the love of the moon, The muse. The cloud, the warrior, Keeps his lover hidden behind, Uses his strong body to protect his love. Seconds later, The star cuts through, Shining Like a brave knight, Showing he is worth the holy love of his muse. Taking revenge, The cloud passes over, Through the star, Surrounding the moon, Like hugging his lover in his arms, Closer and closer. It is dark.

– Gary Zuo ’20

The Bridge Have you been to the bridge nearby? I don’t remember it so well, I only really remember her and I. I don’t think I could tell you how to get there, But I know I could tell you about her hair. I can’t recall if the streambed was dry or not, But I can tell you the lessons her body taught. Lessons that said “Yes, it’s better to have loved and lost.” That said “Yes, if that’s the cost, it’s the cost, But never plan on it, and don’t plan what you do next either Don’t you dare sit back and take a breather. And if your mind deigns to wander, And it’s home, or work, or school that you begin to ponder Then I will pull you back by your nerve endings And we can work on each others mendings.” Of course I listened to such sound advice, Never thinking of the price. So, I didn’t count my steps while returning. I was busy minding my lovesick stomach’s churning. My memory of the way has not since grown stronger, But, oh, that I could stay there a moment longer And enjoy the union of her and I! Have you been to the bridge nearby? – Andrew Liptrot ’18 40

Caitlyn Remember how we used to smile To share a foolish thought? To simply wait and walk a while? To talk of all, and nought? We’d spend our days and nights as two, Content to stare above. I always felt the same with you It seemed a sort of love. And so we made it something more But something came to end. We never found what came before. I miss my finest friend.

– Connor Preen ’17

See-through sheet

– Connor Preen ’17

– Chris Stephan ’18

43 43

e y b d o o G g n i y a S

Coming to Avon was not really a challenge, But saying goodbye was. This wasn’t my first time away, But something was different, It was like the start to a new life. Two days before my dad was crying, saying he was proud of me. I had never seen him cry before, Except when the Patriots lost the Superbowl in 2007, I didn’t realize until they drove away how much this meant to my parents, So my first day meant more to me than I knew myself, It was a new chapter in my life story.

EVERYTHING

– Peter Chandor ’19

Where you are absent, there is no light. Without a full table, there is no nourishment. In quiet, there you are. If I am ready, I will see you. I dance in the silence that envelops me. You are the music. If I grasp, I walk away empty handed. Because you are everywhere, I exist. – Bobby Bivona ’19

– Cole Kammler ’17

– Graham Deckers ’20

Know Your Worth Know your worth, some people are full of pride. What makes us so? Is it the titles and badges that give clout? Is it caused by the traps that society has set for us? Who knows? Sometimes we don’t acknowledge that we have become overgrown with this sin. We would rather suffer than admit that we are in dire need of help. Even distinguished businessmen have abruptly fallen into this trap. Once entered you can hardly ever escape from this gap. Accomplishment is said to cause vanity which is pretty true, but money is the worst of all because it ruins you. Once we return to to our selfless selves, we receive the greatest gift of all: ENDLESS WEALTH.

– Khamal Cumberbatch ’20 46

– Andrew Jung ’17

– Daichi Ono ’19

m e o P e v o L A f l e S r e g n u to My Yo It’s okay, you’ll be fine. Hey Barton, you will still go by Barton and not Bart. (Just a heads up, Bart sounds a lot cooler than Barton. Just an idea.) Even though you go to a “special school” with other “challenged kids,’’ You’ll make it. One day you’ll go to a legit prep school and be just like everyone else. Even though you’re godawful at school. And are still struggling to read The Magic Tree House in the 5th grade, You will figure it out. You’ll learn, but it’s gonna suck, It’s gonna suck for a while. One day you’ll find that your learning disability Won’t separate you from your best friend. You’re gonna feel like everyone else. It’s okay that you’re different, You’re still pretty cool. Also in a few years, don’t ask out that girl you think you want. Turns out her hotter friend is into you, And is now a Hollister model. (Just saying.) – Barton Gardella ’19 – Artist Name‘18 49

Too many times One Lays across the bed Wondering why They cannot quite fall asleep But really they Have been sleeping This whole Time

– Preston Sayyah ’18

– Joe Stallmeyer ’17

The Last Performance Shimmering movement, The leaves dance in the cool breeze; What joyous music! C h i l l s l i f t e d o n a i r, Harsh winds shrouded in darkness; S h u t t i n g o u t t h e d a y. Music heard no more, L i k e b r o w n f a l l e n s t a r s , t h e y l a y, S i l e n t f o r e v e r. – Jackson Berry ’17 50 50

YEARS

Hippocrene To celebrate our 25th anniversary, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll notice this yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Hippocrene looks a little different from the ones that came before. We have changed the size, we used different paper, and it was even laid out differently. This year, it is all about... TRANSITION: change, shifts, and progress. All work chosen this year reflects, in some capacity or another, that idea of change and transition. As seniors, we are looking forward to a huge time of transition as we start off on the next chapter of our lives. You will also notice we have an alumnus highlighted this year. Even as we move on to different parts of the world, Avon will be a place we return to again and again, and Greeley Wells, class of 1962, wanted to share with us some of the pieces he has created since leaving Avon. Looking at his work as a whole, it is clear to see how his pieces have transitioned in both content and style. We are quite proud of this publication, and hope you enjoy both the new format and the content. We would be remiss if we did not mention Mrs. Jensen, Mrs. Pinton and Mr. Bolster, who have acted as guides and mentors.

Strike the Drumhead, Gentlemen

– Boon Bhakdibhumi ’18