LAKE ISSU E N O . 03 S PRIN G 2013
LAKE SPRING 2013 EDITION
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LAKE ARTS PUBLICATION
LAKE To celebrate art in all its forms
Fine Art Billie Brannan
Poetry Peggy Davis
Photography Dayna Hartley
Film Rob Little
Fiction Peggy Davis
Nonfiction Rebecca Biggs
Food Joe Ervin
Graphic Design Jennifer Tarantino-Linsin
Student Editor Reis Barnfield
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FINE ART
POETRY
PHOTOGRAPHY
Within these pages, we hope you, the reader, will discover something that shocks, excites, FILM
FICTION & NONFICTION
amazes, surprises, motivates, delights, inspires, or thrills you. Whatever emotions you feel while reading the latest issue of Rend Lake College’s Arts Publication Lake, whether you
FOOD
GRAPHIC DESIGN
love it or hate it, you’re feeling, and isn’t that the point? So, here’s our question to you — what are you waiting for?
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A Message from the Student Editor‌ Welcome to the third edition of the Rend Lake College Arts Publication Lake. Artwork in many forms of media will be found within this publication. These works are gathered by me and the editorial staff listed on page two and are put creatively into place by RLC Graphic Design Students under the direction of Jennifer Tarantino-Linsin. Artists featured in this journal include RLC Students (both traditional and non-traditional), RLC Faculty and Staff, some of whom are retired, and members of the local Reis Barnfield LAKE Student Editor
communities which RLC serves. Lake is one of the best ways to promote our very talented artists. We hope that artists featured in Lake use this as a way to promote themselves and their hard work.
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My editorial experience begins with a similar publication produced during my junior and senior years of high school. I, along with fellow staff members, produced Volumes 35 and 36 of JAVA, a Mount Vernon Township High School, Vernois Publications Group literary magazine. Along with that, I was recruited to be a staff member of the Vernois Yearbook the second semester of my junior year. One might say I caught on quickly, as I coedited the Vernois the following school year. These experiences came up in conversation between Lake Editor Peggy Davis and me, just after the release of Lake’s First Edition. After much discussion, the editors asked me to join them in creating the Second and Third editions.
I am more than happy to be a part of Lake. However, the production goes beyond the named editors and me. The color scheme and template were created by RLC sophomore Sara Barnett. Printing was carried out by Director of Marketing Chad Copple, along with Assistant Director Nathan Wheeler. The judging process was conducted by several individuals. None of this would have been possible without these very important and creative people. We thank them and our readers for making Lake a success.
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San’s Chinese Cassie Porter Photography
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Joice Lawrence was born in Kankakee, Illinois. She moved with her family while still very young to Florida where she lived until the age of 14. At that time, Joice moved back to Illinois – to southern Illinois this time – which was quite different from the Kankakee area. She stayed there for a couple of years until she enlisted in the Air Force. This dramatic move, besides getting to learn a new career, gave her the wonderful opportunity to travel all over Europe. She separated from the military in San Antonio, Texas – a location she enjoyed very much. She recently moved back to southern Illinois to help care for an elderly and ailing family member. Joice has enjoyed writing since she was very young and finds it rewarding, therapeutic and quite relaxing.
Joice Lawrence
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The Lone Knight Joice Lawrence Alone I stand on the bloody mound, The dead & dying litter the ground. My sword hangs heavily in my grasp; I wearily contemplate my odious task, As I scan the loathsome blood-drenched scene, Where scarcely a life remains to be seen. From above a fierce rumble sounds – the sky hauntingly dark, It echoes the blackness firmly encasing my heart, I find my live foes and pierce them through with my blade though lust for revenge for my dead ones is now sated It must be done, though more like these men will follow I finish my deed though my actions feel hollow. I turn from the carnage & walk home to the west, For my once brave, bold stallion now lies dead with the rest, The land of my birth soothes my war-torn ravaged soul, As I drag myself homeward, with every ounce of control, I bring with me the news no man wants to hear, But as I stand ‘fore my king, my message is clear. I tell him, “All now are dead.” Those words fill every heart with shuddering dread. It was a battle unwanted, unsought, unprovoked But the damages wrought could not revoked. I knew that our enemies would return once again, When their strength was revived; they’d not turn from their sin, And I, the lone knight, remain for the task To conquer my foes, ‘til I’ve breathed my last.
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Myles Karcher Stainless Steel & Wood
Mystic Essence I Lacey Pearce Pencil & Color Pencil
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RLC Creative Writing Club Bucket Drive Sara Barnett Poster Design
bucket drive The Amy Center
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Design is a passion of mine. Whether it’s posters, logos, web sites, banners, shirts, publications...I can’t seem to get enough.
Benefitting children served by
12 pm - 6 pm november 17th Mt. Vernon Kroger Rend Lake College Creative Writing Club along with Amy Center members will be collecting donations in front of the Mt. Vernon Kroger. All donations will be used to buy books for children served by the Amy Center.
Sponsored by the RLC Creative Writing Club.
Although I like using various styles in design, I would say I focus mostly on typography, clean lines, and white space. I love the simplicity and class these dynamic elements can create together. I started dabbling in graphic design as a teen, creating shirt designs for my high school. It quickly grew into an addiction. My love for graphic design has definitely blossomed at Rend Lake College. There have been so many diverse opportunities for me as a designer to grow and learn.
Sara Barnett
Amanda Sheridan Silver, Copper, & Gemstone
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Be Still Hannah Storment Photography
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Melisa Gibbs is a non-traditional student, born in Alton, Illinois, and currently living in Johnston City, Illinois. Raised an only child, Melisa used to spend her free time writing homemade choose-your-own adventure stories for friends and family as a child. Melisa, a Culinary Arts major, will be graduating Spring 2013 and hopes to find work that also allows her to travel extensively.
Melisa Gibbs
Zina Smith Oil, Acrylic, & Spray Paint
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My Grandmother’s Gumbo Melisa Gibbs
My earliest memories were of my mother teaching me to read. She was determined that, from the moment I could hold the book on my own, I would have a love of the written word. She fed me whatever I would read, regardless of the suggested age group. Around the time I turned nine, I discovered the stacks of old National Geographic and New Yorker magazines stashed away in the back of my grandparent’s closet. I was hooked, and from that day forward was positive that I was going to grow up to take pictures for NatGeo and write for the New Yorker. The dreams of a nine-year-old rarely come true as they are envisioned in the eyes of a child. Little did I realize, my true dreams were simmering away on the stove--the smells dancing through the air in a promenade, mere characters in whatever story I had my nose currently shoved into. There was always something happening in the kitchen and food was my grandmother’s favorite child. She and my mother always attempting to pull me into the room with talk of stocks and roux; I found their chatter just a distraction from my mental adventures with Alice, Charlotte and little Laura of my ever growing library. When the kitchen would become too noisy, I’d grab a salt shaker and find shelter under the big maple in the backyard. It was there that piles of freshly-picked ripe tomatoes would soon become my private picnic as I would work my way through several more chapters only relenting and returning indoors when daylight was no longer my friend. Fresh green beans, pickled beets and sweet potatoes were always well stocked on the table thanks to the diligence of my mother and grandmother preserving everything possible from the garden. I, like many children, never considered the food. Food was the real memory though, what would stick with me throughout life and all its hardship, long after other memories would fade. Anyone who tells you that you need money in order to eat well has not had food made with care and love. Every detail of a recipe carefully read, planned, altered and re-altered to create a masterpiece that would never become famous beyond the kitchen’s backdoor. As I grew up and my childhood dreams faded away, I felt lost, not knowing what to do with myself. I had found a job, one of those that pay just barely enough to survive but offered benefits too good to walk away from. I hated it but was raised responsible enough to never walk away when there were still bills to pay. My grandmother would fix me soup, always from scratch, and we’d sit at the kitchen table and she would patiently listen to my rants
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about all the things that had gone wrong that day. I
It was a Friday night, with a storm brewing on the
was never sure if it was her or the soup that made
other side of the Mississippi, threatening havoc,
me feel better.
when I finally mastered it. The wind blew hard, find-
ing its way through the old house, knocking out the
It’s easy to forget that we are all mortal and what
power several times. With a flashlight nearby, I kept
begins must end. It was Mother’s Day when my
stirring my roux, positive that I had to get it right this
grandmother had the stroke that would bring hospice
time. While the light began to fade from the skies, I
to her doorstep. The kitchen, the long-time host of
could also see it fading from my grandmother’s eyes.
many a dish, soon became the quiet meeting place
for family to whisper our fears. It also would become
I sat next to her, holding her hand as the room
the place, over the course of the next four weeks,
flickered with candle light, spoon-feeding her my
that my grandmother would weakly instruct me on
latest attempt. She smiled at me and asked if I
how to create every ounce of love she ever put on
remembered how I did it. Through the thunder I sat
our plates.
next to her and recited every step and instruction
from memory. She smiled at me and within the hour
The house, in the midst of our sorrow, soon became
was gone, having finished her job, and satisfied that I
alive again with the smells of my childhood as I
finally understood.
strove to master one dish after another. My grand-
mother, even through the morphine, would carefully
My Grandmother’s Gumbo Recipe
taste each dish and provide instructions on how to
1 ½ lbs of chicken (or whatever is laying around)
do it better and then quickly make a request for what
½ cup of roux ( ¼ cup flour + ¼ cup butter)
we would have for the next meal. In those short
1 cup diced onion
weeks, there were no goodbyes, no regretful tears,
1 cup diced green bell pepper (always green bells)
only talk of food.
½ cup chopped celery
1 – 2 cups chicken broth
My grandmother’s favorite and most treasured
2 cups fresh okra
recipe was her Gumbo. This was the dish that she
1 bay leaf
claimed brought my grandfather to his knees, beg-
1 (28 oz) can of diced tomato (do not drain)
ging her to marry him. She was determined that I
Salt, pepper and hot sauce, to taste
would learn this recipe above all others. In those final weeks, I made gumbo more often than any
Add 1/3 of your butter into a large skillet and season
other dish.
your meat. Make sure to salt and pepper and allow it to brown slightly. Remove with a slotted spoon,
I could never get it just perfect and she could recog-
allowing the butter to stay in the pan.
nize each error with just a few bites. The roux was overcooked, the rice was too plain, the okra wasn’t
Using your spoon, loosen any brown bits from the
done… it was never right, but I struggled forward,
bottom of your skillet. Add the rest of your butter
without complaining.
and bring up to temperature. Add the flour and cook
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slowly (on medium heat) until the flour is well blended and starting to turn brown. This is your roux. Add your onion, bell pepper and celery and cook until tender. Don’t be afraid of how messy it looks. Slowly add your broth, about ½ cup at a time, stirring well between each addition until smooth and incorporated. Pour this mixture into a dutch oven, add okra, chicken, bay leaf, tomatoes, salt, pepper and hot sauce. Cook on low until the kitchen starts smelling heavenly. Serve over rice that has been cooked in chicken broth. No Minute Rice allowed. The secret was never the recipe or even the instructions. The recipe, later found, was cut from an unknown magazine. It was about the care, love and thoughtfulness that went into every step and not taking shortcuts through life or soup…
Michael Goldman Pen
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Nature of Growth Lee Knaus Ceramics, Glazes, & Metals
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Men’s Cologne Campaign: “ICE” Cologne Name, Scent, Bottle, Box Packaging & Magazine Ad all had to be designed for a project. When I thought of my design for a man’s cologne, my first thought was something sleek and cool. I started thinking about chrome, and then I started thinking about what is cool. I thought of an ice cube, and from there I thought of ICE, my cologne name. My design concept came together nicely. I questioned several guys about their favorite scents and ultimately decided on clean and fresh. My ad model was picture perfect cool, kinda James Dean like, and I think the ad speaks for itself. “If you want to be cool, wear ICE!”
LaDonna Wilkin
ICE Cologne LaDonna Wilkin Packaging Design
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Babel Alexandria Burns Digital Photography
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When I take photographs, I become someone else. I become the camera. There is not a better feeling in the world than capturing what you see and translating it proficiently to the photograph.
Alexandria Burns
Aubree Willis Nickel, Copper, & Hemp
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bare Sara Barnett Packaging Design
Tree Breath Lee Knaus Ceramics & Glazes
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Can’t Teach an Old Dog New Tricks Cassie Porter Photography
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Nicole Lyle Copper & Brass
Amanda Sheridan Copper & Silver
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Amanda Sheridan Copper
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When asked to choose a company and re-do their annual report more reader friendly, I had just discovered a kids clothing store called Crazy 8 and their clothes were adorable for my 4 year old daughter. I found out they were a cheaper form of GYMBOREE and they have a cute preppy look. The info graphic I created from scratch has a lot of textures that I applied in photoshop. I think it says a lot about what Crazy 8 has to offer and as the info graph states, I’m glad this company is growing!
LaDonna Wilkin
Crazy 8 Infographic LaDonna Wilkin Marketing Design
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Art is my escape, my passion, my connection to the rest of the world. Portraits are a predominant part of my work. My goal is to capture an emotion, or an inner and sometimes underlying feeling. I want my audience to not just see a portrait but to connect with the subject in a meaningful way.
Sherrie Weinhoffer
Sherrie Weinhoffer Watercolor
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Yummy Red Goo Esther Wysong “Strawberries are on sale for a dollar a box. I didn’t know if you wanted to make jam.” Dad’s voice crackled over the phone as he called Mom from Aldi’s. An hour later, we had four flats of strawberries sitting on the table and filling the front of the house with the smell of spring. Dad gathered all of us into the living room and told us we would be making homemade strawberry freezer jam the next day. It would be easy, he told us, excited about making it, while dismay flashed across faces and the youngest of us children piped up, “But don’t we get to eat them with cereal?” He perked up when dad reassured him we would save some for cereal and we would all love the jam. The next day, dozens of boxes of strawberries were scattered across the counters, sugar was measured and waiting in bowls, pots bubbled on the stove and a potato masher was covered in smashed berries. That’s what the kitchen looked like when my family was in middle of making strawberry freezer jam. Even though it was our first time making jam, there were seven of us working in the same kitchen like a well-oiled machine. Strawberries were rinsed off and hulled by Abby and Isaac, my youngest brother who was worried about not having any for his cereal, while Alex smashed them with the now bent potato masher and measured the mashed berries into six-cup groups and Ivan, my younger brother, measured sugar into bowls to be mixed with the strawberries. I stirred a mixture of water, sugar and pectin in a four-quart pot on the stove until it was boiling, then the six cups of mashed berries were dumped in and mixed until it all became a slimy, red goo that Dad poured into the clear, plastic Tupperware pint boxes Mom had lined up on the only empty counter and on the table.
Doog Sarah Valleroy Copper & Brass
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Curling through the scent of hot, bubbling pectin and
the jam, the taste lingers for a second before melting
sugar, the smell of smashed strawberries mixed with
away, leaving your taste buds yelling at you for more.
the scent of them being heated and brought to a boil
Eating the jam reminds me of the teamwork it took to
before it spread throughout the house. Before too
make the it and the laughter that accompanied the
long, the kitchen became warmer and soon the whir
hours we spent in the kitchen.
of a small fan was heard among the sounds of bowls clanking, the potato masher scraping the side of the
Almost every morning, it is guaranteed that one of
bowl, spoons stirring and the clatter of knives being
my three brothers or my dad will have strawberry jam
dropped on the counter while water swiftly dripped into
on their bagel, toast or on a peanut butter sandwich
the sink as the berries were rinsed off. Calls for more
sometime during the day. Whenever dad has jam
strawberries or sugar or Alex’s voice saying there were
on his toast or sandwich, before he puts the jam
six cups of berries mashed and ready to be cooked fil-
away, he gets a little bit on the spoon and feeds it
tered through the kitchen and filled the front half of the
to Toby, the white-faced Capuchin monkey who has
house, mixing with the hum of the fan and the steady
been part of our family for several years now. Toby
clatter of bowls and utensils.
loves homemade strawberry freezer jam better than grapes and cantaloupe or even my grandmother’s
Once the jam in the Tupperware boxes had cooled
amazing macaroni and cheese. What he likes best,
enough, the top was covered with plastic wrap to keep
though, is a peanut butter and strawberry jam sand-
the air off so it wouldn’t freezer burn and lids were put
wich. He sits on his bucket and licks all the jam and
on. They were then labeled “Strawberry Jam” with the
peanut butter off, then eats the bread, and when he’s
month and year and stacked in two different freezers,
finished, he intently watches dad finish eating.
the dry smell of an old freezer attacking our noses as we opened the one in the barn we had just turned on.
Not only does the monkey enjoy the strawberry jam, the rest of us all love eating it and remember-
Just a couple of weeks ago, I went to the freezer in the
ing the memories that were made when we spent
barn and brought several boxes of jam down to the big
those hours in the kitchen, bumping into someone
freezer in the house. The next morning, I saw my broth-
every time you turned around and weaving your
ers opening a new box and spreading the still-frozen
way through the rest of the family to get where you
jam on pancakes. When Isaac went to put the jam
need to go. Every time I taste the jam, I’m reminded
back in the refrigerator, he snuck a spoonful before he
of spring and laughter and the time spent with my
closed the box.
family. I remember the sounds that rang throughout the kitchen and the front of the house and the hum
Your taste buds are shocked when you eat the first bite.
of voices.
Spring flashes through your mind and you can almost hear the birds chirping and feel the breeze blowing
Now, whenever dad calls from Aldi’s and asks if we
against your face as the sun beats down on you. You
want strawberries to make into jam, mom gets a
can smell the scent of strawberries and the feel the
chorus of voices hollering yes. We’ve made jam at
heat of the kitchen when the jam was made. Flavor
least twice since that first time, but we all think the
tingles across your tongue and the sweet taste of sugar
first time was the best, and that’s what we remember
contrasts with the slight bit of tart from the berries,
when we eat the homemade strawberry freezer jam.
making your mouth water for more. After you swallow
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Willie Boyd Copper & Brass
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My name is Esther Wysong. I’ve been writing since just before I turned fourteen, when I wrote my first novel. Since then, I’ve almost finished the second book and have started several others. I’m doing a English major here at Rend Lake, but after I graduate, I’m going into missions and going to Africa.
Esther Wysong
Aubree Willis Copper, Nickel, & Peacock Feathers
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Heart of a Girl Hannah Storment Photography
Myles Karcher Brass, Copper, & Silver
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Molly Nelson
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Brenna Willie Boyd Nickel & Copper
Life’s a Drag Cassie Porter Photography
Amanda Sheridan Silver & Gemstone
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Jerome Wisehart Oil & Acrylic Paint
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Jerome Wisehart is an abstract artist and illustrator who was recently published as illustrator for “The Night the Angels Came” by Nancy Herzing. Graduated from Rend Lake College in the Spring of 2012, he is currently attending MidContinent University for a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and Counseling. Jerome is a previous winner of the Rend Lake College Purchase Award and The Claxton Award.
Sea of Life Lee Knaus Ceramics & Glazes
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State of Euphoria Jeanna Purkaple It’s hard to describe the feeling. It’s like when you’re little and, if you had a generally good childhood like I did, then you had few real worries, and life was pretty carefree. Your ‘leisure’ time (away from school and any chores) was amenable to daydreams, if you were the dreaming sort, which I was. The feeling to which I ascribe is such as I’d have gotten, for example, from being away from my sisters for a time;---I don’t know---let’s imagine they are close but elsewhere---perhaps in the house with my parents (both still living because I’m young);---but, they are not in our house. Let’s say we are out visiting; that properly sets the scenario. It’s someone’s home which is unfamiliar; and I whisper to Mom, midst their conversation, that I want to see the yard, and the garden therein; and when she absently nods consent, I escape through a back door, tiptoeing Self Movie Poster Sara Barnett Poster Design
sneakily, though there is no need for it,---tip tap, tip tap, in my shiny patent-leather MaryJane’s. Down the concrete walkway, I follow the curve of it to two huge evergreen bushes. The home is situated on a hill, and between the bushes five steps lead down to a landing, five more steps, and then a quiet street. I sit at the top of the steps and enjoy my balcony view. The flanking evergreens, exquisitely pungent, cushion this bit of the world with a hushed reverence, and I try not to move, so as to absorb the ambience. A flock of birds pass over, lending to the magic. I watch their shadows zig then zag on the landscape before throwing my head back and watching them shrink into
Sarah Valleroy Nickel & Copper
tiny specks of black, swirling in a huge crystal bowl of blue soup. It brings to mind my beloved Dad, God-like
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to my sisters and me, sprinkling pepper onto his
sprinkles of misty rain? Wayward flower petals?
‘Specialty’: potato-and-onion stew (except that it was
Some plant’s seedlings flitting about for a place to
creamy-white, not blue!).
nestle and grow?
Resting there on the cool concrete, my eyes stretch
Possibly snowflakes!?! The weather’s too warm,-
wide; so much beauty to witness even in a common
--but miracles do occur! I ponder and pretend
day. My hair blows softly about my cheeks, and the sun
in my joyful little state of timeless being. Then,
shines through the strands like glistening gold, making
a warmer, more solid touch, strokes my nose,
me feel as pretty as any princess.
though just as softly. I look up into the gentle, laughing eyes of my Dad. And I smile, and take
A line of ants follow one another down into the side-
his hand.
walk’s crack then out again,---on their way, I surmise, to a delicious picnic. Rose scents from somewhere waft about on the breeze. I can’t see them, but I imagine them to be---pink, and white, and yellow. The same colors as the coconut bonbons my Grandma LenaBelle liked to keep in her special candy dish. The rose smell mixes with the coconut smell in my mind, until they are one. A lazy mama cat ambles by on the street-level walk. She sits and licks her paw for a moment, eyeing me with disinterest. A bluebird waits for the feline’s departure before splashing about briefly in a lovely birdbath encrusted with tiny mosaic tiles. Dogs bark in the faraway distance. Who knows how long I’d sat there? I’m wishing the day to never end. Though a mere child, I instinctively acknowledge the fact that this youthful exuberance might fade with age; that my innocent love of nature may become less important, as grown-up matters and duties would gradually creep, uninvited, into the coming years. So I close my eyes tight. The bright sun still shines through my translucent lids. Something soft brushes my bare arms and face---tiny little flutters like butterfly kisses. I imagine I am in FairyLand; I must not look, or the euphoric spell may break. Are the tiny flutters
Myles Karcher Stainless Steel
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Michael Goldman Charcoal
The Sun Forgot to Breathe Alexandria Burns Digital Photography
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Mystic Essence II Lacey Pearce Pencil & Color Pencil
Masen Motsinger Copper & Brass
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Sara Barnett (pgs. 9, 16, 34)
Alexandria Burns (pgs. 15, 36)
Willie Boyd (pgs. 23, 32)
Melisa Gibbs (pgs. 10 — 13)
Michael Goldman (pgs. 13, 36)
Myles Karcher (pgs. 8, 24, 35)
Lee Knaus (pgs. 14, 16, 33)
Joice Lawrence (pgs. 6, 7)
Nicole Lyle (pg. 18)
Masen Motsinger (pg. 37)
Molly Nelson (pgs. 25 — 31)
Lacey Pearce (pgs. 8, 37)
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Cassie Porter (pgs. 6, 17, 32)
Jeanna Purkaple (pgs. 34 — 35)
Amanda Sheridan (pgs. 9, 18, 19, 32)
Zina Smith (pg. 10)
Hannah Storment (pgs. 10, 24)
Sarah Valleroy (pgs. 21, 34)
Sherrie Weinhoffer (pg. 20)
LaDonna Wilkin (pgs. 14, 19)
Aubree Willis (pgs. 15, 23)
Jerome Wisehart (pg. 33, cover)
Esther Wysong (pgs. 21 — 23)
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T H A N KS FO R R E AD I NG!
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“ Lake is one of the best ways to promote our very talented artists. We hope that artists featured in Lake use this as a way to promote
Reis Barnfield LAKE Student Editor
“
themselves and their hard work.