Cat Among the Pigeons 2022

Welcome to the fifth annual edition of ‘Cat Among the Pigeons’. We are delighted to be able to share with you the accumulation of everyone’s hard work over the past 12 months and are thrilled at the quality and creativity of each individual piece, and the engaging inquiries into our theme –‘Identity’. The freedom that the relaxation of lockdown rules has given everyone both inside and outside of the school community has been crucial in providing a space for exploration and a forum where people can redefine themselves and rediscover their interests, strengthening their relationships with others, but also their relationship with themselves.

‘Cat Among the Pigeons’ is unbelievably lucky to be able to act not only as a platform for the incredible work produced by members of the Caterham School community – both literary and visual – but also, to provide a voice to those often overlooked and silenced in times of political and medical disruption. This year’s edition is one of the most diverse yet, with members of the editorial board all injecting elements of their own unique interests and creative flair. Numerous previously untouched topics and areas of interest now grace the page, such as sports journalism, theology, geography and the spoken word. The magazine is fantastically collaborative, with each year reflecting a variety of fresh perspectives that help its legacy to continually evolve with the times.

Whilst Geoffrey Pigeon is sadly no longer with us, his legacy and impact lives on through the hard work and dedication demonstrated by each annual edition. We are grateful for the entire team and their ongoing commitment to this legacy, and their zeal for the creative arts. However, congratulations must go to Elias Daryani, the winner of The Pidgeon Prize for Literature second time running, with his anthology (‘Manny Poetry Portfolio’). Finally, this year’s edition would not be possible without Ms Stedman and Mrs Veldtman’s industrious passion for the magazine, allowing us all to make the most of this unforgettable experience.

‘Identity’ is an extensive theme which allows us to connect our thoughts to subjects’ views on topics such as relationships, culture, gender, social media and LGBTQ communities. We have received richly diverse ideas conveying emotions via a plethora of media, including digital photoshop, acrylic painting and textiles with the use of strong emotive colours and abstract forms. Not only does the great diversity within artworks allow individual ideas to percolate through, but it also accentuates originality and uniqueness.

The front cover in particular for our magazine this year was one of many which captured our attention. The different hues of pink and pastel colours flow through the piece as if it is drawing our attention to a euphoric world of a sleeping person which seems dreamy and unreal escaping from ‘identifying’ itself as a norm in society and staging within its own comfort zone. Finally, this was also a great opportunity for the entire team to gain practical experience in communicating with our fantastic digital editor (Jo Ogilvie) who played a big role in helping us put the magazine together and putting theory into practice.

The Cat Among the Pigeons magazine has been running since my second year at Caterham and I don’t think I can truly put into words how rewarding the entire experience has been for me. From goofy short stories and critical literary articles, my work was always supported and cheered on by the sixth form team and so it has been a real honour to do the same for those who are now in my position. I have loved seeing the emerging creative talent at Caterham as the outstanding stories and poems flooded into the editorial inbox, but my favourite thing to do was the Junior Competition. I was so excited to see what everyone would come up with in response to the art we chose, and it surpassed all my expectations as we received such a variety of interpretations – huge congratulations to Kayla Prashad for winning!

The relationships we all built with the rest of the school could not have come at a more fitting time – just as Covid fears began to slowly dissipate, we were meeting new people from throughout the school – a perfect antidote to the feeling of isolation we all experienced. The message of our magazine this year stems from this feeling of isolation and we realise the importance of community – specifically the identities of and within the community.

Huge thanks must go to the rest of the team – especially Paige Griffiths – and the vital staff members without whose support this would have been impossible.

Hannah Belshaw

Artemis Hunter Deputy Editor

Paige Griffiths Editor

Sophie Chung Visual Editor

Alice Caiger Text Editor

Mili Greener

Annabella Woodruff

Front art Yoyo Zhang photos Flora Hannay

Dual Duel

Elias Daryani Josh Campbell

Sunk

Abigail Griffiths

The Exploit of the Imagination

Kayla Prashad

This is England

Elias Daryani Max Tyler

The inevitable

Millie Yeo Seb Yip

GCSE Fine Art

Sleepers

Flora Hannay

Translation of ‘Recuerda’

Emily Worrell Poppy Oilver

Her Darling Sparrow

Artemis Hunter Tatiana Hissey

The Beginning of Identity

Eva Green Amelie Doll

Will Smithson Lily Devlin

Dance to

Megan Denton Amelie Doll

The Megan Denton Amelie Doll Level Fine Art

Alice Caiger Tireni Adeniji

Elias Daryani Sihu Jung

Abigail Griffiths Izzy Hassan

The Magic

Holly Gordon Clark am a Pufferfish

Anneka Chang Naomi Bacchus

The Sea

Emma Tagliarini Katie Roberts

Politicising Beautiful

Felix Curson Max Tyler

Idle Ambulance

Holly Gordon Clark Max Tyler

Form-fitting

Paige Griffiths Josh Campbell

A Level Photography

The Girl Who Dreamed

Narayan M.R Tali Clarke what we were, now that we’re not 37

Celia Elliot Shorey Chante Morris The Matrix

Paige Griffiths if i was enough 40

Olivia Stone Poppy Oliver The Ballerina 41

Lilian de Bruin Yu-In Tang & Bea Gale Our Gilded Cage 42

Nithusha Sathyendran Eva Green

The Fate 43

Leane Buekes Seb Yip

GCSE Fashion Textiles 44

A Level Fashion Textiles 45 She couldn’t answer what they said 46 Skyla Chen Sihu Jung What If? 48

Lyla Beaukes Tamsin Anderson I Lost My Talk 50

Maria Sun Izzy Hassan appassionata falling 52

Estella Yip Antione Bertrand Growing Up with The Brontes 53

Ria Manvatkar Tamsin Anderson Treat The Moon With Kindness 54

Immy Freeland Josh Campbell & Finn Ogilvie House Art Competition Photography Competition

Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Mirror Rooms

Mili Greener

Northern Powerhouse

Annabella Woodruff

Duel

Elias Daryani Josh Campbell

Can’t make my mind up Stuck in my brain

I ain’t indecisive

I just never feel the same, One day it’s preach and peace

Next day it’s protest the streets

Some days it’s class clown antics Sometimes I don’t even wanna speak.

You can’t shush my brain

I’ve already tried it doesn’t work Today I woke up active

But went to sleep feeling burnt, I got fire in my soul

And got ice in my veins

Dad said I never think straight

Mum said I’m the one who keeps her sane

Extreme either side

I can’t choose a middle ground

I’m swinging left and right I can’t seem to settle down, Can’t tell whether I’m calculated Or whether I’m mad Guess I’m an Aries baby With a Gemini twang

Right now I’m in my room And I don’t really wanna leave But I’m trying to escape So I can go and smell the trees

It was sinking.

Slowly, but it was sinking.

It was the wind’s fault; it pushed and shoved and spun and swirled and drowned the boat. Even when it was all over, and it was sunk, the wind didn’t stop. No. No. No. Kept going, forming bubbles and showing the boat how easily you could float, if you tried.

It was the sea’s fault. It tossed the boat. It poured water on it. It flung waves on it. Threw it up; up, down, up, down. And it was the sea, who, at the very end, slunk into the ‘fully sealed and unsinkable’ (as the papers said) cabin and relentlessly sloshed its water in.

It was the papers’ fault. ‘Unsinkable’. ‘A majestic creation’. ‘A souvenir of humanity’. Building the expectations up. Up. Up. Up. Until the Titanic’s personal ego had to be almost as high as heaven, and growing almost as quickly as it was speeding through the Atlantic.

As if. These things always go wrong. Or, maybe… …it was the boat’s fault. It was sunk.

Abigail Griffiths

Kayla Prashad ROINUJCREATIVEWINNER2

Kayla Prashad THE EXPLOIT OF THE IMAGINATION

THE EXPLOIT OF THE

The mirror standing in front of me beckons me towards it. I feel its aqueous surface and push myself forward. I feel myself slide down a kaleidoscopic tunnel, away from the existent world. I see all the cosmic planets orbit around me in a fast pace, I see Dali painting ‘The Persistence of Memory’ and René Magritte painting ‘The Son of Man’. René smiles at his artwork, then reaches out for him. The man comes out of the painting, a viridescent apple blocking his view. A lustrous blanket envelopes me adroitly – I feel a wave of tranquility overpower my senses. The colours make me discombobulated: lilac, cobalt, magenta, amber and olive-green all billow around me in a pattern; I feel unbound, like I could go anywhere, anytime. A willow tree stands in front of me, it’s long drooping

arms sway back and forth, waving to me blissfully. The Sun emerges and darkness becomes light, the flowers awaken from their slumber and a dog runs around merrily. I can smell the blossoming wild flowers and hear the gentle tide of the ocean on my left – I can taste the saltiness in my mouth. The silk leaves me, I walk along the seaside ; my feet gently slide across the velvet, alabaster sand. As my eyes scan the horizon, I notice Mount Fuji, as still as a board.I notice Hokusai printing a painting onto a canvas, The Great Wave! The silk hoists me into the air, the pleasing energy created by the colours grabs me then propels me into a inky sky above. I see a murmuration of starlings fly above me. I open my eyes and the mirror stands in front of me, whispering to me to keep the secret.

On the same day I get racially abused in Sunday League England lose and the fans target the minority.

When Sterling’s banging goals they don’t see the colour of his skin When Saka’s bombing down the wing, the fans say they love him Marcus Rashford’s only a hero if they win, But one small error and the racism begins I say begins, but we know it’s deep rooted They choose to hate whenever it suits them Same country but don’t see them as human If we complain, it’s “why don’t you just leave then?”

We ain’t surprised, we saw this shit coming Won’t forget the hate Sterling got before he was scoring, If a black man’s balling, the media slowly remove their hand’s from hisButthroatthey’ll grab at the chance to turn him into a scapegoat

When Sterling’s banging goals they don’t see his colour When Saka’s bombing down the wing they don’t see him as other They loved Sancho when he signed this summer But one small error and they call him a EliasMaxDaryaniTyler

Millie Yeo Seb Yip

To some he’s their worst nightmare, Their biggest fear,

To others he is just someone they’ll meet eventually, They know he’s waiting for them, he’s not scary he’s just there, waiting,

He’s impatient with some and makes them hurry, He lets some take their time, but others he hardly lets them start the climb, However to some he’s the light at the end of the tunnel They just want to run into his open arms and let him embrace them

They don’t fight back,they don’t struggle they just sink, his warmth gets rid of the pain and they can relax, They sink into him as he slowly eats what’s left of them

They are tempted by him, They don’t fear him, They see him differently, He is someone who is going to stop the pain, The pain and the suffering life has caused, They have searched and searched for another way, Viewed all the different paths, But they can’t look past him, He is their answer, Their solution,

What works for some doesn’t work for others, We feel we have let them, Let them fall into their temptations, They see him with his open arms, And they run,

Some stand by, watching at the side, They watch it like it’s a peaceful ocean tide, They don’t stop it, They watch it, They don’t understand, and even when they do, There isn’t anything they can do,

He’s their light at the end of their tunnel,

GCSE Fine Art

Alice Himsworth

Izzy Hassan

Yoyo Zhang Hailey Cheng

Katie Roberts

Flora Hannay School ARTiculation Essay Prize

Sleepers T Hannah

The 1960s, 70s and 80s were 3 decades that are widely regarded as pivotal in LGBTQ+ History. Stonewall and the AIDS pandemic bookmark either side of this era in History, but where I am going to focus today is in a time between these two points. Donna Gottschalk was a lesbian photographer who was mainly active throughout the 60s and 70s. Until recently, she was only known through one photograph- An image of her at a pride march holding a sign saying, “I am your worst fear / I am your best fantasy.” In 2018, she revealed the rest of her work to the world, in an exhibition called “Brave, Beautiful Outlaws. Despite the hundreds of photos that she has taken documenting this time within history, she never considered herself a photographer. Many of her photos were taken when she was in her late teens and early twenties. The photograph I will be speaking on today was taken when Gottschalk was only 19.

“Sleepers” illustrates a lesbian couple sleeping next to each other. Sunlight pours in through the window as they lie in a cheap rented room. There are stains on the wall, there is a dent through a portion of it. Part of a door is boarded up. Above their heads, a poster bearing the words “Lesbians Unite!” hangs on the wall. They are framed by light, captured in history. Alone, they are whoever they want to be. They aren’t the social outcasts who cannot marry, they aren’t the multitude of stereotypes around their existence. They can simply be themselves, in this space. Which is the beauty of this image. It captures these two ‘sleepers’, alone, yet comfortable in themselves. I was drawn to this image because of the calmness and intimacy of it, as it is not glaringly obvious who’s in the bed at first, so it draws the viewer to look around the scene and take in the setting. Especially as this culture is inundated with oversexualised images of lesbians, it is still relatively unusual to see photos of same-sex relationships

‘They light,framedarebycapturedinhistory.’

captured in this light. In some ways, looking at this piece feels to me invasive. We are invading upon a very personal moment of love, and you almost feel awkward looking at it. I think that it’s important to recognize that upon first viewing you do feel invasive. What I think it is important to remember is that that awkwardness doesn’t come because of their gender, it comes because of the intimacy of the moment. This would be the same if it were a woman and a man. A man and a man. This awkwardness is important to the piece, invading upon a moment that you instinctively know you are not meant to be a part of. It forces you to recognize this, to understand that you are not meant to be here. This moment is entirely their own.

I think it is key to understand the huge contrast between Gottschalk’s work in depicting lesbians and how lesbians are actively presented in media today. These three images are all advertisements using queer relationships and sexuality to sell something. This commodifies queer relationships as it depicts these relationships as something that can be turned on and off. This is further enhanced because a lot of the time the women being photographed are straight and are using lesbianism as a costume, which is not the reality for actual queer people. These photos are also targeted towards a male consumer. Laura Mulvey wrote about the ‘Male Gaze’, (how women in the media are viewed through the eyes of the heterosexual man). This is problematic as advertisers are essentially ‘selling’ this false, performed lesbianism to men through their marketing, which adds to the stigmatism that queer women often face, being seen as inherently very sexual. Comparing these images to Gottschalk’s really makes me question how it is that depictions of lesbians have gone so quickly from being completely hidden and erased to being commercialised and minimised to fit the male gaze. Donna Gottschalk’s photography is completely untainted by the male gaze, which seems, sadly, novel, in the world we live in. It shows

to us how little representation of actual queer women there are in photography, when you take away the fetishization used in marketing today.

These contrasting depictions make me question whether or not on we as a society have actually progressed over time or whether we have simply side-stepped into another form of oppression of the LGBTQ community. The fear that is so purposefully absent from Gottschalk’s photos still persists for LGBTQ Youth. This moment of solace in a decades long fight for some form of recognition is just that- a moment of solace. The poster above their heads represents everything that they are being forced to fight in order to have these moments. So much of identifying as queer is about fighting, when really this shouldn’t be about the fight. What I believe Gottschalk’s purpose was within this image was to show that fight shouldn’t have to be a part of identity. It shouldn’t be about fighting every moment of every day, only ever finding solace in sleep.

Reflecting on Gottschalk’s ‘Sleeper’s’, I think it must be taken into account that even those who want to fight, who want to change the world, also want the quiet moments and the ability to freely be themselves. There must be an ‘after’, and not just the dream of a better place. The two women sleeping that were photographed were also activists, they also wanted to fight, but within that fight there is always a more primitive need to love and be loved. That, I believe, is the true meaning of this image and why I continue to think about so long after I first saw it. The protest is not more important than the quiet after it. The two women, sleepers, beneath their ‘Lesbian’s Unite’ protest banner, are the calm before the storm. Or perhaps the calm within it.

‘The arewomen…twothecalmbeforethestorm.’

Translation of

Winner of the MFL Translation Competition

Recuerda, Joy Harjo

Recuerda el cielo bajo el cual naciste, Conoce las historias de cada estrella Recuerda la luna, sabe quién es Recuerda el nacimiento del sol al amanecer, ese es el momento más fuerte del tiempo. Recuerda la puesta de sol y el ceder a la noche. Recuerda tu nacimiento, como tu madre se esforzaba Para darte forma y aliento. Eres testimonio de su vida, y la de su madre, y la de la suya Recuerda tu padre, él es tu vida, también. Recuerda la tierra- eres su piel: Tierra roja, tierra negra, tierra amarilla, tierra blanca Tierra morena, somos tierra.

Remember, Joy Harjo

Remember the sky that you were born under, know each of the star’s stories.

Remember the moon, know who she is. Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the Strongest point of time. Remember sundown And the giving away to night. Remember your birth, how your mother struggled To give you form and breath. You are evidence Of her life, and her mother’s, and hers.

Remember your father. He is your life, also. Remember the earth whose skin you are: Red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth Brown earth, we are earth.

Poppy Oliver

Tatiana Hissey

Her Darling Sparrow

Grieve, O Venuses and Loves

And all the lovelier people there are: The sparrow of my girl is dead, Sparrow, my girl’s darling, Whom she loved more than her own eyes. For sweet he was and knew his Mistress well as a girl knew her mother, Nor did he ever leave her lap But hopping around this was that way, He kept cheeping to his mistress alone. Now he is off on the dark journey Which they say no-one returns from. Shame on you, shameful dark of Orcus, Who gobbles up all the pretty things!

You have robbed me of such a pretty sparrow.

O what shame! O miserable sparrow!

It is your fault now that my girl’s Eyelids are swelling red with tears.

Catullus III

Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque

et quantum est hominum venustiorum! passer mortuus est meae puellae, passer, deliciae meae puellae, quem plus illa oculis suis amabat; nam mellitus erat, suamque norat ipsa tam bene quam puella matrem, nec sese a gremio illius movebat, sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc ad solam dominam usque pipiabat. qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum illuc unde negant redire quemquam. at vobis male sit, malae tenebrae Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis; tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis. o factum male! o miselle passer! tua nunc opera meae puellae flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.

iD ENtITY

THE BEGINNING OF THE PSYCHOLOGICAL AND HISTORICAL BIRTH OF PERSONHOOD AND ‘THE SELF’

Eva AmelieGreenDoll

What does the word ‘identity’ mean to you? Is it the qualities that define an individual, which could include: names, appearance, family, friends, personality, beliefs, hobbies, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexuality, experiences and

Itmemories?isdifficult

to define what in essence answers the question ‘who am I?’. The word ‘Identity’ in this context comes from the Latin ‘identit s’, which means ‘the fact that an entity is itself and not another thing.’ I will be exploring the history of identity, how it is formed, and why is it important.

Whilst we cannot know exactly when humans first recognised themselves as having individual identities, we assume that early humans recognised each other by sight, sound, smell and touch. There is no recorded evidence of individual names until much later. Prehistoric cave markings of stencilled handprints may be an example of written identity – a way of saying ‘I was here’. Spoken language emerged about 100,000 years ago.

The earliest known names date back to around 3000 BC. These were names of Royalty that were passed down orally through generations and written down years later. Nowadays, almost every known society refers to individuals with a fixed personal name but there are some exceptions, including the Machiguenga tribe of the Amazon, a small tribe that refers to each other as ‘brother’ or ‘sister’. Ancient cultures generally used mononyms, which are single names. The ancient Greeks used mononyms and historians add epithets (descriptions of the person) to distinguish between people with the same name. These epithets could refer to a person’s skills, home or ancestry, which all associate with identity.

Before the Second World War, the word ‘identity’ was not used to describe how one defined oneself or others, but to compare the certain aspects of a thing that remain unchanged over time. ‘Identity’ as we now know it derives mainly from the work of psychologist Erik Erikson, who in the late 1950s suggested that ‘identity’ was our sense of Accordingself.

to Erikson’s psychosocial theory, identity forms throughout the eight main stages of development which occur from infancy to late adulthood. The first stage is ‘Trust vs Mistrust’ which occurs between 0-12 months of age. If carers consistently respond to a child’s needs, the child will learn

‘early recognisedhumanseachotherbysight,sound,smellandtouch’

to feel secure, however if the child is neglected, they will develop a sense of mistrust towards other people. The second stage is ‘Autonomy vs Shame and Doubt’ which occurs in toddlers. A child will gain independence as they complete tasks such as learning how to use the toilet, selecting foods, and choosing toys, but if they are criticised or overly controlled, they begin to lack self-esteem and become dependent. The third stage is ‘Initiative vs Guilt’ which occurs between three and five years of age. If a child is encouraged to participate in self-directed play, then they will gain a sense of initiative, but if they are discouraged, they will feel guilty when playing. ‘Industry vs Inferiority’, the fourth stage, occurs between the ages of six and eleven. Children start to feel pride in their work and achievements, but if they are discouraged, then they will doubt their own ability.

Occurring during adolescence, the fifth stage is ‘Identity vs Confusion’. Teens explore their personal values, beliefs and goals, and try to find their place in the world, whilst becoming more independent as they transition from childhood to adulthood. This is the major stage of development during which identity is formed. The sixth stage is ‘Intimacy vs Isolation’ which occurs between the ages of 19-40 years old, in which people wish to form intimate loving relationships, and those who fail to form these relationships feel isolated and alone. ‘Generativity (‘making your mark’) vs Stagnation’ which happens during mid-adulthood (40-65 years), and in which people raise a family or contribute to society, which gives them a sense of purpose. The final stage of development is ‘Integrity vs Despair’ which occurs during late adulthood. People reflect on their life and accomplishments, and if they feel that they have had a meaningful life, they feel fulfilled, but if not, then they may feel a sense of Accordingdespair.toErikson,

during each stage the person experiences a psychological ‘identity crisis’ which

could have a positive or negative outcome for personality development.

A ‘successful’ completion of each stage results in healthy personality characteristics or ‘virtues’ which build

interpret information in our brain. Schemas use memories and experiences to categorise knowledge and are added throughout life. They are unique to a person, contributing to their identity. The self-schema describes an individuals perceptions and beliefs about themselves. When the self-schema is first developed, generally between 18 and 30 months, it is simply the recognition that you are an individual being.

An experiment to test whether or not a child has developed their self schema is The Rouge Test. A red spot is painted on the child’s face, and they are put in front of a mirror. If the child looks behind the mirror or touches the reflection of the paint in the mirror, it suggests that they have not yet developed their self-schema and think that their reflection is another person. However, if they touch their own face, it suggests that they recognise themselves as an individual, and that the spot is on their face.

resilience against subsequent crises: hope, will, purpose, competency, fidelity, love, care and wisdom.

A ‘schema’ is an abstract concept that describes how we organise, store and

In today’s society, personal identity and how we perceive ourselves is important because it impacts our thoughts, actions and how we interact with others. The concept of ‘identity’ has evolved over time from simple recognition to how individuals are defined and their place in the world. As such, identity itself is heavily influenced by experiences in early life and can develop and change over a person’s lifetime.

‘Before the Second World War, the word ‘identity’ was not used to describe how one defined oneself or others, but to compare the certain aspects of a thing that unchangedremainovertime.’

Will Smithson Lily Devlin

You waved goodbye with your rear windscreen wiper as you turned right, into a small suburban street And I flashed my headlights Mind in the mirror and body in the seat I maintained a constant 40 along the A212 I looped around the roundabout I drove down the road I lost you My tire popped But you weren’t really there And I wasn’t really looking I should have bought a spare

I waved hello to the break down assistance van As it pulled in left, blocking a stranger’s driveway I complained about potholes And I sighed as I drove off, grieving next week’s pay I trudged home at 5 below Thinking of your windscreen I wondered if where I was Was somewhere you had been My house is free I knew you couldn’t be found And I didn’t want to find you yet Maybe I’ll call her round

I waved hello with my car horn early Monday morning As I park backwards, into those narrow bays I slap a friend on the back And check my watch, only five more days I walk at the speed of others They hate it when we’re late I see that road and your exhaust But not your numberplate Drive a mate home? I keep seeing your car I love it’s not unique no worries it’s not far

You waved goodbye with your break lights as the lorry passed Before continuing forward, over that windy incline And I indicated away It’s dark so I have to squint to see the street sign I’ll drive at the speed I want I want to absorb this place This was where we met before With your different unknown face It’s too dark now I’m lost I found you once again But you were not the same I’ll use the satnav then

Dance to the other side

‘I know you,’ they say, You watch trembling, You’ve waited for this moment, A fixed point.

The voice again: ‘You danced with me for years,’ Notes lingering in the air. It’s not a sinister presence, The unmistakable comfort Of the rasp A smoker perhaps –The out of tune chords. Your own voice now, You see them listening: ‘Of course I danced, It was you who made me.’

Megan Denton Amelie Doll

The aboutthingrain

Rain doesn’t fall in lines

It drifts, swirling to the ground Copying snowflakes. It’s strange How we don’t look above us. We miss magic in the stars.

Stare at the stars, waiting for one to fall So you can make a wish. Standing. A crick in your neck, Breath a frosty cloud, Waiting for a star to die. A moment lost in time.

You know those moments, The ones where you feel alive?

Flying past, so fast You don’t notice until it’s a memory. It’s what I imagine love to be like. Always floating above the clouds, Above the rain, watching it drift to you.

Alice

Tamsin Anderson

Sihu Jung

Tireni Adeniji

Poppy Oliver

DYNAMIC DIVERSITY: SOCIETY ON THE MOVE

Although a highly debated topic in politics today, I believe it to be very tough to justify restrictions on immigration, let alone refugees. The combination of cultures can only lead to good impacts because there is no way to grow as a society without experiencing or trying to understand other’s lives. We cannot be complacent with our current society but instead must learn to accept other cultures and lifestyles so that we do not stay the same for centuries to come.

When thinking about the moral implications of restricting migration, many philosophers have had different views. On the one hand, the concern to protect one’s native culture is supposedly reason enough to restrict immigration, but cosmopolitan egalitarianism would argue that people do not choose where to be born, and thus borders should remain open. Carens even insists that ‘restrictive citizenship is hard to justify when one thinks about it closely’ and compares the system to ‘feudal birth rights’ or simply nepotism. In the same way that someone born into poverty should be helped so that the playing field for opportunity is equal, people born into less fortunate countries should have access to a better standard of living and a place of refuge. Our world appears to be growing in inequality with each passing day and yet change does not seem to be anywhere on the horizon.

With refugees fleeing from conflict in places such as Ukraine and Afghanistan, international migration is more and more debated in our increasingly polarised society. From a purely practical point of view, international migration brings a multitude of problems to the destination country – many of which are exacerbated by forced migrants being held in camps as well as the lack of resources to manage the problems in lower income areas. Not to mention the huge environmental degradation which can occur due to overcrowding with an influx of migrants. Perhaps this argument all boils down to simple human nature and an old Darwinian idea – survival of the fittest. Should we hold ourselves responsible for another’s poor decisions, or is the priority to clean up their mess as fast as possible? All these issues aside, is it morally acceptable to turn away refugees, to turn away people whose homes have been destroyed? Or even to turn away those who simply want a better quality of life, one which we all take for granted, and

Alice TireniCaigerAdeniji

merely desire a living wage and an education for their children?

Economically, migration seems to be an obvious choice, especially for us here in the UK with a rapidly ageing population and a diminishing workforce. In fact, to maintain the current economy, we would need around one million migrants every year. Of course this statistic is not quite as clean cut as it seems, for starters we need a specific number of different specified skillsets so refugee migration cannot solve this, and this is obviously not a sustainable way to uphold a country. The increased immigration flows to the UK after the expanding of the EU, however, did help to fill millions of job vacancies as well as contributing £2.5 billion to the economy every year. But this flow was made up of economic migrants and the same benefits rarely apply to refugee migration. It does not help that refugees tend to look for the closest place of safety, even if they’re low or middle income countries; whereas economic migrants will choose their destination carefully, based on job availability. With high income countries tending to receive the most economic migrants, it is not surprising that the impacts are more beneficial.

In terms of social impacts, it all comes down to the acceptance levels of new people and culture in the destination country. We are, of course, talking about a small percentage of people, but with the accessibility of social media on the rise, the platform to share, at worst, racist and xenophobic hate speech is growing in power. This can lead to a rise in racial and xenophobic violence, as experienced in Jordan in 2009 with a 30% increase in violence. I don’t believe this to be a standalone reason to ban immigration but a factor as to why it may have more negative impacts.

With so much tension in the world at the moment I cannot help but believe that what we need to do is unite and support each other. B4ecoming a more diverse community is the first step to improving our world and slowly inching towards a solution to inequality. The geopolitical impacts pale in comparison to human rights and the option to give people a place of safety. I do not know how you could preach equality at the same as sending away people in desperate need. I refuse to believe that is what our world has come to.

Becoming a more diverse community is the first step to improving our world and slowly inching towards a solution to inequality.

Elias Daryani Sihu

If you go to Knossos and you forget the noise and the heat and the bustle and clamour, and you listen very carefully, you might just hear a very faint tap-tap-tap.

The tap-tap-tap is so quiet, so mediocre, so very unremarkable, you wouldn’t notice it at all – unless you knew what you were looking for.

The tap-tap-tap is the sound of an unloved one, listening to their heart.

The tap-tap-tap is the sound of Ariadne’s footsteps as she spins and twirls on her dancefloor.

There, she can forget her father, Minos, as he stalks the palace relentlessly, hunting for something – anything – to blame.

She can forget her mother. The once-beautiful Pasiphae, staring unseeingly into the fire. It is as though her soul has turned to dust. Gone, forever.

And she can forget her brother. The Minotaur.

As she dances, bitterness and fury and frustration and sorrow slip out like silky Cretan sand. Her head is erect and upright.

It is only her soul, her heart, brought to the open after months of shadow, that is bruised.

Perhaps it will remain like that forever.

The sun sinks beneath the burning sky, and Ariadne dances on.

• • •

Abigail Griffiths Izzy Hassan

A place of splendour, a golden place of shining glory and immeasurable power: a place to be worshipped, and feared, and hated, and loved. Loved, with a furiously ardent passion. Loved, but it is dangerous to be so worthy, and valued, in a money-hungry, power-hungry world such as ours.

Yet it is only a shell, a hollow memory; each brick traced by aeons of fingertips, each fleck of paint and pile of dust eyed by thousands – hundreds of thousands, millions – of people.

Ariadne’s dancefloor stands, silent. The footsteps that echo on it now are no more than shadows. The Labyrinth stays hidden; perhaps it will for ever. Some secrets are better left alone.

Buried memories hidden in every shadow, returning when Knossos is loneliest, and weakest, and most vulnerable. When ghosts of the past – all the things hidden by the gauze of eminence – begin to bubble in its prison, and break the surface. When the silence is so quietly poignant and silently haunting, that your own characters begin to appear.

How could you take all that and make it one word?

Knossos stands: maudlin, majestic. The apparitions of the past are stirring…but not yet.

Instead, Knossos stands. And as I watch, the sun dipped below the horizon, and the golden, glittering glory of a world thousands of years old is gone.

• • •

THE MAGIC OF ANTIQUITY:

Holly Gordon Clark

An exploration of the allure of ancient Greek magic

“Magic” in modern parlance is a peculiar term. A certain unfamiliarity surrounds it and this, in some respect, mirrors ancient Greece; magic (mageia) did not constitute a coherent, clear system. Despite this, it was held to be a normal and ubiquitous practice. Whether it was curing physical ailments, improving sexual life, exorcism, eliminating vermin from the home, initiation ceremonies, or making amulets: magic touched all stages of human life. However, in a time when religion was the universal connection with the divine, we should question why magic was preferable to many.

Magic twisted the barriers between divine and mortal. This observance is understood through criticisms of magic. The most significant critics are 5th and 4th century BCE Hippocratic

practitioners and philosophers, notably Plato. They confronted how magic manipulated the gods and therefore, they had moral critiques. The Presocratic view that divinity and nature were inseparable that equated divinity with nature emphasised this critique. If nature is divine, then manipulating nature’s properties in magic implies a mastery of the divine. A mastery of the divine was seen as a threat to authority. There were some attempts to employ legislature, most explicitly evidenced in The Dirae Teiorum (“The Curses of the Teian State”) but its undeniable popularity remained.

Sweeping across the regions of Sicily, Attica and the shores of the Black Sea are curse tablets that uncover the obscure connection between humans and chthonic (underworld) deities.

In the Greek Magical Papyri of Late Antiquity, Hercate is described as having three heads

Curse spells upon the tablets often summoned gods from the Underworld to bring anguish upon enemies. Manipulation of the gods was found in “binding magic” in which spells were used to “bind” gods to GreekPhilostratus,Accordingtheirtheirmeasureisimmortal,thatCollinsoutcomes.certainDerekremarksasdeitiesare‘bindingthenextbesttocontrolwillorrestrictmovements.’toasophist,some

magicians believed that they could control the gods by torturing their statues. Because the statues were representations of the deities, they would allegedly feel the pain inflicted on their effigies and therefore submit to the mortal’s will. The mutilation of religious statues marks the literal infringement of divine boundaries. The invasive nature of magic was appealing, a rebellion from the reverent and supplicatory elements of religion.

Magic was a source of multiculturalism due to its intermingling of cultural influences. The Greek magical papyri (a body of papyri from Graeco-Roman Egypt) convey this amalgamation. Albrecht Dieterich noted that the papyri’s ‘syncretism is more than a mixture of diverse elements from Egyptian, Greek, Babylonian, and Jewish religion, with a few sprinkles of Christianity’ that interacted in Alexandria. Other sources of magic used a collection of cultural influences too. Protective amulets often contained a mixture of various formulas from Babylonian, Egyptian, and Greek elements that were worn to ensure universal protection. This profusion of cultural influences is also present in curse invocations, as a mixture of gods confirmed that one’s spell was heard. The gods were given multifaceted identities and Hecate, the Goddess of Magic, is named ‘a paradigm of the religious syncretism of late Hellenism’ (Martínez) due to her literal three-faced identity and multicultural layers. Magic was constantly being developed into a multidimensional and undefinable form, exemplified literally in the voces magicae (an indecipherable language found on ancient curse tablets). Through the inclusion of different cultures, magic allowed the divine to be blended together.

Erotic magic of antiquity was often secretive and puzzling. A popular love potion was made from a lizard’s phallus, or its tail, used in amulets to promote sexual vitality. Christopher Faraone writes that the Greeks viewed the experience of erotic longing as commensurate with the torment of pathological disease. He argues this due to the violent nature of love incantations,

almost indistinguishable from hostile curses: “Lay Allous low with fever, unceasing sickness, incomprehensible sickness.” There is a perversity in the curser, mixing sickness with desire. Nonetheless, magic reveals the deeper layers of human emotion and is, unsurprisingly, captured in the romanticism of poetry. Theocritus, a Greek poet, mirrors this feverish passion in his Idyll 2: ‘As this puppet melts for me before Hecate, so melt with love, e’en so speedily, Delphis of Myndus.’ This incantation is spoken by ‘Simaetha’, a girl wishing a fire-spell upon her neglectful lover, ‘Delphis’. She fashions a symbol of him in wax and melts it in fire, hoping that he will literally feel the heat of passion. Theocritus references a common practice here; the moulding of ‘Erotic Figurines’ out of clay or wax, which would have needles stuck into its eyes, mouth, and breast – as a means to attract, not, as may be inferred, to permanently harm, a beloved. Magic exposed the pleasure as well as the agony in love, a puzzling but familiar mix.

A bitter lover in Greek mythology is Medea: a vengeful sorceress determined to hurt her unfaithful husband. According to Pliny, her magic controlled the sun, moon, and stars. Thus, her power was almost unlimited but so was her homeland Colchis: ‘Kolchian Aia lies at the furthest limits of sea and earth’. She was therefore, through her witchcraft and faraway home, perceived as foreign and threatening. The play and the character reflect the prejudices of Athenian society which began to reject mixobarbaroidescendants of mixed blood. But it also reveals the way magic and especially female practitioners were stigmatised.

Mageia vowed to give people control over the uncontrollable. The divine world is mutilated, intermingled, and manipulated. This provoked an incredible allure that was not just prevalent in the realm of private individuals, but there seemed to be occurrences of public magic such as in fertility rites (the Sacred Marriage), purifications of a community, and formal curses of a foreign nation. Its universality was proven by the attempts to incriminate it and yet the prevailing evidence of its undeniable popularity. Magic was pervasive due to its potential to not only experience but to master the divine. In the words of the anthropologist, Max Weber: “[Magic] promised to give humans control over a natural world governed by spirits.”

‘Magic exposed the pleasure as well as the agony in love, a puzzling but familiar mix.’

A curse doll with bound arms and needles

A Greek inscribed lead curse tablet, circa 5th century

I am PufferfishIPufferfishaama

Anneka Chang Naomi Bacchus

Identity. What is identity? What is MY identity? This question is significant to define who I am and act as a person in society. Some might find understanding and discovering their own identity difficult. For me, to simplify the harsh reality of how complicated one’s identity is, I am just like a pufferfish.

Pufferfish are very different from other fish you might see. It doesn’t have that shiny slick scale layer; it doesn’t have prepossessing colours that reflect on its skin; it doesn’t have the exquisite looks that other fish possess; it’s just disparate.

Society is just a replication of the marine world. Everyone would be put in groups and they represent their own race. To be at a boarding school filled with native students, I am a pufferfish trying to fit into a group of clownfish. I distance myself from the others because I just couldn’t fit in. I was the exotic one, the one that would receive the questionable glares and the victim of being odd. I looked different. They had glossy gratifying skin and I had spikes. They had nice big blue eyes and I had thin black ones. I was nowhere near looking like them. So I distance. I turn and swim away, finding my own pals, other

Treadingpufferfish.awaywith

a small back view, the monstrous ones tower over me and throw me around as if I were just a piece

of dust. One might think I wouldn’t do anything about it for I was just that weary weakling that had to trouble itself with the situation of how to fit in. But as a pufferfish, maybe I am odd. Maybe, I am unique. Maybe, I was exceptional and maybe, I should be proud of it! So if the prodigious sharks were to open ’my gateway to heaven’ (the mouth of a shark), why don’t I just stand up for myself? Why don’t I just shield myself if no one would help the peculiar, puzzling being in this society? Why don’t I make use of those unsightly spikes and stop those razor-edged teeth from chomping me down by being menacing? It was the way to live a fair life. Pointing out how wrong their deeds were, fight back at them and maybe even disparaging them a little if situation allows, that’s what being eccentric taught me. To look timid doesn’t make you fragile. If even the most miniature mouse could scare the tremendous elephant away, then why can’t the odd one with natural born advantages do the same?

Pufferfish. What is a pufferfish? What is so special about a pufferfish? Well. It is what defines my identity. I am special, and I shine in my own way. I believe that no one ever has to know what I have done well. All I need is to know I did well and surpass my goals. I don’t think I need other people’s opinions for this is my identity. MY identity.

Emma Tagliarini

Katie Roberts

POLITICISING THE BEAUTIFUL GAME: QATAR 2022

The FIFA Football World Cup is arguably the most prestigious, commercially valuable and unpredictable global tournament in the world with the power to unite a nation when it reaches our television screens every four years. Controversy has dogged the 2022 tournament before a ball is even kicked: most recently, Russia has been booted out due to sanctions following its invasion of Ukraine. The build-up to this year’s competition (based in Qatar) has created unprecedented debate mainly because of the way this tiny autocratic Gulf state has gone about preparing to host this great event. But is this great media pressure really needed, and will all be forgotten once the whistle blows, and one country has lifted the

Problems began a dozen years ago, in December 2010, when the nation that borders Saudi Arabia and has a population of just below three million surprisingly became the first Middle Eastern country to be awarded the rights to host the World Cup. Questions quickly began to arise once details emerged of how and why Qatar were granted the rights to host the esteemed event twelve years away. Those questions have become much louder and more frequent in recent months. One year after the bid was approved, emails and letters began to be exposed by media outlets implying details of bribery involving the ex-FIFA vice president, Jack Warner and the president of the Asian Football Confederation, Mohammed Bin Hammam. Some of these emails included claims that Qatar ‘bought’ the 2022 World Cup through bribery by Bin Hammam, all of which were denied by Qatari officials. Three years later, in March 2014, a firm linked to Qatar’s bidding campaign had bank transfers exposed which involved a payment of $2 million dollars to Jack Warner and other members of the Warner family. Newspapers including

The Sunday Times made strong claims that they had proof of documents and statements which established evidence that over $5 million had been paid to football officials in order to support the Qatari bid, yet once again all claims were denied, and Mohammed Bin Hammam opposed any wrongdoing. Despite the denials, this all added to uncertainty and distrust among the footballing community and the Football Association, which for many fans (including me) was already far too large.

Despite these stories, the preparation for the 2022 event continued. In order to host the competition, Qatar would need the facilities to hold sixty-four games of football over less than two-months. For any country, this would be a challenge, yet for a nation which only had one established stadium, it may have been seen as impossible. However, Qatar is ambitious, rich and wants to impress, and the building of stadiums began almost immediately. Within the last 5 years,

seven out of the eight projected stadiums have been immaculately constructed, with all having in-house air-conditioning for comfort of fans and players alike. Yet, such rapid construction allegedly came with severe costs. With the extremely high demand of work being required, many migrant workers travelled to Qatar in order to make money by helping build these facilities. However, many of these workers have not made it home.

Since construction began in 2011, it is alleged that over six and a half thousand migrant workers have died as a result of poor and unsafe working conditions. These workers come from countries including India, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Pakistan and Nepal, with reports saying Nepalese workers were dying at a rate of one per day during the construction in preparation for the tournament.

weeks, Qatar have stated that LGBT supporters are more than welcome to come to the country, watch and enjoy the tournament and organisers will engage with gay supporters. Yet these organisers also recommend restraining from using the LGBT rainbow flag as it could be a danger to those using them due to possible attacks from Qatari nationals with very firm beliefs.

My question is whether, whilst obviously valid issues, we as foreigners have the right to try and alter the laws and beliefs of another nation? If Qatar was not hosting this competition, would this problem ever have been raised in the first place? Could these concerns be due to the West’s preconceived assumptions against the Middle East?

The western media appears to have a deep problem with Qatar’s approach to the World Cup, not just in the sporting sense but also politically. With timings of games beginning in November, almost all domestic leagues will have to be paused. This not only causes large issues for the clubs themselves, but also broadcasting and media companies. Fox News paid $425 million for the rights to broadcast the event, yet voiced huge anger once timings were released as it coincided with their highly regarded NFL season. FIFA’s dodgy approach to Qatar and the surrounding controversy has opened many political questions to journalists and fans, which they have struggled to answer. Ultimately this has led to football becoming the most political sport in the world with more and more money being poured into it every year.

More recently, Qatar has come under heavy scrutiny over the way homosexual and LGBT supporters may be treated when entering the Gulf. Homosexuality is illegal in the Muslim state, Qatar, and punishment for gay people can be as severe as the seven years of imprisonment or even the death penalty in other Gulf states like Saudi Arabia.

False accusations of medical screening tests’ to ‘detect’ homosexuality rapidly led to many LGBT activists such as Peter Tatchell demanding the World Cup in Qatar be cancelled. In recent

It seems difficult to get excited about the 2022 World Cup with all these issues being discussed, as well as major disruption of all domestic leagues. However, it will be extremely interesting to see if once a football is on the pitch, the players have their national shirts on and millions of us are glued to our television screens to watch England hopefully bring it home – whether these issues will be any of our concerns, or like before, just events happening four and a half thousand miles away.

Ultimately this has led to football becoming the most political sport in the world with more and more money being poured into it every year.

Holly Gordon Clark Max Tyler

IDLE AMBULANCE

I am sailing along the road In narrow silence

Where the forged hanging branches Are born among my silky fingers. It tears and roots at the muffled horizons.

Blurry din and the drowned song Of worldly words, the news diluting our dry lips and Filling the leaking car. Filled and wasted, unaware of our Own cyclical natures.

We follow a fatigued ambulance. Its slow, drifty dance is maddening But pure.

Its lights are there in commotion.

Its solemnity in the darkness feels out of place. Framed in one purpose, this purpose cannot be forgotten.

It is an idle walker and belongs to the woods

A cleansing cloud could drift From its silent aura In an idle, timeless state. Like a directionless elephant plodding over England’s rolling hills.

Sombrely, it climbs up The mountain that we call Night. It is a walker, feeder and Has license over the gluey air.

I feel indifferent to it and it feels No intimacy with me. All I know is that it is there In commotion with the night.

Fumbling: I need to keep your attention

The perfect word. The perfect phrase.

The perfect face.

To face the fact that maybe, Maybe there’s another face

That you take to another place

But you say the same words You don the same suit –The suit fits.

Full-fashionedAtailoredsheathLikeagloveWitheachmove, it tightens Choking me, A suffocating mass Fabric, tightly wound. This suit would fit you better. This mask just won’t come off.

Waiting for a response I Whetherwonder your suit’s as tight as mine. Whether the face you showed me was really a mask.

A Level Photography

Zara Taylor

Laura Sessi-Knott

Katie McGurrin

Poppy Oliver

Josh Campbell

hTeGirl Who Dreamed

HERE lies the girl who dreamed, Who fell into her reverie upon a cloud of vibrant hue, Who let her fancy roam beyond the crowded walls of her home, Here lies the girl who dreamed.

Every night, when the moon was to beam its silver from the sky, A wave of bright apricot-mist and raspberry-fog would rush to her, It was there that she would swim – skimming the surface of the stars!

Here lies the girl who dreamed.

But they imprisoned her in chains of iron rusty, Lo! Shackles great at her wrists!

The din of hammers would cast her into their ideal!

And just before the last strike of their hammer shattered her, She leapt into the air, on the wave of dream as it fluttered by, Lo, as it fluttered by! The wave of dream! Onto the dream she leapt!

There lies the girl who dreamed.

Often I find myself upon the wide world, standing alone, And I look up at the open night’s starry face, And I see her, resting on the misty-glow of the apricot sunrise, Here lies the girl who dreamed,

Who fell into her reverie upon a cloud of vibrant hue! Who let her fancy roam beyond the crowded walls of her home!

Who exchanged time for eternity!

Here lies the girl who dreamed.

from Sophonax

Celia Elliot Shorey Chante Morris

‘i’m so sick of this,’ you said, or i said. one of us. for a while i forgot what you felt like and i enjoyed forgetting. i’ve already mourned you. softly, you said, ‘i don’t want to be absolved.’ i can tell it’s because you haven’t heard. you haven’t heard my fingers, tearing, unless you embody this cacophony of accidents. the mercies, they’ve come to tear apart my corpse, and i’m hungry for artificial redemption, clearly. some kind of wishful bleakness. it’s difficult not to replace my sour wings with an anchor. now that you’ve polluted me i’m only tired and materialistic, and driven by misplaced spite. it’s sickening, i think. my reflection is painted from the bitterness of my own futility. and still they inhabit my mind, the constant yearnings. nailed into my mind, drowning and drowning in vastly complicated screaming –you said you couldn’t ignore the heaps of it, and, ‘too late to be absolved,’ i said, because i’ve already mourned you.

The Matrix:

A guide to freeing the mind

Griffiths

One of the most successful sci-fi Hollywood blockbusters ever released, The Matrix (1999), captured the minds of viewers across the globe with its captivating plot line and innovative cinematography. Exploring a whole new avenue of cinema – the Wachowskis utilised “sci-fi as a way to explore issues of identity and evolution”, fusing elements of a myriad of religious beliefs into a patchwork quilt of enriching concepts which enhance the film-viewing experience, shedding light on lesser known religious sects that had previously been lost to the passing of time.

Whilst The Matrix may initially seem to be a product of escalating scientific speculation, the series is innately philosophical, posing questions regarding the nature of reality and the world itself. Keanu Reeves’ Neo is exposed to be a Christ-like deliverer of salvation within the world of The Matrix. His position as such is blatantly alluded to within the first five minutes of the film, with him being hailed as a “saviour” and a “personal Jesus Christ” by a black-market disc buyer. Despite this, it is apparent that Neo does not represent the traditional Christian messiah; rather, he encompasses the Christ figure associated with an obscure heretic christian sect – Gnosticism. Primarily concerned with the attainment of knowledge, the gnostics believed Jesus to be a being capable of imbuing the masses with an understanding of their divine origin. It was maintained that the body had trapped the ‘divine spark’ in the material realm, and that until knowledge of the illusion of reality was attained, the soul would not be able to return. Neo chooses to take “the red pill” and see “how deep the rabbit hole goes” rather than remain in a “blue pill” illusion. Alternatively, orthodox Christ was a sinless man who brought people salvation from sin. This seems to be at odds with the theological backbone of The Matrix,

Neo liberates others from their illusions and the ignorance of their current existence, rather than dying for their sins. His goal for all of humanity is to reveal the truth at the risk of losing all people, rather than to preserve the illusory web of The Matrix. Those awoken from the simulation are the enlightened few –the gnostics. Centrally, the heresy at the heart of the franchise mimics the teachings of Plato – a worthless physical world and a worth-filled spiritual realm.

It could be argued that drawing any sort of comparison to Gnosticism is an unnecessary extrapolation of traditional Christian views – successors to Greco-Roman mythology. The Matrix alludes to such myths through the presence of Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne) and The Oracle (Gloria Foster). Morpheus, the God of dreams, frees Neo from the dream of reality by encouraging him to “let it all go… fear, doubt and disbelief”, and The Oracle draws similarities to the Oracle of Delphi which divines the future, and was created by The Matrix itself to interpret key aspects of the human psyche but, instead, aids the resistance. The Wachowskis’ assortment of colourful characters similarly represent key biblical figures, for example, Cypher embodies Judas and takes on the role of the betrayer who continually questions Morpheus’s logic ominously stating that “ignorance is bliss”. Epitomising the temptations of Satan, he holds the same role as the serpent in the garden of Eden, calling us to escape the harshness of reality. He betrays both Neo and Morpheus for the reward of being re-inserted into The Matrix, just as Judas betrays Jesus in return for gold. Trinity is possibly the most obvious reference to Christianity, encompassing the holy trinity, as she commands Neo to rise up from his apparent death in the first film. Whilst Christ’s bride is the church, Neo’s is Trinity. On the other hand, Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving) posits the role of Lucifer – a fallen angel driven by an insatiable desire to overthrow his own creator. A creation of The Matrix, Smith poses philosophical questions during his interrogations, asserting humanity to be “a cancer of this planet”. Despite this, he himself is bound by the confines of The Matrix, just as Lucifer was bound by his loyalty to God.

‘Keanu Reeves’ Neo is exposed to be a Christlike deliverer of withinsalvationtheworldofTheMatrix.’

Religion and film: unlikely counterparts but a force for change?

Smith describes how The Matrix was initially faultless, but that true perfection was not conducive to the human form. Hence, he draws a direct comparison between The Matrix, and humanity’s fall from the garden of Eden.

Alternatively, Buddhist teaching could be another compelling inspiration, as The Matrix parallels samsara – the concept of rebirth and the cycle of life. Some Buddhists try to escape this cycle through the acceptance of karma and the importance of choice. Likewise, The Matrix supports one of the ‘Four Noble Truths’: life is suffering. Practicing discipline, meditation acts as a method of freeing the mind, and Morpheus trains with Neo to do just that. The purpose of this is not to teach a new skill – as skills can be downloaded for use within The Matrix – but to liberate Neo from the bondage of rules; “there is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path”. When in The Oracle’s waiting room, Neo is told the ‘Parable of the Spoon’ which contradicts Christian belief and refers to a Buddhist paradox that encourages entrance into the ‘Buddha-mind’. In the distance, a flag can be seen moving in the wind. Whilst one monk asserts that the flag is moving, another declares that it is the wind that is moving. What they both fail to consider is that “it’s neither the flag nor the wind that moves, but your mind”, just as Neo has to realise that “there

is no spoon”, only the illusion of The Matrix. However, whilst certain aspects of eastern religions are referenced, other aspects seem to be either completely ignored or contradicted. ‘True Buddhists’ have no enemies and would condemn Neo’s ominous “guns, lots of guns” ultimatum , yet Morpheus tells Neo that not only are the agents their enemies, but so is anyone who has not been freed from the simulation, engendering distrust.

Not only has the film been inspired by religious teachings, but it has also inspired its own small religious following. Granted, Matrixism was initially founded as an anonymous parody, but it now claims to have hundreds of followers. To some, the faith may seem outlandish, as one of its four major rules is the use of psychedelic drugs as a sacrament – a nod to the red pill as an expansion of the mind. Yet, the religion honours the teachings of the the Baha’i faith, which teaches the inherent value of all world religions. The existence of Matrixism highlights the film’s influence within both pop culture, and wider spheres.

It is clear then that The Matrix is an eclectic amalgamation of multiple different faiths and religious teachings, and that, despite the lack of a cohesive allegory, the film and its sequels have thrived on theological debate, helping to usher society into a more self-aware future, one that looks beyond trivial appearances, a future aware that “The Matrix is everywhere”.

“ The Matrix is everywhere ”

“You take the blue pill… the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill… you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes”

MORPHEUS

Olivia Stone Poppy Oliver

if enoughwasi

You made me feel surreal, healed. poison seeped through my ears; every time you spoke. i believed you.

you made the dark become light; the stars shine bright and flowers bloom better than they did before. your tongue was elegantly twisted.

i thought i was enough, i thought my heart was whole, saturated with enough love to feed your starvation.

Seeing numbers on a plate ate me away; but i felt enough. you love my bones.

Lilian de Bruin

RIGHT: Yu-In Tang; BELOW: Bea Gale

The Ballerina

The woman slipped silently through the decaying proscenium. Her dress was as grey and lifeless as the crumbling stone around her. And the theatre lay dark and silent. Dead. Like so many things.

It had once been full of light and music. When the woman strained, she could almost hear the applause, hear the laughter. She remembered the vibrant ballerina, whirling about. Leaping towards the stars.

But that girl was gone, along with the world that she inhabited. Though her graceful posture remained, the woman had all but forgotten how to dance. She swayed slightly to an imaginary waltz, struggling to remember her old choreography. She leapt over a pieces of rubble, and holes rotting in the stage. It was a clumsy performance, but she bowed to the phantom audience all the Momentssame.like

these were the only ones where she could feel young and vibrant once more. She had stopped dancing after the disaster. There were too many bad memories.

She still cared. Why else would she come back, every year, without fail? But some passions had died with him. She could never feel the music, soaring within her. And she never danced for another soul.

But, sometimes, as her taut muscles and poor memory dragged her through her most impressive roles, she could feel him. With absolute certainty, she knew that he was there. Perhaps he was even dancing with her? The woman played Giselle once. Every evening, she would dress herself in ghostly white, and dance with her prince. Back then, she was the dead one, and they always laughed at the idea of someone dancing with a spirit. But, now, she understood. The roles had been reversed.

Her hour of daydreams ended, and the woman made her way back outside. The world was bright and bustling. She could smell the smoke from a thousand chimneys, hard at work. Carriages hobbled across the street, and she was in the land of the living once more. The tiny ballerina that lurked within her died again. And yet, despite the pain she felt in her heart, she would always come back. She would die a thousand times, just so that she could be reborn, for a moment, or an hour.

Just to dance with him again.

Nithusha Sathyendran Eva Green

far away from that cage, away into paradise. Our raven-coloured plumage slowly changed, becoming a kaleidoscopic sight. Finally, we could taste the sweet drop of honey after being starved for so long.

But here we are, once again. In the same cage, more rotten and rusty than it was before. The keyhole is obstructed, with no key to open it. The eyes surround us, “protecting” us from the supposed desire of the foxes. Our plumage becomes duller than before, our wings bandaged, restricting any form of movement.

ITrapped.oncedreamt,

dreamt of a future. For me. My children. My children. Where they are, I don’t know. I was told they were safe, but what is the guarantee they are not stuck in a cage like

mine – but smaller? More constricted. More eyes because there are more foxes. They love the little ones more than they should.

A fire is burning throughout my body. The body that delivered my children into this treacherous world. The world which turned their backs on my loves. The flames touch my skin burning all it touches: a rage so strong, only a mother could understand.

Is it my fault? If I hadn’t brought them into this world, maybe I would have saved them from this deceit and disappointment? They are doing fine without me.

Why are we here as women? Why must we be viewed as objects of desire for the satisfaction of those who capture us?

My last thoughts are this, as my heart slows down, my hands cold. The final bitter taste of life on my tongue.

GCSE

James Walker

Izzy Hassan

Lola McPartland

Charlotte Pay

Isobel Newcombe

Amali Carter

Fenton Parry

Fenton

Tatiana Hissey

WHAT THEY SAID

WHAT THEY SAID

‘It’s...to see you... today... you... this year. Hope... love... the morning, and... Mrs..., your... now... So,... 53... different..., I... all of you... get well... in the... years.’

If that was what everyone heard, what could they understand from that?

A blonde haired boy sat behind her, elbows on his knees, listening to the teacher; a brown haired girl sat in front of her, biting her pen, listening to the teacher; a black haired Asian girl sat beside her, annoyed, trying to listen to the teacher – she sat there on a chair, asking the Asian girl what the teacher just said, looking at the teacher.

The girl replied to every question with ‘what’. She didn’t ask anymore – she just sat there, looking at the teacher. Her eyes were suddenly open – she sat up – opened her iPad – what day was ‘Tuesday’ – ‘is that the fourth weekday?’, she thought in her own language.

It was a new day, With a new skirt and a new shirt, With new leather shoes, With a new timetable – just without knowing what her lessons were for that day.

She walked through the corridor, passed other people, wishing that no one would talk to her.

She was late for English – but every great thing started with not a so brilliant beginning, didn’t they?

She sat on the chair, writing everything on the board down –writing down a line saying ‘Kipps was prerenlad as scared and nenieus through the saepensious in chapter 12’ – which couldn’t make sense at all – obviously no one could understand what this line was trying to say – not the one on the board. So, she didn’t know what the book conveyed or what the teacher was telling her in that weird line – hopefully the teacher wouldn’t ask a question now. But the teacher did. She looked at the floor, head down – wishing that the teacher wouldn’t talk to her.

It was philosophy after English, she knew it because other people in the humanity set knew it; later was biology, she knew it because someone in her science took her there; after that it was drama, she knew it because the Asian girl was in her class; and finally she had art, she knew it because she understood what the word ‘art’ meant.

All the teachers tried to make the lessons great and fun,

Skyla Chen Sihu Jung

and all the others were showing their engagement – but the most important thing was that none of them would talk to her, as she wished. Lunch break was good, she had an hour to sit quietly on her own in her form room. She received so many emails, but none of them could be fully understood – she marked them as read, without replying to any of them.

She thought through everything happened so far that day; she closed her iPad and sat there silently. Maybe that was the start of everything; maybe that was the worse day ever and she would experience no more days like that; maybe it was same for everyone who had been put into an environment where they didn’t know the language spoken; maybe... But those excuses were not powerful enough for her to catch her breath.

School shouldn’t be like that, it was not a ‘school’ day – it was a day full of anxiety and nervousness wishing that no one would talk to her.

She could talk, could speak in her crappy English – each sentence with every single word already being ‘typed’ and ‘checked’ for tens and hundreds of times in her mind – and the sentence was still broken into fragments of short phrases.

That was why every time after she spat out a sentence, she told herself that next time she should check it over few more times –and it was even better if no one would talk to her.

The moment just now when pupils lined up in a queue waiting for lunch: she leaned against the wall on her shoulder, facing downward, with the left hand covering the right hand, paying full attention to everyone beside her – without being noticed. Just like no one in the school was actually living with her. She thought back to the speech a teacher was telling them on the first day, still, she couldn’t remember anything except the ‘53’ – she even didn’t know who the teacher was: a year teacher?

A behaviour teacher? Or anything...

But it was just the start. she had tried to convince herself not to overthink it – it didn’t work.

‘How do you feel when you can’t understand anything around Theyou...’bell rang.

Oh please – she begged – why tutor couldn’t start a bit later –she would not be alone anymore – it was not safe.

Her arm covered her head with her face against the table.

If only people could quickly go to where they wanted to sit.

If only no one would talk to her –She wished that no one would talk to her – for she couldn’t answer what they said.

What If?What If?

Lyla TamsinBeaukesAnderson

What if the world wasn’t quite as it seemed, A lot less grey and a bit more green.

What if the world wasn’t quite as scarred, The trees still standing and you could see the stars.

What if the world wasn’t filled with sin, people separated for colour of skin.

Imagine a world where everything is green, The grey a world that has once been.

What if the ocean wasn’t melting, The icebergs still sat there waiting.

What if the polar bears weren’t slowly dying, Every teardrop aiding the ocean’s rising.

Imagine a world where icebergs stand strong, A home we loved no longer gone.

What if vaquitas were still alive, Human kindness helping them thrive.

What if we threw out our ghost nets, The ocean still at its best.

What if we didn’t pollute our seas, The clean of the ocean reflected in the breeze.

Imagine a world with a plastic free sea, Watching fish swim with glee?

What if the bees had enough flowers, Making the world not just ours.

What if we didn’t cut down all our trees, Watching the world burn while we sip our teas.

What if I told you we could stop this treachery We won’t let the earth become a memory We’ll make a better world for you and me.

appassionata

YipEstella BertrandAntione falling

Let me dissolve into The hungry night sky, Why can’t I find myself? Why can’t I let go Of the musicPlay until your soul hurts The way I hurt, because I would still listen to you And the way your skin Moves Against The IvoryBut if I loved you, Would you stop me? And if I fell for you Would you catch me? But I’m falling and falling Into the hungry night sky. If I couldn’t stop falling If I ran to you, Would you hold me the way I can’t hold myself

Ria AmaliManvatkarCarter

Anne Bronte’s 1884 novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, depicts a young woman, Helen Graham, leaving Huntingdon, her abusive alcoholic husband: a journey in which a young woman becomes empowered by circumstances outside of her control. I find it to be a surprisingly relevant book, as modern novels, such as Bernadine Evaristo’s ‘Girl, Woman, Other’ (2019) or Taylor Jenkins Reid’s ‘The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo’ (2017) also follow the lives of women who leave abusive partners and the guilty feelings that ensue. Furthermore, Helen’s character growth contains insight that reflects on the author herself: Anne wasn’t just the little sister of the family. Charlotte, especially, often treated Anne with dismissal when they were young adults, calling The Tenant of Wildfell Hall “an entire mistake”, declaring that “Nothing less congruous with the writer’s nature could be conceived.” Several hundred years later, I think we can say that Charlotte was wrong, which acts as a reminder that there were three talented Brontë sisters.

Growing Up with The Brontes: Female empowerment and its childhood origins ‘domestic abuse is unprogressive’relatively

Reviews found the author to have “a morbid love for the coarse, not to say the brutal”, and Anne subsequently told how some scenes “have not been more painful for…my critics to read, than they were for me to describe.” This points to Anne using her own experiences to form Helen’s story, and she did have first-hand experience of living with an alcoholic: Branwell Brontë had a known opioid and alcohol addiction, and had written “I IMPLORE FOR DEATH” under a painting, two years before his death of tuberculosis in 1848. Living with this kind of person must have made Anne more acutely aware of destructive relationships. “But if I hate the sins I love the sinner, and would do much for his salvation,” Helen protests before her engagement, regarding her husband’s dubious reputation. Therefore she was obviously aware of Huntingdon’s flaws before he even proposed, and yet she still married him, making this marriage an even worse thing to read about. To put this in context, however, domestic violence was still only advised to be used as grounds for arrest “as a last resort” in 1967 and as recently as March 2020 2.3 million people aged 16-74 in England and Wales alone experienced domestic abuse. From this, modern readers can see how domestic abuse is relatively unprogressive in comparison to other forms of equality; it also highlights the extent to which Helen was powerful to leave Huntingdon.

Helen is empowered to take control of her own fate, for her son, Arthur’s sake, in a scene that is powerful because she will not let anyone tell her what to do. She writes about reversing “those evil habits his father taught him to acquire” including “bad language” and “intoxicating liquors” Whilst this is undeniably tragic for anyone to go through (for both Helen and Arthur), there may also be a sense of Brontë romanticising motherhood. She lost her mother when she was only one, and her oldest sisters when she was five, and probably felt that loss for the rest of her life. With the decline in Branwell’s health, it is possible that it made Anne question how her life would have differed had her mother and sisters still been alive. For Helen to decide what to do with her own life, irrespective of any man, was also unthinkable for a woman at that time. In addition, when Brontë was writing the novel she knew that Helen would never be allowed to get a divorce on her own terms, as before 1858, wives were only applicable to petition for divorce in a life-threatening situation. Therefore, Helen choosing to take her son out of the situation was undeniably powerful, given her other constraints, including money and societal judgement.

Anne Brontë used the empowerment she had learnt in her own life to create a dramatic story. Influenced by her brother’s addictions and her own motherlessness, Helen Graham became a character with emotional strength to leave her husband and son, in a way that is still very relevant for readers today, given how people are subjected to domestic conformity and how important it is to change these narratives.

The day comes to a close, Clouds race across the sky Like shadows hurtling after the light, Dark silhouettes of broken fingers and mangled bodies sway to and fro in glorious vehemence, The wind swirls with whispered promise, Promise of what is fast approaching, Something that men, women and all creatures alike fear Somethingmost,that causes even the sun to cower in its Night.wake. into the bewitching fall prey mesmerising flicker alongside as those few curious souls who come in the dead of They can hear the that pitch-black silence, it that the

Of course I know the truth, For the moon is my dearest friend, When I step out into the solemn night and the bitter air nips at my fingertips and nose, She drapes me in a blanket of pale light she wove with her own delicate hands, And distracts me from the unfriendly darkness with her kind conversation. My friend the moon is beautiful no matter how much she protests, She claims her bumps and dips are why she could never compare to the magnificence of the sun. In fact, my friend the moon thinks herself so unremarkable that she only emerges when the world falls still and the peoples erratic thoughts are replaced with dozing dreams, And yet the stars and I gather each evening to marvel at her beauty and brilliance.

I know my friend the moon is sad, Rarely is she full with that incandescent glow.

The moon disappears sometimes, Though we are close I have never known where it is she escapes to, but the clouds catch her tears that fall in the dark, And they rain upon me on days when her sorrow is so Throughheavy.all this, still my friend the moon is kind. She cares.

And still she smiles when she can, I just hope when my friend the moon disappears behind that modest blue cloak of day, She remembers how adored she is, For without my dear friend the moon there would be no light in that endless sea of night and the world would be darker without her.

House Art Competition Identity

Seniors Winner Alice Feng

House Art Competition Identity

Photography Competition Identity

Inters Winner Eva Green

Holly Heather Cook

Juniors Winner Connie McMillan

Mili Greener

Representing mental health in Japanese art

We live in a society where reality is distorted. In the age of the creation of reality television, of social media having a constantly increasing influence over all of our lives and an endless fascination with celebrity culture and the world of influencers – it is becoming increasingly difficult to know what is real and what is an illusion.

For Yayoi Kusama, who has suffered with hallucinations since her earliest years – she has had to undertake the challenge of differentiating between what is reality and what is an illusion.

When I visited the Infinity Mirror Room at the Tate Modern in London, I became immersed in a world that was neither the truth nor my imagination. One could purely look at the Infinity Mirror Room superficially, as an opportunity to take an aesthetic photograph. However, I saw the exhibition as an invitation by Kusama to look into her world for two minutes.

When you physically step into the Infinity Mirrored Rooms – you are transported into an alternate reality. Suspended, are hundreds of small LED spheres of light that are illuminating in a synchronised rhythm, in different combinations of colour. Whilst the room only measures 6.2 metres long by 2.9 metres wide, it feels like you are in a room with infinite capacity. As the viewer, you are lifted to an alternate, dream-like reality where you have the ability and opportunity to lose all sense of perspective. The deliberate feeling of disorientation is so we can try to comprehend the perplexing experiences

Kusama has during her hallucinations. Critics commented that the time given in the exhibition was too short. However, what I experienced was being trapped between deep ominous water where the balls were surrounding me so intensely I had no space to think.

Born in Japan, Kusama experienced auditory and visual hallucinations from an early age. She used her artwork as an escape from the oppressive, authoritative and glorified perception of war in Japan. Her artwork has been heavily influenced by her struggles with mental health and most notably she is known for her fascination with polka dots. Her obsession was ignited by her first hallucination where she was in a field of flowers. The heads, looking like polka dots, began to talk to her. I think this quote is a perfect explanation for Kusama’s fascination; “Our earth is only one polka dot amongst a million stars in the cosmos. Polka dots are a way to infinity”.

As a final thought, I find it comforting that we have reached a point in society where an exhibition about a severe mental disorder has been sold out all year. Kusama has had to overcome many challenges in her life being a female artist and enduring an extremely traumatic childhood. Despite this, she still dominates the international art world as a 92-year-old woman with her honest and positive presentation of her mental health battles. Kusama prompts every observer to look at their own reflection and reminds us that, “it’s good to be an outsider”.

TATE,MANCHESTERPowerhouseNorthern&LIVERPOOL

Other exhibits covered cultural variations within music and a poignant piece on miscarriage which was particularly resonant among everyone.

In the gallery gardens we were briefed with creating a collage of a single setting using multiple photos overlapped with one another. Inspired by Thelittlelord posters depicting Putin in drag on a pride flag, our photography skills and innovative interpretations came into play. Although these posters may seem lighthearted at first glance,

After a Covid induced hiatus, the art department embarked north with their students in search of inspiration.

At the Tate, Liverpool, the more interpretive and immersive pieces, such as a textiles exhibit complete with a video, sculptures and music caught the attention of students. I was particularly inspired by the sculpture ‘Cocon de Vide’ by Chen Zhen which he states should be used as a message that “One should learn to break out of one’s cocoon and be courageous enough to break away from oneself.”

A particular favourite within the Manchester Art Gallery was Byron’s Dream by Ford Maddox Brown, based Lord Byron’s autobiographical poem The Dream, depicting the devastating impacts of unrequited love. Another incredible venue–The Whitworth Art Gallery – did not feature the stereotypical displays of paintings but rather consists of exhibits such as an immersive video filmed on the boarder between Northern Ireland and Ireland and how it impacts the population.

they represent the draconian laws against homosexuality that Putin has enforced. A federal law “for the Purpose of Protecting Children from Information Advocating for a Denial of Traditional Family Values” was passed by Putin in June 2013 is more commonly known as the “anti-gay law”.

Our final journey was through the vibrant street art of Manchester – and with camera rolls bursting, we returned to Caterham.

“One should learn to break out of one’s cocoon and be courageous enough to break away from oneself.” CHEN ZHEN

Annabella Woodruff

Laura Sessi-Knott

Annual publication of the featuring the winner of the