Centenary’s Art and Literary Magazine 2019 - 2020
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Table of Contents Wedding Dancers Dixie Lane Vincent Everything Goes Self-Portrait as a Sweater Where? Sweet Natalie Lovely Woman No Longer Dinner for the Great Turkey Daffodil Shadows Greens Azure St. Jerome A Selfish Creator Bare From Gibson to Monae Griffen Moist Maurader Permit Transparent American Dream Motel Up for Air Patched Heart Midnight Reflections Powder Blue Flower View of Maui Trek of Haleakala Nature’s Masterpiece Luba Lukova Homage RYOBI Mock Ad Looks Like Rain Void On the Importance of Winter Gloves & a Name Wanderlust Wide Eyed Grandad’s Recliner For the Funeral Eat Me, Coward
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Meet the Editors Lila Beavers
Hey there, I’m a junior at Centenary, double-majoring in Communications and Studio Arts. I serve as the Editor-in-Cheif of Pandora, and I am honored to present to you the first revamp of Pandora Magazine.
Marissa Ramsey
Hello! I’m a current junior at Centenary majoring in French and minoring in New Media Design. I’ve always been interested in magazine work and have enjoyed working on this Pandora edition!
Abbie Boudreaux
Hi! I’m an English and History double major. I decided to join Pandora because I’m very passionate about writing and other creative work!
Sam Hamilton
Hello! I’m a senior pursuing a Bachelors in Studio Art with a minor in New Media Design. I have always been interested in Print Design and have loved the opportunity to be involved with Pandora. After my time at Centenary I hope to pursue a Masters in Fine Arts and become a professor of fine arts.
Wedding Dancers
Mackenzie Boucher acrylic on canvas
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Dixie Lane On cold days, my grandfather Talks about his grandfather And pulls out of the scrapbook A picture of the ranch house – The one the brothers sold. It’s up for sale. He’s seen an ad in the paper. He points to a corner of the newsprint And describes a tree falling. “All the cousins were there.” Next week we will tour it, And I’ll understand why The old man gets so sad at times. The oak panels painted white, The kitchen floor is linoleum now.
Brian Flynn
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Vincent
Leah Baer photography
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Everything Goes An unforgivingly sharp wind pierced through the thick green of my sweater and terrorized the small gap between my boots and my jeans. It reached me even past the numbness that encapsulated my body like an unwanted embrace, and after so long in apathy, i finally began to shiver-feeling much like how my childhood dog perked up in frigid winter’s breath before her warm, springtime death. Abbie Boudreaux
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Self Portrait as a Sweater, 2019
Lila Beavers 26” x 19.5” soil from Black Mountain, NC and Shreveport, LA on loose canvas
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Where?, 2019
Lyssa Harmon 24” x 24” oil on wood
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Sweet Natalie, 2019
Lyssa Harmon 14” x 14” oil
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Lovely Woman inspired by the Éternelle douleur ou Remords by Paul Dardé (stone, gypsum, 19.5” x 17.3” x 15”)
Lovely woman Beaten and brought down, Made an example of. Maybe some wife was envious of your beauty, Or a man was made mad your affections weren’t for him. No sympathy was given to the woman with snakes for hair. Eventually your head was rent from your body And waved through town, held up like a trophy, All because of jealousy. Lovely woman. You must know it wasn’t your fault, You are just a victim of a horrible circumstance. Remember that life will change you In the worst possible ways, So you must change your perspective on life. Not all will be unwell forever. Because one day you’ll end up in a museum Admired by many.
Zoe Eide
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No Longer Dinner for the Great Turkey inspired by the Wild Turkey by John James Audubon (Colour-printed lithograph, 26 3/4 x 39 7/8 inches)
Eyes so pure, that appear to have fear within them. Restrained at the breast, by a great force. Claws gripping into my light green feathers, My demise is coming with the beak of the powerful. Joy is seen within the eyes of the deity that beholds my life, knowing that these green feathers will fuel aching bones. A demeanor of such arrogance, knowing his strength. Ultimate control over my pure green feathers. How can the demise of my soul be placed in one’s hands? The hands of one who is of such strength and control. Majestic to the eye is this great feathered turkey, never fearing for his bright feathers to be displaced, no longer pain from hunger, but for my pure eyes. In just a turn in the wind, his arrogance is broken, his beak has risen, in dismay of grievance. The claw has risen off my soft green feathers. My eyes look up in dismay and thanks. In just a flash of a second, my wings take flight, And no longer am I awaiting the fate of my demise. Now, what is it to come for the wild turkey? He no longer has prey to fuel his unending hunger. Makenzie Boucher
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Daffodil, 2017 Shadows, 2019 Greens, 2019 Samantha Hamilton photography
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Azure, 2019
Samantha Hamilton Photography
St. Jerome, 2019
Samantha Hamilton Photography
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A Selfish Creator Far beyond their hands Away from their grasp I cruelly covet An unremarkable creation That their eyes will never know. The inkling of joy I kept Will selfishly be among Others than them. It does not matter if others forget, fight, Or throw it all away. It matters not If it will collect dust In the darkest corners of the world Or be lost to time. Because this creation will always know That I, The creator, Will love and cherish Its’ joyous secret for eternity. Wendy Jimenez
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Bare, 2019
Samantha Hamilton photography
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“From Gibson to Monae:
Our Changing Relationship with Embodiment in Cyberpunk,” by Sarah Cook, February 2019 submission for Centenary College’s annual All-Campus Research Conference
“. . . The straight, white, male, fantasy is to escape the body because the people inhabiting those bodies never have to think about how their bodies effect their lived experience. To them, the body is not part of the lived experience, only the brain is. This is not true of people in minority groups. Queer, non-white, and non-male people have to think about how their bodies effect their lived experiences; they are treated differently because of their sexuality, skin color, and gender – all things that cannot be removed from the physical body. This is why people in the majority largely think that the mind can be removed from the body – they do not think about how important the body is to lived experience. One of the things that makes Dirty Computer so interesting is that it is the first time Monae has appeared as a human in the story of one of her albums. In previous albums, she has played an android named Cindy Mayweather. In the album immediately prior to Dirty Computer, The Electric Lady, Mayweather is a fugitive of the law because of the ideas about android rights that she spreads. The album uses androids as an allegory for “undesirable” bodies; both are criminalized and/or used as an excuse to treat the people in those bodies as second-class citizens. In this way, Monae’s character being human in Dirty Computer is a literal reclamation of her human body. Janelle Monae’s Dirty Computer completely shifts the conversation around embodiment in cyberpunk because it is by, for, and about minority groups. These groups do not fantasize about escaping their bodies because society defines them by their bodies. Queer people are constantly asked how they have sex, people of color are seen as inherently criminal because of the color of their skin, and female bodies are regulated and policed by male authority figures (for one of many examples, Monae’s song Screwed contains the line “hundred men telling me cover up my areolas”). Society does not allow people belonging to these groups to ignore the effect of the physical body on lived experience – for them, the physical body is part of lived experience, and therefore cannot be escaped. In the past, this fact has been used to oppress minorities, but now, these bodies are being reclaimed by their owners. Monae’s album is a celebration of the queer, black, female body rather than a fantasy about escaping her body. The story of the album and “emotion picture” is that Monae’s character Jane has been deemed a “dirty computer” by the ruling society because she does not conform to societal norms. They then try to erase her memories, but she is able to recover her memories through her interactions with her body and other people from her life. The first words said in the album are “young, black, wild, and free,” and the video for that song (Crazy, Classic, Life) highlights bodies that are not seen by society as the “standard.” Several times throughout the album, Monae talks about and shows herself enjoying physical sensations that cannot be experienced without a body; Take a Byte takes place at a point in the narrative that Monae’s memories are being stripped from her (hence the title – telling her captors to literally take a byte of her memory), and she is trying to hold on her memories of physical sensation, saying things like “Feels so good when you nibble on me.” The entirety of Pynk is a love letter to women in general and the vagina in specific (if you have seen the famous “vagina pants,” this is the music video that those come from). Monae’s character in the “Emotion Picture” receives a tattoo from her lover, the sight of which helps her regain her memories after she has been stripped of them (Monae). One of the most important lines of the album comes in Make Me Feel, when Monae is singing to her love interest, Zen: “That’s just the way you make me feel / So good, so good, so fucking real.” (Monae) Put in the greater context of the album – the ruling body in the future Monae envisions is trying to erase her “bad” memories, including those of her lover – this one line perfectly exemplifies the shift in perspective in cyberpunk from wanting to escape the harsh truths of the real to wanting to embrace the real and never forget it. . .”
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Griffen, 2019
Lyssa Harmon 30” x 24” acrylic
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Moist Maurader, 2019 Hailey Ross
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Permit By Makenzie Boucher
JONES' ATTORNEY: "Did you have an extramarital sexual affair with Monica Lewinsky?" CLINTON: "No." JONES' ATTORNEY: "If she told someone that she had a sexual affair with you beginning in November of 1995, would that be a lie?" CLINTON: "It's certainly not the truth. It would not be the truth." JONES' ATTORNEY: "I think I used the term 'sexual affair.' And so the record is completely clear, have you ever had sexual relations with Monica Lewinsky, as that term is defined in Deposition Exhibit 1, as modified by the Court. CLINTON ATTORNEY ROBERT BENNETT: "I object because I don't know that he can remember." JUDGE SUSAN WEBBER WRIGHT: "Well, it's real short. He can. I will permit the question and you may show the witness definition number one. " CLINTON: "I have never had sexual relations with Monica Lewinsky. I've never had an affair with her." Clinton Deposition In Jones Case: 'I've Never Had An Affair With Her'
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Transparent, 2019 Ari Murphy photography
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American Dream Motel Mildew in the corner. I leak like a cooling unit. Drip. Sink. Mold. I mold into the nylon. Fluorescents. Mini fridge. Uneaten meal. My cervix electrocuted with pain. Help wanted. Help wanted. Vacant. Occupied. Lint covered quarters line my vending machine. Dandelions. Weeds. Weeds outside the walls. Overgrown disgust flooding like bath water. Static. Quilts. Polyester. Drapes. Soot in my VCR. Rusty chain. Brassy lock. Door open to my objectification. Mortified. I am mortified.
Madison Gable
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Up for Air, 2017
Samantha Hamilton photography
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Patched Heart, 2019 Leah Baer
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Midnight Reflections Taylor Deville photography
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Powder Blue Taylor Deville photography
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Flower
Leah Baer photography
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View of Maui
Brianna Callicoatte photography
Trek of Haleakala Brianna Callicoatte photography
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Nature’s Masterpiece
Taylor Deville photography
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LINDSAY MACK’S TAROT & TYRANNY WORKSHOP Tuesday, November 3 2019
NYC Namaste Bookshop
Luba Lukova Homage, 2019 Marissa Ramsey graphic design
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RYOBI Mock Ad, 2019
Marissa Ramsey graphic design
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Looks Like Rain, 2019 Lila Beavers digital art
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Void, 2019
Lila Beavers 11” x 14” acrylic on birch box
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Excerpt from “On the Importance of Winter Gloves & a Name”
by Abbie Boudreaux, September 2019
The broken air-conditioning unit sits mockingly against the window pane, slightly obscured by bright green curtains, as Elise continues to glide her index finger across crushed velveteen. The inner city’s afternoon heat is oppressive, but Elise is unaffected, staring blankly at walls of chipped blue, pointer finger skating figure eights, mind far away. When Elise was younger, young enough that her father’s tarnished bomber still hung from the coat rack, her mother reprimanded her for tracing shapes on the rough material of their sofa until it was worn. Stop that right now, Mary Elise her mother’s sharp voice echoes in her skull you’re tearing up a perfectly good couch. Perhaps, if Elise were a bolder child, she would have argued that their couch was not, in fact, perfectly good. It was already an atrocious mustard color, stained with her mother’s red wine and smelling of her father’s cologne slightly tinged with another woman’s perfume. Looking back, Elise supposes the old sofa’s downfall was more of a group effort. Elise is partial to zoning out like this: mind full of memories, fingers aimlessly wandering. She enjoys how quickly time passes when she pays it no mind. Nora was the opposite. Nora, Elise thinks, always wanted there to be something to do. When she first met Nora, it was nearing the end of an unusually cold January. Elise’s mother had remarried on New Year’s Day, and relocated to the suburbs, toting Elise along with her. Elise wouldn’t say that she was upset about the change in scenery-her new home came with a new couch (burnt orange this time), afterall--but she did feel a bit nervous to start a new high school midway through the year, a Catholic one at that. Her mother’s new husband, Thomas, was most passionate about two things: speed boats and Catholicism. Though her mother had never been particularly religious during Elise’s childhood, after her third date with Thomas, she tightly gripped Elise’s hands and said that they must now be devoted Catholics, for they needed to be saved. As her mother and Thomas’ relationship progressed, the once ever-growing piles of final notices began to shrink and the deep wrinkles on her mother’s forehead lessened, so Elise found that she didn’t mind pretending to pray before bedtime too much. Elise doesn’t remember that first week at St. Edwards very well. It was hardly significant, passed by in a blur of indifferent
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introductions with unimpressed faces and enough homework to last her a lifetime. Nothing really stood out except the pain of her blistered heels from the stiff brown boots Thomas gifted her at Christmastime. Elise supposes she has always been more of a loner, preferred daydreaming over hollow chatter. Back in the city, she didn’t have any meaningful friendships either--just some acquaintances to each lunch with and discuss the hardships of Algebra I. Elise didn’t think she minded being alone. Like everything, this all changed with Nora. Elise’s second Tuesday at St. Edwards was frigid; even the afternoon sun hid from the wind behind the clouds. Everyday, Elise walked six blocks to and from school, and this afternoon she was exceptionally dreading the surely freezing trek home. When the last bell rang, Elise filed out into the hallway like the other girls. She lingered at her locker, though, taking extra care to bundle herself in her thick puffer jacket and woolen scarf. “Nice gloves,” Elise jumped at the voice near her ear, and pulled her red cotton mittens closer to her body protectively. Looking up, she saw a girl in a turquoise peacoat, smiling wolfishly. “I love red,” the girl continued. Her smile grew impossibly wider, making her eyes scrunch. “Oh, um, thank you,” Elise smiled awkwardly, “me too.” “What’s your name?” “Mary.” The girl’s eyes narrowed playfully at this. “Really? You don’t really look much like a Mary. My name’s Margaret, but I don’t think I look much like that either, so I go by my middle name, Nora. Hm. What’s your middle name?” “It’s--uh, it’s Elise.” Nora looked positively thrilled. “Elise,” she said, sounding it out like she was testing the name on her tongue. “I like that, it’s very pretty--Hey, how about this? I’ll call you Elise and you call me Nora.” “Yeah-h, okay,” Elise’s cheeks pinkened at Nora’s warm smile. “Good. ‘Cause I have this strange, wonderful feeling we’re gonna be great friends.” That afternoon, Elise walked home with Nora’s voice in her ears, a hesitant smile on her face, and an odd fluttering feeling in her stomach--she hardly noticed the cold.
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Wanderlust, 2018 Aeriel Placeres ink on paper
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Wide Eyed, 2019 Aeriel Placeres wood burning
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Grandad’s Recliner We treat my grandmother like she’s fragile now, even though she’s proved us otherwise for the past year. I wonder if it will be hard to part with the hill that my sister and I rolled down the last time it snowed, or if it will be as easy as when Memaw got rid of Grandad’s recliner.
Natalie Taylor
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For The Funeral for Aunt Luann
My mother wants the cedar chest The chest an uncle made My brother wants near all the rest My dead grandfather’s blade But me I want a little thing A thing too small to see I want the kiss that cured the sting Left by a honeybee
Brian Flynn
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Eat Me, Coward, 2019 Lyssa Harmon 19.5” x 17.5” scratchboard
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Back Cover Art:
Avocado Hand
Leah Baer digital art
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