The Bell View, Fall 2023

Dunn Literary Magazine

Our Mission and Promt We, Gretchen Grenier and Cate Jacobs are aiming to resurface The Bell View, Dunn’s Literary Magazine. Our prompt this semester was centered around, “Your story.” We welcomed any submissions where people touched on traditions, places, sports, activities, stories, memories, or passions that have made them who they are today. In general, it is a very flexible prompt. The act of creating art of writing is telling your story in itself. In other words, what is your thumbprint or what’s life described from your eyes? Our goal with this magazine is to encourage creativity, connection, authenticity, and vulnerability at Dunn School.

Table Of Contents

Photography: Arthur Cohn __________________________________________________________________ 1 Dylan Griffiths ________________________________________________________________ 2 Jaxson Glover ________________________________________________________________ 3 Henry Liu ____________________________________________________________________ 4 Brayden Metzger ______________________________________________________________ 5 Beau Petit ___________________________________________________________________ 6 Ryland Schaffer _______________________________________________________________ 7 Giana Valle __________________________________________________________________ 8 Keenan Zekaria _______________________________________________________________ 9 Hudson Von Der Lieth _________________________________________________________ 10 Sonya Kobko ________________________________________________________________ 11 Eldana Worku _______________________________________________________________ 12 Art: Husna Balaven ______________________________________________________________ 13 Writing: Issac Bakwira _______________________________________________________________ 14 Ava Benson ______________________________________________________________ 15-17 Gretchen Grenier __________________________________________________________ 18-19 Cate Jacobs ______________________________________________________________ 20-22 Zachary Horvath ___________________________________________________________ 23-24

My name is Arthur. I grew up in San Francisco, California. On my days home from boarding school at Dunn, I enjoy hanging out and biking around with my friends. One day, when I was biking with a few friends, we encountered a group of coyotes directly blocking the bike trail that we were on. We were in the middle of it and had just gone over a hump, to find that around 10 feet in front of us was a pack of them.

The hill was steep, and it would be hard to turn our bikes around and head back up. The coyotes looked at us with what felt like pure anger for intruding on their group and walking, although looking back on it, it was most likely with as much fear as we felt. After what felt like hours, they finally decided to ignore us and keep moving. We looked at each other with relief, not knowing that we were pretty safe anyway. This story has stayed with me for multiple reasons, mostly because of the fear and anxiety that I felt in that one quick moment. Even though Coyotes do not tend to mess with humans, seeing them around the park occasionally is still pretty terrifying to me. From that day forward, I have never liked coyotes and that has caused me to develop a newfound fear. The emotion in the animals and their expression that day has caused me to find a hobby in wildlife photography, which I hope to pursue as I grow through the years at Dunn.

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Dylan Griffiths was born in August 2008. He is a freshman at Dunn and lives in Ballard, California with his dad and his dog Banksy. His biggest passion in life is collecting watches. He loves mechanical watches because of the incredible artistry and complication inside them. He marvels at the beautiful craftsmanship of watches. Watches are a big part of Dylan’s life.

He spends hours a day researching and looking at them. Dylan thinks that there is nothing more beautiful than a well-made watch. He discovered watches when he was 13 years old while scrolling through YouTube.

During this scrolling, he stumbled across a video titled “Reacting to Lebron James’ $3,000,000 Watch Collection.” At that point, he had no idea that this late-night YouTube session would ignite his life’s biggest passion.

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Jaxon Glover is 14 years old and lives in Solvang, CA. Jaxon has been playing baseball since he was 4 and doesn't plan on stopping soon his goal is to play in college.

Jaxon has gone to many big tournaments in his life but his end goal is to play in the college world series. In this picture you can see him in the infield after practice, getting in extra work. This photo shows my love for baseball and the extra work that is needed to succeed. I hope to keep grinding every day and one day make my goals a reality.

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I am Henry Liu, 15 years old. I am from China. I am a very independent person, since I was a primary school student, I went to Hong Kong for school, which meant I needed to walk through customs every morning. When I go to Hong Kong, I need to take the bus, and then take a 10-minute walk to my school individually, no one to accompany me, because I have a Hong Kong passport but my parents don’t. Until now, I still can’t believe that my parents let me go to school on my own when I was so young. These experiences make me an independent individual and special.

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Hello, I'm Brady. One day in middle school, there was a week where 6th and 8th graders went on a trip, and the 7th graders stayed at school. We were tasked to create a class where we would teach a skill to the 6th graders when they got back. My friend was doing a class about flipping a balisong (butterfly knife). After I was done teaching my class, I went over to my friend and tried to learn from him. My dad had a knife that I was always interested in. I went over to my friend and asked him to teach me some tricks. He taught me a simple trick called the Y2K. It's where you throw one handling around your thumb and the rest follows. I got the trick down after a few attempts. This made me really happy. I continued doing the trick repeatedly for about 2 hours. Eventually, I bought my own. After school, I would try and learn a new trick. I did this every single day. I flipped my knife so much that my parents even threatened to take it away as punishment. I would take it to school and flip it as much as I can.

Waking up to sports, walking down, out in the big field. After 8th grade I got a little bored of flipping so, I started flipping less and less. I noticed this halfway through the break and picked it back up again. I still flip to this day and I don't plan on stopping. There are also groups of people who flip. There is a big event called Blade Show where lots of people who flip knives go and hang out. They also have flipping competitions and I sometimes watch those on YouTube to get new trick ideas. I don’t plan on ever going to an event like that but I don't plan on stopping flipping.

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I had never had a sense of what style of photography I liked, I had started getting an interest for photography around December of 2022 when I was staying in Aspen, Colorado for Christmas break. The beautiful views and sunsets were amazing, I had ever seen such nice sunsets before. I started taking pictures of the views whenever I found one I liked, I started doing the same for sunsets and every night I would take pictures of them. I ended up getting some pictures that I was really happy with and I started to get more involved with photography.

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Ryland Schaffer was born in Los Angeles, California in 2008. Growing up in L.A. (the home of the film industry) led to his passion for film and television. Being exposed to such a unique business at a young age gave Ryland a fascination with it. Some of his first memories were sitting in traffic, looking up at the movie billboards, and imagining what those stories could be about. He currently attends the Dunn School in Los Olivos, where he takes Photography One. He hopes that this experience with a camera, directing people, and learning the basics of composition, color, and how to tell an interesting visual story can carry on into filmmaking. He hopes to one day attend college out of state and eventually write for television. This piece is a simple self-portrait he took while watching a movie. He wanted it to look cinematic.

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Giana has a family ranch that is her favorite place in the world. Her family had owned the ranch scenes since 1916. Most of the photos she has on her phone are from there. Her ranch is where she got her third steer and the second heifer she has ever owned.

The reason why cattle are important to her is because she bought them with her hard-earned money. She raises the steer and heifer for 4-H, which is her favorite thing to do and her own time. But because far is in July and you have the animal for about a year, then burning that time period she goes to jackpot shows almost every month. The first show she ever went to was Western Bonanza. There are a lot of big-time people that go there so she did not get first she got last place and she wanted to give up but then her mom said that this is your first time so you are not going to be the best there has ever been. So that taught her that hard work pays off because now 3 years later she is getting top 3 and the big time shows. This photo captures one of her favorite things, spending time with her animals. Here she is pictured taking Duke for a walk at the ranch. When it is time to return to the barn, she and Duke are often seen running together on their way home.

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I took this picture after a long, muscle-crushing workout. I was tired but happy. I decided to take this picture because I felt it was the right time to do it. It shows that even after the long workouts, I still think about basketball.

Even if the journey is hard I still keep playing and dreaming of basketball. I have played basketball ever since I was a kid. Every year I meet new kids and play on new teams. This sport has done so much for me on and off the court over the years. Even at this time, I took the picture. My teammates were still playing the sport that they love. I took this shot to look a little cinematic, but also to look like I was just minding my business watching my teammates play.

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Last year I joined Dunn in the second trimester as a freshman. I was previously at Santa Ynez High School. When I was at Santa Ynez I didn’t take any art classes. When I joined Dunn, I saw all the different art classes that a student could take. Out of all the classes that I could take, I took Photo 1. I made this decision because my mom did a lot of photography and was kind of an inspiration for me to take the class. She told me it would be a great experience.

However, at first, I was skeptical. I thought that the class wouldn’t interest me. When I first joined the class, I was lost. I didn’t understand how much work had to go into a photo to make it look good. There were so many different techniques and styles that you had to use to make a photo look great and I just didn’t get it. At first, I thought I would never understand the concepts of what it took to take a great photo. Then as the year went by I started to learn more and more. I started taking better and better photos. I started to understand.

Now I am a Sophomore and I am taking Photo 2.

Photography is a class I didn't think I would stick with originally, but now I really enjoy it. I have really found myself in nature photography and it is my favorite thing to take photos of.

My photography skills have grown a lot since I started and I am very thankful for joining this class.

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I've always loved art, being surrounded by creative people and their music, fashion, and drawings. But finding my own artistic identity was hard when everyone seemed different. My mom once said, "Creating with your hands gives you opportunities and stability," sparking my curiosity. So, I began searching for what I love. That's when I found photography—the magic of freezing moments, telling stories through pictures. It's like painting with light. Photography became a way to express myself and show the world's beauty. Each photo I take fills me with excitement and fulfillment. I want to keep learning, trying new styles, and capturing life's essence through my lens. I dream of making photography not just a passion. It's a journey I fully embrace, where I can share my creativity and inspire others, just like the artists who inspired me.

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Traveling with my family has been a defining experience of my upbringing.

The experience of exploring new destinations, immersing ourselves in diverse cultures, and encountering a wide range of landscapes has not only brought us joy but has also served as a profound educational journey.

These adventures have fostered in me an insatiable curiosity and a deep appreciation for the richness of our global tapestry. From bustling city streets to peaceful countryside, each place we've visited has left an indelible mark on my perspective, reinforcing the belief that the world is an endless source of wonder and learning, waiting to be discovered one journey at a time.

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This piece ties into who I am and my personality because I see myself in both black and white and in color. I am mixed race, and that makes me feel like I don’t fit in any space 100% but instead, I am all colors, black, white, and different vibrant hues. For this piece I took someone and some things that I love… my brother, art, and Spider-man. I took a photo that I had taken for a different photo assignment. I took my brother and painted a Spider-man mask on him. I then took that same picture and illustrated it in pencil, colored pencil, and in ink pen. This multimedia project goes to show that this one picture can give the same message in different media styles and textures just like me and how my different personality traits make me who I am as a whole.

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Breaking the Silence In the quiet corners of our lives, behind the closed doors of secrecy, exists a darkness that threatens the very essence of our humanity. Today, I invite you to journey with me into the depths of this shadowed realm and explore a silent epidemic that, too often, eludes our conversations: the mental health stigma.

I stand before you not as an expert but as a witness—a witness to the hearts that have whispered to me, trembling with despair, confessing their darkest thoughts. I have had multiple friends who have confided in me, saying they had glimpsed the precipice of their existence and contemplated stepping into the abyss.

As they shared their innermost struggles and confessed their thoughts of self-harm, I was acutely aware of the darkness that surrounded us. It felt like I was standing on the precipice of a chasm so deep and cavernous that it defied comprehension.

But in that vulnerability, in the trembling words and teary-eyed confessions, I also witnessed something extraordinary. They had taken the first courageous step towards healing by sharing their pain with me. It was a reminder that even in the bleakest of moments, there exists a flicker of light, a tiny ember of the human spirit that refuses to be extinguished.

In those critical moments, it became abundantly clear that our response to their cries for help would shape the trajectory of their lives.

I realized that it is not enough to be a passive observer, to simply nod sympathetically and move on. It is our duty to actively listen, to hold their pain gently in our hearts, and to assure them that they are not alone in their struggles.

For our youth, mental health stigma often manifests in the confines of classrooms and hallways. The fear of judgment and ridicule can lead young minds to suffer in silence, their voices stifled, their potential untapped. It is our duty to ensure that our educational institutions not only nurture intellectual growth but also foster emotional well-being through comprehensive mental health education.

In our workplaces, the weight of mental health stigma can be a silent force, pushing employees into the shadows.

Many fear the repercussions of disclosing their struggles, worrying that it may jeopardize their careers or damage their professional image. It is incumbent upon employers to create environments where mental health is prioritized, where employees are encouraged to seek support, and where mental health days are as valid as sick days.

Across demographics and communities, mental health intersects with other societal issues. Poverty, addiction, homelessness, and domestic violence are threads that weave a complex tapestry of challenges.

To truly address mental health stigma, we must acknowledge these intersections and advocate for holistic solutions that uplift the most vulnerable among us.

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Recently in December of 2022, the famous hip-hop dancer tWitch committed suicide.

Growing up watching him and his wife dance, I even felt uneasy for the entire day after hearing about it and I didn’t even know him on a personal level. Reading the article that came out quickly after was eyeopening. His last words to his family were not of sadness, they described him on the phone as being the happiest person alive like he always was. His wife described nothing being weird and it just being a normal day. And when his suicide note was found, it described the challenges he had been facing for some time and how he had been struggling with mental health prior.

TWitch really put into perspective how there is sometimes absolutely no indication that someone is struggling. We never know what someone is going through completely. Because of the stigma that is put on mental health, less and less people are reaching out about what they are going through. And those people, as well as the people who love and care about them are suffering because of it.

When someone reaches out, when they share their pain and vulnerability, they hand us the most precious gift of all—their trust. It's a fragile gift, easily shattered by our judgment, our avoidance, or our indifference. And in those moments, we face a choice: to be a source of support, an empathetic ear, or to be the architects of further isolation.

But here's the paradox that we must confront: While we are quick to point fingers at the screens in our palms and the smartphones in our pockets, laying blame on technology for the erosion of our mental well-being, we often neglect to recognize that it's not our devices that truly connect us; it's our humanity.

Yes, our phones can be double-edged swords, with screens that sometimes dim the brightness of our lives. But they also offer a lifeline—a lifeline through which our cries for help can reach the world, and the world can respond with compassion.

You see, it's not the screens that are devoid of empathy; it's our choice, our conscious silence, that withers the bonds of our shared humanity. Instead of playing the blame game for the reason for the increased rates of depression in the last decade, we need to look at ourselves and how we handle it. Our devices are not responsible for the tears we shed when our friends or loved ones struggle with mental health; our own indifference is.

We often talk about the influence of technology on mental health, focusing on the screens that have become ubiquitous in our lives. But it's essential to remember that these screens are but a mirror reflecting our humanity, and it is our humanity that truly matters.

When a friend, a family member, or a colleague confides in us about their mental health struggles, they are not seeking to blame screens or social media for their pain. They are reaching out for a lifeline, for a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that threatens to engulf them.

They are trusting us to be their advocates, their allies, and their sources of strength.

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We must first acknowledge the immense courage it takes for someone to speak their truth. It is a truth often veiled in shame, hidden beneath layers of societal expectations and judgments. Our role is not to analyze the screen time statistics but to embrace the real-time emotions and experiences of those who confide in us.

As we navigate the digital landscape, let us not lose sight of the human beings who inhabit it. Let us remember that it's not just about reducing screen time; it's about increasing connection time, reaching out to those in need, and offering a lifeline of support.

But amidst these challenges, there is hope. Hope lies in the advocacy movements that have emerged, driven by individuals who refuse to be silenced by stigma. It lies in mental health policies and initiatives that prioritize accessible and affordable care for all. It lies in the power of grassroots movements and community support networks that have the capacity to create lasting change.

Understanding begins with empathy—the ability to walk in another's shoes, to feel their pain, and to acknowledge the validity of their struggles. It requires us to set aside judgment, to banish the stereotypes that have perpetuated the silence surrounding mental health, and to recognize that each person's journey is unique and deserving of respect.

Compassion follows closely behind, for it is empathy in action. It is the willingness to extend a hand, to offer solace, and to be a beacon of hope in the darkest of nights. Compassion is the gift we give to one another when words fall short, when actions speak louder, and when a simple act of kindness can be a lifeline to those in need.

We are not prisoners of technology; we are custodians of our shared humanity. It is our duty to break the silence surrounding mental health, to shatter the stigma, and to provide comfort to those who struggle. Let us not be silent observers but active advocates, holding the torch of empathy to illuminate the path to healing and growth. And let us be the hearts that heal the wounded.

By Ava Benson

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My Little Pearl The name Gretchen comes of German origin and means, “My little pearl.” *** I have always adored my mother. I do not know if it was the silky, sweet sound of her voice or the muted sunscreen scent that danced around her, but I dreamed of becoming her. I would tiptoe into her closet and quickly fasten the worn-out straps to once glamorous, high heels. I used to hoist myself onto the lightly cushioned seat of her vanity chair and dig through her boxes of jewelry. She had blue gems, long, shiny silver necklaces, green beads with shells, and layered gold wristbands, but my favorite was her pearl earrings. Now, I look like mama. I thought as I held the earrings up to my unpierced ears. *** It was almost a week after Christmas and my mom, dad, and older brother were still lounging around the messy weekend house dreading their return to busy Los Angeles. My mom was seven months pregnant with me. She had time. Then in just a second, the time ran out.

“Michael!” Mom Shrieked, “I think my water just broke.”

“Do we go home or have the baby at a local hospital? Will she be, okay? It is two months before the due date. Oh my god! Did I do something wrong? Did I do this to my baby!?” Fear and confusion broke through my mom’s chapped lips.

Half a dozen doctors and nurses were stuffed into a tight, hospital room drowning in the scent of artificial soaps, and cleaners. Mom was lying on the cot with a curtain hung over her abdomen, blocking her from the sight of her emergency C-section. The sound of hairnets crinkling and the clinks of metal surgical utensils on silver trays echoed through the moist room.

Then, the baby was out. She was so little, too little. Sorrow tiptoed on Mom’s bones and my heart pounced until finally, the doctor placed my tiny body in her trembling arms. “You had quiet determination, and wisdom to you.” She spoke. She said she read somewhere that pearls are known for being symbols of wisdom and their relaxing effects.

Pearls are beautiful and have an iridescence known as luster that gives a quite calming beauty. My mom said she did not even know me yet, and she knew I was a pearl.

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*** I remember one of the best days of my life, a few weeks after my tenth birthday. The day was finally here. My eyes darted to the clock then back to the window overlooking the school parking lot. Yes! Mom’s car, I thought. When the clock hit three-thirty my blue Converse steered me out the classroom door. I snatched my heavy, blue backpack with my name embroidered in pink and marched to the car. School was over and I was getting my ears pierced. Two really quick pinches and I was all done, but that was not what made the day special. When we got home, I followed Mom as she unlocked the house and led me into her bedroom. We sat down on the edge of the taught bed sheets and she handed me a small blue box.

“Go ahead, open it.” She whispered.

Her favorite pearl earrings sat shimmering on the felt.

“I do not need them anymore; you are my little pearl.”

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Footprints

Through the miles my pen has traveled and the trees of paper I have written, With all the ground my feet have made contact with: barefoot on the islands of Stony Lake, cleated on fields, or within the walls of school You’ll hear birds chirping, The strumming of a guitar with family and friends “Day is Done” sung by beloved ones, Hanukkah prayers recited by my family as the menorah is being lit, All while seeing a night sky and sparkling stars, The flash of a camera, A sunset with strokes of pure magic, Boats, water ripples, and waves, A well-crafted flame, A special turquoise lagoon, Pages of homework, Rivers, And Snow Your nose will smell old spice, Matzah ball soup, In and Out, Wet cement, The sea, Boat gasoline, You will taste m & m pancakes, Artichoke dip, Fattoush Salad Matzah, S’mores, Salt and vinegar chips, G & G’s three bean salad, Malt bread, Euro Belgium Waffles, And water Then through the collection of these random senses, you’ll find a girl.

A girl who has sailed, backpacked, played multiple sports throughout her life, and someone who loves movement and exploration You’ll find a “becoming woman” who loves writing, art, reading, designing, yoga, water sports, skiing, and her family deeply You will find my story.

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One Sunday Mourning Pierre Toujour owlishly woke from his vivid dreamy slumber. The linens were cool. Death’s second self had not sealed him with vitality. Pierre eagerly probed the bed stand for his horned-rim spectacles. He was too near-sighted to reach for his black woolen pants and white shirt. Pondering the horrifying imagery of his dream, Pierre dressed.

With a weary sigh, Pierre donned his coat over his thin cranelike back and neck. He carefully descended the creaking stairs toward the dented bronze door knob that gated him from the thick morning fog. With long strawish legs, he strode the fourteen white lines of the marked crosswalk and entered Cafe Desordre for an espresso. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he settled the bill and set off toward the church for morning mass.

During his stroll, his hollow gray eyes marveled at the fir trees that lined Otitori Bay. Underneath their pink-hued leaves, Pierre prepared the announcements he would make and the verses he would read to the congregation. At six past seven, he got to the church and began lighting the candles – there were seventeen. He walked through the back halls of the church, the heels of his shoes eerily clacking on the cold stone flooring. He passed through the ornately carved stone arch of the sexton chambers. There he found a Bible dilapidated binding, weathered embossing, worn. He tenderly leafed through the aged and brittle pages. He had never seen this particular copy before.

As he perused its pages, a crane collided with a stained glass window. A loud noise reverberated through the cavernous church. It was half past noon. Startled, Pierre dropped the Bible. It landed open on the floor, revealing Romans 2:7. Pierre’s curiosity piqued. He decided to read it as an introduction.

As the churchgoers gathered, Anton, the organist, began to play a hauntingly faint melody.

Each keypress created a bubble of vibration, bouncing from one wall to the next. Anton cherished performing at this particular church because the music and vibrations merged so seamlessly that the walls gifted him the ability to hear the notes once again. Yet, as Pierre began to recite Romans 2:7 to the assembled congregation, he couldn't shake the sensation that the words on the page were slowing down, and the once-rich music was fading into an eerie silence.

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He abruptly called for an unscheduled intermission and rushed to the bathroom. Throwing himself at the door, he collapsed onto the sink. As he looked in the mirror, he realized the extent of his hazy mind.

The day would not progress. He remained in the church attic, which had been turned into a beautiful library during a restoration. He read page after page, researching the various ailments responsible for vision loss. He found nothing. He reached for a large red leatherbound book from the shelf and began to skim its pages. He fell asleep.

A cloud of rain came through the air, bringing with it a sharp chill. The candles flickered into darkness.

A sinister unseen force began to close around him. The deafening silence that had overtaken the church earlier in the day now seemed to seep into his very bones, chilling him to the core - rusting his joints and paralyzing his body. He awoke to utter darkness, he could not think and could not move - information began swirling around his mind in long complicated sentences and ancient tongues - overloading his mind and corrupting his body.

He was too weak to resist the images. Unbeknownst to him, an ominous presence had materialized within the shadowy confines of the library.

Hours ticked away, and his mind finally calmed. He was somehow changed. Desperation gripped him as he realized the dire mistake he had made. Now fully risen, the ominous presence revealed itself in a hauntingly angelic form. Its blade-like wings reached towards Pierre and its plethora of eyes filled with malicious gold light. In gruesome peripeteia, the creature carelessly ripped his limbs from his body one by one, excruciating pain filling his body, helping him to realize what he had traded. His body for an eternal mind. The creature disappeared into smoke, leaving ash on the floor. He was left motionless on the floor, condemned forever to his thoughts.

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