Mosaic 2017-18

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HOLDERNESS SCHOOL 2018

M mosaic HOLDERNESS SCHOOL 2018 HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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TA B L E O F C O N T E N T S

Introspection

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PHOTOGRAPHY

| by Ha Nguyen ................................................................ Page 6

Editors’ Statement .........................................................................................................Page 7

Newfound | POETRY | by Lorea Zabaleta ....................................................................... Page 8 Still | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Tim Wang ............................................................................ Page 9 The Scar | ESSAY | by Bernadette McLaughlin .............................................................. Page 10 Jump | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Rudy Beers .........................................................................Page 11 A Series of Poems | POETRY | by Carolyn Fernandes ...................................................... Page 12 A different guillotine, the same consequence | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Tim Wang...................... Page 13 Wait a Minute | ESSAY | by Warich Ngamkanjanarat ..................................................... Page 14 Intermission | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Zihan Huang ........................................................... Page 15 Developing | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Drea Chin .................................................................. Page 16 Whatever We Might Find | LYRICS | by Richard Eccleston and Grace Rapetti...................... Page 17 I Didn’t Look Back | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Bernadette McLaughlin .................................... Page 18 Take Me Back to July 4, 2017 | SPOKEN WORD POETRY | by Kai Parlett ............................ Page 19 Sunset | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Tanner Ensign ................................................................. Page 20 Flames | POETRY | by Jennifer Herrick ....................................................................... Page 21 Fall | PAINTING | by Anna Jones .................................................................................Page 22 She Waits | POETRY | by Kiely Smiga-McManus ...........................................................Page 23 Fall | POETRY | by Nigel D. Furlonge ..........................................................................Page 24 4

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TA B L E O F C O N T E N T S

Phases | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Drea Chin ..................................................................Page 25 Paint Me With Your True Colors | POETRY | by Darielle Matthews ...........................Page 26 Surround Sound | POETRY | by Pat Livingstone .......................................................Page 27 Thirteen | POETRY | by Logan Furlonge ..................................................................Page 28 Grand Canyon | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Tanner Ensign .................................................Page 29 Fair Warning | POETRY | by Marilee Chang Lin..................................................... Page 30 Self/Image | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Tori Michienzi ...................................................... Page 31 Two Pieces | CERAMICS | by Shaun Kwan ................................................................Page 32 Looking Glass | INK | by Song Tang .......................................................................Page 32 Lipstick | POETRY | by Berube ..............................................................................Page 33 Robot Coding | CODE | by Bryn Donovan ...............................................................Page 34 Copper Rebellion | SHORT STORY | by Isabella Qian ...................................................Page 35 At Work | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Keegan Penny ...........................................................Page 36 Diptych | PHOTOGRAPHY | by Ben Booker ...............................................................Page 37 As I Stand Here | POETRY | by Joe Pelletier ...........................................................Page 38 The Grain of the Hillside | POETRY | by Nick Lawrence ...........................................Page 38 Febo Infused Water | POETRY | by Monique Robichaud ............................................Page 39 Shading | GRAPHIC NOVEL PAGES | by Linh Nguyen .............................................. Page 40/41 HOLDERNESS SCHOOL

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Introspection HA NGUYEN | CLASS OF 2019

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M mosaic is the arts and letters magazine of Holderness School. Founded in 1997 by a

creative and industrious group of students and their faculty advisor, mosaic continues to be a publication that celebrates the range and diversity of creative voice and vision on our Plymouth, New Hampshire campus. mosaic is published annually and copies are complimentary. Students, faculty, staff and residents of the community created all of the pieces showcased here.

This year, as the volunteer student staff reviewed submissions, a trope of portraits emerged: identity, the power of really seeing and listening to another person, capturing a person in a moment, the question “Who am I? and how a portrait can provide one answer, the power of the pose and the power of the lens. As you read and view these pages, please be mindful of the portraits you encounter.

When considering a piece for publication, the staff focused on the following criteria: artistic vision, individualized voice, and well crafted form. mosaic aims to include work representative of as many genres as possible, including: poetry, prose poetry, narrative fiction, drama, creative non-fiction, flash fiction, short stories, coding, multimedia (original musical compositions, stills from original film and video, photography of STEM robotics productions), comics and graphic fiction, drawing, ceramics, painting, computer-generated graphics, and mixed media.

To submit your writing or artwork, send your work to mosaicholderness@gmail.com or submit through the mosaic tile or the myHolderness portal. Reading periods are October 1st through the end of April. Please do not put your name on your work, as we keep all submissions anonymous during the review period. ​​​​​​​​​Enjoy! ​​​​​​​​​The mosaic Editors

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Newfound

BY LOREA ZABALETA CLASS OF 2018 INSPIRED BY BILLY COLLINS’ “I ASK YOU,” PUBLISHED IN THE TROUBLE WITH POETRY AND OTHER POEMS (2005)

What scene would I want to be enveloped in More than this one, Beneath the pale, wintry sun And above a winding road.

Snow drifting dancing downwards, Icy walls surging upwards, The wind a whisper, An ice-ax hanging from my wrist?

It gives me time to think About everything I am not doingMath homework sitting, untouched on my desk, Freshly printed books on a shelf, While the frozen layers of the lake below Groan and shift.

But beyond this platform of ice and snow, There is nothing that I desire, Not even a cup of creamy, chocolate, Or warm, dry clothes Made with soft cotton.

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No, it’s all here, The bulges and canyons of still water, Orange crampons, a White Mountain guide book, Not to mention the bouncing, bright rope Attached to the route by screws, And the way my ax sinks into each nook, Each swing staggeredWorking like a machine And complementing the Placement of my sharp, front points.

So forgive me If I lower my head and listen To the bubbling of the small stream Between my climb and the rock While my heart Pounds under my layersHummingbird wings in a field of flowersAnd my thoughts spread and converge On my burning appendages And about a million screaming cells.

Still TIM WANG | CLASS OF 2020

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The Scar

BY BERNADETTE MCLAUGHLIN CLASS OF 2018

In August of 2011, our Jack Russell Terrier named Molly went missing. But this isn’t just any childhood, suburban dog story; I am the fourth child of an Alaskan family of ten.

One minute we were playing soccer on the lawn under the midnight sun. The next, Molly had begun to growl fiercely and then had run into the alders which surround our house above tree line. At first, we thought nothing of it; dogs wander. But, this time, she did not come back. It was dangerous under such conditions to start hunting through the alders in search of a dog, especially when we had recently spotted brown bears, lynx, and moose near our house. We settled in for the night and hoped she would return home on her own.

The next morning, she was still missing. Now completely frantic, we decided to venture out and hang signs on the road in hopes that someone would find her. By this time, we had concluded that Molly had been protecting us from danger, and we felt a strong obligation to try and find her. In the process, I managed to fall and cut open my left thigh with a nasty gash that measured a quarter-inch wide and ran seven inches across my leg.

Molly was never found.

I still have the scar.

I am never allowed to forget this tragedy as it literally is engraved on my leg. As such, it is constantly reminding me what it feels like to truly care for others. Its very presence also causes regular interactions with my peers and brings to light the variety of our experiences.

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For four years, I have attended New England boarding school far from the Alaskan wilderness. At school, young and away from parents, there is no shortage of stressful events. Many of my friends have experienced feelings of loss and sadness, sometimes at the hands of other students. Spotting the reddish/blue-ish scar on my leg immediately takes me back to the first time I remember feeling immense loss. The scar gives me perspective. When I fail to empathize with someone else’s discomfort it causes me to ask whether I am trying hard enough to love. Alternatively, when I feel that my friend’s pain is almost too much to bear, I remember that once before, I felt that way and that, somehow, I managed to move on.

The scar is quite jarring to look at and, invariably, a fellow student will notice it and ask about its origin. As the only student from Alaska at my school they assume that it was from a bear encounter or a hunting accident or something equally unimaginable to them. Sometimes I play it up for effect. But mostly, it causes me to stop and remember for a second how different my life is from theirs- how little they know about life in the wilderness. I chuckle to myself knowing that the scar is the result of the much more common experience of losing a dog.

I love my scar. It has become a benchmark against which I measure my feelings towards others. I feel fortunate that Molly left me with a strong reminder to care for others and a desire to understand situations through another’s eyes. What a gift that is.

Jump RUDY BEERS | CLASS OF 2020

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A Series of Poems

BY CAROLYN FERNANDES, CLASS OF 2020 INSPIRED BY RUPI KAUR

my heart’s broken pieces have been broken so many times that it’s hard to see if i’m stepping on glass or broken pieces it’s so hard to be strong to have a brave face for someone who took everything you’ve ever needed and laughed at you on your knees i’ve never felt more invisible than when you turned me into something that i’m not you turned me into something you use and when you’re done you throw it away the worst dream i’ve ever had is one that you’re still around

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it’s easier to hate someone to have them hurt you and give you every reason to hate them than giving no reason other than to love them more than when you were together why do we value the sports the academics the future more than someone’s feelings

A different guillotine, the same consequence TIM WANG | CLASS OF 2020

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Wait a Minute

BY WARICH NGAMKANJANARAT, CLASS OF 2018

I remember when I was trying to get out of bed one early morning. I walked downstairs with eyes barely opened. I thought it was going to be the same as any other day—waking up to go to school—but that day was different. I saw my mom standing at the bottom of stairs, waiting for me.

She looked at me with her doleful eyes and put her hands on my shoulders. I knew something had happened, but I was too young to know that something bad had happened. I did not say a word because I was confused at the time. It was about a minute that we stared into each other’s eyes, our mouths shut.

Then she said slowly, “Go outside, you need to see Broker.”

Broker was my first dog, a white and brown boxer. He had lived with my family ever since I could remember. He was playful, strong, and kind. My dad always walked him to the park in the morning, and when I came back from school he would hop around like a rabbit.

I went out and saw Broker lying on the ground, trembling.

He breathed rapidly, but his legs did not move. I walked to the other side and crouched beside him. His eyes looked sideways trying to catch mine while he was lying horizontally.

I looked up and saw my dad digging the ground with his garden hand shovel. My dad is a doctor, and this was not what he did every day. I asked him what was going on, and he told me that Broker was old now; it was time to say goodbye. I stood up staring at the dog’s teary eyes. Then I heard my mom’s call to come back to the house and get 14

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ready for school. I walked away from Broker. But before I could get into my house, I turned back and saw him still looking at me.

After I took a shower and had breakfast like other days, I got into the car. I climbed over the seat into the back and looked at Broker again through the rear window when my mom started to drive out. He was lying still on the ground; he was not breathing so fast anymore. I stared at him until he was out of my sight hoping that he might stand up.

That day when I came back from school, I could not find Broker. I ran outside and found the big hole my dad had dug in the morning was completely covered with soil. There was no sign that told me he was going to die on that day.

Every day before that was the same. I never knew death was going to visit my house.

Now I am nineteen years old, and I am in the US—studying abroad. I am eight thousand miles away from my home, Thailand. There are so many people I care about that I cannot be with today and the future is unpredictable. I want to spend my time with them as much as I can.

I call my parents twice a week to let them know that I am fine and to make sure that they are fine too. Last time I called my dad. He was waiting for a patient in his office. I was talking with him when a nurse opened the door to bring a patient in. “Sorry, wait a minute, I am talking with my son,” he whispered to her.

Intermission ZIHAN HUANG | CLASS OF 2019

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Developing DREA CHIN | CLASS OF 2019

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Whatever We Might Find

BY RICHARD ECCLESTON, FACULTY AND GRACE RAPETTI, VISITING ARTWARD BOUND ARTIST

Nightcrawlers and coffee on the tailgate The quiet water and the hope the key turns over Pushing out to the cove Where the red and black buoys float Sliding past Making ripples in the wake

Heading out into something you might not find It’s okay, it’s not about what you catch on the end of the line It’s the rain it’s the wind it’s that simple peace of mind We’ll celebrate today whatever we might find

Heading out to something you might not find It’s okay, it’s not about what you catch on the end of the line It’s the rain It’s the wind It’s that simple peace of mind Celebrate today Whatever we might find

On the water we forget our troubles We don’t need much except each other It doesn’t matter how we spend our time It gently floats on by

It’s so fun, all the morning drives And watching you guys play games in the rearview Two little girls and one sweet boy We adore you just the same And when you grow and when you fly May you cast your fears aside We’re here for you, your mom and I

You know, I’d stay here forever…or even for just a little while Heading out into something you might not find It’s okay, it’s not about what you catch on the end of the line It’s the rain It’s the wind It’s that simple peace of mind Celebrate today Whatever we might find

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I didn’t look back BEE MCLAUGHLIN | CLASS OF 2018

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Take me back to July 4, 2017

BY KAI PARLETT, CLASS OF 2020

I walk along the white sand of the narrow beach.

I feel the soft wind lifting my hair off my shoulders.

I hear the waves pulling at the shore, begging the sand to come dance with them.

I see the sun pulling its horizon line blanket up over it’s fiery head.

I smell the flowers lining the dunes, and the unique indescribable scent of the ocean.

I can taste the salt on the thick summer air.

We are going to watch the Fourth of July fireworks.

We will see them explode in the deep blue sky.

Their pops and bangs a band of angels, Banging their drumsticks on the pale pink clouds of sunset.

We are peaceful.

We are celebrating a centuries’ old tradition A tradition that carries little meaning for us That is no longer tradition, but a spectacle of red, white, and blue, That has morphed from 21 gun salutes into sizzling barbecues.

And there’s always the fireworks.

But that was before.

Before fireworks started sounding like gunshots Before schools stopped being sanctuaries Before walking down the street became dangerous.

Before Las Vegas Before Parkland Before my childhood friend is fatherless And a girl I knew once upon a time is gone too.

America’s teenagers have been to hell and back, And we are stronger and united because of it.

We should not have to grow up this fast.

We should not have to fight a war against the government When all we are asking for is our safety.

Enough is enough We’re 14, 16, 18,

We don’t want to be this tough, But the suits on the hill are coming at us fangs bared, And damn straight I’m scared!

Sixteen is an age for prom dress shopping, For sports and hanging out with friends and drinking iced coffee, For going to school and learning.

Not going to school looking over our shoulders With our muscles tensed to run at the slightest sound.

Why can nobody see that something is wrong.

Take me back to July 4, 2017.

Take me back to when fireworks were a beautiful, peaceful sight, When I could walk down the street with my eyes closed and my arms outstretched And I could listen to the waves and feel the breeze and the sun upon my face, Without jumping at every car door slam and every footstep.

Take me back And yet, I was once told that trying to go back is the same thing as hiding from the future, The same thing as climbing back down the mountain When you are only ten feet from the summit.

The same thing as giving up on a painting When you are already covered head to toe in paint, Fully immersed in the story unfolding on the canvas before you.

Trying to go back is nothing more than the easy way out.

So I won’t try.

I will never be able to return to that night on the beach Under the firework lit sky, So I say let it happen.

Let us fight our war, Let us change the world, And I will be the one to tell about it.

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Sunset TANNER ENSIGN | CLASS OF 2019

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Flames

BY JENNIFER HERRICK CLASS OF 2018

When Moses first saw god He saw a bush on fire But not burning When I saw my sister four years ago She was on fire too But she was burning Her flames were malicious Consuming her with no mercy But eventually they burned out Leaving her raw With scars on her skin that no makeup could cover When my loved ones now look at me They see that I am ablaze But the flames are unwavering, unable to be suppressed No water or wind, love or lie, can calm them They swallow me up until I am cut and bruised To the center of my body, my core Where the pain, the sparks, first began Blazing through the walls that I have spent years building up around myself Trying to keep the trauma out Though I have grown to accept the fire Letting it devour my soul until nothing is left But the love I tried to give And the hurt I only ever received

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Fall

ANNA JONES CLASS OF 2018

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She Waits

BY KIELY SMIGA-MCMANUS CLASS OF 2018

She waits.

She waits, silent and suffering, for us to see her.

We look away, pretend not to know, Only to have the blood run through our rivers, The tears through our air, The pain through our souls.

She is resilient but our hands tear at her relentlessly, Claiming all we take to be our own.

What we don’t realize is that We are slowly destroying ourselves.

The beauty of youth, the freedom of the forest, The crisp, cool air of fall Drift out of view.

The world cries out in pain, begging.

The trees weep, the birds scream, and with that the music dies.

How ignorant we have become, Believing that the web of life surrounding us, Can not drag us into it deathly grasp as well.

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Fall

BY NIGEL D. FURLONGE FACULTY

Never ballast of Winter’s grind Neither nectar of Spring’s wine, Nor ambrosia of Summer’s lime Either jazz or blues, a most copacetic rhyme.

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Phases DREA CHIN | CLASS OF 2019

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Paint Me with Your True Colors

BY DARIELLE MATTHEWS, CLASS OF 2018

I stand before you, blank.

Humanly authentic However I’m not the painting you desired Not beautiful enough or critically acclaimed to be admired So you use my canvas to create another Paint me with your true colors Strip away my bare identity And make me new Slash with red, the color of a vampire’s lips after it preyed on its victim To represent malice, your love to hate me Sprinkle me with orange, the orange that reminds you of a distant Hawaiian sunset To represent your desire to dominate and control me You begin to grin Already inspired and pleased with your new changes I crumble with alienation and let you adjustments symbolize my exoneration Flat-wash me with green, the color of Eden To represent your ambition Drizzle me with blue, the color of a robin’s egg To represent healing

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Stroke me with yellow, the color of a school bus Apply another extra heavy coat of a sultry caramel brown Representing my skin Peeps of 14k gold shine through representing my prestige Because no matter what you do I will still shine through the mask You concealed me in The painting I used to be is gone.

I use to be as colorful as a parrot’s wing, as a Mardi Gras costume, as the northern lights Now I am as collective and common as household goods, fitting into the norm you’ve created.

You take a step back, admiring your new work of art.

Feast your eyes on a mixture of something beautiful yet haunting You’re terrified at first of the stereotype you placed onto me but hey you created this, you wanted this The dehumanization of a human into your very own frankenstein.

Surround Sound

BY PAT LIVINGSTONE, FACULTY

The low, brittle fern, So near stampedes of fallen leaves, Now shifts and sorts the blowing wind That high above make autumn leaves applaud.

Winter snow will soon fall As to create a muted path towards slumber, For babies to suckle and dream, For boughs to echo the weight they carry, and snow to crunch underfoot.

This before the drip starts As the snowmelt runs down down down And joins the babbling flow of the brook That rushes through blossoms and buds to hikers’ lips.

The lapping shore Can hear the sifting wash of sand.

The gliding gull that sits abreast the wind That rushes silently by, animating all.

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Thirteen

BY LOGAN FURLONGE FACULTY CHILD

Gray-skinned sirens haunt my dreams.

Little girls with silent screams cross their legs and close their eyes, they pray, they hope, the sun will rise.

Secrets, secrets everywhere painting nails and braiding hair.

So easy to believe a lie, hold back the tears before you cry.

Thirteen crows upon a wire escape, escape the raging fires.

Thirteen graveyards in a row, cracked granite, weathered stone.

Bleeding fists and broken nailed, torn hair, shining scaled sirens lure you into the bayawake before the light of day.

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Grand Canyon TANNER ENSIGN | CLASS OF 2019

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Fair Warning

BY MARILEE CHANG LIN, FACULTY

To the cosmetics-cat-walk-diet-plan-fashion-mag industrial complex that makes every woman feel like some failed version of herself, Consider this your notice.

Much as you want us to worship at the altar of those false gods of perfection – airbrushed, starved, photo-shopped, smooth as a plastic mannequin, Beware the backlash.

I was probably ten when I started noticing those L’Oreal commercials -- pretty ladies swishing lustrous locks in slow-mo, staring at me through the TV to answer a question I hadn’t even asked: “Why color your hair?” the ad implied. She’d whisper with sultry confidence, “Because I’m worth it.”

Now, all these years later, celebrating birthdays by decades, not years, who decided I need to dye my grays to be beautiful?

Because I’m worth it? Spare me. I know my worth, so keep your hands off my head.

Who converted us to this religion of flat abs and thigh gaps, Weight Watchers and Spanx?

Because I’m worth it? Spare me. I know my worth, and it lies in my strength, not my shape.

To the pushers of Botox and fillers, concealers and correcting creams, retinols and resurfacers, eye serums and skin-brighteners, lip-plumpers and teeth-whiteners, Leave my face out of it, my experience etched in every line.

Because I’m worth it? Spare me. I know my worth, and it’s way more than skin deep.

To all my sisters – and the boys and men who stand beside us – Let’s roar our rejection.

Let’s say “enough!”

Spare us.

We are enough.

And we are worth it.

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Sef/Image TORI MICHIENZI | CLASS OF 2019

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Two Pieces

SHAUN KWAN CLASS OF 2019

Looking Glass SONG TANG CLASS OF 2018

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Lipstick

BY BERUBE, CLASS OF 2018

I should have known that you were like the ocean, Always tossing and turning those who Choose to get on top of you.

I should’ve taken warning when Your eyes were red like the sky in the morning.

I used to love the blush colored lipstick You would put on at night.

Maybe I saw myself in that lipstick.

The way you would press me against your lips.

I, Your material girl, Used to look good on you.

You left me one day Sitting in your sweltering car Where I slowly melted inside the cap You concealed me in.

You wanted to look good again.

But, darling, you’re too late.

I am nothing but a puddle of pink on your dashboard.

The same shade of pink that cascades the sky Above you, The Ocean.

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Robot Coding BRYN DONOVAN CLASS OF 2019

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Copper Red Rebellion

BY ISABELLA QIAN, CLASS OF 2021

I am a word muttered with abomination between murmured conversations. I am a ghost whose unnoticed presence drift through crowds. I am the taint – the only flaw – of the pristine society of Nytrix. I am a Disabled – the 0.5% of society who didn’t inherit Telekinesis like the rest. ​ My first memories are of crying – screams of disbelief, howls of bitter hatred. My Telekine parents didn’t want me; after all, who would want to be encumbered with a cursed child? A band was clamped on my wrist, forever branding me as evidence of the faults of Nytrix.

Later, I was brought to an orphanage, a weathered warehouse pushed to the borders of Nytrix. Cast aside. Abandoned. Hidden away from public view. The orphanage didn’t house any other Disableds like me, only Telekine misfits whose parents died and now don’t have a home. They were homeless, but I was rejected and abhorred. Even in the social hierarchy of the orphanage, I was pressed to the bottom. Because of this definitive difference, a rift between me and the others grew.

While they danced through their childhoods, I wondered whether being invisible was better after all. ​ To escape the humiliating ridicule in the orphanage every day, I wander through the streets, trying to hide from the flagrant insults spat at me. Some days I would get lucky and go unnoticed. On others, I would have to endure passers-by furtively sneering and jabbing from a distance. Today, I tug down my hoodie and sleeves and dart through the throngs of people. ​ “Hey, you!” ​I shuffle faster. ​ “You, with the red hoodie!” ​With a sigh, I halt and brace myself of whatever might happen next. I weave out of the crowds and finally meet the owner of the voice. He is a small boy half a head shorter than me with unkempt hair. “What do you want?” I ask warily. ​“A sign.” ​Can things get more confusing? “What kind of sign?” ​ The boy grins, showing me his crooked, tiny teeth. He doesn’t reply, but I notice a change in the way his jade eyes glinted – intense, vehement, and daring. They are eyes of a survivor of the cold cruelty of Nytrix. They are eyes of bottled up grievance and hatred, ready to explode. They are eyes of tenacity that are willing to do whatever it takes to succeed. ​Slowly, the boy lifts his forearms, revealing a corroded, yet all-too-familiar piece of metal, contrasting against his dirty skin. ​ “A sign of rebellion,” he whispers. The grin doesn’t look so innocent anymore.

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At Work

KEEGAN PENNY | CLASS OF 2018

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Diptych

BEN BOOKER | CLASS OF 2018

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As I Stand Here

The Grain of the Hillside

The wind blowing, The trees swaying, I feel a sense of belonging.

I labor against the grain of the hillside.

Each step adds to the internal crescendo Until I am forced to stop.

As I pause and look around I realize that I am merely a cheap mirror Of the hill I climb.

Nature, in her own struggle Against the chill of shorter days, Has too much courage to stop.

I am left to chase her.

BY JOE PELLETIER, CLASS OF 2018

A sense that does not Joseph so come to be, But is learned through experience, I stand in the woods today, Not waiting for things to be done, But watching and listening in the present moment.

I stand in the woods today, Cherishing every breath to leave my body, And every person I see.

I stand in the woods today, And live.

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BY NICK LAWRENCE, STAFF

Febo Infused Water

BY MONIQUE ROBICHAUD, FACULTY

I’m lost in a sea of thoughts Chasing a fear of AB without Febo I gasp under the water Struggling to catch some air at the surface Until I let go Drowning in the memories of Febo infused Artward Bounds.

As it plays before me I watch Febo inspiring each student Blue books being filled Sleeping thoughts awoken.

Expressions redefined As his students seek to find the words Form a poem Make sense of their thoughts Tell their story Illustrate their fears Communicate their hopes

Poetic sincerity Brave revelations Freeing moments Individual truths All revealed to a trusted audience Febo’s water is safe Clear warm blue flowing Voices rising to the surface Where they are powerful They are proud They are heard

They take to the stage, Raise their heads, Deliver their words Perform as one Covering each other’s back

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Shading (for Graphic Novel Class) LINH NGUYEN | CLASS OF 2019

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mosaic staff

BERUBE | CLASS OF 2018 LINDSAY HIGHLAND | CLASS OF 2018 LILY LINH | CLASS OF 2019 ISABELA QIAN | CLASS OF 2021 ELENI SPILLIOTES | CLASS OF 2020 JULLIA TRAN | CLASS OF 2018 SONG TANG | CLASS OF 2018

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faculty advisor

NICOLE FURLONGE

CONTRIBUTORS

class of 2018

class of 2019

class of 2021

BERUBE

DREA CHIN

BEN BOOKER

BRYN DONOVAN

ISABELLA QIAN

JENNIFER HERRICK

TANNER ENSIGN

ANNA JONES

ZIHAN HUANG SHAUN KWAN

DARIELLE MATTHEWS BERNADETTE MCLAUGHLIN WARICH NGAMKANJANARAT JOE PELLETIER

faculty, staff, visiting artist, and faculty child

TORI MICHIENZI HA NGUYEN LINH NGUYEN

class of 2020

KEEGAN PENNY KIELY SMIGA-MCMANUS

RUDY BEERS

SONG TANG

CAROLYN FERNANDES

JULLIA TRAN

KAI PARLETT

LOREA ZABALETA

TIM WANG

COVER:

Ruby Slippers

RICHARD ECCLESTON LOGAN FURLONGE NIGEL D. FURLONGE NICK LAWRENCE MARILEE CHANG LIN PAT LIVINGSTONE GRACE RAPETTI MONIQUE ROBICHAUD

| MIXED MEDIA | SONG TANG ‘18

To listen to Richard Eccleston & Grace Rapetti, “ Whatever we Might Find,” please visit mosaic or the Holderess School Website.

Mosaic is printed on 50% post­consumer recycled paper

M mosaic HOLDERNESS SCHOOL | PO Box 1879, 33 Chapel Lane | Plymouth, New Hampshire 03264 | (603)536.­1257 | www.holderness.org