Ingenium
Holy Spirit Preparatory School 2015 Volume IX
Steve Jobs Colored Pencil
Tom Yao
Class of 2015 FIRST PLACE VISUAL ART
2
Grandma
Melted Crayon
Lenny Jimenez Class of 2015 THIRD PLACE VISUAL ART
Holy Spirit Preparatory School 4449 Northside Drive, NW Atlanta, Georgia 30327 678-904-2811
3
Dream Catcher Mixed Media
Rhett Jerrum Class of 2015
Waiting Illustration Markers
Cat Sanchez Class of 2017
4
Table of Contents A Banglore Christmas - S. John Coral Reef - M. Gordon Open Happiness - C. Pinzon Darth - D. Verlander Untitled - C. Dale Beach Drip - R. Jerrum Catie - M. Gordon Untitled - S. Cleary Dreaming - C. Pinzon Bunny - S. Dolan Abstarct Self-Portrait - N. Duffy Turned Out - A. Thomas The Dark Of Night - J. Kelly Rays - K. Hill Horizons - T. Yao Rage - L. Jimenez The Girl in the Back Row - M. Wright Untitled - L. Markham Untitled - M. Say Fisk Connectivity - A. Thomas Dreamland - L. Jimenez Meadow - C. Sanchez Connectivity - C. Pinzon Tangled Wolf - A. Podratsky Abstract #4 - M. Gordon Self-Portrait - A. Podratsky Lilly - R. Jerrum Color Study - J. Daly 1928 - L. Bohling Sinking Silver - K. Leslie Untitled - M. Radosta An Egyptian Cinderella - M. Yepes That Feeling - R. Jerrum Masquerade - C. Pinzon Coming Home - A. Podratsky You Fading Fire - J. Kuntz Lips Are Moving - D. Mason The Semicolon; both Undervalued and Misused - A. Agrippina Ice Planet - L. Cocks Abstract #1 - M. Gordon Static - A. Thomas Breath of Life - S. Cleary Autumn - I. Estaban Untitled - Ben Mangum Yo-Da Man! - G. Villavicencio Redbelly Woodpecker - S. Dolan Knots - A. Thomas Royal Pain - M. Gordon Odyssey - M. Jones Bright British - C. Pinzon Viva Lyons - C. Cunningham Thunderbird - R. Stagliano Chuck Taylor - A. Podratsky
6 6 7 7 8 8 8 8 9 9 9 9 10 10 11 11 12 13 13 13 14 14 15 15 15 16 16 16 16 17 18 18 19 20 20 20 20 21 21 21 22 22 22 22 23 23 23 24 25 26 26 26 26
Untitled - J. Kuntz Untitled - M. Say Fisk Magic - C. Pinzon White Tiger - A. Podratsky Snow - S. Allen Warrior Shield - W. Stinnett Hansa - A. Pinzon Friendship - M. Wright Blank Canvas - S. Perez Wonde Woman - K. Hill Moon Taxi - N. Duffy Cooler Than You - S. Cleary Dreaming - M. Gordon Impassive Machine - C. Pinzon War + Peace - T. Yao CMYK3 - A. Pinzon Bubbly - N. Duffy Econ Class - T. Yao Untitled - S. Perez Dear Prospective College Student -A. Agrippina Disconnected - L. Jimenez Dancers - A. Podratsky Raging Storm - S. Allen Weighted Down - C. Pinzon Untitled - N. Jha Figure Study - M. Say Fisk Why @ Me? - A. Pan Bang - W. Fickett Around the River Bend - L. Jimenez On the Lone Sock - N. Casal Contact - S. Weidl Not a Whale - D. Mason Next to Normal - D. Mason Untitled - L. Jimenez My Hood - Curtis Johnson GiGi’s - O. Macik Untitled - C. Sanchez A Pot of Gold - O. Macik Meerkatz - J. Radosta Hawaii - N. Weeks Land of the Rising Sun - J. Kuntz Bloody - A. Pan Prefontaine: A Modern Cinderella Story - J. Voss Why So Serious? - A. Thomas Captain America - J. Radosta
27 27 27 27 28 29 29 29 29 30 30 30 31 31 31 32 32 32 32 33 33 33 34 34 35 35 35 35 36 37 37 38 38 38 39 39 39 40 40 41 41 42 42
Untitled Pencil
Siofra Casey
Class of 2019
The Fish Watercolor
Eric Hu
Class of 2015
43 45
New York, New York Pen and Ink
Cristina Cunningham Class of 2018
5
U
A Bangalore Christmas Sophia John Class of 2020 The city is alive with energy, for Christmas is a special time in Bangalore. People fill the streets, and the air is full of animated conversations. The hotel across the street is draped in lights and wreaths. It’s not extravagantly done, but the simplicity of the decorations makes it as Christmas-like as Rockefeller Center. The women wear colorful, glittering dresses, softer than silk. A woman walks past me with diamond earrings glinting in her ears. They are a special set, to be worn only on Christmas, and she touches them nervously to reassure herself that they are securely fastened. Another woman on a pair of inline skates rushes past. The sound of her skates swoosh across the cracked pavement, as she gracefully skates alongside her friends. There is no snow on the ground, but the Christmas cutouts and hundreds of LED billboards make up for it. The noisy rush of cars carrying revelers and families headed for Christmas services make it near impossible to cross to the other side, and so I carry on walking down the road. After a while, I come upon a mall where shoppers are packed together. Children run around, chasing each other around elegant saree-clad mannequins in shops. I walk into a bakery to see the mounds of Indian sweets and pastries stacked high behind glass displays. Jalebi, a popular sweet, is flying off the shelves today, and the displays are constantly restocked with tray after tray. The cashiers look harried and tired once the lines begin to thin out, and I feel sorry for them. I sit by the window to watch the road outside, now full of pedestrian traffic. The rush hour has just begun, but, because it is Christmas, it is much worse. Several pedestrians stop and look through the store window, watching the madness inside. A group of children, their mouths stained with a red jelly, are smiling back at me. Their noses are pressed against the glass window, making tiny impressions. I smile back, and the youngest, a petite girl, makes a face at me. They wave and hurry on down the sidewalk as an older lady begins to chase them, possibly an aunt or an older sister. An elderly woman brings me a jalebi, and, though I politely refuse many times, the lady will not take no for an answer. She does not leave until I taste it. The sugar coating melts off the minute I bite into it. It is one of my favorites and the woman looks pleased at my expression. Coral Reef Acrylic Canvas
Meredith Gordon Class of 2015
6
When I look up to thank her, she just smiles kindly and waves away my words of thanks. Now that the coating has melted away, all I have to do is chew it. A jalebi is crunchy like a pretzel but much softer in texture and very sticky. This jalebi is a bright bright yellow and looks like a Hyderabadi sun, golden and round. Another glance out the window, and I spot a little girl and her father running down the road, seeing which one can get home first with all the packages in their hands. When the girl stops at the end of the road, her father catches up and twirls her around, placing her on his shoulders as they cross the busy intersection. The father must stop several times to get across safely because drivers rarely slow for pedestrians in Bangalore. I take another glance out the window while I’m chewing the jalebi, and I catch sight of a large crowd. They are dressed in suits and dresses, and their easy walk tells me that they are all members of the same Church. The sky behind them is a starry one, and rows of lights are strung across the tall buildings in the distance. I look up and imagine that the stars are winking as they flash in and out. I don’t miss home very much this Christmas even though I live in Atlanta. India is my second home.
Open Happiness Watercolor and Ink
Carolina Pinzon
Class of 2015
Darth
Lino Block Print
Daniel Verlander Class of 2018
7
Untitled Watercolor
Catherine Dale Class of 2016
Catie Acrylic on Panel
Meredith Gordon Class of 2015
8
Beach Drip Arcrylic on Canvas
Rhett Jerrum Class of 2015
Untitled
Colored Pencil
Sinead Cleary Class of 2016
Dreaming
Colored Pencil
Carolina Pinzon Class of 2015
Bunny Colored Pencil
Sean Dolan Class of 2020
Abstract Self-Portrait Mixed Media
Noah Duffy Class of 2014
Tuned Out Watercolor
Austin Thomas Class of 2015
9
The Dark Of Night Jaelyn Kelly Class of 2017
The sun is fierce and spreads a vibrant shade of orange across the sky, But when the nighttime comes, its colors fade like a wilting flower, about to die. And in the night when the sun too has laid its eyes to rest, The only light that shines is that of the stars among the moon crest. A daydreaming soul finds peace in this sight, In the mystery of the darkness of the night. One can lie on the ground and gaze up at the sky, As a smooth gentle breeze brushes by. The wind wisps around, creating soothing sounds, Like a lullaby sung to a sleepless child that gently resounds. The only movement is the stars’ twinkling light, Which grabs your attention like falling in love at first sight. The air is clean and feels fresh as you breathe in and out, With every breath you release the stress that they day brought about. A daydreaming soul finds peace in this sight, In the mysterious beauty of the darkness of the night.
Horizons
Spray Paint
Tom Yao
Class of 2016 10
Rays
Acrylic on Canvas
Kyla Hill
Class of 2017
Rage
Digital Photograph
Lenny Jimenez Class of 2015
11
The Girl in the Back Row Morgan Wright Class of 2019
The house is empty. I am alone in it and the world. Right now, everyone is at a funeral. The funeral of my best friend. And I’m not there. I don’t want to see her like that. Like she is. Like she will be forevermore. I want to see her in my memories, like she was. I most certainly don’t want to have to make a speech. To hear the speeches made to commemorate her life. To hear them say that she fought hard. Had a good battle. Because she didn’t. She had given up by the end. Of her battle with cancer, that is. She didn’t want to continue living, continue being a human experiment, full of barely-heard-of almost-cures. She embraced death when it came for her. I can’t blame her. I’m almost ready to embrace death. When the funeral ends, people will come up to her boyfriend, to her parents, to her brother and murmur their condolences. That they’re sorry. That they wish she had lived longer, hung in a little longer. But I don’t. I wish she had gone sooner, back when she was still happy. She died young, only seventeen, but she was miserable. She’d gone through things no one should have to. And tomorrow, the world will keep on spinning. Almost everyone will go back to their daily lives and forget about the small girl in the back of the class whose long beautiful black hair had fallen out. Whose bright brown eyes had lost their fire. Who had given up. There will be a few who are affected. Who will come to school with eyes puffy from crying, and who won’t be able to eat their dinner. But mostly, people will move on. The world will keep on turning. The sun will still rise every morning and set every night. But it will set on a world without her. And most people don’t even care. These are the things going through my head as I stare at the box of pictures and memories in front of me. Memories that are too painful for me. They threaten to crush me, pull me down, down to where I will never come back. The door downstairs opens, and I hear footsteps on the stairs. My friend’s boyfriend appears in the doorway to my room. His blue eyes look like they have been broken. His face is drawn, and he’s wearing a faded shirt and jeans. “I don’t want to live without her,” I whisper miserably. “Me neither,” he leans against the door frame, “but we have to.” “What if I can’t? I look at him, trying to muster anger, anything but all I feel is the big black hole that she left.” “She would want you to.” His voice is softer now. “I know.” “She would want us to move on. She wouldn’t want us to do this. So get up.” He straightens. “Why?” I stand though. “She didn’t get to finish her bucket list, so we’re going to do it for her.” He pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket. The sight of her tiny, curling script threatens to tear me apart all over again, but I manage to stay standing. When my vision clears, I see that the pen has bled and blended in some places from where water was dropped on it. His tears, I realize. I wonder how long he sat in his room, crying over this sheet of paper. I step forward and follow him. I can heal. It is possible. And I will find a way to heal. For her. 12
Untitled
Spray Paint
Lizzy Markham Class of 2015
Untitled
Oil on Canvas
Morgan Say Fisk
Class of 2008
Connectivity Colored Pencil
Austin Thomas Class of 2015
13
Dreamland Mixed Media
Lenny Jimenez
Class of 2015
Meadow Digital Photo
Cat Sanchez
Class of 2017
14
Connectivity Mixed Media
Carolina Pinzon Class of 2015
Tangled Wolf Pen and Ink
Anna Podratsky Class of 2017
Abstract #4
Mixed Media Painting
Meredith Gordon Class of 2015
15
Self-Portrait Graphite
Anna Podratsky Class of 2017
Color Study
Watercolor
Jordan Daly Class of 2018
Right: 1928 Lino Block Print
Lauren Bohling
Class of 2016
16
Lilly
Acrylic on Canvas
Rhett Jerrum
Class of 2015
Sinking Silver Katie Leslie Class of 2017
i remember the bracelet you gave me. it was wrapped up in a black and white box that made my heart flutter like the sail erupting from its bag, and so, when i put it on, i saw its simplicity. its ribbon of sterling silver knotted together. i sometimes look at my wrist and pretend that the bracelet hugging my small untouched boneis your fingers- touching every piece of my skin. i sometimes go through the bag and the box the bracelet was set care fully in, your love still a part of me. i’ll scour through the box at three in the morning when i can’t sleep and you’re on my mind. i’ll rack my thoughts and remember when you smiled or when they thought, wow he really loved her, and i want to find a message from you, despite our distance. but i don’t. and every precious second i waste going through the bag and boxand every minute i stare at my bracelet hanging from my slender wristi break. because i don’t see a message in your scripted handwriting. and i don’t see your name carved into my bracelet. and i know that your fingers will never be around my wrist feeling my pulse- my heartbeat for you. because you’re there, and i’m here, and distance is too far, and oceans are too wide.
17
Untitled Triptych
Megan Radosta
Class of 2015
An Egyptian Cinderella Manny Yepes Class of 2020
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Nefertari. Her mother died when she was a girl, leaving her with her father. Within a year, her father remarried a cruel woman with two daughters. She was very mean to Nefertari and made her do many chores. Her two stepsisters also mistreated her, leaving her to clean the house, bathrooms, and even their cattle. Every night, she cried herself to sleep, but quietly, for fear her mother would beat her. One day, when she was cleaning, a cat walked up to her and rubbed against her leg. She was very surprised since only very wealthy people could afford to buy a cat. She loved the cat, so she kept it secret from her stepmother, for fear that she would kill it. Nefertari secretly looked for scraps of food to feed the cat. Every night, she comforted herself with the cat. Sometimes, she even talked to her cat, pretending it was alive. It almost seemed like it cared, but she knew that was a preposterous idea. Soon, the Pharaoh finished building his great tomb. He decreed that a massive celebration be held, and that everyone be invited. Nefertari very badly yearned to go, so she asked her stepmother for something to wear. Enraged, the stepmother locked her in the basement, with nothing but a piece of bread. Her stepmother and sisters left for the party, dressed in extravagant outfits. Suddenly, Nefertari heard a cat rubbing up against the door. The door swung open, revealing her cat behind it. She was dumbfounded by this since cats cannot open doors. Then, the cat began to speak. “I am not a normal cat,” it said. “I am Rodoniquo, the god of cats. I have seen your despair and will help you to end it.” The cat stood up on two legs and led Nefertari to the Nile, where it instructed her to dip herself in the river. When she came out, Nefertari was dressed in a marvelous blue dress made of the finest linen and silk, with jewelry of astonishing beauty, and sandals encrusted with gold and diamonds. The cat warned her not to kiss anyone, for she would turn once again into a poor girl. She quickly ran to the celebration. When she arrived, the Pharaoh greeted her, stunned by her immense beauty. He invited her to dance, and they spent most of the evening dancing with each other. “What is your name, oh beautiful lady?” he asked. “I cannot say, but you need not know it,” she responded. 18
The Pharaoh would not allow anyone else to dance with her. Finally, at night, when they were admiring the night sky on his balcony, the Pharaoh leaned in to kiss her. She remembered that the cat had said not to kiss anyone, lest her dress would turn into rags once again. She ran away from the Pharaoh, crying bitterly. The Pharaoh commanded his guards to chase after her, but she evaded them by swimming across the Nile. She jumped into the river, making a large splash, and she swam across. Suddenly, her foot got caught on a branch, and she shook her foot free, releasing her gold encrusted sandal. She looked backwards as it sunk in the river, glistening with the silver light of the moon. It then descended into the mouth of a crocodile. When she emerged, she was dressed in torn rags and covered in dirt and ash. She quickly sprinted towards her house, hoping to get there before her family came. The next day, the Pharaoh’s pet crocodile became very sick. When he came to see it, its heart stopped beating. Anguished, the Pharaoh called for a doctor to conclude the cause of death. The doctor then found a beautiful sandal with diamonds and gold. Looking around, he secretly slipped it into his robe. He walked out of the room, looking suspicious, when the sandal fell out of his garment, onto the floor. Enraged, the Pharaoh demanded to know where he had acquired the sandal. Defeated, the doctor explained That Feeling how he had found it in the stomach of the crocodile. The Pharaoh picked up the sandal, and inspected it. Colored Pencil He suddenly recognized it as the same sandal that he Rhett Jerrum Class of 2015 had seen on the astonishing girl he had met yesterday. He yearned to find the name of the girl, but the sandal held no clue, except for the fact that it was very small, only possible to fit on the smallest of feet. Then, he had an idea. He told his most trusted guard to go house to house, fitting the sandal to see if it would fit any girl. The guard went from house to house, day after day, looking for the breathtaking mystery girl. Many feet were too big or too wide. Some were too long, and others did not fit the heel. Finally, he arrived at Nefertari’s house. He tried to fit the shoe on one of the stepsisters, but her foot was too long for the sandal. Infuriated, she cut off part of her heel, trying to make her foot smaller. Unfortunately for her, the Pharaoh saw the blood pouring from her ankle. He tried to fit the sandal onto the other sister’s foot. Unfortunately for her, her foot was too wide for the sandal. She cut part of her foot off, trying to fit it in the sandal, but in vain. Finally, he fitted the sandal to Nefertari. The sandal fit perfectly, and the guard leapt in joy. They rode to the Pharaoh’s palace, where she told him the whole story. The cat disappeared and was never seen again. The Pharaoh and Nefertari were married, and the sisters attended the marriage in hope of gaining friendship with Nefertari but in vain. The Pharaoh lived a happy life with Nefertari, and she never felt sorrow again.
19
Masquerade
Coming Home
Charcoal
Watercolor
Class of 2015
Class of 2017
Carolina Pinzon
You Fading Fire
Lips Are Moving
Oil on Canvas
Spray Paint Stencil
Class of 2009
Class of 2016
Jakie Kuntz 20
Anna Podratsky
Delphine Mason
The Semicolon; both Undervalued and Misused Andrew Agrippina Class of 2015 2nd Place Literary
A major pet peeve of mine is the all too common misuse of the semicolon. Whenever I see an essay or article with an improperly placed semicolon; I have to resist the urge to tear it up. The frustrating truth is that most people simply aren’t taught how to use it; and that is a shame; because this is indubitably the tell-tale sign of the decline of modern education; and nothing is being done to fix it. It is both dismaying and perplexing to me that a student can go through middle school; high school; and college; and have no idea how to use the semicolon. It is unfortunate; nay; tragic; that the proper use of this punctuation mark eludes most.
Ice Planet Spray Paint
Luke Cocks Class of 2018
Abstract #1 Acrylic on Canvas
Meredith Gordon
Class of 2015
21
Static Acrylic on Canvas
Austin Thomas Class of 2015
Autumn Acrylin on Canvas
Isabelle Esteban Class of 2018
22
Breath of Life Acrylic on Canvas
Sinead Cleary Class of 2016
Untitiled Ink and Tempera Ben Mangum Class of 2019
Yo-Da Man! Colored Pencil
Giovanni Villavicencio Class of 2017
Redbelly Woodpecker Watercolor
Sean Dolan Class of 2020
Knots Colored Pencil
Austin Thomas Class of 2015
23
Royal Pain
Mixed Media on Wood
Meredith Gordon
Class of 2015 *2nd Place Visual Art
24
Odyssey
Meredith Jones Class of 2015
1st Place Literary It seemed ready to rain, but I wasn’t sure. I was certain, however, that I was cold. I sat on the edge of a dock in Greece, peering into swarms of fish whose names I did not know. Drew sat beside me and tossed seed after seed into the mirror of the water. “Mere?” The echo of my own name yanked me back. Drew and I stood, and rubber met rock as we ambled along the cobblestoned edge of the frothy sea. My eyes bounced from storefront to bike to keel, finally landing on ruins wedged between roadways and restaurants. I halted momentarily, gazing at steps that once bore the weight of the ancient Greeks, and walls that once stood between them and storms like the one I felt brewing in the air. We continued towards a merchant who placed bright fruit in brown bags. Her garb was crumpled ebony and her hair stark white, but her eyes held the glow of the sea. At the moment I faced her, I knew she loved us. It was a strange experience, encountering something so pure, uncontaminated by ulterior motives or distrust. Although Drew had purchased mandarin oranges from her earlier (the origin of his aquatic sowing), we selected something new: strawberries. The woman beckoned us onto her rickety craft, which bobbed on the water, and we watched as she swaddled the berries. She handed me the carefully wrapped package and hugged me -- confirming her love -- even though I had given her no money, and simply because I was there. We then approached two fishermen, one fluent in English and the other in laughter. They caught lobsters for a living; one was thin, scraggly like the nets held in his rusty hands, the other older, thicker, with watchful eyes embedded in his skull. They tugged on their tangled nets, sipped coffee in generic to-go cups, and told us how to predict the weather based on the postures of cows. We did not introduce ourselves; nor did they. Although I did not learn much more about the two men, I do know that on that particular evening, cows somewhere were lying down, a storm therefore was coming, and the men caught no lobster yet did not seem to mind. We left the fishermen to their work and walked off, reaching a whitewashed chapel, which centered on the veneration of a particular saint; the locals maintained the site, supported by the donations of visitors. We mingled with those souls who had peeled off a moment in time to pass through the chapel, as clinking coins slipped from our fingers. The reward for our euros was a thin candle, which I lit as prayers floated up from my lips. The bovine meteorologists were proven right: the rains came. As I, now colder than before, ran back to our vessel, I considered the odd, inner workings of cattle minds. Deep in thought, I boarded our boat, leaving behind crimson berries and grimy rope, familiar faces in the form of strangers, and trailing bits of soul in the flicker of flames. I left behind a place of people — without complexity or pretense — just beautiful people who fished and sold fruit and lived. And for just a moment I was able to embrace the simple aspects of life. I was granted an unadulterated opportunity to talk with tradesmen who are probably still folding paper bags and yanking nets, and to join a parade of souls who would trade hard-earned coins for wax and a prayer.
25
Bright British Watercolor
Carolina Pinzon Class of 2015
Thunderbird String Painting
Rose Stagliano Class of 2020
26
Viva Lyons
Cut Paper Collage
Cristina Cunningham Class of 2018
Chuck Taylor
Spray Paint Stencil
Anna Podratsky
Class of 2017
Untitiled Colored Pencil
Jack Kuntz
Untitled
Class of 2009
Oil on Canvas
Morgan Fisk
Class of 2008
Magic Digital Photograph
Carolina Pinzon Class of 2015
White Tiger Graphite Pencil
Anna Podratsky Class of 2017
27
Snow Samantha Allen Class of 2017 The ground is blanketed In white Fluffy white It falls from the sky Like frozen teardrops Soft Wet But not salty At least not yet The sky opens up To this white fluffy puff And it rains down Falling slowly to the ground It covers the dead brownish colored grass In its delicate little pieces Paper that melts in your hand At your touch Not deep No, not deep Not yet But maybe... Just maybe it will keep going Keep flowing And falling Still So the land The grass the earth Will be filled Like powdered sugar it lay On the ground waiting for play For the frolic of the children For the air to be filled with their merry laughter Their joyous squeals And games This is a child’s snow day A child’s dream
28
Warrior Shield
Hansa
Tempera Resist
Painted Crayon
Will Stinnett
Alex Pinzon
Class of 2020
Class of 2017
Friendship
String Painting
Morgan Wright Class of 2019
Blank Canvas Lino Block Print
Stephanie Perez
Class of 2016
29
Moon Taxi
Digital Illustration
Noah Duffy
Class of 2014
Wonder Woman Painted Crayon Kyla Hill Class of 2017
Cooler Than You
Mixed Media Collage
Sinead Carson Class of 2016
30
Dreaming
Mixed Media Meredith Gordon Class of 2015
Impassive Machine Marker Illustration
Carolina Pinzon
Class of 2015
War + Peace Soap Resist
Tom Yao
Class of 2016
31
CMYK3
Acrylic on Canvas
Alexandra Pinzon Class of 2017
Bubbly
Mixed Media
Noah Duffy
Class of 2014
Econ Class
Digital Illustration
Tom Yao
Class of 2016
32
Untitled
Cut Paper Collage
Stephanie Perez
Class of 2016
Dear Prospective College Student, By Andrew Agrippina Class of 2015 I see you have enjoyed a full liberal arts education: complete with Theology, Math, Science, Social Sciences, English, Dramatic Arts, and Music Theory. I see you have an innate love for Philosophy and Theology, immersing yourself in the writings of the Doctors of the Church and reveling in the genius of Plato and Aristotle. I see you consider yourself a well-rounded person, striving for the ideal of a true education; placing greater importance in intrinsic learning than the proverbial red-inked number atop every test. I see you are an intense athlete, an enthusiastic student, and a vibrant performer. I see you truly care about every practice, class, and rehearsal. That’s all very nice, but can you send over your SAT/ACT scores and GPA? Also, some SAT subject tests and AP scores would be nice. We mostly just care about the numbers. Sincerely, Your Higher Education
Dancers
Painted Crayon
Anna Podratsky
Class of 2017
Disconnected Sharpie
Lenny Jimenez Class of 2015
33
Raging Storm Samantha Allen Class of 2017 3rd Place Literary Anger pours from me Like tears from the sky The rolling thunder, it blares loudly Ringing in my ears Yet no one but me can hear The sound of it washing through me Like the crashing waves On the seashore During a horrible storm It tears me up Rips me apart Like a tornado ripping through a small town Making me feel helpless Like the only thing I can do Is succumb to the rage of the storm But I can’t I won’t
Weighed Down
Colored Pencil
Carolina Pinzon
Class of 2015
34
I will cast out this evil that resides inside Far away at sea So that no one can see This war raging on inside of me. This war raging within me Like the roaring wind during a thunderous storm Will come to an end And the sun will shine again Bring new life to this world I will vanquish the hate from my soul Wash it clean Like the water from the weeping angels’ eyes Washes away the pollen in the spring, The overbearing heat in the summer, And brings about the crispness of the air in winter.
Figure Study
Untitled
Pen and Ink
Colored Pencil
Morgan Say Fisk
Nora Jha
Class of 2008
Class of 2015
Why @ Me? Monoprint
Andrew Pan Class of 2017
Bang
Pen and Ink
Will Fickett
Class of 2013
35
Around the River Bend Digital Photo Manipulation
Lenny Jimenez Class of 2015
36
On the Lone Sock Natalie Casal Class of 2017
Since the dawn of time, countless generations of philosophers have confronted this existential question: Where do the missing socks go? Although many great thinkers have devoted their lives to dissecting this age-old mystery, few have gone further. I would like to delve to the shadowy depths of this conundrum, and dare to ask what no one has asked before: why do they leave? Perhaps marital problems can drive a sock away from its pair. Doubtless, sock marriages can be very challenging. They say that husbands and wives should avoid working together, but socks have no choice. They constantly are near each other, snuggled up in a drawer, tossed around in the laundry, working as partners in the challenging job of covering one’s feet. There is no opportunity for socks to air their disagreements because they are always in such close proximity to each other. I have also noticed that many socks have communication issues, which further inhibits their ability to sustain a happy marriage. Perhaps the sock craves an adventure, needing to break away from the monotony of life in a drawer. The daily life of a sock has as much stimulation as a wet sock. Perhaps the sock has a thirst for more experiences, a desire to see the world more extensively than his owner’s feet will. A further possibility is that the sock would like to seek a new job, something more glamorous than collecting sweat from the feet of humans. Many socks have succeeded in breaking out of their castes, becoming bean bags, shoe- shiners, and even actors in the exciting world of the puppet theatre. My professional opinion is that the sock is motivated by a primal, animal longing to emancipate himself from the eternal slavery of sockdom. The maltreatment and constant abuse that he suffers at the hands of his owners is simply unacceptable. No one ever sympathizes with the struggles of a stocking. He endures the heat, the cold, the sweat, the smells, and the fungus. He is stretched out, scrubbed, rolled up, and driven to work beyond his breaking point, crying out for a reprieve. Socks are forced to endure this dehumanizing work until their injuries prevent them from going on any longer. And after all their tireless work, they receive no kind of retirement benefits. They are simply tossed aside, like an old shoe. Too many socks have tried in vain to escape this abuse, only to be deported at the moment they reach freedom. They have been cruelly snatched from their hiding places under the bed, behind the bookcase, and, inexplicably, in the front yard. The world will never really know exactly what causes the sock to abandon his spouse and leave his home forever. But we can assume that he knows what he is doing.
Contact Pencil
Stephen Weidl Class of 2016
37
Not a Whale
Acrylic on Canvas
Delphine Mason Class of 2016
Next to Normal Soap Resist
Delphine Mason Class of 2016
38
Untitled
Tempera Resisit
Lenny Jimenez
Class of 2014
My Hood
Graphite and Colored Pencil
Curtis Johnson Class of 2010
GiGi’s
Painted Crayon
Olivia Macik Class of 2017
Untitled
Digital Photograph
Cat Sanchez
Class of 2017
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TOP: A Pot of Gold Mixed Media Print
Olivia Macik Class of 2017
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BOTTOM: Meerkatz Acrylic on Canvas
John Radosta
Class of 2017
Hawaii Noah Weeks Class of 2020
The ancient lands of Hawaii are a gorgeous and colorful place, with grass towering upon the slopes of lush green hills, exotic flowers, radiant volcanoes, and obsidian as black as night. The trees are laden with tropical fruits and vivid green leaves. The ocean is a deep rich hue of blue with a glistening sparkle to it, and parrots, vibrant with colors of all kinds, flutter among the branches. The dazzling cream seashells litter the beach, mirages and shimmering waves of heat obscure vision. The sky blue waves reach their crest and cascade down onto the sand, gently pulling back miniscule bits of sand fragments of seashells. Mounds of dead grass and seaweed cover parts of the endless beach with famished flies buzzing quietly. The jungle teems with animals, from male birds with extravagant feathers to the deadly panther, silent and midnight black. The soft sound of trickling water is constant with the occasional sound of rustling branches.
Land of the Rising Sun Mixed Media Painting
Jack Kuntz
Class of 2009
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Bloody
Monoprint
Andrew Pan Class of 2017
Prefontaine: A Modern Cinderella Story Jack Voss Class of 2020
“Get out of the way Cole!” yelled James. “Why don’t you go cry to your dead parents?” yelled one of the bully’s followers. Cole was tormented like this at school every day, just to go home to his abusive uncle Dan. After Cole’s parents died, Cole had to live with his awful uncle, which meant an awful school, lifestyle, and no running. The only way Cole dealt with his anger was by running. Running was an oasis, a freedom Cole was now not allowed to get, but still managed to. Cole quickly sprinted away from James and his cronies and into the woods of Coos Bay, Oregon. As the sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes, he realized that no matter what happened, he would always have running, even if his parents were dead. Every day, Cole would finish a dull day at school, without lunch, for he could not afford a lunch. His lazy uncle Dan forced Cole to steal food for them if he ever wanted to eat again. Despite Cole’s lifestyle, he knew that this was not who he was, and who he would ever be. Cole could not wait to go to college and to get away from his wretched uncle. Cole was planning to go to school on a running scholarship, which was hard to do, knowing that his uncle would not allow him to join the cross country team for his public high school. Living in the state of Oregon, Cole was constantly surrounded by a running atmosphere. Everywhere he went, there would be runners. Cole’s natural instinct would be to run right next to them, just to feel the glory of being faster. Cole’s refuge was running, and nothing could stop him from doing so. After Cole’s 4th period one day, he was on his way to the track. No one was at the track during lunch, and this was when Cole could get a few miles in. As he was on his way down, he noticed a poster advertising the Prefontaine Classic, an annual Oregon 2 mile race that was a great opportunity for scholarships to college. Cole wanted to run the race and go to Oregon University, the same college the great Steve Prefontaine went to himself. When Cole went home, he asked his uncle about college during their ramen noodle dinner. “You will not go to college, little worm. How can a twerp as stupid as you get into college?” said his uncle as he slapped him across the head. Cole quickly got up and threw the nearest thing to him, a glass of water, at his uncle and sprinted out the door and toward the track, with his uncle behind him yelling for him to come back, belt in hand. Cole went to the school track and ran his heart out. Cole had not felt this anger before, not even when his parents died of a car crash a year ago. Little did he know that the cross-country coach of Oregon University, Robert Johnson, was secretly watching him. The Prefontaine Classic was only two days away, so he was at the track to get the feel for the upcoming race. Rob was 42
intrigued by the beautiful pace, stride, and speed of Cole. Out of curiosity, Rob took out a stopwatch to see how fast he was actually running. Rob would time how fast he could do four laps around the track, a mile. After a blistering 3:59 mile, Rob thought that Cole would be tired out, and then Rob would talk to him about the race, even a possible scholarship, but he was wrong, Cole kept running and didn’t stop for another 10 minutes. After Cole was done, he decided to go home, discouraged, knowing that he would have to suffer his uncle’s sadistic wrath. Rob quickly ran down to greet Cole and to acknowledge his talent. “Are you aware that you just ran a 3:59 mile?!” Cole looked at what he thought was a normal man. “No.” said Cole, expressionless. “Are you running in the race tomorrow? Many coaches would more than likely give you a scholarship!” said Rob. “No, I’m not running the race.” replied Cole. “Why? You have so much talent! To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift!” said Rob, surprised by Cole’s reluctance. “I just can’t. Leave me alone,” replied Cole, too embarrassed to admit that his uncle Dan won’t let him run. Cole quickly started to walk away. “Hey!” said Rob. Cole turned around in annoyance. “Don’t let fatigue make a coward of you,” said Rob. Why So Serious? “Whatever” said Cole as he started to walk away. Acrylic on Cardboard Cole took his time going home. He needed time to think about Austin Thomas Class of 2015 what to do about Uncle Dan. As Cole started walking, he stared at his feet, wondering what his purpose was, when all of the sudden, he ran into a tree. Cole angrily got up and kicked the tree and started hysterically screaming. Cole quickly stopped when he saw a light from the corner of his eye. He quickly spun around and saw a man, a very, very white man, with a sort of hazy glow, almost like a ghost. He was short, but muscular. He had thick hair and a praiseworthy mustache. He was also wearing an Oregon University tracksuit. Cole quickly staggered back, with one hand covering one bruised eye. “Do you know who I am?” said the mysterious figure. “I must be hallucinating. How badly did I hit my head?” exclaimed Cole, as he started to get up. Cole knew who he was but just did not believe that he was there. “Do you know who I am?” repeated the man. Cole looked at him right in the eye. “Yeah, you’re Steve Prefontaine, the world’s greatest runner, but you’re dead, so that’s how I know you’re fake.” replied Cole in a mocking tone. **turn page to continue story
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“Don’t think so soon. Your parents sent me. Looks like you may need some assistance,” said the ghost of Steve Prefontaine. “Bull. No one cares about me,” said Cole. “Don’t be afraid to give up the good and go for the great,” said Prefontaine. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” said Cole. “Always go hard, in everything you do” said Prefontaine. Cole thought about this. “Well I can’t do my best when I live with a fat lazy waste of space!” replied Cole. “That’s precisely why I’m here Cole. I have come to help,” said Prefontaine as he started taking off his shoes and racing number. Prefontaine then gave Cole the shoes and number. “You will run the race, and if you try your hardest, you will 100% win and get a scholarship to your college of choice to get away from Uncle Dan,” said Prefontaine jokingly. Cole sat and thought about the offer, and then remembered what Prefontaine said about his parents sending him down. “You know my parents?” said Cole in a confused way. “Your father and mother were my dearest friends in college. I ran with Bill, your father, and Bill actually pushed me to become who I am, or to who I was. Cole, your parents miss and love you. Do it for them. Take the shoes and my race number, try your hardest, and I personally guarantee, you will win. Cole took the shoes and number and thanked Prefontaine for the advice. “And remember, success isn’t how far you got, but the distance you traveled from where you started.” Steve Prefontaine then disappeared. Cole then walked home, and decided that he wasn’t going to let Uncle Dan control his life anymore. Cole was going to win this race, and he realized that someone may beat him, but they would have to bleed in order to do it. The morning of the race, Cole arrived in the locker room. All the other runners looked at Cole with dismay. Cole was intimidated, but he knew that he could do it. “If I can take it, I can make it,” thought Cole. Cole lined up on the starting line, and his heart started to beat faster. As the gun fired, he started to run faster than the man pulled the trigger. He was already at least 10 feet in front of everyone else. With 4 laps to go, Cole started to go faster, and he thought of Prefontaine’s advice. Cole quickly sprinted his heart out, only to see his uncle with the police. Uncle Dan pointed at Cole to show the police which one he was. Cole regretted throwing the glass at his uncle. Cole then made a gutsy move and started running from the track. As Cole ran for the woods, Steve Prefontaine’s number fell off and lay on the moist Oregon grass. The crowd went crazy, and Oregon’s coach, Rob, went running after him. By the time Rob got to the woods, Cole was already long gone, but he did find the number. Cole then, as harsh as it may seem, slept outside the next few nights. He knew that uncle Dan would give him to the police for “assaulting” him, then he would never get to go to college. Cole found things in the trash and ate some berries from a bush. When Cole went to school the next day, he was called to the front office. Cole knew that he had finally met his demise and thought that it would be his uncle waiting for him, but it was actually Rob Johnson. Rob had shown Cole’s number to the race officials and had traced it back to Cole. He had wanted to find Cole and give him a full-ride scholarship to Oregon University to become a duck, and Cole couldn’t refuse. A year later, Cole is already Oregon University’s best runner. They say he might even be the “New Pre”. Cole still remembers every day the supernatural visit from his ghostly hero and knows that he would never be at Oregon University if it weren’t for Steve Prefontaine, the world’s best runner.
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Captain America (Master Copy) Oil on Canvas
John Radosta Class of 2017
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Ingenium Staff
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Staff:
Faculty:
Catie Johnson
Tim Durski
Bailey Garthune
Rockie Rombalski
Blake Weekly
Jamie Reger
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