ESSE 2013
Esse
LITE�RY-ART MAGAZINE URSULINE ACADEMY Volume XLVII 2012-2013 4900 Walnut Hill Lane Dallas, TX 75229 469-232-1800 Fax 469-232-1836 www.ursulinedallas.org
I See A Woman Emily Merkel ‘13 I see a woman. Not black or white, Neither big nor small, Not tall or short, Neither blonde nor brune�e. I see a woman with potential To be important, To be successful, To be noticed. I see a woman who searches For meaning in her life, And who does not intend to quit Until she has found What she is looking for. TITLE PAGE: RELEASE CAITLIN �RNA ‘14 PHOTOG�PH
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PHYLLIS LUEDKE ‘14 - SYNTHETIC FROST - WATER COLOR ON PAPER ESSE 3
MRS. ROSE HEMSTREET
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Dedication To Mrs. Rose Hemstreet, Receptionist of Ursuline Academy, My �rst real encounter with Mrs. Hemstreet was during my sophomore year when I stopped by her office to pick up a veri�cation of education form that I needed for my driver’s permit. With patience and a practiced hand, she pulled out the piece of paper and a pen explaining where I needed to get signatures and wishing me luck on the test. One year later, I entered her office to let her know she had been chosen as the recipient of this year’s dedication—her excitement was tangible. She gasped and smiled, cheeks �ushed, gracious and humble. I believe this personality is what Mrs. Hemstreet is best known for. For nearly 41 years, Mrs. Hemstreet has resided in the front room just behind the big, white, front doors of Ursuline, welcoming visitors and directing paperwork. She can be seen arranging �owers in the Rotunda, walking through main hall on a school day, or wearing ear plugs during intramurals. Her grace and poise are iconic, as is she, to the halls of Ursuline Academy. I personally believe that her name, Rose, is well chosen—she is lovely and strong and a constant reminder to young girls what it means to be a woman. However, to Esse, she is much more than that. Every year, Mrs. Hemstreet reads our literary magazine cover to cover upon its release and takes the time to send a personal note to the club moderators with her congratulations and compliments. She calls a�ention to speci�c pieces that delight her, demonstrating the time she spends reading our magazine. Proudly, Esse dedicates this magazine to one of its longest and most faithful supporters, one who truly values literature and art. �ank you, Mrs. Hemstreet. Your dedication to this school, especially to the literary magazine, is greatly appreciated. �e Esse Staff
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Le�er from the Editor As editor for the �rst time this year, I am pleased to present the readers of Esse 2013 with this year’s culmination of artistic genius and inspired literature of our student body, which re�ects countless hours of hard work and dedication by all of our club members and moderators. �is year our magazine found inspiration in the subject of freedom through which writers and artists channeled their energies in their own unique interpretations of this idea. Whether the subject of each submission be physical freedom, the struggle for freedom, or simply freedom of expression, our club members, moderators, and I were consistently impressed with the way in which the submi�ed pieces wove in and around this greater concept, creating a diverse tapestry molded by paint, pen, and po�ery. Some may point out the irony of choosing freedom as a theme, the word “theme” naturally sounding like something restrictive or selective. However, we hope to inspire the reader to acknowledge the versatility of this year’s theme, and admire, just as we did, the way we saw writers and artists come to life through their free, unrestricted expressions of self. By displaying the way in which our contributors found freedom through various mediums, we hope to inspire your own journey to �nd your own idea of freedom. Happy Reading! Madeleine Case ‘14
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EMILY PETERMAN ‘13 � LADY � PRINTMAKING
ESSE ESSE 7
CONTENTS LITE�TURE I See a Woman Dedication Le�er from the Editor Go Into Yourself An Understanding Lion �e Story of My Li�le Bear �e Candle Shop Ful�llment *Trust: A Reverse Poem Dating College A De�nition �e Knight Mockingbird Family Miles Rules Made to be Broken Soundtrack �e Ba�le of the Soul Bridlewood Chimes �e Face in the Mirror �eodora and the Lion “I’d Prefer Not To.” How I Really Broke My Leg No Dice Note from the Editor Special �anks, Colophon, Esse Staff 8 ESSE
2 5 6 11 13 14 16 19 19 21 22 26 29 30 31 34 36 36 38 39 40 42 46 49 50 54 55 56
Emily Merkel ‘13 Esse Staff Madeleine Case ‘14 Jeanne LaGarde ‘13 Erin Walsh ‘14 McKenna Wierman ‘13 McKenna Wierman ‘13 Allison Doepfner ‘13 Caitlin Karna ‘14 Cecilia Weigman ‘15 Catherine Buskmiller ‘13 Madeleine Case ‘14 Olivia Ainsworth ‘13 Carly Rota ‘13 Katherine Allen ‘14 Madeleine Case ‘14 Liza �ompson ‘13 Julia Henry ‘13 Katherine Frisbee ‘14 Bria Burciaga ‘13 Katherine Allen ‘14 Magdeline Vlasimsky ‘15 McKenna Wierman ‘13 Jeanne LaGarde ‘13 Anna Grace Nwosu ‘13 Madeleine Case ‘14
Elizabeth Rau ‘13 - China Dolls - Printmaking
CONTENTS ARTWORK *Free My Soul Release Synthetic Frost Lady China Dolls Automaton Tim Cole Re�ection �e Path �e Path Release Paradise Giraffe Growth Beginning �e Man in the Mask *Dedication Beneath the Sun / Re�ection Floral Abyss Nova Indian Blanket City Amalgamated Vase Sea Scape Escape Valley of Ashes Mockingbird Flowers Chihuligans
Cover Title Page 3 7 8 10 12 14 15 17 18 18 20 24 26 27 28 30 32 35 37 38 39 41 42 44 49 53
Audrey Gan ‘15 Caitlin Karna ‘14 Phyllis Luedke ‘14 Emily Peterman ‘13 Elisabeth Rau ‘13 Kit Popolo ‘16 Angie Reisch ‘14 Michelle Sanders ‘14 Michelle Sanders ‘14 Emma Goff ‘15 Audrey Tran ‘14 Dani Fluharty ‘13 Angie Reisch ‘14 Caitlin Karna ‘14 Remy Ryan ‘13 Emma Goff ‘15 Nathalie Martin ‘13 Emma Goff ‘15 Cristina Girod ‘13 Isabelle Preston ‘14 Maggie Vache ‘13 Mariela Estrada ‘13 Megan Danko ‘14 Madeline Lynn ‘14 Jessica Mitchell ‘14 Kit Popolo ‘16 Alexandra Phillips ‘13 Phyllis Luedke ‘14
* Asterisks indicate the 1st and 2nd place winners of Esse’s annual literature and art contest.
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KIT POPOLO ‘16 - AUTOMATON - OIL ON CANVAS 10 ESSE
�ere is only a single way: GO INTO YOURSELF search for the reason in the stillest hour of the night and �nd the quiet and hidden beginnings of something personal without, however, being able to speci�cally name them things are not at all so comprehensive and expressible
Go Into Yourself
a found poem from the text of the �rst le�er of Rainer Maria Rilke’s Le�ers to a Young Poet Jeanne LaGarde ‘13
as one would mostly have us believe taking place in a realm which no word has ever entered they always come down to more or less happy misunderstanding
ESSE 11
12 ESSE
ANGIE REISCH ‘14 - TIM COLE REFLECTION - OIL ON CANVAS
An Understanding Erin Walsh ‘14
Children—young adults— sit around laughing about how they don’t understand the world without understanding that they don’t understand the world �ey don’t understand a world that doesn’t understand them for how is the world to understand those not of it? �e Rebels. �e Peacemakers. A world where it is understood that one must “understand” though we don’t though no one does though the world is so beautiful we are past understanding. But it’s okay because everyone understands misunderstanding and misunderstood
ESSE 13
Lion
McKenna Weirman ‘13
Shoot my heart, it’s like a lion’s curse this damn thing, pounding inside my chest as if it didn’t belong in there thinking it can survive anywhere except inside my ribs
Shoot! My heart? It’s like a lion’s… oh yes, just look at it, running, racing, ageing even hungry, hunting, serving and waiting to be served “You are a lion”
Shoot, my heart- it’s like a lion’s courage and strength deserving of every golden hair around my face, and every skipped heartbeat, shu�er, and thrill brought on by the thunder called down with my name 14 ESSE
MICHELLE SANDERS ‘14 - THE PATH - PHOTOG�PHY
Shoot? My heart- it’s like a lion’s! put your gun down, you monster I’d bite off your head, you know I would but you’re aiming at me, and all I can do is roar in this corner lash out and bear my teeth sharp enough to shred your skin to ribbons and yet you’re winning
Shoot my heart! It’s like a lion’s �ckle and cruel and always always hungry, starving even, vicious and blood thirsty and dangerous even so take care of the problem, haven’t you already lost enough limbs? or haven’t you got any �ngers le� at all?
Shoot my heart it’s like a lion’s brave is all I will be. No more lambs for me no more sheep. I will forever be a lion my chest will simply have to learn to hold a lion heart and keep it because I will forever more be a lion
ESSE 15
�e Story of My Li�le Bear McKenna Wierman ‘13
I knew a bear who lived in the woods and �ew to space once, or was it twice? he invited me every time he went, but mother wouldn’t let me borrow the space helmet in the kitchen cabinet and it was too dangerous to climb to the top of the magnolia tree in the front yard which was necessary for me to take off and reach the moon �erefore, I ended up staying here on earth, lying on my back in the front yard grass for many, many years in fact, and the li�le bear understood it was not practical so he stayed behind for a while �en one night I looked up at the sky from a tennis court in the cold and noticed my li�le bear had grown up and was waving at me from the dark 16 ESSE
And I wasn’t even mad he’d gone up to the moon without inviting me because now to talk to my li�le bear all I need is to throw back my head and howl Besides, he’s beautiful up there, all far away, and mother just looks at me when I ask to borrow the space helmet from the kitchen and it’s still too dangerous to climb the magnolia tree in the front yard I told his story to those around me, but got a few details wrong I’m correcting them now
EMMA GOFF ‘15 - RELEASE - WATER COLOR ON ACRYLIC PAPER ESSE 17
AUDREY T�N ‘14 PA�DISE PRINTMAKING
DANI FLUHARTY ‘13 GI�FFE PRINTMAKING
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Aroma �lled the air of the shop Where customers tested each scent And chose their favorite to take home �e worker formed stories THE CANDLE SHOP in her head ALLISON DOEPFNER ‘13 Based on which scent the customer chose Every �avor had its own story
A woman chose Cinnamon She was quiet and shy And wished for something exciting
�e worker preferred Honeysuckle She was tired of winter And dreamed of spring
A man selected French Vanilla His job was demanding And searched for an escape
Freedom Is a State Of mind
No, hardly that simple You Live Freely
Passion from Loneliness Light from Darkness
Spiraling Tumbling Falling Is not
It’s what is done With that Freedom �at leads to
Hope from Despair Reality from A dream.
Bound by reality? With a �ip Of a switch Everything can change?
Knowledge from Mistakes Success from Error
FULFILLMENT CAITLIN �RNA ‘14
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Trust: A Reverse Poem Cecilia Weigman ‘13 You can’t trust. Do not believe All things will prevail In trust. You can’t rely on other people. Do not think that Your friends will be there for you. Your family doesn’t understand you. Do not believe In the power of the human heart. It is A lie. Trust is not Real. You can rely on yourself. You will fail if You open your heart to others. Success is when You push everyone away. Only you are in control and No one can help you if You can trust. �is is a lie, reverse it to see the truth.
ANGIE REISCH ‘14 GROWTH WATERCOLOR ON PAPER ESSE 21
Dating College
Catherine Buskmiller ‘13 Characters in the Play: College Dropout Senior Emails Resume Transcript SAT Enrollment Fee Application Interview Essays College
Act 1 Scene 1 [COLLEGE DROPOUT and SENIOR stand upstage right. A desk is placed at center stage and a door at upstage le�.] COLLEGE DROPOUT: (�ustrated) She’s not worth it. You have to deal with an entire entourage of her friends, and if you’re anything like me, you’ll just break up and rebound with a fat chick named Debt. So maybe College will give you a good time, but she thinks she’s too good for everyone. And she doesn’t like white guys, so you may as well give up. SENIOR: (earnestly) But she sounds so cool. I’m gonna go for it. COLLEGE DROPOUT: Dude, don’t say I didn’t warn you. [COLLEGE DROPOUT, giving up, exits] EMAILS: (overexcited) Hey! I Facebook stalked College and wanted to give you more information about her! SENIOR: (striving for patience) Please, not today, Emails. I really don’t care. If I wanted to know College’s daily meal plan, the transportation of her city, or more about how good for me she’ll be, I would have asked her. Please. EMAILS: (hurt) I wasn’t going to tell you anything you didn’t want to know! I just wanted to remind you that it’s November 1st. You told College you would have met all of her friends by today. You know she won’t even talk to you until you get the approval from literally all of her friends and family. SENIOR: (distressed) It’s not November 1st! Halloween was just yester...oh. Right. Well, bring ‘em in I guess. 22 ESSE
[EMAILS skips to the door and brings in RESUME and T�NSCRIPT] RESUME: (�iendly) So, what do you do in your free time? SENIOR: Well, I play a lot of Halo, hang out with my friends, school of course RESUME: (disapproving) Hm. Interesting. T�NSCRIPT: How many AP classes are you in? SENIOR: AP classes? (T�NSCRIPT stares SENIOR down, and he realizes he is not impressing them and begins obviously lying) Twelve this year. A total of, uh, forty seven, but, uh, twenty of those were in middle school. T�NSCRIPT: (with a nod) Not bad... RESUME: (loudly whispered to T�NSCRIPT) But did you hear his extracurriculars? Where are his service and leadership? SENIOR: Resume, I didn’t get to �nish telling you my extracurriculars! I am the captain of robotics and debate teams. I’m the president of the Save Africa club and the Political Correctness Club. I was awarded the Leadership Award, the Service Award, and the Service in Leadership Award. T�NSCRIPT: Unweighted GPA, on a 4.0 scale? SENIOR: Well, I mean, school isn’t just about grades (I have quite the passion for learning), but I have a 7.0. RESUME: You’ll do. SENIOR: (to EMAILS) Phew. �at was rough, but it’s worth it, now that I can date College. EMAILS: You thought it’d be that easy? You’d be�er mentally prepare yourself for SAT, another of College’s friends. [RESUME and T�NSCRIPT hover at the back of the stage. SAT enters. SENIOR sits at desk center stage.] SAT: Hi. (quickly) If College and you were to go on a date, and you had $10 from Bob, but Bob had 5% of Bill’s money, and you needed to pay back just enough money to take Jill on a date, how much would you have to borrow from Rob, assuming an average date costs $16.31? SENIOR: (stupidly, squinting) .....What? SAT: (scornfully) Wow, you’re probably like a 1450. SENIOR: �at’s good, right? SAT: (talking down to SENIOR) I’m talking on a 2400 scale. Idiot. [SAT walks around the stage. ENROLLMENT FEE enters.] FEE: (to SENIOR) Hey, weirdo. SENIOR: Sis! What are you doing here? FEE: (cra�ily) I heard you lied to Transcript and Resume. I know what your actual GPA is. ESSE 23
SENIOR: (cautiously) You wouldn’t. FEE: (pauses) You’ll have to pay me. SENIOR: (giving up) How much? FEE: Hm. Fi�y. SENIOR: (exasperated, forking over the $50) FINE! Gosh, if College knew what I was going through to be with her... EMAILS: (cheerily) She wouldn’t care! [APPLICATION and INTERVIEW enter. INTERVIEW gives SENIOR the once-over, clucking disapprovingly at his sloppy a�ire and slouch.] APPLICATION: Hi. I’m Application, College’s older sister. Have we met? INTERVEW: (extending a hand) Mrs. Interview - College’s Mom. SENIOR: (shaking INTERVIEW’S hand, intimidated, nervous) H-h-hello. APPLICATION: So....to start things off, how about we talk about your classes. How many AP’s? SENIOR: (relieved) Oh, I already talked to Transcript about that. APPLICATION: Don’t care. How many AP’s? What’s your schedule? What extracurriculars are you involved in? What awards have you received? SENIOR: Ok, I’m sorry, but I’ve literally gone through all of that with Resume and Transcript. Can you just talk to them about that? It’s ge�ing close to 12, and I really have to do all this today. APPLICATION: Don’t get sassy. INTERVIEW: What are your intentions with my daughter? How will you use the opportunities she will give you? SENIOR: (panicked, looking for the right answer) Uhhh...she will help me become a person, develop my independence, and...make me so well-rounded (nodding seriously). INTERVIEW: You’re not already well-rounded? SENIOR: (�azzled) Oh, no! Not what I meant! Sorry - could you repeat the question? [ESSAYS enters.] SENIOR: (worried) You’re not a friend of College’s, are you? ESSAYS: (insulted) Um, I’ve been her best friend since forever. SENIOR (whispered) Oh dear. ESSAYS: Describe a person you admire. SENIOR: Um, I really admire...(searching for the right answer) my mom! ESSAYS: (not impressed) Huh. Unique. How do you feel about Wednesday? 24 ESSE
CAITLIN �RNA ‘14 - BEGINNING - PHOTOG�PH
SENIOR: (�ustrated) What does that have to do with what kind of boyfriend I’ll be for your best friend? APPLICATION: (ignoring SENIOR) Describe an issue you care about. SENIOR: (yelling) OH MY GOSH! I DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING! I’M A SENIOR! INTERVIEW: (coolly) We’re done here. We’ll let you know if you can date her by April 29. SENIOR: (so�ly, disbelieving) What? INTERVIEW: Take care of yourself! We’ll send a Midyear Report to check up on you in a few months. [Clock strikes midnight on November 1. INTERVIEW dismisses ENROLLMENT FEE, SAT, RESUME, T�NSCRIPT, APPLICATION, and ESSAYS. Lights dimmed, single spotlight on SENIOR. SENIOR goes to sit at a desk, centerstage. SENIOR studies and does school work ceaselessly at desk. Every few minutes, EMAILS taps SENIOR on the shoulder, miming talking excitedly to him. SENIOR eventually rests his head on his desk and sleeps. EMAILS, oblivious, continues to “chat” silently. Finally, COLLEGE enters. Faint rosy lights light the stage.] COLLEGE: Congratulations! You’ve been accepted to date me! SENIOR: (in awe) Wow. You’re �nally here. COLLEGE: You should be proud of yourself. SENIOR: I can’t believe COLLEGE: Umm, something we should clear up before we start dating. Boyfriends of mine generally spend about $20,000 a year. So, will you go out with me? SENIOR: (aside to EMAILS) Is it worth it? It’s expensive, but for some reason I feel like my whole life has been leading up to this. [EMAILS makes encouraging hand motion] SENIOR: (hesitantly) Yeah, I’ll go out with you. [COLLEGE smiles. Lights fade.]
ESSE 25
A De�nition
Madeleine Case ‘14 Define freedom. A leaf falls from a tree and drifts softly to the ground. Whispers carry it, guide it, caress it, and gently sustain it until it reaches the tips of the grass. Or The whispers wrestle with the dead leaves on another tree that anchor it to the ground vines upward. ever claw The tree struggles to breathe and suffocates. The whispers do not make a sound. Freedom: noun, (free-duhm) 1. The state of lying gently on a blade of grass. 2. [Freedom]: both supported and condemned by the same whisper. 26 ESSE
REMY RYAN ‘13 THE MAN IN THE MASK CE�MIC
EMMA GOFF ‘15 DEDICATION ACRYLIC ON ACRYLIC PAPER
ESSE 27
BENEATH THE SUN NATHALIE MARTIN ‘13 - PHOTOG�PHY REFLECTION
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The Knight
Olivia Ainsworth ‘13
A dark �gure crawling over the hill, Fingers stretched, ready for the kill. He pauses, just for a heartbeat; �e time has not yet come to meet. �e son has not yet le�, but is saying farewell. “Until the morrow, hope all will be well!” �e party disbands, happy yet with caution. Fear is motivating them, yet also exhaustion. A twelve hour day full of fun and joy, But they all know of the knight’s impending ploy. �ey scurry away to their homes in the west; It’s this part of day the knight loves best. �e time is nigh to skulk to the goal; It’s his time to shine, the pinnacle of his role. He reaches the place and sits upon his throne, Full of accomplishment, but also all alone. �e son is gone, and now it’s night; Darkness overtakes the light.
ESSE 29
Mockingbird Carly Rota ‘13
Obscured by the grey of the day, Delicate and peaceful, a little bird discovers a nice resting place On the thin limb of a cherry blossom tree The dark brown branches are only strong enough to support its own pink blossoms And the very light weight of the bird If a storm were to occur, the petals of this weak tree would fall slowly to the ground of the earth its beauty ripped away in seconds But the small, seemingly vulnerable bird can react He can fly away He can save himself For he has wings and is free
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Family
Katherine Allen ‘14 There is a man who lives across the street from me. I have watched him from my window all my life. He has a wife. And they are happy it seems, though they say they will have nothing to do with children or dogs. This I cannot comprehend because, Well, I am a child and I have a dog. They lived their lives from day-to-day, And then he lost his job. I watched from my window as he told his wife. He was a broken man and began to cry. Two weeks later, I saw a dog. The man told my mother the dog was stray and they had named her Allie, for they found her out back in the alley. The man said no, no, no, we shall not keep this dog. Yet today, the dog is still there. And their family is three.
The dog brought the children. She is cute and white, so every young girl and young boy on my street fell in love with Allie sweet. Yet they also fell in love with the man and his wife. The children race in and out of the man’s front door, and he laughs with them like I have never seen before. He says no, no, no, I do not want a child, but now his family is seven: He, his wife, the dog, and four children who live across the street. Yes indeed, it’s funny how families meet. EMMA GOFF ‘15 FLO�L ABYSS ACRLYIC ON ACRYLIC PAPER ESSE 31
32ESSE ESSE 32
ESSE 33
CRISTINA GIROD ‘13 NOVA
Miles
Madeleine Case ‘14
77,433: I start the car a�er closing the trunk and climb into the driver’s seat. Glancing at the odometer, I notice the car has 77,433 miles on it. 77,450: Ge�ing used to the car is difficult. Compared to a broken-down Chevy, the car drives smoothly, like glass. I think for a moment that maybe I should have chosen something less ostentatious, but time placed restraints on my actions that I could not accommodate. My shoulders relax slightly into the leather of the Maserati. 77,452: I pass a stoplight and notice two police cars on the right. I look forward and stay below the speedlimit. I don’t look down at my hands. I don’t look at what is lying in the passenger seat. 77,458: Turn right. Le�. Right again. Two more le�s. 77,480: Have been driving for a while now and I think that an odor is emanating from the trunk in the back. I inhale deeply. So� leather. �e remnants of a strong cologne. And something else… I return my a�ention to the road. 77,483: A police car has been following me. 77,485: Still following me. His lights aren’t on. 77,486: He begins to advance. He’s right behind me. A layer of cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, and my palms slip on the steering wheel. My eyes dart from the mirror to the windshield and back again. I take gulps of air, and on the last one, hold it. 77,487: He passes on my right and turns down a street. I roll down my window. �e breath from my deep exhalation whisks outside and is le� alone on a country road. 77,500: Had to stop for gas. I can de�nitely smell something now. It is pitch dark outside. 77,573: Dawn is at the edge of the horizon. My hands are dried, but they re�ect the red light from outside. I still have not looked at the passenger seat. My mind is strikingly empty. I continue to stare at the road. So�ly, the knife next to me slides in and out of view. 77,580: Almost there. A few miles le� to go. I can’t stand the stench coming from the trunk. I can’t look forward anymore. I have to do something. �e emptiness in my mind is starting to �ll with things I do not want to think about. �e smell. I can’t stand the smell. 77,647: Here. I pull up to the abandoned warehouse by the wharf and get out of the car. I walk around to the trunk, open it, and begin to pull out the body.
34 ESSE
ISABELLE PRESTON ‘14 INDIAN BLANKET ACRYLIC ON CANVAS ESSE 35
Rules Made to be Broken Liza �ompson ‘13
I before E except when you run a feisty heist on a weird beige foreign neighbor Logical except squids are not squads and Tom Felton never had a crush on Emma Watson Lonely except for the billions of cells that care about you and only you Simple except you can’t even hum if your nose is plugged with your �ngers Problematic except the answer is on Yahoo! answers and it’s just a combination of 26 le�ers 36 ESSE
Soundtrack
Julia Henry ‘13
A good song is never as lovely As on a cold winter day with no plans; As on a warm spring day in the car; As when you feel you may burst with happiness; As when you feel you may drown in sadness; Or even when you feel nothing at all. A song can spark a memory: Forgo�en summers of long ago, Camping trips with Dad, Friendships long since buried, Your li�le sister’s laugh. �e soundtrack of your life.
MAGGIE VACHE ‘13 CITY PRINT
ESSE 37
�e Ba�le of the Soul It writhes and rages in his chest Destroying every dear protest, �e very plea to end distress �e agony of Hell But from within he grasps his shield And dashes forth unto the �eld Not yet had his soul’s fate been sealed. But he had been deceived. As he approached his enemies, He saw their faces, all diseased So helpless without remedies. He pitied their distress And while he clutched his shield with might His eyes burned fresh with his new sight; His soul was not to join the �ght. It must be calm instead. For once we seek the souls diseased And cure their every malady, How could we not all clearly see �e ba�le is a lie.
MARIELA EST�DA ‘13 AMALGAMATED VASE CE�MIC
Katherine Frisbee ‘14 38 ESSE
MEGAN DANKO ‘14 SEA SCAPE WATER COLOR
Bridlewood
Bria Burciaga ‘13 My back so�ly presses against the freshly trimmed emerald green grass On the golf course next to the �sh-�lled pond and ca�ail-rimmed river, Close enough to where I could hear only the continuous trickle My hair sprawls all around my head like �ames Fueled by the racing thoughts that swirl around the inner spaces of my head. Maybe I think of a million things. Maybe I think of nothing.
of
Just
emptiness.
�e bright stars mirror a vacant stare Until the quiet sun rises gradually. And I walk home.
water.
Chimes
Katherine Allen ‘14
I know my brother. He is tall With dark curls like my father. He has big blue eyes, wide like mine. His smile warms hearts, like my mother’s, But breaks our hearts, too. He prefers to lie in dirt and listen to the breeze rustle the wind chimes than sit with his kind. His mind is different, wiser, yet he has only had one life, yet it is unlike mine. I love him. Too much. I talk to him. Too much. He is a good listener, never questions, only nods his answer. I think of him before I act; would he approve? Which direction would his neck turn if I did what I am about to do?
40 ESSE
I wonder what he would do now to know that I am writing of him to share with you? Would he question my bold move? I remember the �rst time I met my brother. We went to the cemetery and I was lost. What was I even to look for? My mother was in tears already. Grief �owing down her cheeks. My father, quiet. Grief clouding his mind. We got out of the car and chimes �u�ered in the wind. We knelt around the dim gray plaque. John Fitzgerald Allen Born: August 17, 1991 Died: August 17, 1991
MADELINE LYNN ‘14 - ESCAPE - PHOTOG�PHY
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�e Face in the Mirror Magdeline Vlasimksy ‘15 �e only light �lters in with the dust through the thin space between the creamy paneling and the door’s edge. �e room is chaotic and juxtaposed. Children’s animals, loved and worn, sit by hard work of text with the decor of maturity. Paintings in gaudy frames; books, with bindings broken and the corners of printed pages well pressed into crooked dog ears; and souvenirs from a thousand places li�er the white wood of the furniture. Curled between the sheets and clothes and papers, a �gure stirs in a ragged t-shirt that hangs on her almost as a dress. She jerks up, seeing something that in her half-conscious state startles her. Her eyes are wide, still de�ned by the endless wonder of naivety childhood holds, yet her arms move to cross themselves upon her chest, defensive and distrustful in the sign of an adolescent who has begun to discover the world is not the perfect simple fairytale she once believed it to be. Her brown hair �ies in all directions, some strands curly, some strands straight, some in between, as if they have yet to decide which path they will choose and which choice they will make. �ose eyes, which have not yet thrown off the dressings of innocence, stare into the long, cloudy mirror which stares (coldly) back from across the bed. Her voice breaks the so� silence, questioning roughly, “What creature, what double, what passion, lies unknown and unreleased in me? Does she �ght where I �ee? Does she howl and scratch, like an animal? Or is she the civilized rationality to my insanity? What qualities do I hide, so deep that even I am not aware of them? Do I dream her up in my mirror, or am I (my being, my thoughts, my fate) simply imagined in her re�ection?” But yet as she speaks of existence, of identity, of thoughts that can be pondered and contemplated for an eternity and longer, yet never ful�lled, her mind dri�s again to fantasy, and she is pulled back into the dimension of hazy thoughts and vivid images where rest is found. �e room once again falls silent, as in the gentle light her form rises and falls in relaxed rhythm as golden dust �oats through the crack beside the door. 42 ESSE
JESSICA MITCHELL ‘14 PHOTOG�PHY
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KIT POPOLO ‘16 MOCKINGBIRD
Michele McCusker Award �is award is given in honor of an alumna who had a passion for language and displayed that love through her writing. �e McCusker Award is given by the English department to a student of the senior class whose writing shows a great skill with and understanding of language. Recipient:
�eodora and the Lion McKenna Wierman ‘13 ESSE 45
�eodora and the Lion McKenna Wierman ‘13
Who could compare the glorious perfection of �eodora? She was, in my opinion, the greatest woman of the De Flours bloodline in a century. Agnes Jones, �eodora’s sister and my grandmother, did not share my fascination. Agnes kept all her photographs of �eodora shut up in a cabinet in the library, shoved in a box that had once been white but like most other things in the old Jones home, was yellowed with age. Whenever I visited Agnes, I would steal away to the library a�er dinner, when Agnes would take her “sleeping pill,” in a glass of gin and water. I would get to all the way from dolls, to one photograph of �eodora, standing beside the huge dead caucus of a lion, a large shot gun swung proudly over her shoulder. She had a smirk on her face and was laughing in the photograph – perhaps at the photographer or herself. It was a laughter that even trapped in a thinly stiffened yellow photograph was unforge�able, even if I’d never heard it. Agnes always caught me right as I reached that one picture. Usually she would stand in the threshold of the library door and call at me to put away her things and go on up to bed. Didn’t I know how late it was? And I would put the pictures back in the crumbly yellowed box. One night, however, close to Christmas, Agnes was in bed with a migraine so I ate dinner alone. It was lonely in the big Jones’ dining room where Agnes insisted on eating in every evening. �e “help” wouldn’t eat with me, Agnes wouldn’t allow it. I rushed through my meal quickly and raced to the library as fast as I could. �inking I would not be disturbed by Agnes in the evening, I took my time in examining her pictures. �ey were all so familiar to me: �eodora and Agnes dressed up for tea, �eodora and Agnes before their �rst day of school, �eodora and Agnes with their dates to some swanky dance. �ey were always together, right up until they were about 19 or so. �en a�er that, they were only apart. Agnes in Paris, �eodora standing triumphantly on top of a mountain. Agnes in her nurses uniform, �eodora dressed in a sparkly gown holding a glass of champagne. Agnes with Rudolph Jones, her future and now late husband, �eodora with some famous opera composer. And then suddenly, Agnes disappeared from the photos all together. �eodora was in New York City one picture, and Rome in the next. I �ipped through them rapidly, eager to reach my favorite picture, �eodora and the Lion, when suddenly I realized I was not alone in the room. Agnes was standing inside the library, casually leaned up against the side table beside the door and looking at me with a sort of bemused adoration. “You like my pictures?” she asked. She 46 ESSE
had the voice of an old lady, someone from another, grander time. I couldn’t respond. “I always used to think you looked like �eo,” she said to me. “My sister,” she said, gesturing to the picture in my hands and walking towards me. My eyes were glued to her. “She used to say she did that lion a favor, shooting it.” Agnes reached down and plucked the picture from my hands, studying it for a moment. “�eo always was cruel to animals,” she said to no one. “Never could just appreciate anything beautiful.” Agnes tossed the picture back down to me carelessly, like she was �icking away a spent cigare�e. “Always wanted to shoot it and hang it on a wall.” I watched as she turned around and began to exit the library again. Before she reached the door she turned back to me. Her gown made a swish on the rug, and she held her chin up in a proud way. “You’re not like her though, Penny” she stated. Agnes pointed with her palm up to the picture on the �oor. “You’ll never be like that.” “Go to bed,” she called down the hallway, “Don’t you know how late it is?” I began to reach for the photo of �eodora and the Lion Agnes had dashed to the ground when I noticed the picture in my hands already. It was one I had never seen before, a woman dressed in a long gown seated at the head of the dining room table. She was perfect, radiating a happiness that I could still feel through the yellowed paper. All around her, people were dressed beautifully, smiling and laughing together. It was the kind of laughter that roared through the stillness of the picture. It was the most beautiful photograph I’d ever seen. I searched and searched for �eodora among the crowd, but she wasn’t there. It took me a moment before I realized it was my grandmother seated at the head of the table.
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Dr. Anne Freeman Award In honor of Dr. Anne Freeman, the Ursuline English department has established this award to be given to a senior whose writing demonstrates superior writing skills, a love of the English language, and the ability for growth. �e award has been given to a senior who greatly exhibits these qualities. Recipient: “I’d Prefer Not To.” a found poem from the text of Herman Melville’s “Bartleby, the Scrivener” Jeanne LaGarde ‘13
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Imprimis, nothing is ascertainable— no materials exist sentimental souls may weep for irreparable loss but my own private surmises lead me to hold profound conviction that the easiest way of life is the best misery hides aloof in this dull, wearisome, and lethargic affair what ought I do? “I’d prefer not to.” manifestations of diseased ambition are of pernicious effect I am led to the irresistible conclusion of the bond of common humanity: impotent rebellion. victims of innate and incurable disorder we must unconditionally leave gently disappearing behind the screen torn from what we long to be rid of
“I’d Prefer Not To.” Jeanne LaGarde ‘13
ALEXAND� PHILLIPS ‘13 - FLOWERS - PRINTMAKING
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How I Really Broke My Leg: A Re�ection Anna Grace Nwosu ‘13
In the past years, I have heard stories about myself. �ey are numerous, they are con�icting, and most of all, they are false. But a�er two years, I think you’re ready to hear the truth. I think it’s �nally time. �is is the story of how I broke my leg. I am blessed and cursed with an ego bigger than my body can handle. Blessed because rarely ever do I experience anything less than what it must feel like to be Beyonce and cursed because I am the most overly ambitious, proud person I know, and that bit really likes to come back and bite me in the bu�. Even as a child, I wasn’t shy about my greatness. I assume this is because my mother never wasted an opportunity to call me beautiful. “Everyone said you looked just like a doll when you were born. A head full of curls, dimples the size of cereal bowls.” Subsequently, my ego was already in�ated to nearly fatal amounts by the time I was four. I was my mother’s li�le Barbie doll and she would constantly dress me up and show me off, and I reveled in every last succulent bit of it. When my parents would put us kiddos on display for their colleagues and bring us to work with them, unlike my li�le brothers, who hid behind my dad’s protecting legs, I was quick to make my presence known. “What’s your name?” they would inquire, bending down to meet me. “ANNNNA GWACE,” I’d holler 50 ESSE
back, standing on my tip toes, trying to meet my face to theirs. “And how old are you, Anna Grace?” they would question. “Four!” I would answer, raising my right hand and showing them four years on my �ngers, giving them the exact show of adorableness they wanted. “How cute. What a stunner this one is.” As a result of the inherent awesomeness I assumed I had, I was as outgoing as a kid could be. I made friends quickly and always cha�ed up the new kids. I raised my hand, got along well with everyone, my teachers worshiped me. I was awesome and everyone else had to know about it. �ank goodness, that a�itude �nally waned a bit once I hit puberty - but maybe, in hindsight, not quite enough. Regardless of the awkwardness the entrance into adolescence brought about and despite the terrible afro hairstyle I thought made me look older and hormones wreaking havoc on my face, my con�dence was sky high. I regularly �irted with boys and quickly moved on to the next a�er the previous turned out to be a sticky, booger covered troll (which all middle school boys turned out to be by the way). I ran for student council, I was the �rst to get on the �oor at school dances, I could �nish a project and bake a batch of cookies in the same night, I could do everything, and I would look good doing it. �at outlook couldn’t allow me to
just “not be able to do something.” �at outlook also broke my leg. To start, I hate nature. All of it. To clarify, the term “nature” in my vernacular means any place without air conditioning. �is is because I am very conveniently allergic to everything that nature has to offer: trees, grass, pollen, air. No, I am not kidding about the air. Yes, I am a sad human being. Not to mention a severe case of asthma which includes these particularly exciting huffing �ts lasting for hours that get set off by one sneeze. If having a slew of allergies wasn’t dorky enough already, it gets be�er: I have an insane fear of any body of water besides a pool including but not limited to lakes, ponds, rivers, creeks, streams, and the ocean. �is stems from my phobia of small creatures crawling into my body from the bo�om of my feet. Once, at summer camp in 8th grade, I was thrown into the lake and my feet touched the bo�om which felt like a mixture of snot and mulch. At that moment, I somehow instinctively knew that a leech was now sucking my blood or a �uke had crawled through the bo�om of my foot and was crawling into my brain where it would eventually lay its eggs. I was going to die and my skinny, androgynous, ten year old carcass was going to be used as a �uke mansion. I cried so hard a�erwards that I made myself vomit. My mother came and took me home a week early. And yet, the lake and nature were exactly where I found myself. Well, nature of sorts. I was outside so I’m pre�y sure it counts. It was a small, dirty, smelly lake in some rural part of Texas and my friend had purchased a fully equipped catamaran for her 16th birthday festivities. So really, with all my allergies and phobias, my attendance automatically set me up for failure. “Don’t you want to jump in? It’s like, a billion degrees out here!” my friends called from the murky water. “No thanks,”
I grunted back, trying to stay towards the middle of the boat so as to have the smallest chance of being in contact with any lake water. I could already feel it, that feeling. You know, that feeling you get telling you that at some point in the near future, you are going to make the wrong choice? �at your monumental ego is going to force you to sit on your couch for inordinate amounts of time watching reruns of 30 Rock, consequently giving you lots of time to ponder about just how dumb you are? �at something is about to go very, very wrong? �at feeling �ooded me, and as any respectable teenager would, I ignored it. About an hour in, things were going �ne. No one had tried to splash lake water on me and there were enough refreshments and candy to satiate a herd of hyperactive four year olds. I, of course, being the outgoing and vastly interesting person I was, was cha�ing and charming like a genuine social bu�er�y. I was a hit! Everyone talked to me at least once. �ey would ask me a question, I would answer with a wi�y remark, and they would laugh until they cried while I nonchalantly sipped on a virgin daiquiri. At least this is how it goes in my head. Of course, the actual course of events varied and some conversations ended promptly when I accidentally said something rather offensive. But my ego didn’t seem to mind so neither did I. As the music increased in volume and the people dried off, it was �nally time to dance, my favorite. Now, I’m not a good dancer. If you have ever seen a cow having a seizure, that’s a pre�y accurate representation of me shaking my groove thang. But I do it anyways. I think the fact that I admit to being a terrible dancer gives me a free pass to make people feel as awkward as possible when I pull out the robot on the dance �oor. So naturally, when the music �nally starts playing, ESSE 51
I begin to actually enjoy myself. �at creeping feeling goes away and all I have to worry about now is how I’m going to manage to put together the Electric Slide with the collective four people on the �oor with me. �en, I heard the voice every modern adolescent girl is required to recognize by some unwri�en law: Justin Beiber. I don’t really listen to his music, but this was a special case. My friend Taylor and I had come up with an equally adorable and embarrassing dance to this particular song and I was not about to pass up the opportunity to showcase my talents, because yes, I am just that proud. �e people need to be entertained, and suddenly my new task in life is to entertain them. What’s that you say? I’m a terrible dancer, the deck is wet, and I have no business being there in the �rst place because my irrational fear of large bodies of water and their associated components? All the odds are against me? A slippery deck? Dangerous to dance on? Nah. I’ll be �ne. �is is where it gets tricky and tedious, so I will try my best to condense it for you. �e dance moves we did were grand, the cheers plentiful, and my con�dence soaring. �en, I am suddenly on my back. �e sky has become psychedelic. My leg hurts. I laugh and try to brush it off. “Just a li�le slip! Wooooo!” I a�empt to get the party started again. Everyone cheers at my courage. �en, I try to get up. Back on the wet deck. “Are you okay?” Black. I come to and realize that I am in a wheel barrow. Apparently, I have actually been conscious. I have been having a very philosophical conversation with myself about my dog and how really, his head is just too small for his body. I see my mom on the deck of the lake. Shaking her head she murmurs, “I knew it.” 52 ESSE
She drives me to the hospital as I wave goodbye to my friends. On the way, my knee swells to the size of plump grapefruit. I am still somewhat drooling on myself from minor head trauma. It is all very a�ractive. A�er walking around on a gimp leg for a week, I get my MRI back and everyone is stunned by how much damage I have in�icted in a fraction of a section. My femur has multiple hair line fractures, my PCL and cartilage have been shredded to confe�i, and my knee cap is �oating around in body �uid, detached from its tendons. I get intensive surgery, and a�erwards, while under the in�uence of heavy narcotics, I scream, “YOU KNOW IT’S A PARTY WHEN YOU CAN’T WALK OUT! AM I RIGHT?” �e nurses don’t like me. I understand their frustrations. I was in a lot of pain for months, still am. I can’t run for miles like I used to or chase my dog around the block. For weeks, I wore not one but TWO absolutely lovely braces stacked on top of each other - one to hold my knee cap in place and one to keep my leg straight. People saw and asked me, “How did you do that?” “I got into it pre�y bad with Justin Beiber,” I replied, thoroughly ashamed. I still walk with a weird limp which makes me look like I am permanently poorly imitating a swagger walk. My le� leg doesn’t fully extend even though the accident happened nearly two years ago. My friends have taken a liking to referring to me as “Mexi Crips and Dips” (“crips” denoting cripple) even though I am neither Mexican nor a delicious entree at Taco Bueno. But! Make no mistake. It wasn’t all bad. For months I got an array of assorted gi�s and boatloads (pun intended) of special treatment. People open doors for me, offer to carry my things. At one point, the embellishments I put on the story each time a new per-
son asked me overshadowed the crazy amounts of pain I was in. �e stories ranged from falling off the boat, yet hearing the call of Jesus and somehow being li�ed back up to safety with only minor injuries to �ghting a shark. I’m not sure what kinds of sharks live in fresh water, but whichever poor bastard shark did live in Lake Lewisville had certainly go�en a piece of me. If you have heard any of the stories aforementioned, I hope this has somewhat enlightened you. No, I did not hear the voice of Jesus. No, I did not �ght a shark. No, I didn’t even slip on a wet deck while dancing my heart out to Justin Beiber. I did, however, let my ego get the best of me. And trust me, I have never done it again since. And that’s how I broke my leg.
PHYLLIS LUEDKE ‘14 - CHIHULIGANS - WATER COLOR ON PAPER ESSE 53
NO DICE
Every year Esse receives an abundant number of humorous and insightful literature submissions that we regretfully have to cut. To honor the courage and tenacity of these writers, we compiled the most memorable phrases from these submissions. �ese pieces amused us and made us think but le� us thinking “Close, but No Dice...”
Ah yes! Siesta Keys, Florida: my sanctuary So morning people can have their coffee and pancakes Because the celebra�ons for Christmas day need to start with extended family already! “Did you know you eat 28 spiders in your life�me?” My name is Suzy and my favorite color’s blue A blaze of light, a flash of sun, Apocalypse Dallas now has begun! Soon my color will be maroon, and no longer red Should I have a homemade caramel bar? School is really boring, especially in the morning My brother beats all others that’s no lie Shaped like a pear, but not a pear What a precious state of conciousness LOL She finally mustered up the courage to turn around...And It grabbed her I am wearing a pair of shoes In this magical utopia, the world was bright, not only because it was lit with an incomprehensible force called electricity, but because people were free to think, feel, and create I probably am. But that is not the point I have an Aggie degree in family counseling There was once a small village nestled between a river and a steep cliff, high in the mountains of Antarc�ca As I lounge on the couch, I realize that I am hungry Do horizontal lines simply not exist? I save every one of the fortunes from China Star and as of now, I have exactly 99 of them pinned on my bulle�n board in my room. And that is why we don’t go to Free Food Day at the Market. I ran
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A Note From �e Editor Dear Readers, �ank you so much for reading Esse 2013! As editor for the �rst time this year, I know I have big shoes to �ll. Hopefully, this year’s magazine served not only to entertain but also to engender thought within the individual regarding the various facets of freedom and how they affect people in different ways. I de�nitely could not have completed this magazine without the help of all of the club members who regularly a�ended meetings and helped in the creation of this magazine, which is in my opinion, one of the �nest displays of our school’s literary and artistic talents. �ank you also to Mrs. McGlinchey and Mrs. Cochran who worked tirelessly as our club moderators and reminded me that I still have a lot to learn about grammar. �ank you also to Mr. Diebold and Mr. Noyes who answered many questions about Adobe InDesign. �is project would not have been possible without all of these people’s help. I had such a fun time working with everyone to create Esse 2013 and am already looking forward to next year’s production. Madeleine Case ‘14
How To Be Published in Esse Students from grades nine through twelve are encouraged to submit their art and literature pieces either via email or hard copy to the moderators or staff of Esse. Teachers in the English and Visual Art departments also submit students’ pieces they deem commendable. �e Esse selection staff then reads the works anonymously and scores them in relation to the theme of the magazine and the capacity of the piece. Each spring, Esse holds an art and literature contest in which the top two winners in both the art and writing categories are guaranteed to be published alongside the pieces that receive the highest scores from the selection staff. Students may continue to submit directly to Esse until the end of the school year.
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Special �anks
�e Esse staff would like to thank everyone who has aided in the production of this magazine. Mrs. Monica Cochran and Mrs. Moira McGlinchey, our moderators, deserve recognition for their faithful dedication, constant support, and valued advice. �ose of the Visual Art department and those of the English department also deserve thanks for inspiring their students to create and to submit their pieces to Esse. �anks to Mr. John Diebold and Diebold Productions, Inc. for their time, assistance, patience, and genuine kindness throughout the creation of this magazine. Also, special thank you to Mr. Steve Noyes who helped a very new editor on a very new project.
Esse Staff 2012 - 2013 Editor-in-Chief
Madeleine Case ‘14
Assistant Editors Katy Cornwall ‘14 Madeline Lynn ‘14
Art Consultant
Marcelle Coronel ‘13
Director of Communications Caitlin Karna ‘14
Moderators
Mrs. Monica Cochran Mrs. Moira McGlinchey
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Colophon Esse 2013 was constructed using Adobe Indesign
CS 3.0.1 on a PC. �e font utilized for titles, authors, art credits, and page numbers is Arno Pro. Titles were set in size 24 font, authors in size 18 font, art credits and page numbers were set in size 12 font. �e body text is sent in Arno Pro, sized 12. �e cover and spine are set in Arno Pro in sizes 54 and 8, respectively. �e text is printed on 80# Endurance Dull book weight and the cover on 80# McCoy cover weight. Esse 2013 was laid out and produced by the Ursuline Academy Literary-Art Magazine club and printed by Diebold Productions, Inc. Five hundred copies were printed.
Selections Commi�ee Alexis Baird ‘13 Lauren Heier ‘13 Meghan Magee ‘13 Anna Anderson ‘14 Jessie Cohen ‘14 Jenna Dougherty ‘14 Jacquelyn Elias ‘14 Shadhi Monsoori ‘14 Courtney Nichols ‘14 Rachel Portner ‘14 Emily Tranchina ‘14 Laura Van Buskirk ‘14 Stephanie Wilcox ‘14 Madeleine Burrow ‘15 Clairemarie Buskmiller ‘15 Audrey Gan ‘15 Jacqueline Gibson ‘15
Emma Goff ‘15 Amanda Long ‘15 Hannah Miller ‘15 Madison Murrah ‘15 Elizabeth Nipper ‘15 Shannon Pan ‘15 Meridith Peel ‘15 Alexa Sheldon ‘15 Osinachi Osuagwu ‘15 Magdeline Vlasimsky ‘15 Cecilia Weigman ‘15 Catherine Blizzard ‘16 Katie Gross ‘16 Lauren Jilek ‘16 Alexandra Muck ‘16 Bri�any Wierman ‘16
Esse 2013
Volume XLVII �e Literary-Art Magazine of Ursuline Academy Copyright 2013 Ursuline Academy of Dallas Cover Painting by Audrey Gan ‘15