Printmaking
Title: Alphabet Artist:
Maggie Erwin,
Hillary Stewart, Ervin,
Amber Dumas, Bonnie
Bob Green,
West,
Travis Selman, Barbara
Dorian Gunnels, Karen Wallace, Melissa
Johnson, Hanna Kowlowski, Luanjenkins
Medium: Printmakine
&
Introduction
Art it
is
a
word heard often on
be visual,
buildings.
literary, Ivy
as possible.
campus of Anderson University. Whether
the
or music
Table of Contents
—
art
is
everywhere within the walls of AU's
Leaves strives to encompass the best representation of that art
From
the artists whose creations
make
Leaves to the literary editors and graphic designers publication becomes they leave
Anderson
a
it
on
who put
University.
It is
a tangible representation
and
at
the university
is
ultimately less for the recognition of
its
audience. Art, in any form,
walls
it.
Ivy
is
a
meant
to strike
its artists
and more
some reaction
in those
that experience
both for
and the audience. -Jessica
Sopolosky
Lierary Editors:
Literary Advisor:
Jessica Sopolosky
Dr. Wayne
Charlie Grant Phyllis
of the talent re-
Leaves takes the art of Anderson University beyond the
and beyond the grounds in hopes of extending
the artist
together, this
way to leave their mark. However, the
fined by their time
for
it
keystone in the memories of those involved long after
goal of Ivy Leaves
who experience
to the pages of Ivy
Cox
Creative Director:
Publication Design:
Joshua Rigsby
Robbie Cobb
Goins Eric B. Whitlock
Making
9. Poetry
17.
Graphic Design
Table of Contents
10. Poetry
18.
Graphic Design
Poetry
11.
19.
Painting
1.
2.
3.
4- Sculpture
Poetry
12. Poetry
20. Poetry
5.
Sculpture
13.
Photography
21. Poetry
6.
Photography
14.
Poetry
22. Drawing
7.
Painting
15.
Poetry
8. Poetry
16. Painting
-2-
On
nude shoes
of
Amidst the waves our ship was
the sidewalk a pair lie,
the
first
on
a vessel
side
its
and a few yards down the other upright as
is
if
of
most
forlorn
hope, soldiers borne of adventure.
Mighty waves and
preparing to receive
the slender foot at any
full
moment.
terrible
struck with such force,
if
wonder since the day she
is
is
taper-toed
and
salty
somewhere bowing, being pious
whatever undertaking
for
breaking
pumps
half in the
left
of
how
judgment upon choices
cursed upon
through this mystery she
if
tenderfoot venture.
this
of the gallery,
Tragic fate held
as
what gives the dying hope
its
is
to the plight of
teaching
me
testament
one whose vestment
held the scars of but a single
start-
that leaving things behind
is
an
voyage on
art.
this unforgiving
main, which feasts upon us
Poor Title: Early
Artist:
own
Morning Sunday Maghan Lusk
soul, clutching the
hopes, future, very
his
I
chose
heart and
fit.
To
I
disappear with This
poem
was inspired by
pair of expensive shoes
line,
mine
chiefest
let live
among
my all
his
countenance
hesitance the reasons
abandoned him choosing here as
for
outside of the National Gallery of Art in
life
compassion must mingle.
Thus as watched
Comment:
living.
foremast
property to take and give
him as
a
our
knees trembled that hour
which were not from our voices
her
lying half in light
shadow
winds
can't begin
I
proper descriptions of I
torn,
Now
Washington, DC.
this
for
hungry schools of
spot for
communal
his port.
fish shall
sport
dining
a solemn feast of pining.
Young blood washed away by the
tide,
crimes of a faltering mind hide
beneath
Title:
brine, this brother's treason.
The
Privateer
Artist: Charlie
~3~
Grant
SCULPTURE
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Comment:
I
try to
push
my
art in a
meaningful and contemporary direction, often finding myself addressing
subjects of identity
Title:
&
opposing
forces.
Withered 4, Reverse
Artist: David Slone
Medium: Stoneware. Raku
-4~
Fired
ScUPTURE
Title: Tall
Artist:
Lidded Vase
Diana Morrow
Medium: Stoneware
Ph OTOGRAPHY
Title: Untitled Artist: Molly
Medium:
Digital
Mudd
Photography
Comment: My work
in painting has
developed into a balance of pattern and portrait, of structure
and chaos, of beauty
and repulsion.
Title: Pious Infidelity Artist: David Slone
Medium: Oil on
Cavas
PoE
Goethe's defense of his
To
my
When I
dear
in
friend,
the face of doubt
see the face of God,
Shears to trim
my
in
God
I
And
heart of
from Nature's
that
all
shook
am
Open mouth
does resound the
heart
in
I
a Holy Book.
is
fixed,
whole;
fall
face-first into,
a story true, that the sits
God
upon the
The cold rock beneath me
don't.
don't
soft
and
fluid.
within this cloud,
know where
to step.
the million-year-old granite,
once unmovable,
is
now
unsteady,
changing with the breeze.
with
And here am,
Deepest hope that Nature's myth
The chapel walls now
I
Swathed
bearing
my
I
without
engulfed
zenith.
somewhere between
obscurity,
in
and the earth
Title:
rolling,
alone looking
almost want to
but
you, dear friend, must never doubt
tell
I
becomes
portrait,
That Heavenward
Does
me
I
divine amenities than ever written
that
swallowed
and
soul, with paring
Likeness more than Eucharist, and sharing
More
thick
over the ledge into the seemingly endless fog
look,
the staring
steadfast faith and took
My eyes
The cloud,
and
Klettenberg,
Eyes of the human
My
faith
I
rapture
have forgotten.
To Klettenberg
Artist: Phyllis
Goins Title: Engulfed Artist: Jessica Sopolosky
Comment:
I
wrote
this
poem
after
1
stood
edge of Stone Mountain in Georgia and got lost in
â&#x20AC;˘8~
a
cloud of fog.
at
the
literally
Poi
I
my
have spent
entire
life in
Each day spent the same,
in
a 120 by 85 feet grid. repetition of
my
Would
Say Soon, however, the white
my name no
lights will
longer echoed out
I
wear
be taken
will
off,
time?
in
to twenty-one.
Not on your I
This jersey
go back
fade
the loudspeakers.
in
I
craft.
not
life,
because
had not begun.
in
celebration but to be matted and hung on the wall.
Me was
moment
there from the
of birth.
This
is
not just the turning of the
page
but the closing of a book, no more to be written.
Tomorrow
will
come
my
meeting with
Their purpose and
new
prints
in
with
first
nowhere
love.
my
My
fingers
to be,
be
left
some
revelation of
life
to unearth.
Me
fought myself,
my
peers, then took on the
no
feet will not
will
Waiting on
know
to find
world amidst
my
many
elders,
tears.
this world.
Instead of winning the battles
How does one spend when
endless hours
the have only lived
90 minutes
at
a time?
of
life,
constantly
in
strife.
Me died some
in
Title:
me was
time ago.
me's place, continues to grow.
The End Of My Soccer Career
Artist:
Stephen Henderson Title:
Me
or
I
Artist: Judi Stephens Harris
Poi
The crunching
welcomes my
gravel
Marching them up the drive to the
Red
house— the
brick
She knows
flat,
king of the mountain.
It's
That rusty swing-set sings sweet memories,
And
the
Its
think she
will
Though her
break
frail
lips,
Into
my
if
bones
me
Cookies beckon
My
I
still
seem
as laughing grandkids run around the hearth, crashing shins
— out the window,
weeds speak
of
But her eyes,
And speak
is all
is.
it
teaching her
fault, for
it's
its
uses.
wrong.
in
of the
wonders
will
turning back,
never be
motionless
Now
sweet
of getting better,
and
trying to
of a
be healthy.
pound would
Or two, or as much as
And
the plate
the plate
is
tea.
In front of
occur,
five
became broken
again.
put back together
With bolts and screws.
lost,
of that healing
together.
of grandeur.
Hope and wants
Then the gain sits
a different language,
old stories that
been smashed, broken, cracked,
work undone.
garage— a boulder as strong as he was.
Tell familiar
round ceramic disk,
society's fault, for teaching her
She had ideas
stronger than me.
from the oven and sweet tea puckers
Four o'clock brings only silence now.
the
her parent's
And then put back
hug her too hard.
Grandaddy's faded, dusty black truck In
at this
that a ceramic disk
smells of skinned knees and hide-and-seek.
air
It's
I
downward
Staring
feet,
sits
It
her as an icon.
Mortos scribbled and strewn across
it
as a constant reminder:
Title: Healing Sweet Tea Artist:
Brandon Clements That nothing tastes as good as thin
Title:
Quid me
nutrite.
me
feels.
destruit
(What nourishes me, destroys me) Artist: Rachel
Runion
Comment: This poem began Nathan Cox's
der"; and then
-IO-
as a
response to
Dis-Orbecame something more persona
exhibit entitled "Eating
Poi
The sound
my
of
as
I
footsteps echo
in
lonely ears
pace across the barren room.
Half past six
a quarter
Thoughts
fly
till...
my mind
through
perhaps
this is
like bullets
my second
on a
battlefield
chance-to
live.
Comment: When writing this poem, The shadows come out
imagined to play for the
as the
sun lays down
fiery
his
head
to rest.
Seven
o'clock...
me
They make
The
floor
creaks under
Seven
sick with their joyful notes.
my
unsteady high-heeled shoes.
listen intently, straining,
I
forâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; nothing.
o'five
The seconds
tick by...
Suddenly, a frantic siren screams making
watch as an ambulance and
I
Ten
turn
heart
pound
like
entourage race by
a hammer.
my
forsaken
minutes more...
away form the windowâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; hopeless with the
My
my
its
after seven.
A few I
full
knowledge
heart cries out against
own
its
of a
broken promise.
revelation.
He's not coming.
Seven
fifteen.
The world walks Clutching
my worn taking
Ashamed,
I
many
out coat,
one
last
I
turn to leave
look at the dying sunset.
wipe tears from
He wasn't so
silence.
in
my
face and close the door softly behind me.
different after
Title: Savior Artist: Kristina Johnson
all.
alley.
to
change her
heartaches and
moment-only waiting
hear the bells chime gleefully from a nearby church tower.
the author
an abandoned building waiting
man who promised
has experinced
Six fifty-nine
I
a lady in
for
soemone
life.
She
lives in the
to save her.
Poi
you
I'll
tell
I'll
quit
And on Till
I'd
my
plan,
old job
you swear not to laugh.
if
and
that small raft
I'll
I
build a small
would
drift
that small island
I'd live for
build a small hut, hunt
And when had I
and
Some
raft.
on the blue
It
On
that balloon
would higher ascend.
I
Enjoying the view as land on a glacier
I
It's
sailed with the wind.
somewhere
in
Till
it
I
would
drift
down
insects are frightful,
But
my compass and
it
river
I
soon would be
a very long fly
But the stars
Title:
rains everyday,
would show
Artist:
me
Comment: Written
I
trip, full
lost
after a
summer
will
Andes, "My Plan"
is
My
Plan
Anna
Franklin
indefinitely without the confines of time
-12-
and disappearing
a wistful
I'd
obtain
of
Away Lands.
danger and dread -
dream
and
to travel
responsibility.
lightning
shine brighter after
of reading adventure books
as early flight
long ago.
must keep a cool head.
the way.
and researching such topics glaciers in the
were
flying to Far
the stream
joined with the river and rapids extreme.
The
behind.
assemble my new gyroplane.
to
order to
In
Then hike down the mountain and buy a canoe.
With that canoe
find pirate ships that
The storm tears my plane and the
Peru,
left
might take a week, working there on the sand,
But
air.
equipment someone
diving
The parts
finished exploring there,
build a balloon that could fly through the
might find
search on the seaside and there
I'd
I'd
I'd
And
the wild,
I
walk on the floor of the ocean below
I'd
a while; fish in
reach the Atlantic and there
I'd
found a small island that nobody knew.
I
On
my
it
is
clears.
near,
Photography
Title:
Beyond Appearance
Artist:
Medium:
Bonnie West
Digital
-I3~
Photography
Pot
now -
Come, come,
hurry
And
Moon do wane
Mistress
the Night
we now
as
speak,
Our words illuminated by Her whim. Tonight there
we
For
And
more work
is
for us,
young one,
are bastard children of the Night
Mistress Moon, and though we're
By Sun and To us
The
need, and
in
Blight
And send The
He has
children
we
bade
did
mocked and scorned
blessed, they called their call.
has brought us more to dig to hell as only
priests
we can do
-
and fathers cannot purge these ones
For fear their hidden blotches grow from touch.
paid us well - you
Dumas
Father
Whose own
white robe hides
And people who might To
know
the man,
shame from Sun
him sick and be forced
find
on us to send another down.
call
You 'member the man, eh Simeon, who called You "dumb" or "witch" or whate'er slander he
mock
Befit to
you, and
We
send him to the Lake
So
spit
upon
this grave,
You have more mercy For you. That
turn,
in
mock me?
of Fire tonight.
so he might know
him than he ever had
for
what makes us
is
different
Simeon? As we, humble heroes
Eh,
That
On
ripe with plague, the
is
As we
toil
mark
Sun and the
citizens of the
for
from them,
a town
of sin
light
they worship,
and work and hide the shame
From the Sun, they sleep and dream, and spread Their
But
filth
we
women
to
of the Night
we do
of the Night,
and Moon.
not fear
The Sun nor His pox on man and woman nor Their child, for
Are
just
the night, the spots of black
as dark as spots of earth. And that
Dear Simeon,
Whose
in
love
is
we
wage
our
paid by Night, and Moon,
against our backs tonight,
feel
Shines brighter here than Sun had ever done for us.
Title:
The
Gravedigger's
Artist: Justin Jessel
-14-
Sermon
POE
I
I
am
a child of the universe.
am
a creature of the earth.
for
I
am
invite fly
me,
to
be
at
here.
myself to soar over the tree tops,
I
to the mountain.
I
his
I
eye sharp and discerning.
hear the water
falling into
of the
call
dove
in
the morning,
I
crevices
I
across the sea
savor the rosy glow of breaking day
am
mountain with
hills
and valleys no one sees.
am
eagle with clear sight and
am
water, flowing with ease
am
cricket
am
lofty vision.
and leaping
and sparrow with songs
hummingbird, secretive
beauty
like
on the horizon
beside green fern and mossy rocks,
moon
dawn.
swift like
I
the
walk the golden path of the
at sunset,
see the eagle surveying the world from
eyrie,
I
a part of the earth.
was destined
to I
i
listen for
the haunting song of the mockingbird at night.
that belongs to earth belongs to
All
I
I
like
sunset of the sea.
at
I
for joy.
to sing.
I
mantis.
am
light
dawn.
the crash as loud as the crashing breakers of the sea,
as swift as in
I
I
fish leaping for joy
I
a mountain stream.
I
am
a child of the universe.
am
all
these things.
was destined
to
be
here.
hear cricket sing, crow shout his Title: After Walt
Whitman
displeasure. Artist: Margaret Hayes I
I
I
see frog under a
leaf in
the garden. the cone flower.
discover mantis hidden
in
see sparrow perched
a vine,
spider
hammocked
in
in
her web,
hummingbird mesmerized by a butterfly
flower,
choreographing her wings to the
Comment: This poem
rhythm of the sun.
Song of Myself hy Walt
-15-
is
an imitation of
Whitman.
am
Comment:
Art.
The expression of my
deepest feelings and personal values,
mingled with the brushstrokes and the forms
that they create
Title:
on my
canvas.
Groaning Inwardly
(Waiting for the Redemption of
my Body)
Hanna Kozlowski Medium: Oil on Canvas
Artist:
-16-
Graphic Desig>
death of a
salesman a story
by Arthur Miller directed by Joe Rowling
Comment: The purpose the
demeanor of the
for this poster was to encapsulate
play, while
still
leaving mystery to in-
trigue the potential audience.
Title: Death of a Salesman
Artist: Robbie Cobb Medium: Mixed Media Awards: Gold ADDYÂŽ, Greenville SC I
â&#x20AC;&#x17E; I7 ~
Graphic Design
STOMP Performs March
1
0-13 at The Peace Center
Tickets available at Ticketmaster.com or 708.45 1 .800
Comment: The concept
for this poster was to convey the
energy and essence of what Stomp the
show
is all
is all
about. Showing that
about movement, colors, and sound.
Title:
Stomp
Joshua Rigsby Medium: Mixed Media Artist:
Awards: Best In Show ADDYÂŽ. Greenville SC I
I
Gold ADDY*. Greenville SC ADDY*, Third District
Silver
-18-
Title: Untitled
Artist:
Jamie Moore Oil on Canvas
Medium:
-19-
Poi
Wet At
splinters
my
The
and crusted barnacles scrape
heels as
tread carefully
I
Salt
fills
Still
the
Dark clouds looming overhead burst
And
pier.
me and
my
nostrils
keeping
me warm.
and burns my tongue.
By the hungry sea;
The
struggling against the sea, a bucket
Its
contents fish
Touch my
spilling
over
its
edge onto the
pier.
strewn about, stretching to
lie
There
feet.
is
The
Something
touches
my
me wretch
as
bitter
At the empty bench and
My
chum
Become
further,
And snaps that
at
is left
my feet,
to
life
Sweat drips down With the sea's
own
to
my
lips,
and grasps
slow steady drops
to the gallows or the
Title:
Chum
Bucket
Artist: Justin Jessel
on the dock, picking up beaks.
fighting
bitter mist.
~20~
me
of inside,
at
my throat.
scurry out and off the edge of the
I
me
in their
knees, forcing
see something
I
As stand alone on the
bucket.
looking to devour
Pieces of unidentified meat
my
unknown contents
the sea and the sky
at
to
like
squad.
Those hollow footsteps echo back
intermingled and nondescript.
chorus of hungry gulls caws
All
comes
falls in
A man
down
waves crash against
me
eyes turn to the sea, the waves drawn
To me, and
A
full
stare
swallowed
away the bucket and watch
A crab
tongue, I
flesh
kick
Rain
Almost making
into the
is
Like a darker part of me, or a severed hand.
I
no one else here.
its
and knock
The chum bucket.
White shattered bones stands beside the bench,
Gutted
pier
To stare
and
fluids
taunt, yearning like piano wire to
something. The dim sun
Kill
waits at the edge, a fishing pole
Brimming with pink chunky
with the fury of a squall, the invisible line
Goes
thick here, like a sea-green scarf
air is
Wrapping around
A bench
down
pier.
to
me
pier.
Poi
I'm standing
on pins
Lord, place this soul on top of the
razor sharp needles
of prayers
barb-wired suspensions
lift
my
hanging by throat
is
for the
burning,
my head beyond heart, well
it's
in
awe
to the
of angels
the sky
in
heavens on high
good, no organization could buy.
Grateful hurting...
and thoughts
my hands
list
am, speechless
i
of the
wonders
i
am
of the Glory.
these pens and needles are the regeneration
struggling for
on thoughts and feelings
understanding of the Glory.
of a
new
creation.
but actions do speak louder than faith, will
words are the only thing keeping
death, predestination, free
you answer
my
desires and
let
me
I
can't sleep with ease,
mind
it's
more
of a disease
will
death, predestination, free
you
please
of uncertainty.
just let
answer my desires and
me sleep.
uncertainty?
You give and take on a heart worth breaking a soul of negotiations Title: Pins
lawyers would to
wear
this
bow down
Artist:
crown
of total affirmation.
speech I've
got
of mortal it
all
men
raise
me
breathing
sleep... faith,
that steals the
me
up, wait. ..what?
wrong.
-21-
and Needles
Joshua Rigsby
let
me
sleep.
Di
i'S&$M
wsZrJsr
Jfyay^i^
Title: Untitled
Artist: Kelly
Shaw
Medium: Colored Pen
-22-
isil
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