Imago: A Tatler Publication
WINTER 2022
IMAGO WINTER 2022
Lakeside School’s Arts & Literary Magazine Issue 35
IMAGO Editors
Zora S. ’23 Aaron Z. ’23 Angelina P. ’24 Rahul S. ’24
Design Chief
Audrey D. ’24
Designers
Eliot A-y-A. ’24 Bestmona A. ’25 Cailyn C. ’26 Gresham C. ’26
Cover
Zara Z. ’24
Advisors
Lindsay Aegerter Jim Collins
Advisor Emeritus
Emily Chu
Imago: A Tatler publication Printed by Minuteman Press, North Seattle Imago, Winter 2022, Issue 35
WINTER 2022 ART Brittsan K. ’24, The Escapist Tony N. ’23, Anti Board Flying Board Silas B. ’23, Carrera Sunset Court Bryan C. ’24, Night Market Thomas E. ’24, Late at Night Sam K. ’23, A Return to Better Jon P. ’23, Tahoma I Tahoma II Kulshan I Kulshan II William C. ’25, First Run Yoon L. ’23, Rainbird A New Day’s Flight Raising Some Hackles Morning Grooming Rishi L. ’24, Untitled Untitled Laura H. ’23, Little Lamb
6 8 9 10 11 12 14 15 16 18 19 20 21 22 26 26 29 29 30 31 32
POETRY Coco M. ’23, Box of Memories Stellan M. ’23, sommarøy e sci striped maple Gabi G. ’24, Homegrown Imelda R. ’25, Blissfully Alone
24 33 34 35 36 38
LETTER FROM THE EDITORS Dear Lakeside, We’ve been alone for a long time — two years and loose change. But if you’re anything like us, we’ve also been alone for a short time — less than a second since September. This issue reflects that: our community and solitude, town and country, and the space where both are reconciled — here, now, on our campus. For our cover, Zara Z. ’24 has drawn a perspective sketch from the Quad: Moore, Bliss, and Pigott — Imago’s home base — hidden in the center. It’s a reminder of our little oasis and the spirit in which Lakeside was founded: as a balance of the green and gray spaces that make Seattle itself. It’s our inner nature and our outer city, our verdant Quad in a vibrant red-brick vicinity. So we’ve captured Lakesiders’ adventures and joint ventures over the past two years, from here to beyond, and stored them in our “box of memories.” Through three classic genres — photography, captions, and poetry — brief moments turn to briefer escapades, reminding us of where we are. We invite you to escape with us and, for just a moment, remain exactly where you are. To leave this planet and “return to better.” To go bird-watching, mountain-climbing, sommarøy-swimming, and sunsetgazing, all while staying in your very own backyard. It’s the nature of the Pacific Northwest, of Lakeside, of us. Enjoy. Sincerely, Zora S. ’23, Aaron Z. ’23, Angelina P. ’24, Rahul S. ’24
Brittsan K. ’24
THE ESCAPIST 2022, digital media.
IMAGO | 6
Winter 2022 | 7
Tony N. ’23
ANTI BOARD
South Park, August 2022, digital. IMAGO | 8
F LY I N G B OA R D
South Park, August 2022, digital. Winter 2022 | 9
Silas B. ’23
CARRERA
Alki Beach, October 2022, digital. IMAGO | 10
SUNSET Magnolia Boulevard, July 2022, digital.
Winter 2022 | 11
COURT
Lafayette Elementary, June 2022, digital. IMAGO | 12
“Carrera” In many shots, a car will be the only thing in the frame distinguishing if the photo was taken today or decades ago. I try to shoot all the vintage cars I come across, such as this old Carrera; suddenly, the era of this photo becomes a little more ambiguous.
“Sunset” The
mountains
in
the
background
look
good, but what’s really beautiful about this photograph is these two people sharing this moment. All we know about them is what this picture shows; the rest is up to us.
“Court” When the sky turns pink for just a little while, everything begins to look rather pretty.
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Bryan C. ’24
NIGHT MARKET
2022, digital media. IMAGO | 14
Thomas E. ’24
L AT E AT N I G H T
Pigott photo room, September 2022, digital.
Winter 2022 | 15
Sam K. ’23
A RETURN TO BETTER 2021, Acrylic, 3 x 3 ft.
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Winter 2022 | 17
Jon P. ’23
TA H O M A I
Mount Rainier, July 2022, digital. IMAGO | 18
TA H O M A I I
Mount Rainier, July 2022, digital. Winter 2022 | 19
KULSHAN I
Mount Baker, July 2022, digital. IMAGO | 20
KULSHAN II
Mount Baker, July 2022, digital. Winter 2022 | 21
William C. ’24
FIRST RUN Crystal Mountain, January 2022, digital.
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Winter 2022 | 23
Coco M. ’23
BOX OF MEMORIES why can’t I be more like you? your smile colors every damn sky azure blue, I wanna have a pretty soul darling — just like yours to pour like a rainbow from the sky every nimbostratus cloud every achromatic frown without a trace of gray, you brought them down yet I’m left a mess today the second weather winter comes today I’ll watch whatever we were fade away and all I thought was once bound to be has now splintered at the seams yet I swear, somewhere, at the bottom of your closet you’ll keep a piece of me, locked in a box of memories so your silence collides with mine, as you whisper through the line if you’re ever feeling better could I hold onto you for forever or is forever just too much to ask?
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somewhere deep in your pocket there’s this note that I wrote, long and forgotten it holds on to hope if you find it would you let me know? why can’t I be more like you your smile colors every damn sky azure blue, I wanna have a pretty soul darling — just like yours to pour like a rainbow from the sky
This poem comes from song lyrics by Coco M. ’23. The song will be out in the spring. Winter 2022 | 25
Yoon L. ’23
RAINBIRD Hanalei National Wildlife Refuge, December 2021, digital.
A NE W DAY ’S FL IGHT
Waita Reservoir, December 2021, digital. IMAGO | 26
“Rainbird” After
witnessing
several
rainbows
while
driving around Kaua’i, I happened to catch one
while
leaving
the
Hanalei
National
Wildlife Refuge. It also happened that a common myna perched on a tree right between me and the rainbow, so I gratefully took a few photos.
“A New Day’s Flight” One morning in Kaua’i, I visited the Waita Reservoir, located at the end of a road running next to a free-roam cattle farm. A number of birds ended up coming my way, but perhaps most fitting was this cattle egret. I particularly enjoy the warm yellow lighting, which let me photograph the egret without the whites blowing out and losing detail on the feathers.
Winter 2022 | 27
“Raising Some Hackles” I photographed this rooster red junglefowl, or feral chicken, while leaving one of the scenic overlooks in Wailua River State Park. I noticed a group of red junglefowl, some drinking from a small puddle, and as I took a picture, one looked up, sending his tail feathers moving to get this nice action shot.
“Morning Grooming” I took this photo in the early hours of the day, seeking refuge from a nearby triathlon after an unsuccessful morning with a bald eagle and some shorebirds. This killdeer was hanging near the shore of a pebble beach, preening in the sunlight and occasionally letting out calls, so I had time to lie down on the pebbles and set up a clean shot. The photo shows the split second after the killdeer had finished running through its tail feathers, so it appears strangely posed out of context.
IMAGO | 28
RAISING SOME HACKLES Wailua River State Park, December 2021, digital.
MORNING GROOMING Lake Sammamish State Park, July 2021, digital.
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Rishi L. ’24
UNTITLED Maui, January 2021, digital.
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UNTITLED
Maui, January 2021, digital. Winter 2022 | 31
Laura H. ’23
LITTLE LAMB
2022, acrylic, 16 x 20 in. IMAGO | 32
Stellan M. ’23
SOMMARØY there’s a soft haze in sommarøy as i drift through wrinkled water it’s midnight and i squint into the sun i’m wearing a drysuit and purple crocs and french guides shout directions from time to time —they really do speak like that— we reach a dollop of land and rest our boats there we sip tea. it’s just what the tourism board wanted —dumb americans, they probably chuckled— but as i rest my head on a blanket of summer flowers and moss i bathe in the glow and want to take up a hammer and smash a clock, to revel in this light and watch it all fade into that soft haze in sommarøy.
Winter 2022 | 33
E SCI how can you fight for a place if you don’t love it. and to know a place is to love it. to know the way an aspen shimmies or beech buds burst, slowly. to know that bumps in the soil are ghosts of fallen trees. to talk to a tree and listen. to delight in the crack of your ax on ash and its furrowed bark. to know that giant beavers and wooly mammoths roamed this land and a sheet of ice knotted so dense and high that it oozed across, stripping boulders and trees, and those boulders are here now if you look. and to not know and to search and to throw up your hands in awe of moo flu and sheep fever and subsistence and ice ages and shifts of tectonic plates and that we’re here now, after all that.
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STRIPED MAPLE I’m sitting in a grove of striped maples. Their bark is smooth, like bamboo, and pink buds are shooting up. They break off in pairs, except at the ends, where there is only one. On the branch I’m looking at, the bud on the end looks like it’s giving me the finger. Hmm.
Winter 2022 | 35
Gabi G. ’24
HOMEGROWN From my friends, growing flowers, I take late-night makeovers sloppily painted nails and mutual disgust of The Kissing Booth From my grandmother, I adopted blackberry pie, meticulously crafted birthday signs, and what it meant to judge someone by their character rather than their words. From my grandfather I learned the value of silence. how you cannot force love from someone who believes it is conditional. I learned distance, at times, is better, safer, than false intimacy. And from myself a girl whose cultures will always be divided I learned home is with the people that I choose to love I learned that home is in the grey spaces whispered laughter between classes,
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cleaning burned rice off of stovepans, listening to sermons during Sunday dinner, I learned home is not always kind but where you grow. A place deserved but not readily given. I learned home must be found My home is grown in the murky, the grey, my home exists in blood and in bone.
Winter 2022 | 37
Imelda R. ’25
B L I S S F U L LY A L O N E I found a path ahead, streaming far and above. I worried not about being misled, but about being in love. But I went to this abyss, on a path, a quest. Entering, I felt a brief kiss not on my cheek but in my chest: alone in the sky, alone with the sun, blissfully alone, blissfully alone. My biggest fear a longing, having learned the unknown, how being misled is staying, and loving how to be alone.
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We recognize that Lakeside stands on Duwamish land, and that this land was and continues to be of extreme importance to the Duwamish people. The natural art and writing in this issue centers the unceded lands of many Indigenous peoples, including the Cowlitz, Duwamish, kānaka ʻōiwi of Kaua’i, Lummi, Muckleshoot, Nisqually, Nooksack, Puyallup, Squaxin Island, and Yakama. We recognize their continued cultural, social and physical relationship with their native homelands. These peoples were here before us and will continue to be here after we are gone. We understand and accept our position as foreigners of these lands.
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CONTRIBUTORS SILAS B. ’23 WILLIAM C. ’24 BRYAN C . ’24 THOMAS E. ’24 GABI G. ‘24 LAURA H. ’23 SAM K. ’23 BRITTSAN K. ’24 RISHI L. ’24 YOON L . ’23 COCO M. ’23 STELLAN M. ’23 TONY N. ’23 J O N P. ’ 2 3 IMELDA R. ’25 ZARA Z. ’24
Imago edits, designs, and publishes an arts & literary magazine for Lakeside School to showcase and foster student arts culture.
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