D N U O B S S E L III e, Vol. i r e v e R
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d l’s Art an o o h c S High
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Lit Maga
DIRECTOR’S
NOTE
Boundless was created to put together a quality magazine that reflects the importance and love of the arts and literature here at Presentation. It is an opportunity for students to showcase their talents and skills in all forms. We have been inspired by such extraordinary artwork, photography, and writing and thank all those who have submitted your work. This magazine is about our passions, creativity, inspirations, and dreams—it’s taught me that there is much to be shared whether that be in art form or in words. I am so grateful to be a part of the Art and Lit Mag team for the past three years since the Inaugural Edition, and serving the last two as the Director. Thank you to a talented community to help make the magazine a success. And most of all, kudos to Ms. Deak for her support, guidance, and fresh perspective as our leader. With Love, Jasmine Wong ‘21
Images, writing, and digital content are the property of respective artists and may not be reproduced or copied.
e i r e Rev
st o l y l l ghtfu
eli d g n i be f o e t es. i a s t a s t e n Th y fa l e v o l our y n i h wit
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S R O R U J Emily Luthra Emily is a user experience writer for Google, where she was the lead writer for Material Design. She graduated with a BA in English Literature (Whitman College), an MFA in Creative Writing (Mills College), and a post-bach in Visual Arts (UC Berkeley Ext), in oil and acrylic painting. She doodles and plays the drums.
Selection The Pain of Missing You By Shreya Dixit Severance By Madison Goffney Light Amidst Darkness By Shrobana Sengupta “A Cool Shoe” By Oranus Jamali
Lauren Colvin Lauren is a fashion designer, entrepreneur, and writer who lives in Los Angeles and currently works at Show Me Your Mumu as an Assistant Designer. She studied design at the Fashion Institute for Design and Merchandising and was one of the founding members of the fashion club at Presentation her junior year. She loves sharing all she has learned in the creative field on her podcast Let’s Talk LoCo and coaches young creatives on how to break into their field.
Selection Morning Coffee By Mairead Polverino Untitled ByVarsha Chilukuri Heavenly Dress By Shrobana Sengupta Literature Here By Natasha Gupta
The following are alumni in creative fields who have donated their time to review our student selections. After reviewing the selected works from each category they chose the top pieces they felt stood out as exceptional work. These selected works will be denoted by a star within the magazine.
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Erica García Erica is a trans-disciplinary artist with a BFA from St. John’s University and is currently studying for her MFA of Fine Arts and and Emphasis in Art+Social Practice at Otis College of Art and Design. Erica is a performance artist working with stereotypes, archetypes, and tropes within the Chicanx community.
Selection Writing Sanctuary By Genevieve Boken The Pace of Conscience By Shweta Arun Skeleton By Anonymous
Sabrina Tian
Cosmic Coffee By Jasmine Wong
Sabrina is a designer and illustrator at the University of Pennsylvania studying Design and Cognitive Science with a Computer Science minor. She’s interested in inclusivity and storytelling through design, and is currently exploring the intersection as an ASAM Fellow. She is also involved in biodesign research and experience design within the healthcare space.
Selection Modern Metamorphosis By Allison Kemp Untitled By Ella Zhang
Caitie Clancey Caitie participated in theatre at Pres and graduated from Sonoma State University with a BA in Theatre Arts with an emphasis in Acting. Caitie is still acting in her free time.
Selection Untitled By Varsha Chilukuri The Pain of Missing You By Shreya Dixit Levon By Emily Iburg Elephant By Jillian Horowitz
E L B A T OF CONTENTS
Chapter One: Surreal Daydreams..................(8-21) Chapter Two: Glass Prism................................(22-37) Chapter Three: Urban Wonderland...............(38-51) Chapter Four: Phenomenon...........................(52-67)
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Severance Madison Goffney ‘22
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This piece was also completed during my family’s struggles this past year, and represents the identities crises I experienced.
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Untitled Minh-Chau Pham ‘22 It represents how my mental health had deteriorated during quarantine and how I felt about everything that was happening in my life. I was really angry and sad when I drew this piece and it10 was a way for me to vent and express my emotions.
Inner Fire Michelle Lu ‘23 These are the rules: take a deep breath and imagine everyone in their underwear, look straight ahead at the wall, and don’t make eye contact. Everyone will judge you for how your voice trembles. No, stop. You’ve already tried all the “tips” they gave you; they never work. Stop—stop it. Breathe—this will be quick. Breathe—one, two, three. I can do this. Now I’m standing at the front of the classroom, hearing my own voice tremble ever more intensely. Why is it so difficult for me to execute my army of words, all perfectly lined up right behind my throat, ready for battle? We trained painstakingly day and night for two weeks, encountered a high fever of 39°, performed for a fan of beloved stuffed animals, and possessed the everlasting support of mom and dad. But on this battlefield, my warriors are melting like candle wax. The heat is getting to me, but I refuse to desert. I am not a deserter. If I am to be reduced to a puddle of wax, so be it. Even after countless losing battles just like this one, my warriors and I will continue to dive into the battlefield unhesitantly headfirst. This fiery mass of dread can mold and remold me to its contentment, but I know that victory has always belonged to me. The fire set ablaze outside has reached the inside walls of my heart, igniting an undying flame of grit and courage still burning inside me today.
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Untitled Ella Zhang ‘22
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A girl in Chinese opera costume 12made from microorganisms.
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Untitled Dan-Tam Pham ‘21
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Untitled Ella Zhang ‘22
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Makes Devils Cry Zachary Fernandez ‘21 You brushed my eyes with angel’s wings, full of love; the kind that makes devils cry.
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Perpetual Figure Vianne Sedlack ‘21
Untitled Ti Pham ‘24
Home Alexa Parish ‘21
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Petals Ava Santor ‘22 Dark. Sometimes the world is dark. Especially for her. She is a girl who lurks on the darkest and most negative parts of life. That is why I was told to watch over her. I watch from the clouds and see her on earth. I see her dwell on the force of evil around her compared to the light. I see her lie in bed all day doing nothing productive because nothing brings her joy. I see her thoughts about herself, horrible, horrible thoughts. Even with all of this darkness, one day I still saw a flicker of light. On one fateful day, She woke up from her bed and looked out of her window, and for the first time in months I saw a glint of hope in her eyes. One lone wildflower had sprouted up from the ground in the middle of the grass patch outside of her house. She didn’t pick it as humans normally do, she didn’t draw it, or press it either. I watched from my cloud in anticipation of what sparked her happiness. Finally after a few minutes, she reached down and touched one of the ombre purple and white petals. She picked the petal off and inspected it in her hand. I viewed her expression as she looked at the intimacy of the colors on the petal. The colors had nothing in common, just a gradient that had touched to make something her mind deemed as beautiful. After a few minutes she walked back inside, and I watched the spark of happiness linger in her head until, to her misfortune, it burnt out two hours later. As she went to sleep that night I jumped down off of my cloud to go and greet her in her dreams. I found her in a small nightmarish tunnel and I reached out a hand to her. She looked up and examined my white dress, my wings and my halo, and reluctantly took my hand. “Am I dead?” She asked. “Not yet my child.” I replied, “And you shouldn’t wish death upon yourself.” She walked with me out of the tunnel, and watched in awe as I built a field for her. Her mouth was wide open as I sprouted trees from the ground creating a perimeter, closing her mind off from the dark tunnel. Soon we were standing in the middle of a clearing surrounded by birch trees with the same small wildflower at the base of our feet. I watched as she knelt down and touched the ombre petals on the only flower that
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sat in her new mind palace I had built for her. “Do you like it?” I hesitantly asked, awaiting a response. She paused and looked at me with the first smile of the year etched on her face. “Thank you.” She nodded. Soon her face was replaced with a puzzled look, “Angel, why do I deserve this?” I laughed, “Well that’s a silly question, It is a beautiful field for a girl with a beautiful heart.” With the concluding of my words a small petal fell from the sky and landed in front of us. “Looks like you believe it too,” I noted. “What?” She said confused looking at the new petal in front of her. “Think of something that brings you happiness then the petals will fall.” I responded. “Think of how you used to help out your parents when you were little. Think of how much potential and talent you have still in you. Think of a time without the darkness you always dwell on my child.” As I was speaking I noticed more petals falling from the sky, “Think of beautiful music. Think of how you used to like spinning dresses. Think of fingerpainting. Think of how happy your family makes you. Think of how truly magnificent you are. Think of light.” The spectacle was truly a sight. A girl sobbing in a field surrounded by several purple and white petals falling around her. She had her mind full of light for the first time. Tears streaming down her face with a grin lying peacefully on her lips she turned to me, and asked once again, “What did I do to deserve this?” “You lived, my child.” I replied, “You just needed to open your eyes and see happiness again. Light is all around you if you know where to look.” With that I vanished back to my cloud. The next day, I impatiently observed her as she awoke to see if my trick of the mind had worked. To my surprise her head had just a little bit of light in there. I watched the rest of the day and she got dressed, went outside, made herself food, and took care of herself. At the end of the day, her mind was almost a quarter of the way full with light. Before going to bed, she walked outside and observed the flower in front of her house once more, and smiled. I smiled too, and it was in this moment that we both realized that she was going to heal.
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Heavenly Dress Sophia Ramacciotti ‘21
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I was inspired by Sarah Hambly, a designer, who made her own version of a dress with the same fabric as I used. I also wanted to do something that was like a dress that would have been seen at the 2018 Heavenly Bodies Met Gala, or came off the wall of the Sistine Chapel.
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Morning Coffee Maireád Polverino ‘21
Parhelion Ella Zhang ‘22
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Euphoria Madeline Bentzel ‘21
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Untitled Varsha Chilukuri ‘22
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Untitled Anonymous ‘22
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Creative Essay Zoe Lucchesi ‘21 She was my favorite from the moment I first moved into this home as a child. What drew me in first was how her beautiful dark skin looked in front of the light baby blue sky painted behind her. She sat tall with her hands folded gracefully on her lap. It was impossible not to witness her with an aura of royalty around her. Behind her, soft clouds and a rolling grassy hill speckled the landscape. Her rich black hair was gathered and pinned up with the brightest orange flowers I had ever seen. However, a few of her curls escaped in delicate coils and framed her jet black eyes. She had high cheekbones, full lips, and a soft rounded nose that looked perfectly carved and symmetrical. She had on a royal blue Renaissance dress that draped across her skin. However, her beauty came from the softness in her gaze and the gentle smile lines near her dimples. Here she rested, behind the impressive wooden frame that gave her more authority. The intricately carved wood captured history’s most treasured lovers. I used to count the pearls around her neck, trace her coils with my fingertips, gently kiss her painted lips to mine. As I aged, her presiding role would mesh and morph. She was a friend, a mother, a love for me. I grew up dancing through the halls she slept in, her indelible beauty stuck to the canvass and watched me grow up. Yet, something seems to be off about her. She seems unwell. I first noticed the changes on Monday. As I entered the hallway she lived in, the gentle smile behind her eyes was gone. In their absence, I only saw traces of fear. On Tuesday, she sat tensely with her shoulder to her ears. Her arms were drawn in, as if she had just been spooked. By Wednesday, I found a path of orange flower petals leading to the space beneath her. I could see pieces of leaves and sticks poking out of her hair, most of which had fallen out of place. Food, water, and other necessities began disappearing from my home. Sometimes, like on Thursday, I found some of my items resting in her lap. But this morning, my stomach sank to my toes. I felt vomit rise to my clenched teeth, and salty tears rose and burned. My love, my friend, my beloved painting was missing her muse. All I saw in the decrepit frames that held her in place, was a light baby blue sky, a few scattered clouds, and my missing items. The world suddenly felt massive and inexplicable, meaningless by nature. I was alone and destitute without my love. But that night, I found her. She was covered in scratches and incredibly dehydrated. And although her royal garments were nowhere to be seen, I was happy. Now, all I need to do is get her back into the painting. For 26 good, this time.
The Face Of Conscience Shweta Arun ‘22
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Blossoming Mind 28
Lavanya Girish ‘23
Heightened Perspective Kathryn Trent ‘21 For the nature-lover, this was paradise. As the yellow bus wound its way through the Santa Cruz Mountains, the view alternated from soft morning fog covering vast valleys to stippled sunlight dancing through the towering redwoods. Everything was vertical: the deep grooves in the tree bark directed the eye to the sky above, while the steep downward slope just off the road’s right shoulder reminded observers just how high up they really were. The bus curved along the smooth incline, passing the mailboxes of huge houses with no neighbors for miles. Around a distant bend, the driver could just see the sign pointing towards the summer camp at the farthest end of the road, around which the expansive forest formed a perfect, serene haven: a veritable Garden of Eden that held a swimming pool, tennis courts, and a winding maze of ropes to climb. Click! Hissssssss, CLUNK! I turned my head frantically to make sure no one heard the window open. Fortunately, the bus was busy, and no one was paying attention to the plain 11-year-old sitting alone. Quietly, I leaned my head out of the opening, gradually easing the rest of my body up and out of the bus. As I leaned out of the window, I could just overhear a conversation between two kids roughly my age. Their topic of conversation, though, was a bit of a mystery to me. “What do you mean, you don’t want to climb the Giant?” “Last year I fell off and thought I was going to break my arm! If I hadn’t, I would definitely go again this year, though. It was so much fun!” “Well, I can’t wait to be up that high. I wasn’t old enough last year, but it looks so cool!” Ugh. Kids. One short drop later and I was finally free from the crowded yellow prison that took me to and from my least favorite place every day. At last, no more summer camp! I was free to relax on the Santa Cruz beaches, explore the Boardwalk, whatever I wanted! All I had to do was find my way back home. Maybe climbing a tree would help me see the clearest path? From the high branches of the redwood, I surveyed the hill, the nearest firm ground over 40 feet below and only getting
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farther. Across the forest, I could see a course of climbing ropes, complete with a zipline, built into the hillside. That must’ve been what those kids were so excited about. I looked back down towards the road, completely unfazed by the spiraling distance, unlike that kid on the bus who was scared of breaking his arm again. The tree started swaying in the wind, and— “Where are you supposed to be?” An unfamiliar voice spoke. A counselor for the camp I had just been picturing myself escaping. “Huh?” I responded, still half-daydreaming. “Which group are you in? You’re not supposed to just be walking around without an adult,” she said gently. “I’m in the Comets,” I replied. “They were here just a minute ago. We were getting ready to go somewhere, but I guess I zoned out.” “Hmm, well the schedule says you’re supposed to be at ropes.” “No, I don’t think so. I think the counselor said we were going on a walk?” She continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “They’ll want you in a harness and helmet even if you don’t climb, for safety reasons. It’s ok, a lot of kids are scared of heights; you don’t have to hide up here.” “I’m not afraid of heights! And I’m eleven; that’s hardly a kid,” I protested, but once again she didn’t seem to hear. “C’mon, let’s take you over to the rest of the Comets,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me along the descending hill. *** Everyone has a flaw, whether that’s arrogance or selfishness or gullibility or something totally different. The problem is, a lot of the time, we don’t know what our flaw is until we bump up against it. For most of our life, it’s just a quirk. We may not even know it’s there. But one day, your flaw gets you into trouble, and you don’t know how to deal with it. Eventually, if you’re lucky, you might meet someone with the same flaw who’s already figured their life out and is willing to help you fix yours, or at the very least commiserate with you. Most people aren’t so fortunate. And that’s where stories come in.
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Stories written in books and magazines are almost exactly the same as meeting someone, only they can reach hundreds of people at once. Sometimes, stories can teach a lesson, even if they weren’t designed to, especially unhappy ones. These stories make you think to yourself: if the character’s problems were caused by his flaw, maybe yours are too. *** After several minutes of tightening, loosening, securing, and pinching, I was outfitted with a helmet and a rough nylon harness around my waist and legs. The harness had a carabiner attached just in above my navel, and it jingled when I walked. “Have you ever climbed a ropes course?” my counselor asked. “No, but I used to climb trees a lot as a kid, and I’ve done rock climbing once,” I replied, tugging at the harness’s uncomfortable leg-holes. “It can’t be too different.” “Since you’ve never actually done this before, you should start on the Lily Pads course. After that, you can move on to the Giant. It’s really high, though, so it’s ok if you don’t want to do it until later in the week,” he explained. “Like I said, I’ve got this. It’s probably not that hard. I bet I’ll be on the Giant by this afternoon.” “Well, you still need to start on the Lily Pads, just to show us you can manage. The line for it is over there, whenever you’re ready.” The Lily Pads were essentially a very high set of monkey bars built perpendicular to the hillside, only with floating platforms instead of bars. As I stood in line, I watched the boy ahead of me go through the course. Apparently, this kid was a ropes course veteran, because he did the whole thing while blindfolded and walking backwards. First, he climbed a 15-foot ladder that was carved into a wooden post. From the way the ladder was positioned, facing the rungs let you look down the hill towards the leaf-strewn forest floor. Once he was at the top of the structure, he made his way across six swaying plastic discs suspended from one long piece of rope, before finally climbing down another ladder to the ground. The carabiner on his harness was clipped to a belay wire, which a counselor was in charge of holding in case he fell. Which he didn’t, even though he was
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walking backwards. And blindfolded. Gulp. My confidence—which had previously bordered on arrogance—was starting to fail. That kid knew what he was doing, but what if I don’t? The dangling platforms were a pretty small target…and there’s at least a 5-foot gap between each one. What if I can’t jump far enough and end up falling? Sure, the belay wire will probably catch me—that’s basically its entire job—but would it? Those platforms sure are high up, and unsteady too… “Gooooo already!” The kid behind me kicked the back of my shoes. “Ok fine, I’m going,” I snapped, trying to cover the nervousness in my voice. The counselor clipped the belay onto my harness, saying, “You probably won’t slip, but if you do, I’ll be holding onto this wire so you won’t fall.” Tentatively, I looked up the ladder. It seemed like way more than 15 feet; from where I was standing, it didn’t look any less than 30. I hadn’t noticed while I was standing in line, but there were only 5 or 6 actual rungs on there, just enough to get me about a third of the way up. The rest were those skinny metal spikes like telephone poles have. I had always wanted to climb a telephone pole, but now really didn’t seem like the best time. “Well, let’s, uh, let’s get this over with,” I whispered. I grabbed the nearest rung and hesitantly stepped onto the ladder with one foot. With Herculean effort, I dragged myself up the next few feet, knuckles white against the steelgray bars. The wind rushed against my face as I grabbed the first telephone-pole-spike, and my heart soared with relief. The spike, which had terrified me only moments before, felt natural in my hand. This is what I was put on earth to do: climb poles! My confidence reborn, I practically scurried up the next two rungs, and before I knew it, I was poised to step on the lowest telephone spike. Unfortunately, stepping on the spike felt decidedly less natural. Suddenly, the flimsiness of the metal beneath my foot was all I could think about. It was a tiny, tiny spike, supporting the weight of an entire 11-year-old. I froze. My eyes, which had been focused on where to put my hands, were suddenly free to dart around. The world whirled wildly, my vision filled with dark splotches of green and brown and gray, until finally fixing on the ground. “UHHHHH!” All I could do was whimper. It looked like I was several
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stories up; the hill sloped away in front of me in a steep slant that I hadn’t seen until now, and it seemed to get steeper every second. The ground felt miles away. There’s no way this was safe. I tried looking up instead, but the infinitely tall redwood trees only made my head spin even more. It felt like my heart and lungs had stopped working. Terrified tears pricked at my eyes, and I gripped the steel spikes like they were my last lifeline. Was it my imagination, or did the one I was standing on just move? “I-I’m coming down,” I stammered. “No, you can’t,” the counselor countered. “You can’t come this way. You have to go up.” “N-no, I think I’m coming down.” I was already making my way backwards down the ladder. Whatever she said next didn’t even hit my ears. The instant my feet touched the ground, I was out of there. I’m not even sure when my belay wire got unclipped; the next thing I remember, I was sitting on a nearby bench, trying not to let anyone see me as I caught my breath. And that is where I stayed every day during ropes, for the rest of the week. Walk down the hill, put on the harness, sit on the bench. Get up from the bench, take off the harness, walk back up the hill. Repeat tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. Sometimes other kids would sit with me, playing Concentration and Down By the Banks, but the instant a place opened up in the line to climb the Giant, they were gone. But I wasn’t. I could have told you a nicer story, one where I was scared and alone at first, but learned to overcome my negativity and ended up loving to climb. In some respects, that would have been a better story: a more satisfying story with a more clearlydefined plot structure and motivations. But it’s not the story I told. I told a confusing story about a confusing experience caused by confusing emotions and a trick of perspective. I told a story of a time when my fear and pride got the better of me. But sometimes, stories of failure are the stories that need to be told most. It doesn’t have to be paradise; sometimes, it’s better if it’s hell.
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Ghost of the Past Jasmine Wong ‘21
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The Pain of Missing You Shreya Dixit ‘22 Every night when the world stills I lay wide awake My mind drifts to you And my facade starts to break Silent tears roll down my face As all I see is you in pain I can’t help but sob and gasp for breath As I take a trip down memory lane I suppose I’ll never understand Why your time was so small My face twists with agony You promised to catch me when I fall I miss you so much it hurts I squeeze my eyes and pray That one day in the future I’ll laugh with you again someday I’m drowning and I’m lost I search but you’re gone Why did you leave me? I don’t know if I’ll ever move on I can’t seem to escape you You’re always on my mind Your memory tugs at my heart My heartstrings come undone from their bind People say your pain has finally stopped And I really hope it’s true But nothing can hurt more Than the pain of missing you
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Morning Stroll Mira Kondepudy ‘21
Vision Jeanette Guerrero ‘22
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Untitled Mia Overbo ‘23 Part of a series titled “Work Boots,” these shoes symbolize my aspirations to pursue creative work as a career. 39
Rock Your Docs Jasmine Wong ‘21
Untitled Tanisha Shah ‘22
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Cosmic Coffee Jasmine Wong ‘21
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Behind the Mask 42
Anonymous ‘23
Skeleton Anonymous ‘22
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Dragons: Fire and Water Jillian Horowitz ‘23
Kenopsia Allysa Biddle ‘22 44
“A Cool Shoe” Oranus Jamali ‘23
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I feel like shoes are way that someone expresses themselves, and that’s why I chose this. The sole of the shoe have words that I specifically wrote that resonate with my every day sayings and life.
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Being LGBTQ+ in the Midst of a Pandemic Nina Ulaganathan ‘21 In the wake of the CoronaVirus Pandemic, a whole new way of life has been taken up by people across the globe. Its impact has been far-reaching, affecting the livelihoods of millions, largely that of the LGBTQ+ community. From new shelter in place policies to health policies, the queer experience has truly been altered. As a result of the self-quarantine recommendations the CDC has established, many are stuck in their homes with people they love and cherish, but at the same time, many others have been placed in dire situations. With many college closures and school closures, LGBTQ+ youth are at home 24/7. This issue has made lives for LGBTQ+ individuals with guardians who are unaccepting of their identity extremely difficult. In fact, only ⅓ of LGBTQ+ individuals experience parental acceptance. This is because at places such as school and college, people are a lot more comfortable with their identity and embracing who they are. However, when it comes to being back in an unsupportive home, their ability to embrace themselves diminishes, and there are serious mental health implications to this. Studies have shown that unsupportive environments may result in increased dysphoria, particularly among transgender and/or nonbinary youth, as some may need to hide their authentic selves to maintain safety. Furthermore, many resource centers for transgender and LGBTQ+ students have closed, increasing the burden on the queer youth population. However, with increased efforts to virtually provide resources to LGBTQ+ Youth, this problem can be largely mitigated, there will be a few hotlines listed at the end of this article in order to provide anyone who needs it with adequate support. As a result of the pandemic, the economic disparities have heightened for LGBTQ+ people, compared to their 46
straight/cisgendered counterparts as well. This is a testament to the high numbers of LGBTQ+ people who work in industries that have been affected by COVID-19, any working in restaurant settings, retail settings, and educational settings. The Human Rights Watch reports in 2020 that there are almost five million people in the United States who have had their employment impacted by this disease. We can see the financial downturn that this development has caused. Healthcare inequality is another issue that hurts the LGBTQ+ community. Already, 17% of LGBTQ+ adults have no health insurance, compared to 12% of non-LGBTQ+ Americans. Going into the pandemic, these individuals were largely susceptible to the health crisis because of their large lack of adequate healthcare. Today, while increased healthcare measures have become available, the LGBTQ+ community is still at a huge risk because of the respiratory nature of COVID-19. According to the Human Rights Watch in 2020, 21% of queer people have asthma, compared to that of 14% of the non-LGBTQ+ population. This is a result of the high smoking rates among LGBTQ+ individuals, caused by tobacco companies specifically targeting the LGBTQ+ community. Moreover, there are currently certain measures being discussed by the Trump Administration that will prevent LGBTQ+ individuals from getting the healthcare they need. The plan overturns a rule created during the Obama administration making it illegal for health care workers to discriminate against individuals based on their sexual orientation or gender identity. Although this plan was created in May of 2019, it is still in works today, and during COVID-19, this could be catastrophic. It could easily allow a queer person to be turned away simply based on their sexual orientation or gender identity. The Pandemic has affected almost everybody in the world, and LGBTQ+ people have been facing its ramifications every single day. It’s time that we as a community come together and try to mitigate these issues. 47
Bonsai Tree Anonymous ‘23 I used wire, gold ribbon and some foil for this which was a challenge but that’s what made it fun! 48
Almost Famous Emily Iburg ‘21
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State Tag Anonymous ‘21 back to the days when we were young and played with no fears or judgment leaping across the country with not a care in the world except for the limitations of a single color sometimes i look back with a smile to those days before we had to grow up before books were no longer enjoyable before math became unsolvable and before we drifted apart because of our differences other times i look back and wonder how are you doing? we share these memories we share this chapter of our lives but do you look back as often as i find myself doing? or are these memories am i lost to you? i wonder in ten years time like now will i look back on my memories from today the places the people and have the same thoughts? who from today will occupy these thoughts? if i ever see you again one day in a faraway city in a faraway time perhaps we will recognize each other walking down a street perhaps we can catch up and look back on those times with a smile the countless times we limited ourselves to one color and leaped across the country
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or perhaps you will have forgotten those days those little carefree moments perhaps you have already forgotten forgotten those moments forgotten me enjoying the present, looking towards the future never looking back if i ever see you again one day in a faraway city in a faraway time perhaps i will recognize you walking down a street the memories rushing in a small nostalgic smile and then nothing at all
Untitled Minh-Chau Pham ‘22
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Foggy the Chicken Allison Kemp ‘23 This is a painting of Foggy the chicken who lived in my backyard. 53
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The Bug Collector Emily Iburg ‘21
Spring Growth Caroline Bernal ‘21 I felt inspired by the bright colors of nature, especially my prayer plant with its red and green leaves. This photo brings focus to the vibrancy of plants and growth.
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Lev
Emil
Lost In The Peace of Nature Lavanya Girish ‘21 56
Modern Metamorphosis Allison Kemp ‘23
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During both a global pandemic and a national call for equality and justice, it is crucial to seek hope. I designed, sewed, and painted this dress to represent “Modern Metamorphosis,” because while it is always important to have hope, we must also take action and drive towards change.
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ly Iburg ‘22
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Untitled Iz Bernhard ‘21
Warm & Cool Jasmine Sohn ‘22
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Untitled Meera Misra ‘24
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Elephant Jillian Horowitz ‘23
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Morning Caresse Po ‘21
Renewal Anonymous ‘21
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The Reality of Dreams Anika Ramanathan ‘24
Waves Alessia Nicosia ‘22
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Literature Here - Natasha Gupta Natasha Gupta ‘23
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Here the quay is bare, And the beaches are scattered with silence— Ruffled by the memories Blown in with the wind. These are the prints in the sand, And here the sea-gulls glided; Do you see the echo Of their silvered wings? There they skimmed the water, Where the frisky waves subsided, Watching laughing crowds— That long-gone golden spring. Now laughter is distant and scarcely existent, For the people are locked away, Waiting for sun and the distant dawn To glimmer on the bay. Here the people danced, And here the people played; And now the people wait and pray and hope for a new day.
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Writing Sanctuary Genevieve Boken ‘22
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the waves crash, far beyond our view. looking out, i notice two bird window pane. as i view the world outside, i forget everything. in a m the joy and excitement outside the window.
but the window is shut. as my eyes drift from the view to the windo it’s moments like these that i start to feel hope, but the crushing fe moment ends is overwhelming.
as i walk back to the couch, the skies churn, threatening a fiery dow moment of hope, i run back to the window, banging on the glass in screams fill the room, you start to disappear.
i wish i could drift away into the waters of my mind as you do, wish lost. but anytime i come close, i am sucked back to the room. this r locks on every cabinet, but such a beautiful, beautiful view.
Half Moo
Anonymous ‘
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ds singing angelic melodies on our moment of pure bliss, i can only feel
ow frame, i am forced to remember. eeling of disappointment when the
wnpour. clinging to my precious n a vain attempt to escape. as my
h i could afford to slip away and get room with bolts on the door, and
on Bay
‘21
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Rainy Day Anonymous ‘22
Light Amidst Darkness Shrobana Sengupta ‘22
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Sunrise Ella Zhang ‘22
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STUDENT TEAM Director & Magazine Designer Jasmine Wong Art Lead - Victoria Kerslake Shweta Arun Zach Fernandez Allison Kemp Mia Overbo Quinlyn Phan Careese Po Sophia Ramacciotti Literature Lead - Alexa Parish Caroline Bernal Kathryn Trent Stella Yang Advertising Publications Lead - Shrobana Sengupta Shweta Arun Zach Fernandez Allison Kemp Teacher Moderator and Supervisor Ms. Deak
Photo Lead - Emily Iburg Caroline Bernal Mira Kondepudy Caresse Po Jasmine Wong Ella Zhang Design Lead - Riley Stump Nicole Inoue Shrobana Sengupta Julia Ton Sophia Ramacciotti Jasmine Wong Photos from Pexels Jess Vide Anete Lusina Tom Arrowsmith Photos from Unsplash Alfred Kenneally Diana Orey Neven Krcmarek
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