Sonder Issue No.6

SONDER

Everyone has a story.

SONDER STAFF

Springfield High School’s Miller Integrated Nature Experience (MINE) gives students a look at Oregon they may never see otherwise. The program combines nature writing, Oregon geography, leadership, and journalism while providing a foundation for environmental consciousness and stewardship. Send all inquiries to ivan.miller@springfield.k12.or.us Or 875 7th Street, Springfield, OR 97477

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Embracing Authenticity

52 Rock is Not Dead

58 Shaping Spirits

Editors-in-Chief

Carly Bramhall

Jay Bramhall

Yuriana Espino Sosa

Managing Editors

Kevin Gustafson

Hannah Holman

Copy Editors

Damian Rivera

Drew Campbell Writers

Audrey Sommerville

Courtney Brown

Desmond Scott

Jericho Truett

Kassandra McLennan

Logan Bradley

Tamerra Cervantes-Carlos

Creative Director

Juniper Wollock

Graphic Designers

Elijah Lowder

Emely Castaneda-Rivera

Grace Paugh

Natalee Ness

Vanessa Smith

Digital Artist

Koda Mihm

Photographer

Madison Blaine

Advertising Manager

Lucas Paugh

Supporting Staff

Aysia Rattanaphosy

Caden Trieu

Landon Cowan

Tech Director

Kenneth Meyer

MINE Director

Kayla Unrein Adviser

Ivan Miller

Aaron Rogosin / Red Bull Content Pool

Cover design by Koda Mihm

The Rhythm of Writing

Yuriana Espino relates her experiences in Mariachi del Sol to the MINE journalism program, while sharing the stories of first-time writers in the class.

Yuriana Espino Sosa Kenneth Meyer

During freshman year, I was in a band class where only five students knew how to play an instrument and the rest had never touched one. I picked up the vihuela because it was small and felt more comfortable to hold. Equipped with five sensitive strings, you have to play with your fingernails. The chords didn’t make sense to me at first and the notes just looked like a bunch of random lines on a piece of paper. I felt myself staring at the set of music, trying to figure out what the accents on each line meant, or how to even play the measures. I took the instrument home and practiced on my own for hours. It was a struggle. I played through pain, my fingers aching and blistered, continually pressing on the strings and strumming chords.

The sensation of being on stage took me to another world, standing in front of the mic, the bright lights illuminating my face. It was my first time singing in front of a crowd. Then people started applauding and cheering. My heart raced, but I sang loud and proud.

In a way, music is a lot like writing. When I walked into the journalism class for the first time my junior year I had no idea what a profile, pitch, or even a feature meant. It was like learning music, starting from the bottom again.

When putting a set list for a performance together you can’t play five consecutive songs with the same rhythm because you’ll make the audience want to leave. It’s the same thing when making a magazine. You can’t run ten sports stories and one narrative, or readers might close the book.

Many students come into journalism with no experience. Jericho Truett had never even heard of profile before coming into journalism advisor Ivan Miller’s classroom. Truett emailed Christian Dixon, an artist who first joined the Air Force and has now developed into quite the artist. Truett heard back from Dixon within a week and did his first interview. Confused, Truett laid out the quotes in an order that made sense, thinking he was done. Soon enough, epiphany dawned on

him and realized he needed to write a story. He pumped out a first draft in two days, and eventually it turned into a strong profile.

Audrey Sommerville came into Miller’s introductory journalism class in the first semester of her freshman year. Sommerville was just trying to navigate a classroom setting, after two years away, especially in a brand new school. She liked the way Miller taught, and going on a backpack trip with the older journalism students made her want to come back the next year. Sommerville joined the Miller’s integrated outdoor program her sophomore year. When it came to writing, she couldn’t get past a few paragraphs. Unmotivated and struggling, she didn’t know what to do.

Miller’s writing class gave Sommerville a different perspective. It didn’t feel like a class, more like a group of motivated students. She reached out to Calvin Royal III, a ballet dancer, wanting to write about dance, which has been her passion for seven years. She came across Royal III through Instagram and five days later set up an interview. It took about three weeks to draft up a story.

Journalism allows people from different backgrounds and knowledge in writing to come together and make a magazine. We create the Miller Integrated Nature Experience (MINE) as we go.

MINE allows students to open their minds and discover what they’re capable of. It gave me a voice to express myself through the art of storytelling. Just like Truett and Summerville, other students have no idea how to set up an interview, draft stories, transcribe an interview, or make a magazine in general. Just like in music, practice builds confidence and kids who come up with the most wonderful ideas. Miller’s writing class not only teaches students how to write, it gives them a voice. MINE brings together a diverse group of students with the hopes of making the best magazine in the United States.

Rolling with the Punches

Loren Mutch finds comfort and success in the aggressive sport of roller derby.

Courtney Brown

A roller derby game consists of one jammer and four blockers for each team. The first jammer that gets past the blockers is called the lead jammer and is able to call time on the match, also referred to as the jam. In a 2019 game, Loren Mutch burst through a pack of blockers, earning the lead jammer title, while her opponent struggled to fight off the blockers. It was the first jam of the second half of the game and her team had a narrow lead against St. Louis’ team, Arch Rival. Mutch lapped the track and just before colliding with the pack, pivoted to the outside edge, narrowly missing them and making it through another lap, scoring eight points. Coming back around, she leapt over the inside edge, landing perfectly, again passing the pack and earning another two points right before ending the jam. The jam was left at 10-0, and the game 74-52, securing the lead for the rest of the game.

Mutch, a four-time finalist and two-time winner of the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association (WFTDA) championship and the 2014 MVP, used to be a terrible skater. She was always the worst skater at kids birthday parties and never excelled in any other sport. At 14 years old, her sister’s friend started a roller derby league, the Kitsap Derby Brats. She gave it a try. Despite starting off com-

pletely unable to skate, she quickly fell in love with the sport and her passion took over. After a few years, and a lot of hard work, she made it through the learning curve and became the best player on the team.

Mutch says, “I fell in love with the community and the competitiveness, and I just never stopped playing.”

In 2011, Mutch moved from her hometown of Port Orchard, Washington, to Portland, Oregon to earn a degree in sports management at Warner Pacific University. It was there that she first saw the Rose City Rollers, an internationally recognized team based in Portland. She was inspired watching them earn a championship title. A year later, Mutch tried out for the team. She was awarded the spot and quickly decided this was what she was meant to do with her life, finding her dream job.

An initial lack of skill in skating was not the only challenge Mutch faced growing up. As a teen she developed polyps, non-cancerous growths, on her vocal cords. They inhibited her ability to speak and be heard. Mutch says, “it was really hard for me to talk and project, like it sounded like I had laryngitis. I sounded like I was whispering.”

Roller derby proves a chaotic and cacophonous sport, and communication between team members is important. Unable to speak,

much less be heard by anyone, created unusual challenges that needed creative solutions. Mutch came up with non-verbal cues to communicate until her final surgery to remove the polyps in 2016. In total, she had four surgeries on her vocal cords throughout her teens and 20s to fix her voice.

Through the surgeries, Mutch got support from her teammates, and that community has become one of the most important things in her life. It was the thing that initially drew her to derby and has remained her favorite aspect of the sport. Nobody cared that she had a hard time speaking.

“There are some of the best people in the world in that community,” says Mutch, “a place where people can find a place where they belong. It’s a place where people feel empowered, where you find community, you find support.”

Mutch’s team, the Rose City Rollers, is her absolute favorite part of the sport. She loves cheering them on and has a continuous stream of praise for them. Mutch feels they are connected through their shared experience of going through wins and loses. She says the support they all provide each other is essential to keep going even when things get tough.

“I have to go a hundred because my teammates are gonna go a hundred. And then vice versa,” Mutch said. Even on days when she’s feeling unmotivated or tired, her teammates keep her going.

Mutch also loves the competition, which fuels her desire to be the best. To do so means staying healthy, no simple task considering the risk of injury is high. Mitigating the risk and facing the fear every game takes a lot of mental energy and training. “I don’t wanna get hurt, but that is part of the game,” says Mutch. “It’s bound to happen.”

Mutch’s passion for roller derby has only grown throughout the years. Even after experiencing major challenges, she persevered, becoming the amazing player she is today. She’s looking forward to competing with her teammates, and then going home to celebrate each win with her wife and dog.

Kelsey Wasikowski gazes into the distance at Mt. Hood.

Spirit of Swimming

A late November afternoon in La Mirada, California, Kelsey Wasikowski was dancing her heart out with her teammates. Together they all jumped around, while yelling the lyrics to Fergalicious. To an outsider, the team may look like a goofy group of girls with nothing to do, however, it is just the opposite, this is how her teammates warm up Wasikowski for her race to come, the 200 yard breaststroke.

By the time Wasikowski stepped onto the blocks, the sun had set and the moon had risen, just like her feelings. Any anxieties the girl could’ve had were left somewhere back home in Eugene, Oregon. Feelings of joy and power now rush through Wasikowski.

Once she broke the surface of the water, everything froze in time, for a mere fraction of a second, and then no one could catch up. No thoughts ran through her head, just passion and adrenaline streaming through body and mind. As Wasikowski hit the wall she was met with the roars of her teammates, cheering for her success and her first ever U.S. Open qualifying time. Despite being placed in the second fastest heat, her time beat seven other top finalists. She had just swam the second fastest female 200 breaststroke at the 2022 Kevin B Perry Senior Meet.

is a collegiate baseball coach. She’s lived in Arizona, Oregon, Indiana, and now resides in Oregon once again. Moving around so much made it hard for her to find any sense of normalcy. Throughout her childhood Wasikowski tried to find some interest that would stick.

“[Swimming] was the one sport that I would actually stick with, especially when I was in elementary school, when I was trying all the sports…I was moving around a lot, and so it was the only thing that stayed the same in every place,” says Wasikowski.

Swimming became the backbone of her life, and she threw herself into the sport, finding a release for negative emotion, a place where she eventually found herself. But she understands it cannot rule her life. Often, when she’s away from her sport, she tries to forget it exists, separating it from her life completely. Wasikowski surrounds herself with friends, going out and having fun. Having an identity outside of being a swimmer is huge, with the time it takes up, training before and after school, making sure to eat healthy, avoiding illness, it can be easy to forget to make time to be a kid.

Ever since Wasikowski was 6 years old, she’s been swimming competitively. Up until high school, Wasikowski moved around quite a bit, as her father

“I try to give myself a really good mental break,” says Wasikowski. “Usually, when we take a break from swimming, it’s right after the end of big championship meets,” referring to the two-week long break swimmers take in August, “and having backto-back meets, weekend after weekend, as well as, all the stress is a lot. So I take the time to… do my hobbies and kind of just exercise my brain in different ways.”

Above all, it’s important to find a happy medium,

Kelsey Wasikowski not only finds a bright future through competitive swimming but also discovers a deeper sense of self.

Kass McLennan Contributed

where different aspects of Wasikowski’s life can co-exist together. As a senior at Churchill High School, she competes on the high school swim team. Here she has the opportunity to be an ordinary high-schooler and earn points through meets to help her school remain on top in Oregon’s 5A division. During Wasikowski’s time as a high school athlete, she has left a major impact on her school and the Midwestern League, holding numerous school records, district and state titles. To top that she holds a 5A state record, though she didn’t earn it by herself.

On February 17, 2022, Wasikowski’s childhood teammate, and best friend, passed away. The next day she found herself at the OSAA 5A State Championships, competing in the 100 breaststroke, her friend’s number one event. Prior to this race Wasikowski wouldn’t have considered breaststroke to be her best stroke. Diving into the water she knew she wasn’t alone in her lane, she felt her friend’s spirit within her, racing with her. This landed Wasikowski the state title, 5A record, and a new Junior National qualifying time.

“Every time I swim breaststroke, I’m always thinking about her,” Wasikowski shares. “I give credit to her for the reason I’m good at breaststroke. I feel like she’s swimming through me..”

After that race, Wasikowski found herself surrounded with love, by her teammates, coaches, family, and other adoring swimmers. It had been a therapeutic and enlightening race. Although the attention she gained isn’t just a one-time thing, being the humble and kind athlete she is. People are drawn to her, race after race. Through all her efforts and constant pushes, Wasikowski’s diligent training has earned her a scholarship to swim for the University of Arizona.

Moving around throughout her childhood, learning to find balance, and experiencing loss, all have built Wasikowski into the athlete she is today. At a pool full of hundreds of swimmers, you’d think it would be hard to identify someone you’re looking for. Though if you are looking for Wasikowski it’d be harder to not find her, as she shines bright as the sun with her warm smile, and funky dance moves.

Kelsey Wasikowski dives off the blocks at the 2021 Long Course State Championships.

Anika Thompson prepares for a cross country race for University of Oregon.

Striding Toward Hayward Field Striding Toward Hayward Field

The atmosphere at Hayward Field has always inspired Junction City native and cross country and track star Anika Thompson. She describes running there, “like you’re at the Olympics or something”, and is thankful because her family and friends are close enough to come watch her perform on the big stage. Hearing thousands of people cheering for you, running under the lights, and competing against the best to ever do it, Thompson has found her place, in Eugene, Track Town USA. And she’s out to prove she has the same fire and drive as some of the all-time greats.

Thompson had no idea what would happen when she started running, but she has become something of a local legend, earning the right to pursue her dreams of running track and cross country at the collegiate level. Thompson crushed a state record in the 1,500 meters and swept the 1,500 and 3,000 titles in 2019, while also capturing the 4A cross country title. Now a sophomore at the Univer-

sity of Oregon (UO), Thompson dreams of a national championship.

In middle school, Thompson had an interest in soccer that later developed into a passion for distance running in high school. Outlasting her opponents in speed and stamina helped Thompson realize she could earn a scholarship at UO.

During high school, Thompson’s biggest inspiration may have come when she could not compete. Covid hit during her junior year at Junction City High School, but her focus stayed on running. Thompson recorded herself running all the time, sending it to coaches, desperately trying to show that she could run at the next level.

“This really motivated me and I thought, maybe one day I can run in college, hopefully at the University of Oregon,” says Thompson.

Thompson’s dad was a good high school runner, and one of her greatest inspirations. Unable to continue running in college he created a scrapbook of every

Bella Brown Tim Healy

Anika Thompson finds inspiration through her community and University of Oregon legend Steve Prefontaine.

thing his daughter did that he couldn’t and it remains one of Thompson’s favorite things to look through for inspiration. The scrapbook includes news articles, awards, medals, and everything in between.

Other than her dad, Steve Prefontaine’s story has pushed Thompson to be her best. Prefontaine (Pre) paved the way for many athletes and is someone who Thompson still looks up to. Pre was incredibly charismatic while at Oregon, passionate about creating a safe space to connect the Eugene and Springfield communities. While at UO, he won seven NCAA titles, never lost a race by more than a mile length, and owned every American record between 2,000 and 10,000 meters at the time.

mile race in 1969. Just as Prefontaine did, Thompson isn’t afraid to take on the biggest of competition while showing intense leadership as just a sophomore at UO.

The University of Oregon has an extremely diverse team, with members from as far as Poland and others from as close as Eugene, just five minutes from campus. Since the track and cross country teams spend just about every minute together, they have become a family and they work tirelessly to achieve success. They wake up at dawn, often discovering the best of themselves running on Pre’s Trail, something Thompson refers to as feeling “alive, talking and involved,” a self described “introverted wallflower” coming out of her shell and joining a community of elite athletes, securing a spot in a storied track history.

Thompson says, “I looked up to Prefontaine, from the youngest age my dad showed me that movie and I fell in love with it and thought he was the coolest guy ever. You see him all over Eugene and he’s just an Oregon hero.”

Growing up, Thompson displayed some of the same spirit, breaking records and standing out from the competition, fighting through pain and outlasting opponents She coasted past all of her competition in 2019, winning the 1,500 meters with a 4.47 record and Pre did the same with his 8.41 record for the two

This year is especially important for Thompson. One of her close teammates, Malia Pivec, describes her as “the unsung hero of the team. She loves what she does and it shows” and followed up, saying that “she is an ultimate team player who understands that much more can be accomplished as a team than can be achieved individually.”

Now exploring new territory, running overseas, Thompson is at the strongest point in her career, recently qualifying to represent Ireland because of her dual citizenship in the U20 European Cross Country Championships in Italy. Thompson went head-to-head against the best in the world, racing in Italy against some big names like Maria Forero and Ilona Mononen. Thompson is invested in running and has much more to prove.

Kyle Troup rocks his iconic look.

The Pr o with the fro

On February 21, 2021, at the Bowlero Jupiter in Jupiter, Florida, Fox hosted the 2021 PBA Players Championship. The championship consists of a stepladder final, meaning the fourth and fifth seed play each other, the winner of that match then plays the third seed, and so on until the finals match against the 1st seed. The winner of the finals match would receive $250,000 along with the major title the PBA Players Champion. If a bowler achieves a perfect game (300) in the finals match they could earn an extra $1 million, which would easily mark the highest sum of money ever received by a single individual for a PBA bowler in a championship event.

Kyle Troup started as the first seed, guaranteeing him at least the $180,000 second place prize if he lost the finals match. Early on, he decided in the first of the 28 qualifying matches that he wouldn't settle for anything less than first place.

Dick Allen, though, had the same plan. Allen ran the ladder as the third seed, defeating the fourth seed Tom Smallwood, and the second seed Francois Lavoie, putting him up against Troup in the finals. Neither player had ever competed in a major championship, adding more nerves along-

side the television lights.

The championship started over a month prior and the players managed to stay locked in, minimizing mistakes, focused on one goal, their first major title. Going into the finals match Troup considered himself to be at a disadvantage, since Allen had bowled two consecutive winning games on the lanes before the finals match, whereas Troup had bowled none. This meant Allen had already calibrated his shot and Troup would have to figure it out fast. The game went back and forth, with both players avoiding a single mistake. This changed in the ninth frame. Considered the “foundation frame” in bowling, it has a major impact on a score because it is the bowler's final chance to capitalize on the double point count that a strike grants.

Going into the ninth with a slight point advantage, Allen would win if both players struck out. However, Allen threw his shot and left the 7-10 split–the impossible split–almost guaranteeing an open frame and leaving room for Troup to pounce on the mistake. Allen missed the spare in the ninth frame and Troup threw a strike. Closing the game with no mistakes and winning

Logan Bradley Contributed

Professional bowler Kyle Troup distinguishes himself through his eccentric presentation and style.

Kyle Troup bowls at the 2022 PBA Players Championship East Final.

his first major title, Troup earned $250,000, the greatest sum of money ever won in a PBA major championship.

This was just the start for Troup. Later that year, Troup qualified for the PBA Tour Playoffs, which is done by overall pincount throughout the events the bowlers competed in throughout the year. He qualified with the number one seed again, and defeated Sam Cooley in the finals match to win his second title of the year and earn $100,000 more.

Troup wasn't always this successful. Coming from humble beginnings in a small town in North Carolina, he was raised in a bowling family. His father, John Douglas Troup and his Mother Sherri Herndon Troup, had him on the lanes as a child, where he began bowling at 3 years old. Unable to even hold a bowling ball correctly, he wanted to bowl just like his father.

“Whenever I started bowling my father said that I always winded up wanting to throw his ball, which was 15 pounds. And thus he started me with a heavy ball at the time,” says Troup.

A 15-pound ball might be too heavy for many adults, but Troup learned to use two hands to get the ball down the lane, a style that was unpopular at the time, but would soon become a phenomenon amongst the bowling community because of bowlers such as Troup.

Dedicating his start and success to his father, Troup says, “he started me with a heavy ball at a very young age, which caused me to bowl two handed, which has been my driving success now in my career.”

Troup’s father wasn't any ordinary bowler, he was one of the greats. With eight national titles and 41 regional titles, he dominated the PBA. And that competitive spirit wore off on Troup, who continued to bowl, all of the time. At 17, he joined the PBA, working at Wendy’s to help make ends meet. Honing his skills, he became one of the youngest bowlers to ever make the North Carolina All Star team, a small, prestigious group of athletes. He then went on to be the top qualifier at the 2018 Team USA Trials.

He acquired vast amounts of knowledge along the way, not only about bowling but about life as well.

“Mentally I feel like is where I've learned the most. I've learned to focus on my process and stay in the moment,” says Troup. “I've learned to control what I can control” and forget about the rest.

He adds, “I've learned how to become a man, you know, losing my mother, going back out on the road, having to accept some things in my personal life and still be able to get the job done.”

Troup's mother passed away from cancer in 2019. Troup managed his grief from what he learned from the sport. Keeping his mind focussed, always staying ready for the next frame of life.

Looking towards the future, Troup wants to continue on the pro tour for the next ten years and retire soon after that, eventually fulfilling a lifelong dream of owning a bowling alley. He wants the alley to be more of an investment in the future of the sport than a means of income. He also has set his sights on being inducted into the PBA Hall of Fame, and if he continues on the track that he is on, having won nine titles at the young age of 31, he may just get there. His 2021 season was his best yet, competing in a few more events that year, he ended up with a net purse of a whopping $496,900 in season earnings. This accomplishment broke the previous record for season earnings set by Walter Ray Williams Jr., earning Troup the Chris Schenkel PBA player of the year award, winning in a landslide vote. This award was the cherry on top of one of the greatest seasons ever bowled.

Hustle in Hinojosa

Hustle in Hinojosa

University of Oregon soccer star Alyssa Hinojosa transitions from college career to coaching.

Hannah Holman

The crowd applauded as Alyssa Hinojosa and the rest of the University of Oregon women’s soccer team stepped out of the locker room and onto Soni McAlister Field. Hinojosa was back in her hometown, playing against the University of Southern California. She was restless and on edge. She glanced quickly from left to right, hoping to spot her mother and brother watching from the stands. Her attention was drawn straight ahead of her as she locked eyes with her twin brother, jumping up and down with excitement. He was standing next to their mom and all of their other relatives, all wearing matching green and yellow jerseys, displaying her number, 10. Instantly, her face lit up in a smile, elation and pride taking over. She was ready to play.

Growing up in Sylmar, California, Hinojosa began playing club soccer at the age of 5, playing with girls three years older. Along with soccer, she went to the Junior Olympics for track, running the 400m, 4x100, and 4x400. Following a track injury, she decided to solely pursue soccer. Now, at 24, she still dedicates many hours of her time and energy towards the sport.

Eric Evans

Hinojosa’s college soccer career began at the UO in 2016. Dedicated work throughout high school landed her the opportunity of a lifetime: a full-ride scholarship to play NCAA Division I soccer at a university close to home. It was a dream come true. She proved herself and played as the starting center back in her very first game as a freshman. At one point, she even had the most consecutive starts in UO soccer history before COVID-19 struck and several players stayed to play for a fifth year.

Hinojosa is hard-working, determined, and someone who has always wanted to win. She found motivation from her family, specifically her mother.

“She had high expectations of her teammates”, her mom, Monica Lopez, states, “She expected her teammates to have the same drive as her [and] work their hardest, as she did”

From a young age, she always devoted time to bettering herself through private training and soccer camps. All parents, teammates, and coaches recognized her talent by the age of 6, as clubs were already reaching out to recruit her.

Her mother also mentions her drive in school

and her time-management skills.

“She would be working, staying up late at night, doing her homework,” she says, “knowing that she had to have everything done before she got to school [because] after school she had to go to practice.”

Hinojosa was the first to graduate college in her family with not only a bachelor’s degree, but also her master’s. Juggling her education and being a successful student athlete has been one of her biggest achievements.

Throughout all of her incredible accomplishments, her mother has always been by her side.

“She raised us pretty much by herself,” says Hinojosa. “So, just playing for her my whole life and trying to make her proud, that’s been my inspiration.”

During college, Hinojosa devoted so much time to soccer that she struggled to find classes she was passionate about or chase dreams other than soccer. Now graduated, she found work as a communications specialist for the School of Music and Dance at UO. She enjoys telling stories, working in marketing, and spreading the word out to the community about what students and faculty are doing, but she fills up the rest of her time coaching soccer at Springfield High School.

Hinojosa never thought about being a coach until she had the chance to coach for a Kid Sports summer camp during college. She decided to teach her own private lessons. Hinojosa saw the lack of advanced training in the Eugene and Springfield area as an opportunity.

“I teach soccer based on what I would

have wanted to get out of it myself,” she says. “I teach because I want kids to know the things that they should know when they need to know it.”

Hinojosa thought she could contribute by teaching more tactical skills to local athletes. She found herself drawn to coaching at Springfield High, as she could represent and be a role model for other people of color. She hopes to be someone who players can seek out for advice or find inspiration.

One moment of epiphany struck Hinojosa during her junior year of college that she wants every young soccer player to realize.

“I love this sport, I love everything about it and all of the lessons I’ll get from it, but this isn’t Alyssa,” she says, “This isn’t going to define me at the end of the day. If I make a mistake, it will be okay.”

Being someone who has played at a high level, she has learned countless lessons that can be spread around the community. For her teammates, she has shown leadership and drive. For her trainees, she exhibits the confidence and determination needed to succeed. And for her family, she has expressed support and encouragement and received the same back in return. She believes that for high school and college athletes there is a point where you can either crack or keep moving forward. Even the best athletes in the world have made mistakes in the past; the decisions they made after those mistakes are how they got to where they are now. Always striving for improvement and using mistakes as an opportunity allows for growth and learning.

Alyssa Hinojosa dribbles the ball down Papé Field.

Kate Crawford smiles as she leans against her police car.

Breaking Barriers

Kate Crawford sits in a black car, the kind that intimidates some people, steered by those individuals dressed in black and blue, armed with weapons sometimes thought of as bad but used for good. She sits back confidently within her seat, the car clean, scented with Febreze through the air conditioning. The magnetic walkie talkie clings loudly against the car console as she sets it down after speaking. Not one bit of nerve shows, her sunglasses dark makes her appear fierce. The radio plays the latest hits as she listens to the quick calls over the walkie-talkie, searches plate numbers, and surveys the road.

Crawford slips her black gloves on, waiting patiently for her backup, anxiously anticipating when she can make her move. She sits straight up, strong like a tree trunk, sure of herself, always contemplating what the criminal will do. As she gazes towards the street, her black shades block any sunlight that might appear. Her backup pulls up.

Out of the car and moving effortlessly, she walks toward a potential arrest, giving her backup only a few seconds to slip his own gloves on, and move. She clearly takes the lead. The traffic slows, people gawking out their window, hoping to catch a glimpse of action, wondering who, what, and how? The

case: Female who missed a court date regarding theft. A warrant suggests potential arrest.

In a calm and collected manner, Crawford asks questions. Avoiding any sort of reaction, she remains composed. The process feels long, the suspect compliant. Crawford grabs her cuffs tightening them on and leads the woman toward the front of the shiny black car. Her partner watches the arrestee as Crawford opens the passenger door reaching for a lighter. Crawford lights the cigarette of the arrestee, keeping her submissive.

Crawford constantly puts herself in stressful situations, always thinking of the safety of the community.

She is muscular, tough, and all business when it comes to the job. Just two and half years in, she does a little bit of everything–the first female to make the Springfield Police Department’s (SPD) SWAT team, the medic for the SWAT team, an explosive breacher for the SWAT team, and firearms instructor. She’s always looking to support the team and take on new opportunities.

Springfield Police Department SWAT officer Kate Crawford enjoys a multifaceted career in public service.

Tamerra Cervantes Carlos Madison Blaine

“You set yourself up for potential rejection or failure, or put yourself in a situation that pushes you outside your comfort zone,” says Crawford. “And for everybody, that’s different as to what that is. But ultimately, the more times you choose that, and whether you fail or you succeed, you’re still learning from all those opportunities.”

Fellow SPD officer Matt Newton says, “she’s a fast learner. She had exceptional skills coming into the job and did well through her initial training. There’s very little negative about her… She brings a lot to the table. She has a strong skill set… and it was noticeable from the start that she was going to excel.”

In the fall of 2016, Crawford earned a psychology degree from Oregon State University, but was unsure of what she wanted to do next. “I was really interested in the medical field,” she says. “That’s why I decided to get my EMT license. [The] fire department was actually the first job that I applied for and I happened to get it. So I got in there, and I really enjoyed my time there. I loved the people that I worked with. It was a really great experience but I found myself just being more and more drawn to the police side. I was always super interested and anytime we’d go on calls with the police, like what they were doing, and it’s a little bit more fast paced, I’d say the police side.”

Police work involves fast-paced multitasking, questioning people, “conducting several interviews” throughout a shift. It involves much more than just physically doing the job. It requires a strong mentality. “It’s not just a 9 to 5 office job where you go and you clock in and you do your eight hours of work, and you clock out,” says Crawford Police officers can work 12 hours or more every shift and they must be ready for whatever comes at them.

“I think that it takes a special kind of person to do any kind of service job, whether

that’s police, firefighter, even nurses, doctors and things like that,” says Crawford. “Anything where you’re putting yourself in constant stressful situations and working really long hours and doing shift work.”

People look at the intimidating car as it passes, some giving a second somewhat unnerving glance. Children wave with a smile, others put their heads down and walk the other way. Crawford remains cool as the people around her seem to move in slow motion. They don’t want to do anything wrong, the streets move as if they were in slow motion. Yet, she’s always searching.

Crawford likes to keep herself busy. She strives to become better and isn’t satisfied with being ordinary. “I try to always be working towards something, even something small,” she says. “It doesn’t have to be big.”

Of course Crawford’s plate is full most of the time, but she has learned to focus on the positive. Through all she accomplishes, her motivation pushes her through. “I think what motivates me, it’s a combination of a lot of things, reminding myself why I’m here and the things that I do love… the opportunities that it gives me,” says Crawford.

Doing what she loves outweighs the obstacles the job poses. Living up to your own dream may not always be ideal but Crawford appreciates that she has her parents’ support above all else. “I know that they would never admit this, but I’m sure in some respects they would wish for me to be in a job where I don’t necessarily put my life on the line every day, but at the same time, I know that they know that this is what makes me happy,” says Crawford.

Embracing Authenticity

Brianna Madia spreads a powerful message about vulnerablity and authenticity on social media.

Unrein

Kayla

Brianna Madia 30 Brianna Madia relaxes beside her van with her beloved puppy Dagwood.

Sitting in the heat on what should have been a normal August day in the Utah desert, author Brianna Madia’s life came to a standstill. Madia had set out for a two-week road trip in her van, affectionately named Bertha, along with her three dogs–Dagwood, Bucket, and Birdie–presumably ready to go wherever the road took them, however, she did not anticipate getting stuck. Madia left the town of Moab and headed west toward Capital Reef. About an hour later, she turned off the highway, conducted normal checks on Bertha and calmly drove down the unknown dirt road hidden in sagebrush.

She continues on the path for the next 48 miles until an eventual standstill. There were no signs, no symptoms, Bertha just stopped. Madia climbed on top in hopes of finding better reception, and calling the nearest mechanic, 190 miles away. She was uncertain a driver would make the 400-mile round trip to rescue her, but remained calm. She slid the door of the van open, letting the dogs out to run and play. She took a swig from her bottle of wine and watched the sun go down, surrounded by a sort of peaceful chaos, she realized that a certain part of her life was over, that some sort of reset proved necessary.

Madia suddenly saw the way we live life–the earth, the layers, the crust, the sudden shifting, and the moving pieces. The violent shift and the gentle flows, this was life. Coming from a middle-class family in Connecticut, Madia had never thought about this growing up. That’s not what she was taught in school, rather the message was get a job and work for the rest of her life. That narrative suggests: get married, buy a house, settle down, have kids, buy all the stuff that you just can’t live without, then hope at the end you’re still a little bit alive so you can finally go do something with your life.

“Where I came from, how much you had was always more important than who you were,” writes Madia in her memoir, Nowhere for Very Long: The Unexpected Road to an Unconventional Life. “Wealth was not measured in the stories you tell, but in the price of your car and the size of your house. And it wasn’t even the concept of wanting all the stuff that turned my stomach. I understand wanting; it was the sickness of wanting all the stuff so badly and so often that I might forget to go find what I needed. It was the insatiability of it all; that no amount of anything was ever going to be enough because I hadn’t found what enough truly felt like. So, I set out to prove what I didn’t need.”

In that moment she decided to blaze her own path, rewriting her narrative.

While Madia can rewrite her narrative, she can’t rewrite the events of a tragic past. At the age of 16, Madia’s dad packed his bags and left, leaving nothing more than a text saying, “I know you’re upset.” The traumatic event resulted in a broken-hearted mother and left Madia feeling alone, searching for answers.

“At least with death you can mourn, it feels much hollower when someone simply disappears,” says Madia.

With no further outlets, Madia was forced to put on a face, to act like everything was fine and to hide the truth from everyone around her. These emotions would later come out when she saw her father at a party after having no contact for six years. All of the pent up emotions burst out of her and she almost took her life that day.

Madia now knows there’s no use in holding back the pain and strives to use her platform of almost 330,000 Instagram followers to destigmatize mental hardships, using her memoir as the foundation to share her story and true authenticity.

Madia’s following speaks for itself, but she strives to change social media for the better, making it a safe platform where people can share their true selves, and showing off cute photos of her dogs and living out of her beloved van feel like added perks.

for them about the adventure,” says Madia. “I thought that was just the coolest thing in the world.”

But nothing is easy. Madia had to tell her mother she was quitting her job to live out of a van, having only the bare necessities, but it would all be worth it in the end.

What once started out as just a fun place to share photos of her dog and the cool adventure has encouraged others to do the same. She has been able to share a more vulnerable side and in return has received praise from her following.

“One of my favorite things that anyone ever said to me about my writing and the things that I share… is you give people permission to be a little bit more themselves,” says Madia.

Madia had a passion for writing long before the compliments and support from the internet world. She started at the age of 6 by writing a neighborhood newsletter, continuing into adulthood by majoring in writing and rhetoric. Now thanks to Instagram, she has the confidence to embrace and share her story. Going beyond expectation she has made The New York Times best sellers list with her memoir, which left Madia speechless.

“To be able to write something… with or without Instagram, it’s such an amazing honor and it’s really indescribable,” she says.

Though the journey was hard, embracing the unknown and learning to welcome everyone with open arms is exactly what Madia always needed. She has traveled the world, in and outside of her van, explored places most only dream of seeing, and continues to share her story, the good, the bad, everything.

Madia’s story starts like many others, working at a job she didn’t enjoy. She was stuck in an office working a 9-5 as a technical writer for a software company and wanted more. Then she was offered an influencing gig with a dog treat company, which changed the way Madia saw influencing.

“They offered me obviously unlimited dog treats and they would give $200 a month to spend in gas to take my dogs on an adventure and take some pictures and write something

Though the journey was hard, deciding to go a completely opposite route, embracing the unknown and learning to welcome everyone with open arms. With so many obstacles to climb over while what felt like the weight of the world was pressing down, Madia prevailed. She has traveled the world, in and outside of her van, explored places most can only dream to see, and she has been able to share these experiences whether good or bad. And by getting lost in the world, she was able to find herself.

Painting by Christian Dixon.

A Palette of Emotions

Expressing yourself fully proves challenging in the sense that our biggest enemy often comes in the form of ourselves. Christian Dixon’s paintings are meant to show the viewer a part of themselves that they’ve never seen. His work questions any sense of self, allowing for various perceptions and beliefs found around the world. And it shows how viewing a piece may help people may see themselves through various religious and spiritual symbolism.

At just 25 years old, Dixon is a fully self-taught artist, and recently made the semifinals for the triennial Outwin Boochever Portrait Competition, a Smithsonian-sponsored event. After graduating high school in Springfield, Missouri, his goal was to go to art school, but he didn’t believe he was disciplined enough or had sufficient monetary means, and he rather joined the Air Force and continued drawing and painting on his own. He’s been stationed in Oklahoma City for the past six years, where he lives with his wife and two dogs, and has built a clientbase in order to make money and support his family.

“I think the most important thing about being an artist is that you are the artist,

that the work you create, nobody else in the whole world can create, and you’re gonna be the best person in doing that,” says Dixon.

Having that unique perspective allows Dixon to paint from his emotions, thoughts, and feelings, which allows him to be confident in the fact that his work is truly his own. Dixon’s view of himself is fluid and constantly changing. He doesn’t like to give himself any label or title, even as a painter. Everything he’s doing is fleeting and he feels as though he’ll be onto the next thing in no time.

“I think art has really helped me to understand myself,” says Dixon. “Almost in a way that dreaming helps organize the events of the day, painting has helped to give myself illustrations and depictions of concepts that I try to grasp. For example, the concept of universal unity.”

Art offers Dixon an outlet to compartmentalize daily struggles and experiences in his day-to-day life. As an adult, Dixon struggles with self-doubt and self-worth, something not unique just to him. He often strives to find a childlike, creative headspace. Achieving this state of mind results in a flow state, creating art while living through all of his struggles. Dixon says,

Christian Dixon navigates turmoil through the production of meaningful art rooted in spirituality.

Jericho Truett Contributed

“it requires a lot of effort to stop doubting yourself and realize that you have everything you’ll ever need.”

Those self-imposed obstacles have been a challenge for Dixon, but he has continued to paint in his spiritual style and gain a following.

When Dixon first started creating art, he was directly inspired by Kehinde Wiley, an African-American painter known for his naturalistic paintings of black people, most famously President Barack Obama’s portrait. Dixon felt a connection with the portraits, and started to make some of his own. As Dixon grew in his art, he channeled art that was similar to Wiley’s, which led to Dixon feeling as though he was somewhat copying Wiley, and left him questioning his skill as an artist altogether. But he soon discovered his unique style of self-expression through painting, entering a space where he could create things he was proud of, thereby building a deeper, stronger sense of self. Dixon wants people to connect with his art, even subconsciously. They don’t need to know why they connect with it, if it’s something that appeals to a large audience, then Dixon knows he’s helping build community.

“This is something I’m still trying to do because I feel like I’m still a very young artist,” says Dixon, but he is using various forms of symbolism and mythology to do so.

Dixon uses texts, such as The Upanishads, art he has connected with on a personal level, to dive in deeper to larger philosophical ideas. There are 108 different stories within The Upanishads, and in his most recent work he has created an illustration for one of those 108. Dixon says, “in this one it’s about a boy who’s going

around to different beings on the earth, pretty much searching for God and then finding God in all of them. So I’m creating paintings that serve each of these different beings.”

Dixon pulls his inspiration from his own spiritual growth, through his own experiences. His awakens the senses, deepening the experience by encouraging viewers to make their own meaning.

In the Upanishads piece there are four different beings, with the text describing a bull, a diving bird, a swan, and fire, and the beings teach the boy to search for God and certain elements of the world, and Dixon is transmuting this idea with his own perception. Dixon says, “like my current one of the diving bird, I’m doing one of the great blue heron and I’m just pretty much putting all of my self expression, but that taking this big idea and just like turning an image into it or turning it into an image so I’m sticking to what the text says, but 90 percent of the things are my own mind.”

Pushing through self-made boundaries is a challenge for each of us and having a connection with others through the struggle is where happiness resides. Art is a transmission of something greater than the individual and each artist is an instrument. All of us connect to art through our senses and our own experiences. Creating art about something Dixon connects with brings him that creative joy he’s looking for.

“One of my big goals right now with the artwork that I’m currently creating is to reach people on almost an individual and emotional level,” says Dixon. “Artwork that people can connect with for sure.”

Christian Dixon paints in his Oklahoma City studio.

Reinventing Cinema

Sebastian Pigott redefines filmmaking and explores truly connecting with his audience through the creation of his own low budget movie.

Desmond Scott Contributed

For 15 years, Sebastian Pigott played it safe, taking whatever Hollywood role came his way, putting on a smile. He was starring in another show, where the people in charge don’t care about the process as long as it makes money. Filming a scene playing an unfaithful man trying to make amends, Pigott’s director kept telling him to act cooler. He had poured hours into learning his character, and attempted to be truly vulnerable and present in that moment and he realized the director hadn’t even read the script. It was one incident, but a series of moments like it opened Pigott’s eyes to what the film industry represented. He realized this wasn’t what he set out to do as an artist. Unfulfilled, he knew he had to make a change.

“Being on some big shows and working with big people, you think you’re gonna be satisfied, and you’re not,” says Pigott. About 15 years in the business proved to him that an actor can end up wasting their “whole life trying to catch this thing that doesn’t really exist.”

At the same time, he felt insecure because he could lose his job at any moment. “It’s very hard not to let that fuck you up,” he admits. Acting lost all the aspects of what made it special for him, suddenly feeling fake, and his performance suffered. He was losing his sincerity. Suddenly, a childhood dream felt like endless suffering in an industry. As long as he stayed, he would never truly be making art. Once he fully accepted this idea, he quit waiting around for what was safe and completely committed to his art. After going back and forth between Canada and Los Angeles for years, he decided to create roots in Los Angeles.

nique, which teaches actors to focus on the other actors in their immediate surroundings instead of themselves. This technique lent itself well to Pigott’s desire to open himself up, to go deeper toward something more meaningful. Although he did study under acting teachers, most of what he learned came from real world experience. His constant goal as an artist is to improve in his craft.

“You get better as an artist by becoming more and more in tune with yourself,” he explained. He did this by continually expressing himself through his art, and genuinely considering and refining how his expression of self manifests.

Pigott recalled an audition with Renée Zellweger where he entered that state, he was in complete control of his body, all of his mental barriers and protections were lowered. He says, “I’m present and I know I can do anything in that moment. Cause I’m completely relaxed. I’m prepared.”

Pigott was born in Canada in 1983 and has been in the entertainment business for his entire adult-life. He’s acted in countless movies and TV series, such as The Song to My Heart and Two Deaths of Henry Baker, and he’s had roles in shows like Being Erica and Wyonna Earp. Acting has become an all-consuming pursuit for Pigott. His inspiration comes from the most simple yet complex reasoning; because he loves it.

It occurred to him that connecting to an audience was a fundamental thing that made successful actors, something that should come naturally. He became obsessed with what actually connected to an audience, material that told a story, that left people wanting more. Pigott went to an arts high school and later studied under John Riven, a teacher of the Meisner acting tech-

Pigott loves his job now, but it was a long journey. Acting has always been a meaningful part of his life, but until recently, the industry he worked in had a corrosive effect on his work. For 15 years, Pigott made a good living auditioning and acting in different movies and shows. The entire idea of an “art industry” is strange to him as the two things are diametrically opposed. “You feel like your dreams have technically come true,” he says, but it isn’t really making art.

Great acting comes when the actor has some sense of self, having explored inner conflicts, and finding comfort in vulnerability. The most difficult part about acting in the industry is “not losing your sense of self,” according to Pigott. Working like that always leaves the actor searching for someone’s approval.

He realized that he was waiting for it to be safe, but that it never would be. He resolved to go all in even if it would be a grind and he’d have to miss a few paychecks. It made him “ultimately, better as an artist.” He got to the point where he’d stopped enjoying his work, and had to take a risk.

As a result, Pigott just finished directing and producing his first movie, in which he also starred. The movie, Bring it All Back Home, was the most rewarding project he’s ever worked on. It follows a man who used to be a star athlete in high school. He joined the major leagues, but burned out with a bad knee. He disappears

and five years later returns out of the blue on a drug inspired mission from God to liberate his friends from the oncoming effects of middle age. This movie exemplifies a different type of production in the film industry, made with a $20,000 budget. The movie he worked on prior to this project had a budget with millions of dollars, but he still thinks Bring it All Back Home is a better movie.

The corporatization of art is a common phenomenon, creating an extremely profitable industry, and anything that is as profitable as art will eventually be standardized and mass produced for consumption. This process is emblematic of a larger standardization that reaches almost every part of people’s lives. Art has always stood as one of the few escapes from this process. Art offers something other than the bleak sense of uniformity that comes with life in a large society that values production and efficiency above all else. But, more and more, real art is stifled.

Now there is movement from the top down where artists have attempted to reinvent the wheel. According to “Why Film Budgets Are Important, Beyond The Cost Of Production” an article by Schylur Moore in Forbes magazine, “there is a perverse tendency to inflate the cost of films” from producers. Pigott believes this is in part because the actors, crew, and producers make their money on the front end of the film. This means their cut is decided before the film sells a single ticket. Pigott’s solution involves creating a movie entirely in-house. This way everyone’s profit is entirely dependent on keeping costs down and selling their product. In the movie he just made, the acting, directing, writing, music, almost everything, was created in-house. They reinvested whatever they were paid for their services, such as the musical score, back into the film, keeping the costs down and maximizing the end profits.

Just because something is broken doesn’t mean it isn’t worth fixing. Acting as an art form has immeasurable value to Pigott, but also to the world. It gives license to people to be vulnerable and open. When done properly it allows a window into the soul of an actor, and that insight allows an audience member to see more clearly into their own.

Calvin Royal III dances with partner Cassandra Trenary in American Ballet Theatre’s production of Giselle.

MOVEMENT TOWARDS PARITY

Calvin Royal III proves anything is possible as the third African-American dancer at ABT in the last 86 years.

Sommerville

“Each time the curtain goes up on a performance, it’s not just doing the steps to music and going through the motions, but it’s what am I saying with those steps that are going to give them meaning,” says American Ballet Theatre (ABT) principal dancer Calvin Royal III, who has built an extensive repertoire over the years. Starting ballet at the age of 14, he has climbed his way up to the top to become the third African American principal dancer in ABT’s 86-year history.

Born in Fort Stewart, Georgia and raised in Tampa bay, Florida, Royal was expressive with his creative side from a young age. He began with a passion for music, receiving a Yamaha keyboard for Christmas, he taught himself to play by ear. Later, he geared this expression towards dance. His mother, a dancer in her youth, took Royal to local classes and performances, exposing him to creative movement at a very early age. In elementary school, Royal IIIl auditioned and was accepted into the Chocolate Nutcracker, a local community project. Exposed to a variety of dancers from all different backgrounds, Royal was inspired.

“That first… made me fall in love with dance because I felt like I was part of something, that I belonged for who I was, and that I love to do it and there was no one telling me that I shouldn’t,” says Royal III.

His love for dance grew as he fully committed to the intense physicality of the sport. His delayed start in ballet could not stop his overwhelming talent, and two years after taking his first ballet class, he entered the Youth America Grand Prix (YAGP), earning a spot as a finalist in the world’s largest

Rosalie O’Connor non-profit international student ballet competition and scholarship program. The performance compelled the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School of American Ballet Theatre to offer Royal III a full-time scholarship. In his senior year of high school, Royal III left for New York City, taking up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and beginning what would later become a wildly successful career.

Royal III entered a world in which he was the opposite of the main demographic. Ballet does not seem to have a rich history of inclusivity, and as a gay Black man, Royal didn’t fit the prevailing ballet stereotype. When Royal III joined the ABT school in 2006, he was the only Black dancer in his class. He went from being surrounded by dancers that looked like him to a place where there were very few people of color.

“I realized, oh, wow, the world within ballet, specifically in the ballet school, didn’t reflect the world that I had come from, or the community that I came from,” says Royal III.

This change in atmosphere prompted questions from Royall III, questions he didn’t know who to ask, or where to find answers. He wondered if his hair would cause an issue for performances because it didn’t look like everyone else’s and if his skin would show through the white tights that he was wearing. Things he had never thought about before were now at the forefront of his mind.

He felt the need to constantly prove himself, for people to take him seriously. Royal III has frequently heard suggestions to become a modern

Audrey

dancer, or been assumed to be one. At a party, Royal III was approached and told he was only viewed as a contemporary dancer. This perpetuates a harmful stereotype because it implies that people are unable to see Royal III as a ballet dance because of his physical appearance. This is why Royal’s presence is important, as it is changing the way people perceive ballet dancers and what they should look like.

At the ballet barre at 7:05 every morning, Royal pushed his body to contort into unnatural positions and display incredible strength. As if the physicality of dance wasn’t hard enough, Royal III shattered perceptions of what ballet looks like in other ways. Every ballet duet on stage had always been heterosexual. Royal worked to change history.

In 2020, Royal III performed in Touché, ABT’s first all-male pas de deux, a love story starring two men. A monumental step forward for the ballet community, he is doing much more with his career than simply dancing. Royal III is looking outside of himself, making sure others also feel seen. Being one of the first black and openly gay principal dancers, he acknowledges the importance of his position, while also hoping to get to a point in the future where people are not too fixated on such titles.

“My hope is that one day we won’t have to talk about being the first and being the only and all of this, but that it’s part of our DNA,” he says. “And part of what we see as every day, this is what it is.”

Emphasizing the importance of representation for young people is of the utmost importance to Royal III. He realizes there is something bigger at work than just himself. Looking outside of his career, he sometimes struggles to understand the importance of the position he holds, how he once felt unseen, but now symbolizes hope for other dancers who are able to see themselves in him. He strives to be the person he wishes he had growing up, knowing that his innovative expressiveness will speak volumes to his audience.

The Creative Path

After some initial doubt, Joe Wees follows his creative passion in movie advertising and settles into his dream job.

Around 100,000 years ago, a gene expressing creative cognizance permitted Homosapiens to outlive other hominids and thus began the evolution of artistry and ingenuity. Like dominos, each invention pushed humanity to the next nexus of discovery. Innovation then turned towards introspection—philosophers, thespians, and painters all acting in the interest of contemplating human existence. Then, when the soul-searching grew too frustrating, humans, inherently creatures of creation, were suddenly creatures of production ensnared in the chains of competitive enterprise.

The rise and grind of the 20th century has persuaded imagination that it has no place alongside ambition. A rhetoric that 22 years ago led current Senior Vice President of Creative Marketing at Universal Studios, Joe Wees, to believe he wasn’t creative.

Born the same year as the emergence of the compact disc, Wees grew up the youngest of three in Omaha, Nebraska. Enjoying all aspects of athletics and film, when the time to

look into college came about, Wees explored degrees in sports marketing and discovered the University of Oregon.

“U of O had just really started their sports marketing program. It was like newish and it was the best in the country,” Wees explains.

Four years and a couple of internships later, Wees received a major in business with an emphasis on sports marketing and a minor in economics.

Following graduation, Wees migrated to Des Moines, Iowa and worked ticket sales for the Iowa Stars professional hockey team, an AAA affiliate to the Dallas Stars. Though excited to be an employed graduate back home in the Midwest, the position didn’t provide him the fulfillment to fund a lifetime career.

“I knew within two minutes it’s not what I wanted to do, but I hung out for over a year to just …learn management style, to learn commitment, all that stuff.”

Making a profit of $16,000 a year plus commissions didn’t beget the most ostenta-

Jay Bramhall Kwaku Alston

tious lifestyle, but the job’s value lay in its educational properties. Chasing his Hollywood-esque ambitions, Wees and his mother drove all his worldly belongings to Los Angeles that summer, where he slept on his uncle’s couch for six months. He applied for job after job, receiving rejection after rejection, a college graduate with a good GPA, good working experience, and he couldn’t get hired. Out of frustration and lack of knowing what else to do, he called his friend Dan Wolfe.

Wolfe ran an in-house editorial company through Universal Studios in Los Angeles, his team creating and organizing trailers and TV spots for movies. An internship under Wolfe’s division at Universal, cracked open the door to a realm of innovation Wees had always believed to be locked. Wees’ intinial thought: “I’m not creative.”

His friend Marc Schmuger provided simple advice that changed the scope of Wees’ life: “You don’t know how creative you are until you try.”

Taking the internship, now retriever of coffee and answerer of phones, he’d moreover been granted the chance to sit in edit bays, break down movies, and write copies endlessly. The internship gave him a space to learn the practical side of film while enhancing his knowledge of artistry. A relentless worker, Wees wrote piece after piece for higher-ups. This ambitious attitude garnered him an

auspicious reputation, enticing Universal to welcome him back for a second summer.

During his two years, Wees spent substantial time with Wolfe. Good humor and kindness in abundance, inevitably Wolfe was sucked into Wees’ orbit, a friendship formed.

Later, Wolfe invited him to work as a coordinator on the creative team of home entertainment for Universal Studios the following Monday.

For the next six months he retrieved more coffees, coordinated meetings, and began doing dub requests whatever it took to pursue a future in creativity.

Leaving a meeting at one of Universal’s numerous office buildings, Wees was called over by an employee he identified from his internship, Scott Abraham. Pulling him into his office, Abraham stated that his assistant quit two minutes ago and offered Wees a job. Senior Vice President of Creative Advertising at the time, Abraham embodied everything Wees desired in his ambition as an artist in the modern world. In 2009, The Unborn, was released. Writing a copy, also called a tagline, for the film proved a challenge. Abraham and his advertising team ran in circles trying to come up with a phrase for the print campaign. Wees wracked his own brain, jumping at the chance to establish himself creatively. He analyzed the film: a woman is pregnant with an unborn evil entity that wants to be released upon the

Joe Wees (lower right) and Chandler Chow (lower left) pose for a movie advertising photoshoot.

world.

“It wants to be born now.”

The copy was Wees’ first concrete piece of advertising published with Universal, laying the first brick of the road to his future career. Four years working under Abraham led him to two years with Jackson George, who’s eventual departure to Disney left room for Wees to explore his own creativity as a borderline creative executive.

“It left open an opportunity for me to kind of be my own person,” Wees says.

Wees’ first client, Jason Blum, created the film, The Purge, which opened at $34 million and is the beginning to a franchise now worth over $500 million. From then on, Wees worked on Blumhouse Productions’ films, including the recent end to the Halloween trilogy, Halloween Kills. Following Blum came Jordan Peele, legendary director of Get Out, Us, and Nope, as well as M. Night Shyamalan, creator of The Sixth Sense, Signs, Split, and the upcoming feature Knock at the Cabin. Additionally, Wees has had a finger in all of Illumination’s pies for the past decade––from Despicable Me to Minions: The Rise of Gru, all the way to Dr. Suess’ the Grinch and The Super Mario Bros movie trailer that just dropped, he now runs the full campaigns for the company.

“I started small and I just worked tirelessly to become good at what I did and just took on

every challenge,” he says.

If someone asked Wees to handle a project, the only word in his vocabulary was yes. He climbed through the ranks at Universal, eventually earning the position of Senior Vice President of Creating Advertising.

Wees’ legacy is one crafted to thrive because of his ambition, not in spite of it. Taking a piece of art from a filmmaker with a specific vision and marketing it to an audience with specific expectations, while pleasing executives enforcing specific guidelines and still composing wholly original works is what sets Wees apart from others in his field.

Around 100,000 years ago, Homo sapiens acquired a gene of creative expression that advanced them beyond other species of their family, propelling them to the next level of evolution. A little over 20 years ago, Joe Wees thought he wasn’t creative. Taking an internship in creative marketing anyways, he’s pursued a life of innovation in a century that sidelines imagination in favor of capital. Now holding one of the highest positions in his field, he constantly redraws the lines in the sand, dictating what’s allowed in the name of creation.

22 years ago, Wees decided to try, and in doing so discovered what many can only hope to stumble upon; his creativity is a contrivance of his legacy, not a predetermination of his worth.

Rock is Not Dead

Jake Linder and Matt Bolling of Aberdeen is Dead help redefine the modern rock scene.

Kevin

Gustafson Rohit Patnala

The story of Aberdeen is Dead—a promising new rock band, reminiscent of 90s grunge—is only beginning. Aberdeen is a shining example of the liberating power modern artists have—the power to operate and succeed independently. However, with this power comes a highly demanding workload.

The duo—Jake Linder and Matt Bolling—make up the entire marketing, production, and merchandising team for the band. That isn’t an easy feat for any band, especially with all of the complexities that go into writing, producing, and actually playing rock music, which is famous for its wild presentation. Oftentimes, rock is a competition to see which band can build the most irreverent reputation, which inevitably attracts more people to witness any ensuing chaos.

Having only started in 2019, the Texas-based duo already has over 5,000 subscribers on YouTube, almost 47,000 followers on Instagram, and 49,000 followers on TikTok. Music-wise, they have over 39,000 followers and 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify alone. Their TikTok page already has a whopping one million likes, with multiple videos having over a million views—and they’re doing it all without a huge marketing firm or record label behind them.

They definitely understand that forming connections on social media can have a staggering effect on popularity, no matter if it brings positive or negative attention to the band.

“As far as social media goes, the more engagement you have, the more people get to see your music. So hate comments turn into reaching more people on the algorithm,” says Bolling.

Linder adds, “there [are] tools like TikTok and Instagram out there for free, and all you really have to do is work at it . . . there’s no reason you should sign away a bunch of your stuff just for some advertisement, you know?”

Linder’s weariness in this department is valid. There are an abundance of instances within the music industry where promising musicians are approached by labels with deals that would be enticing to anybody, let alone a small band. The band is offered something incredible: promotion, fame, a higher budget, and the resources to create their music without the stress of having to fund their journey all alone—all to be neglected—despite being forced to sign away the ownership of their music in return for what they hoped would be an extra boost in popularity. Even the famous singer, Prince, had issues with record labels in the past, claiming record deals are comparable to slave contracts—even going as far as protesting his deal with Warner Bros by writing

Matt Bolling rocks out on stage at Reno’s Chop Shop.

of his face during a public appearance.

Despite the numerous pitfalls of signing to a label, maintaining independence in an industry with huge corporations backing many artists— some even posing as possible competitors—is a gutsy move. Not only does the burden of promotion solely rest on their shoulders, but they also have to pay for everything from instruments and microphones to the time spent recording. It’s a huge investment in time and requires a massive commitment to the craft.

Bolling elaborated, “we kind of realized that, everything we need to do right now doesn’t require a label.”

This realization occurred when they were almost signed, and in Bolling’s words, “we didn’t get an email back or a call back from them. And then we kind of realized like, okay, we’re kind of surpassing like everybody else that’s signed by them, so why would we even need one in the first place?”

Linder offered some additional reasoning for their independence, saying, “I also want our band to be an example that you can start really small and be independent throughout most of your career, if not all of it,” and “it’s a little extra work, but the rewards are always better.”

While labels aren’t always leaches, in many cases they can be just that: a corporate entity siphoning the creative blood from an artist. But unlike many signed acts, Aberdeen has creative freedom—so much so that every song goes through an extensive lyrical review process where they add or remove lines based on how they feel about the initial draft, without outside influence. Furthermore, Bolling describes Linder—the main lyricist—as “an insane writer,” with some unexpected pop influences in his work.

“Adele. I freaking love Adele,” says Linder. He continued, “vocalists like that inspire a lot of the vocal melodies that we put into our songs, because of how every line that they say sort of sounds like a hook. It’s all catchy. You could take any single three words out of a Michael Jackson song and it’d be more catchy than anything on the radio right now.”

Inspiration: It’s what every artistic endeavor needs. Everything is derivative to some extent. Inherently, everything in the imagination is based on prior experiences. Aberdeen’s inspiration may

seem quite bizarre, however, some more apparent influences within Aberdeen’s music are Alice in Chains, My Chemical Romance, Pink Floyd, and of course, Kurt Cobain of Nirvana. Cobain’s legacy is especially influential to Aberdeen’s music—given the band name is literally derived from Cobain’s birthplace.

Linder even explained how that inspiration carried over to the creation of their music, saying, “I don’t think Nirvana would’ve happened without the city of Aberdeen. You know, with where Kurt lived originally, because there was nothing to do there. And he wasn’t exactly very wealthy at the time. And I think a lot of the horrible things that he went through kind of, in a way, created one of the greatest rock bands of all time.”

Cobain’s experiences helped to form one of the most influential bands of all time, and the music Nirvana created has carried those experiences into the creative marketplace to this day. Based on this formula, one might think music would exponentially improve over time from compounding experiences adding value to the field itself—but there are other variables that hinder this natural progression.

Since music’s slow evolution isn’t as much of a money maker for the music industry as is reintroducing some fad every decade to a new audience, the creative formula is disrupted. Innovation isn’t encouraged when the industry knows it can profit off of the same thing repeatedly since it remains fresh to new listeners. Despite this, Aberdeen is Dead is making a rare attempt at innovation.

Linder “want[s] this band to be an example for people who are starting out, that you don’t have to sign, you don’t have to give your money away, and that if you want to be a musician and you wanna be in a band, then you need to make money,” which is something many bands don’t seem to understand, with him adding, “I feel like they’re allergic to money. Like . . . they’ll go and tour across the country and lose thousands of dollars to play their music for nobody.”

As sad as that sounds, hopefully, those acts do it for the thrill, not the money. However, this does demonstrate the most trying disadvantage of being independent: that being the cost. If you aren’t making money from your passion and contributing to the marketplace of ideas then you are only permanently scarring your image— making your

act seem unprofessional—and nobody wants to invest in something they won’t see a return on.

Bolling’s view on their legacy, however, proves a bit different.

“We need to . . . break a lot of stigmas within society and just kind of get people back to the whole idea that they can love other people. They can talk to other people regardless of their ideologies and work things out, and that . . . at the end of the day, we’re all just . . . human. And we shouldn’t really be separating ourselves for no reason at all. Like we’re all pretty damn similar,” he says.

This mentality is a necessity for finding success. Specializing in a highly saturated genre is something different and difficult, and Aberdeen is working to form its very own niche.

“I mean, there’s plenty of duos out there, but kind of a lot of people think we’re a full band,” says Bolling. “We are a full band live on stage, but it’s pretty much just me and [Linder] behind the scenes working on everything. I think that’s pretty unique in the fact that we haven’t really had anybody help us a whole lot and we just kind of had to figure things out, like trial and error shit.”

Linder’s musical journey first began with the drums. Once he learned the drums, he began messing around in GarageBand, making EDM music. When he became a master of his craft in GarageBand, he moved on to even greater endeavors, learning how to create grunge rock music.

Linder says, “and that’s when I picked up a guitar. And then really when I met Matt [was] when I got an interface and started self-recording rock music together. And after a year or two of making horrible music together, we figured out how to make okay music together.”

This is how their first album, Lamb, came to fruition. Bolling says, “I was playing guitar for a lot longer and Jake was doing drums and other musical stuff,” and “it wasn’t ‘til 2020 when we really put out any music. So it was just kind of for fun, like, in his room—just like playing around on Logic Pro X, just making anything really.”

Now Bolling and Linder expressed how serious they are about turning this into an actual career. Linder explained, “we’re kind of in that middle section where we’re almost able to pay most of our bills and everything and live month-to-month just from music.”

But the duo seems to appreciate the struggle.

“My car doesn’t have [an] AC right now,” says Linder. “And it hasn’t for pretty much the whole year, and we live in Texas. And it’s hot! It’s very hot, and countless of other people have been through much worse. But that’s my point . . . I feel like I’m really good at just rolling with the punches and not fighting the current.”

Songs that can tell a riveting story, transporting listeners directly into the consciousness of the writer. Linder says, “I love songs that kind of take you into like a different head space . . . when it takes you to a different universe, or a place while you’re just sitting in class, or while you’re just doing something boring. Those songs are the best.”

He adds, “hopefully our band name serves as sort of the same metaphor, that like, all this shit that you’re going through is the story that you’re gonna be referencing a couple years from now . . . ‘at that moment that was the worst and best thing that happened to me,’ you know?”

On the topic of being such a new band, becoming known is one of the hardest first steps, and one of the best ways to establish an initial fanbase is to perform nearby and build an intimate connection with fans, which they have poured plenty of work into. So far, the story of Aberdeen is Dead feels inspiring. They have already made it pretty far in the industry—with successful concerts, a growing social media presence, and an ever-expanding community. This proves that artists can thrive in a cutthroat industry without the backing of insanely wealthy record labels, given enough determination.

Maybe it suggests rock can make a comeback. And, most importantly, it demonstrates music’s ability to bring people together, regardless of their beliefs, lifestyles, or identities; all they need to do is pick up a pair of headphones. This tale of two young musicians pursuing their dreams and overcoming obstacles proves that rock is, in fact, not dead; it’s just evolving.

Shaping Spirits

Shaping Spirits

Shirley Raines, founder of the nonprofit organization Beauty2theStreetz, brings style and confidence to the unhoused community of Los Angeles.

Carly Bramhall Tara Pixley

Shirley Raines found her purpose through tragedy. In 1990, she lost her 2-year-old son Demetrius in a freak accident. While staying with her grandmother, he ingested a medication, and later died in the hospital, only days short of his third birthday. Following the death of her son, she also lost her grandmother and her son’s biological father. For decades following, she lived a life overrun with anxiety and panic disorders, everyday breaking a little more under the pressure of what she lost.

Her twin sister urged her to put her agony to work. In 2017, Raines did just that when a church friend recommended she help hand out food to those in need. Stepping out onto Los Angeles’ Skid Row–54 blocks of Los Angeles, riddled with poverty and homelessness–she felt an overwhelming sense of belonging.

“It was like going home,” says Raines. “It was just going to the streets and taking care of people. There was no shock. There was no awe.”

Raines, founder of the nonprofit Beauty2theStreetz, leads a busy life aiding the homeless community in Los Angeles. Hours before the sun rises at around 1:30 in the morning, she starts gathering her thoughts and preparing for the day. First thing, she applies her colorful makeup and full fake lashes. At 5:00 a.m. she is off to a warehouse to load her van with all the supplies needed for the day, including bags she fills with warm water so that people can get their hair and makeup done. At 6:00 a.m. she hits the road again to get to the site of her work for that day. At 7 a.m. volunteers start rolling in, helping set up and unloading the van while the cook prepares food. As they set up, a line starts to form, people awaiting services. Within hours, the streets turn into a kitchen, hair salon, and makeover stand all-in-one.

Over the course of the day, the volunteers will serve hundreds of people. Raines spends every waking hour serving others.

The people of Skid Row appreciated her initial endeavor of handing out clothing, food, and water, but that is not what inspired her the most. Raines sports bright hair and bold makeup, which was often complimented by the people she helped. When she recognized the interest in beauty on the streets, she realized she could bring something unique to the homeless community.

Naturally, she offered to do people’s hair and makeup. Her efforts started with the transgender female community, who were often forced to wear male clothing because no one would give them female clothing. Disgusted, she immediately brought them clothes, wigs, and lashes to support their personal identities. She then branched out and asked cisgender women if they wanted any hair and makeup supplies. Raines picked up mascaras, lashes, and other makeup tools, and ran home to grab unused hair dye. She went to work, uplifting people with fresh makeup and a new haircut.

Raines could see the dignity that she provided people, offering them even a small sense of autonomy in choosing their hair color or makeup style. She realized how crucial it was to provide a sense of humanity to a marginalized population and heard her true calling for the first time–providing comfort and confidence to the unhoused community in Los Angeles.

Raines’ passion grew stronger as her organization grew bigger. Beauty2theStreetz turned into a full fledged nonprofit organization with nine volunteers and countless donors and contributors. In the beginning of her own organization, she was primarily doing hair and makeup but wanted to ensure people also had access to food, clothes, and other necessities.

Upon realizing how big the need was, she reached out for help to start offering services on a larger scale. With efficient systems and structures in place, Raines and her team of volunteers are able to feed 1,000 people a week alongside providing beauty care and essential supplies.

“I would like to think the reason our particular work impacts the community in a positive way is because of the level in which we give,” says Raines. “We give with compassion. We give with love and grace.”

When Raines began streaming her volunteering events on Instagram and Tik Tok, Beauty2theStreetz gained attention from many, both positively

and negatively. The internet not only casts judgments on the homeless community, but also on Raines herself, sometimes saying things like, “How can you help the homeless and you can’t even save your own child? Your child died so you’re irresponsible.”

Raines stood her ground, and continued to share her experiences, building a large online community that spans over six million people across the globe. Through the help of social media, her organization has grown and gained attention from people who are interested in learning more about the homeless crisis or directly helping the community, and brands that want to support Raines and her team. Beauty2theStreetz is fully funded by social media, helping Raines put her dream to work.

“Social media has not affected the work that I’ve done, social media is the reason I’m able to do the work that I do,” says Raines. “I have the heart. I have the dream. I have the tenacity and the skill set, but I don’t have the coins.”

ic on the streets.

Raines encourages people to realize through this tragic pandemic that homelessness is a reality that we are all susceptible to. She explains, “I gotta change the narrative of homelessness. I need to let people know that this could be you at any given time.”

The narrative of the unhoused community is often not a positive or accurate representation of the life they lead. The pointing and whispering, physical and psychological violence, or judgment and ostracization, they experience it all. Raines explains her frustration with people’s ability to judge a person based on subjects they know little about. Many people blame the homeless themselves for living on the streets, attributing their struggles to drug abuse or alcoholism.

She offers an anecdote about a woman whose “husband left her and she was a single mom, and she never had a job. She had no income, she had no family… and then she got down on her luck and she became homeless. And then when she became homeless, they started raping her, and then when they started raping her she couldn’t function or cope, so she started drinking.”

The ongoing story of COVID-19 is known all too well, but the narrative of the unhoused is often left untold. In March of 2020, the residents of California were ordered to stay home and initially Raines and her team complied. However, when Raines checked her Instagram messages she noticed several messages from the homeless community.

“Where are you?”

“We are hungry and nobody is helping us.”

“We are alone.”

Knowing her community was extremely vulnerable to the virus, Raines shifted her efforts to providing food, protection, and hygiene products opposed to hair and makeup services. Her team handed out food and hygiene kits with hand sanitizer, masks, bottled water, and socks. There was still a desire for beauty services so the team got wigs, brushes, and makeup so people could style themselves without risking contamination. The balance between staying safe and providing security was key to maneuvering through the pandem-

She encourages onlookers to consider that they are getting only a glimpse into the life of a person, a glimpse that shows them at their worst.

On any given day in the United States, it is estimated that 580,466 people experience homelessness, a risk that increases in marginalized groups. Native Hawaiians and other Pacific Islanders have the highest rate of homelessness, followed by African Americans and then Native Americans. All of these rates are much higher than the national rate of homelessness in America, which lies at 18 out of every 10,000 people.

There are an estimated 17,000 to 40,000 deaths in the homeless community every year. The top contributors to death are drug abuse, violence, traffic accidents, and health conditions that could be treated with accessible health care. Suicide is also an unfortunate reality of living on the streets. A study published by the National Library of Medicine recorded that out of 330 homeless individuals, 56 percent of the men and 78 percent of the women had suicidal ideations and 27 percent

Shirley Raines prepares to aid her community.

of the men and 56 percent of the women had acted on those ideations. The danger of being unhoused is immense. In fact, the average life expectancy of someone experiencing homelessness is only 50 years old compared to the 77 years of a housed person.

Raines has not only touched the hearts of the homeless community, and her followers, but she even got recognition from CNN. In 2021, she was awarded the CNN Hero of the Year award. Out of ten finalists she was nominated by online voters and presented the award onstage by Anderson Cooper and Kelly Ripa where she was able to speak about her work.

“This surely hasn’t been easy. I stand before you a very broken woman,” an emotional Raines said. “I am a mother without a son and there are a lot of people in the streets without a mother – and I feel like it’s a fair exchange.”

For being a finalist she was awarded $10,000 to expand her work, and for becoming a CNN Hero of the Year, $100,000 dollars was awarded to her, which was all poured right back into her efforts to help the homeless.

At the 2022 People’s Choice Awards, Music artist Lizzo accepted the People’s Champion Honor award and brought 17 activists with her on stage, Raines being one of them. Lizzo explained that no one becomes an icon by simply having a platform for an extended period of time, but using your platform for good. Lizzo has spent her career using her platform to amplify marginalized voices. She highlighted Raines’ work with the homeless community.

Many compliment Raines for being a hero, but she doesn’t see it that way. To her, the work she does is something that anyone could do. When she started going out to the streets, she was making food in her tiny apartment and offering hair supplies that she had in her house. Quite simply, she was called to help.

Raines realized that her purpose was to serve the homeless community and show them love, care, and compassion, something that they aren’t met with often.

“It’s my pure purpose for being on this planet. I truly believe that. You don’t give up on your purpose,” says Raines.

Raines attributes much of her healing to the work that she does now. While the trauma of losing a child doesn’t go away, helping others in crisis brought Raines her only source of comfort.

She shares, “I do know this work has been my therapy, it has been my healing.”

Shirley Raines prepares to aid her community.

SONDER

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.

Pierre T. Lambert