stone-cutters Harvard-Westlake School Winter 2020
God 2019
Zoe Redlich ‘20 I saw God in a casino a sequin tux counting poker chips in time in rhythm with the chatting air velvet top hat, blank stare beneath darkened lashes we locked eyes as I reached out my shadowed hand to touch his face his baby skin complexion soon his eyes were burning embers, flames, then ashes in a flash I stood in slanted light my childhood temple praying for whoever had died whoever would die then god still undying caught amidst the golden glow of slot machines whirring he whispered close he had been in the back row stretching out his god-sized toes praying along beside us
Papa (por la Noche) Santiago Salazar ‘21 analog photograph
Tension Eunice Kiang ‘20 acrylic, yarn, paper, canvas 47.5” x 37 7/8”
The Taxi Driver Maya Doyle ‘21
The taxi rocketed around a corner, whipping the beads hanging on the mirror out of the open window. The window gaped open to defuse the heat, because the wheezing fan duct-taped onto the dashboard did very little except stir the soup for air — and because the window had been broken decades ago and never replaced. Riding with Divjak was dangerous. He bent down to drink some coffee from a plastic water bottle, his focus not on the road. Divjak’s hand turned the wheel on whatever the opposite of instinct was, and the car nearly careened into the sidewalk. Someone walking tossed out a curse; Divjak paid no attention. He put his bottle down and his taxi whirled back onto the road, swinging the hanging beads in the opposite direction from before. Divjak had a woman in the backseat. She was silent. Divjak appreciated that. He hated it when the riders tried to talk to him; words meant nothing — just mindless noise. They were better off without it. Besides, the whir of the fan filled the air just fine for Divjak. He tried to brake the taxi, but the car flung itself forward with a screech of dying gears. When it jolted backwards into a stop, the woman in the backseat opened the door. She tossed coins into the cup in the back. Divjak pulled the cap lower on his face and gave her a nod as she exited the taxi. Then back on the streets it was. Down the endless rows of city stench. Speeding through intersections and across people. Death seemed to be allergic to Divjak. He slammed the pedal, hard, and the taxi
rumbled up then down the street. The fan whirred. The air in the car still boiled and stewed. And Divjak existed. This was his life. Pick up people. Drop off people. The car accelerated, whizzing through the streets. It dodges horses and stands and pedestrians and other cars, zip-zap-zop. Dark streets and bright blue sky, it traveled. He didn’t have a destination. Divjak’s left index finger traced the edge of the wheel, stroking worn leather, then lifted up off the wheel. The air felt free. The middle finger ran across the seam, then it too rose up. Then the next and the next. Then he let his left hand drop off the wheel and to his side. He hurled his car into a left turn across a busy intersection with a definitely red light, and nothing hit him. The right index finger danced its way off the wheel. The car in front of him was getting dangerously close — Divjak was over the speed limit. By a significant amount. His middle finger rubbed the handle then let go. Divjak made a lane change to the right. It was so damn hot in the city. All the time. Sweat had traced valleys into his skin, and even now, moisture curled beneath his third finger and the wheel. Up it went. Divjak pressed the pedal harder. Pinky — gone. Divjak lifted his thumb off the wheel. He leaned back. With two hands, took another sip of his black coffee — lukewarm, in the sad uncomfortable middle of piping hot and ice-cold. And Divjak put more pressure on the pedal.
How to do taxidermy after Wikihow Grace Burton ‘20
1. kill it in the afternoon sunlight gunshot til the leaves stain custard 2. buy an outdoor freezer you don’t want to live with the smell of life in your kitchen 3. grocery store alcohol will do
and you might as well buy a corona for your father
4. purchase “Smooth On,” the commercial molding agent, and in a separate bowl stir plaster in water, sing bate bate chocolate as you work if you find it tiresome 5. make a cast of plaster like the doctor did when you broke your arm in middle school this time mold it to the shape of breathing 6. you are a sculptor you are leonardo you are witch doctor,
saving
7. cut a seam up the mid line of the belly with your fingernail but be careful not to puncture the organs then you will be covered in liver juice 8. loosen the skin in a kind of dance with your fingers skin ripping peeling it like a carrot for thanksgiving dinner a potato
you are feeling the inside of
9. “think of it as taking off the animal’s jacket or trousers” 10. if you rip skin by accident, use tape, scotch should do 11. for anti-rot skin you are salting like
pastawater
12. sun skin the microwave will do if you are having a cloudy week 13. tanning oil from your sisterinlaw on salted skin 14. suffocate skin in a ziploc 15. buy an outdoor refrigerator because the freezer is too cold for the ziplocked skin and you don’t want to live with the smell of life in your kitchen 16. skin drapes onto plaster mold hardware 17. melting custard lemonade,
you are a curtaineer
you are restoration
cake batter
18. steal cotton from your boynextdoor the other side of the table
and fill skin with cotton until skin
takes up
19. “think of stuffing skin like dressing a doll” 20. sew skin shut like a build a bear 21. rope, the one
in the garage will do
22. tie it to the tire swing and push it
to remind it of wind
23. place it on your coffee table and call it art/alive/your masterpiece you are taxidermist man
congratulations
previous spread: Catchup Chiemeka Offor ‘21 oil on canvas 32” x 20”
this page: Hombre de Tabaco Julianna Ciccone ‘21 digital photograph
You Could Never Take a Polar Bear to the Veterinarian, Nicole Austen ‘21
Even if you found it dying on the roadside, lying with patches of fur dyed flesh-tangled red. The vet would shake her head at all your fruitless begging, “Please, could you take in this polar bear, endangered, in pain?” For bears don’t belong indoors, she’d say, and we don’t have the space, and maybe you should call that other place, the one that deals with this kind of thing? No, sir, you cannot bring the bear, even if you drive it yourself, even if you strive with all your strength to lift the bear, and, bloody hands dripping, carry it the five miles. Aren’t there things that matter more than one broken bear in Oregon, which after all must be a black bear, covered in snow?
Deer, 1 A.M. Sophie Johnson ‘21 digital photograph
Stone-Cutters is a collective, supporting creativity and collaboration across all art forms at Harvard-Westlake School. Submissions for this tabloid were sourced via an all-community open call. Each was reviewed anonymously by Stone-Cutters members and faculty advisors. Senior Editors: Junior Editors: Sophomore Staff: Advisors:
Anna Katz, Emma Poveda, Zoe Redlich Anneliese Ardizzone, Maya Doyle, Nicole Austen, Santiago Salazar, Katherine Kihiczak Alexa Druyanoff, Frances Ross, Izzy Welsh, Jaime Marley, Maddie Morrison, Sarah Mittleman Jesse Chehak ‘97 & Lucas Gonzalez
cover art: Untitled Cleo Maloney oil on canvas 12” x 10”
Democratically Stacked Bottles on Traditional Chinese Inscriptions George Grube ‘20 blown and engraved glass 30 cm x 5 cm x 5cm