THE IVY ISSUE NO. 13 | PHS
THE IVY O ISSUE N . 13
STARSTRUCK, Leah Williamson
Editors’ Letter Dear reader, As the art and literature magazine of our school, The Ivy has seen so much change over the years. From our old sixties typewriter aesthetic to the current modern gloss that we’re striving for, we hope to continue sharing the work of our peers in the most genuine way possible. We hope that as the new editors-in-chief, we may support The Ivy’s progression as a creative outlet of human ingenuity, and oversee its improvement as a publication. But, most importantly, we want to do these works justice. We would also like to take this time (and space) to thank our Ivy team, whose efforts to bring together the submissions in this issue have all culminated into the magazine you are now holding. Finally, we’d like to thank you, wonderful Reader, for joining us in appreciating the beautiful works of our student body. Thank you for your support. If you ever have any suggestions, feel free to send us your thoughts via email to theivy.phs@gmail.com. Cheers,
Maya Pophristic & Leslie Liu
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Table of Contents IRONY, John Liang
6-7
ACID, Jane Lillard
G1, Nicole Ng
8-9
GIRLS SAY THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT THEY MEAN, Emily Wang
PAPER, PENCILS, MUSIC, TEA 10-11 SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Hanako Moulton Jingyi Zhang PREPARATION, Elle Ferguson 12-13 A BLUE HEART, Camilla Strauss MY DAUGHTER’S AMERICA, 14-15 “DRINK THE WILD AIR,” Amy Huang Abby de Riel DEAD SPACE, Katherine Chuei 16-17 LIFE, Alex Zhang UNTITLED, Conor Heaney 18-19 I CANNOT SING, Khadeeja Qureshi ADULTS WISH TO SLEEP, NOT DREAM OF LOVE, Maya Pophristic 20-21 GLOW, Anya Sachdev PEDESTRIAN 22-23 Mildred Ouyang BUG-EYED, Valeria Torres-Olivares 24-25 AN ODE TO BEAUTY, Anonymous
BLUSH, Eli Nathan
photography |5
6| graphite on paper
IRONY, John Liang
oil
AC
ID
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, Ja
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Lil
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|7
colored pencil on black paper
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G1, Nicole Ng
GIRLS SAY THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT THEY MEAN, Emily Wang Something that infuriates me is when a guy forces the meaning of a girl’s words to suit his own agenda. This poem is directed at the guys who have claimed that “girls mean the opposite of what they say,” and at the girls who have been told exactly that. Read backwards, you can see how he has twisted her sincere, straightforward message into what he wants to hear.
I wish you were but a ghost that would dissipate from my life. Don’t you dare claim that You filled the barren grounds of my heart with love You’d be fatefully wrong. If you thought that I blew out the gushing flames I held for you You’d be correct. If you think that I’d take you back in a flash It’s like an aching knife to my gut. People say I should give up on you And I treasure that piece of advice. Others say the best I could do was hold on It makes me sick to my core. To watch you walk away was the defining moment of my life. Our relationship Was painful, and Leaving you behind Incredibly smart Even though I don’t think I am.
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PAPER, PENCILS, MUSIC, TEA, Hanako Moulton When I was little, all I needed was paper and pencils. During the day I could be exploring the bathhouse from Spirited Away, That night, the halls of Hogwarts castle. I’d be flying the skies with the characters I’d made up, Or falling in love with a girl from a different dimension. And they’d all end up on a page. I dreamed and dreamed and dreamed in a world that wouldn’t tolerate it. And I still do. To me, reality is the last place I want to be. Some say that I’m a child. Some say that I’m mature for my age. But at this point, I can honestly say, I couldn’t care less, as long as I have the castles, the forests, the graveyards, the trains, the shrines and the cities. Or maybe just some paper, a pencil, a bit of music and a cup of tea.
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SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Jingyi Zhang colored pencil and acrylic | 11
PREPARATION, Elle Ferguson photography
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A BLUE HEART, Camilla Strauss my heart is radiating blue light beautiful blue light thick and light all at once heavy and electric I wish everyone could feel my heart’s blue rays but it’s just me only I can feel my beautiful blue light but my heart that same beautiful blue heart is calling out begging reaching praying for something but what?
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MY DAUGHTER’S AMERICA, Amy Huang In a flat-out town like this there is nowhere to go but Twitter. People are talking, trashtalking, trash talking. Soon my head hurts from the ice-colored glare. How many of them think of me? How many of them are thinking of my girl friends who dream in public and private of meeting their wives? Brooke at Harvard who was kissed at a house party, I think of you. Here, meet Gaya lost in São Paulo. Meet Sarah silent in Minnesota, in Scotland, in Switzerland because at once los jóvenes homosexuales y las muchachas amorosas are one and the same; Pablo, where have you been living? Would you mouth your ink-pen to the depravities upon seeing the morning, you sick old man? Are you dead yet? I don’t remember when we started asking and we started telling. I wish I had been old enough to feel that in real time. It was not many years ago.
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photography
A couple of men sit together in a dive bar, three guns between the two of them. Neither of them know, anymore, who carries the spare. Perhaps they are in love after all these years. A girl in class showed me her brother’s unsmiling buzz cut. Is he afraid? He was short and wore broken Converse last I saw him. Vince, surely, is growing tired and angry at his own jokes. Could he be the one to remix it? Make it slap this time. Let America give rise to its young and its angry and it will live on. All of us know all forms of fear at all times. Will Kendrick speak? How many more will kneel? Will it divide us? Is the feed still up; will it endure; oh, America, are these the waning years? My father was in Midtown looking up toward the smoke, or so he told me five-odd years later, laden with fantastical viscerality. It had not frightened his daughter. Oh America, when I tell my daughter what things were like for me, what things will be like for her, will you owe me one? She will have my eyes and she will know the caution of people walking on city streets.
“DRINK THE WILD AIR” – R.W. EMERSON, Abigail de Riel photography
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DEAD SPACE, Katherine Chuei photography
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LIFE, Alex Zhang Life is meaningless People must give it meaning Too few understand
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I CANNOT SING, Khadeeja Qureshi You knocked the wind right out of me And with my breath, you took my song As you spread your own, bitter-tasting, along all buds of my tongue At age 5 I thought it was my own No one heard me No one listened When I tried to sing You weaken my knees And for my walk, I revoke my trust As you coat a sweet girl’s blood With pride and loyalty At age 15 Because she is not your own No one hears me No one listens When I sing, “I cannot sing”
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Will no one hear me? Will no one listen? When I do not sing But do not worry! I have found refuge \ in your children Not our land And for now, Or forever You are not my home, You are not my home
UNTITLED, Conor Heaney photography
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ADULTS WISH TO SLEEP, NOT DREAM OF LOVE, Maya Pophristic
There used to be a time when he thought: he should try. Thought maybe: Wash those stains off your fingers, little boy, No one feels sorry for you but yourself. Keeps adding new stains, the smell of tobacco does not leave. It follows him home, the house of his girlfriend. It lingers when he trails his fingers along her skin, lingers at the bar (where he spends most of his days). Lingers at work, he quit school after he finished high school (barely). Nothing matters when the words are less stable than your family, When they wrap around your tongue and pull it out and use it to slam your head. Again and again, Every day, every second: it was a slam against the table. He quit; he doesn’t have to think about that now. Now it’s: electricity, Or is it plumbing? If he thought the words were blurry, his life makes them look crystal clear. But the nights. That’s when he can see his fingers and count that there are ten. When beer after beer are gone, and money that doesn’t exist is slipping onto the ground. He is here, he is in this bar. He sees this drink in front of him, sees his fingers wrapped around it. Isn’t it beautiful? Tips his head to get that gone money’s worth, He used to look up to his grandma like that.
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GLOW, Anya Sachdev
photography
She is the only one in his heart. He is nineteen. More tired than he \ has ever been. Every day, more tired than he’s ever been. Every day his face feels heavy, every night \ he rests it against her chest. But she left. She broke his heart. He is nineteen. He is homeless again. The new boyfriend \ comes around \ with a gun in hand, And when it’s pointed \ at his head: All he wonders \ is if he should look \ straight down the barrel \ or turn his head.
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PEDESTRIAN, Mildred Ouyang
art’s medium
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BU
GEY E
D, V
al e ria
s-O rre To liva
res photography 24 | 8 |
TITLE, Artist Name art’s medium
AN ODE TO BEAUTY, Anonymous she was the sun and the stars floral daintiness and i was the moon and the sea away from her
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STAFF LIST ADVISORS
Mr. Gonzalez Ms. Muรงa
EDITORS-IN-CHIEF
Leslie Liu Maya Milica Pophristic
MANAGING EDITORS
Amelia Wright Valeria Torres-Olivares
TECHNOLOGY
Jingyi Zhang Lydia McGrath-Manuilskiy Ashley Wang Grace Zhang John Liang Cecily Gubser Jane Lillard
PUBLIC RELATIONS
COPY EDITORS Ashley Wang Aileen Wu Emily Han
BUSINESS
Lisa Mishra
SECRETARY
Shane Spring
GENERAL STAFF Angel Musyimi Anya Sachdev Matt Karns Mayowa Ayodele Pia LaPlaca Skai Reynolds Taarika Bala Ruby Wright Subha Sivakumar Nina Li
Clara Bourquelot Leah Williamson Han Jiang Alice Feng
PEOPLE DOODLE, Mayowa Ayodele pen and ink 26 |
COLOPHON The artwork in this issue was accepted through standard review board voting and group discussion. During this process, the artists’ names were kept anonymous to everyone but the managing editors, who had compiled all of the submissions beforehand. Each staff member voted anonymously either “yes,” “no,” or abstained on a Google form. All art pieces with higher than 75% approval were published. A few others with at least 60% were also accepted based on their potential, both as complements to other pieces and their abilities to unify entire layouts. The only exceptions were when a single artist submitted more than one piece with a rating higher than 75%. In these cases, the higher of the two was selected. For literature, the percentage was 50%. The cutoff was lowered to maintain a healthy art-to-literature ratio, as fewer literature pieces were submitted.
FONTS COVER AND TITLE PAGE| Baskerville regular 60pt, 12pt CONTENTS | Open Sans semibold 14pt, Lora italic 14pt SUBMISSION TITLES | Open Sans light 18pt SUBMISSION TEXT | Lora regular 13pt STAFF LIST | Open Sans semibold 13pt, Open Sans light 24pt COLOPHON | Open Sans semibold 12pt, Open Sans light 12pt PRINTING PAPER | House Laser Gloss #80, 8.5x8.5 inches Printed by Short Run Printing, 2017 regular 14pt
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UNKNOWN TITLE BY UNKNOWN ARTIST, Isy Weng & Vinny Wang