THE IVY ISSUE XIX | PHS
Editors’ Letter Dear Reader, Welcome to Issue 19, back to color we go. As second semester is in full swing, we know that you, especially seniors, might have a little more time on your hands. We hope you spend it relaxing, and enjoying the lovely pieces of fellow students. In this issue we truly see the breadth of visual art and literature, and for that we applaud you. The rich and assorted submissions that we receive continue to wow us; your contributions that help The Ivy become what is now in your hands are commendable. You continue to make our job selecting pieces to be featured a little more difficult, but in turn make the magazine that much better. Each piece that we pore over continues to remind us of the talent of this student body. We thank our wonderful staff who took your art and writing and put it together to make something truly unique. Our staff members meet to discuss the piece and decide what gets in. Then, they create beautiful spreads, out of already beautiful work! This issue has some of the most creative layouts yet. Finally, we would like to remind you to submit your own literature and art to our email theivy.phs@gmail.com, as well as to use this email as a resource for any questions that you may have. If you would like to view some of our older issues head over to: ivymagazine.org. Enjoy, Angel Zucchini & Maya Stricter
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Table of Contents A NAIAD........................................................................6-11 Maya Pophristic
RELATIVE ABSENCE..........................................................22 Anonymous
CHILDHOOD...................................................................11 Isy Weng
NECESSITIES.......................................................................23 Sydney Vine
AMHERST..................................................................14, 15 Grace Zhang
DALE CHEYS.................................................................24,25 Grant Luther
MSD............................................................................16,17 Eli Nathan
MY BEST FRIEND ONCE TOLD ME.......................26, 30 I LOOK LIKE ART Siena Moran
DO YOU EVER FEEL LIKE NOTHING IS REAL........18 Charlotte Gilmore SOCIAL NORMS............................................................19 Nina Li THE SAMOSA.................................................................20 Sarita Raghunath UNTITLED................................................................20, 21 Ava Rand
NEON...................................................................................27 Colleen Wiseman COPENHAGEN............................................................28, 29 Olivia Estes-Downs ME, BUT LINES...................................................................31 Isabel Kinney WHERE I WISH I WAS..................front and back cover Andrew Markau
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A NAIAD (I) Maya Pophristic
Y
ou are here again, lying under the canopy of the trees. I am here again, watching you. Loving you from afar. I watch you, and I feel how old I am, mysterious and far from you. I lean forward, past my domain—through the trees—to whisper to you. I am naked in my want for you, but I know, like every time, that you will not stay. When you are not here, I am destroyed; for all I am is my love for you, and when you leave, you end me. Please don’t let me end.
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This sketch is based on the painting A Naiad, by John William Waterhouse, which is the inspiration for the prose piece by Maya Pophristic.
If I were human, perhaps I would not fall over my heart for you. I wish it were true—how much I wished I didn’t love you.Your face, your lips, your hands.Your elegant hands, with long fingers that I wish would twist in my hair again and again.Your lips, both mischievous and playful, constantly bending between them.Your face is my end.You stare at me from across everywhere, and I am more breathless than when I drown. Today I am the river, sister to the sea. And yesterday I was the sky. I beg of you, understand me like the sky and the sea understand me. Understand me, love me. I am only loved by my love for you. But I need to be understood by you, so that when I die, and awake as a tree, it is purpose that makes me shiver. It is your single fingernail scraping down my bark, breaking it apart.You make my make-believe armor tremor. You are not my ilk—I know that, but try to understand. Understand my native language; I speak yours, but when I try to speak of myself, whenever I part my lips—sweet water seeps out, and no words can make their way through. Sink me. I beg of you, drown me into the depths of blueblueblue water. A salty blue, where I can feel myself drying into nothing, for not even my sister loves me. Push me down until I must gasp and the sea is pulled into me—until my lungs are collapsing into themselves because your weight sits on it; until I swallow all of the oceans and seas. Sink me, so that I may stop loving you.
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A NAIAD (II),
Maya Pophristic
But do I wish to stop loving you? For when I was the sky, I sang to you in blue. A light baby blue, the blue you yourself wore as a babe. As the river, I lick your ankles, I whisper to you in pretty whirls of water. My home, my body, is covered in moss, so that you do not cut yourself. To perhaps make you slip, fall into me, be held by me. I cannot change my love like I change my body, nor do I wish to. I am contradictions, and I know this damages my wish of understanding. How may you understand me if I am like a coin with more than two sides? Yes, I have a second skin to a second skin.You could swim in my deep blue, and find yourself among clouds.You could watch my bark armor break in the next life from your fingertips, and sweet water would spill out. No logic is here. But I promise you I am not an act, my skin might have bark, moss, and clouds, but I show you only my skin. It is all my skin.
I am water, I can swim around in myself in the clear blue and see you sleeping at the shallow end.You’ve never entered, nor will you ever.You do not have the eyes of a fish, how I wish you had the eyes of a fish. I am the waterfalls rushing, I am the flap of wings, and weepy clouds that seep into each other, I am the canopy of green and the rush of life and silence that only exist within a forest. I am the water, I am the sky, and I shall awaken as the inbetweener. I shall awake, tall and vast—and still out of your reach. How I wish I could caress you from above, how I wish you could see how I drag stars down for you.
I watch you, I see you, I understand you. Whoever I am, I will always sigh with longing. As I watch you sleep, I know I will always wish to run a finger along your cheek. Always wish to stretch my palms on your back, so that I may feel your muscles move. But I will never be able to. I will never be loved in the same way I love you. But when I die, and awake as a tree, I will still keep loving you.
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UGLI BOI, Katy Faas
oil on canvas
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3,000 MILES
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AWAY, Andrew Markau
photography
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acrylic
CHILDHOOD Isy Weng
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AMHERST, Grace Zhang in the summer of Amherst, you stumble into pockets of radiance, tipsy on sunsets– tipsy on escapes. long bouts of laughter & even longer summer shadows, wisps of baby hairs flying up in the breeze against manuka honey-kissed skin. where we find fibonacci numbers in the cloves of wildflowers, solve fractal equations for the ethereal kaleidoscope sky. map mathematics to nature, map mathematics to ourselves. mathematics – something to hold
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because underneath golden hour & shimmying in short skirts, that summer fling you had hoping his sea salt thro at would swallow you whole, we are onto he stark numbers we define ourselves by, that point on the coordinate plane where you’ll fracture if you press just a bit too hard, the ink smudges, the bruises, the mis takes too deep to erase on our parabolic bodies, teetering teetering off of morning stars, we are nothing more than dust it rains everyday in Amherst in the rain, they can’t see you cry.
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MSD Eli Nathan photography
This photo was taken outside of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, the site of one of the deadliest mass shootings in U.S. history.
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do you evEr feEL LiKE nOTHInG iS REAL, Charlotte Gilmore
do you ever feel like nothing is real? I have been stoned for the past month or I must have been because nothing sticks in my mind; water slipping on sweaty lips in a cool wind that reminds me I’m here but not really because where is here? I have forgotten everything. if I focus too much on existing, I realize a truth but before I can hold it on my tongue, it slides away. and to look forward - well, what does that do? the future is an expanse of green that shuffles the layers in my eyes a field that promises a horizon, but when I walk to where the grass dimples the sky, there is only another forever waiting. I walk until I have remembered everything, tucked the opposite of forever into my pockets as I passed, philosophies tied into the back of my sports bra. I remember five-minute dreams, and I forget the just-dried-paint aridity of my throat until I tilt my lips to the fountain and water runs like a well-written line—the relief more in the realization that dehydration means death, which means I am alive.
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SOCIAL NORMS, Nina Li
acrylic/collage
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the samosa, Sarita Raghunath
there are those who argue the filling is better, no, the crust but pulchritude cannot be limited to either, as the combination the blend the full effect of the complex flavor is what makes its whole essence come alive. 20 | PHS
UNTITLED, Ava Rand photography
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RELATIVE ABSENCE, Anonymous We miss so much—everyday. Every person we walk by Don’t stop to talk Fail to observe Refrain from appreciating We miss so much. With every breath we take, potentially hundreds around us follow. What happens next? Many cannot say. What goes beyond each breath? Someone speaks of story Another laughs We all live We miss it Witnesses of absence Another day blows by Today, you are part of tomorrow’s past Tomorrow, you are part of today’s future Stress not, be your present Today Listen to stories Laugh with strangers Live Miss few, experience many Live today, Remember yesterday, Ponder tomorrow. Above all ~Be present for many~ ~Absent for few~ 22 | PHS 20 | PHS
NECESSITIES, Sydney Vine ink and digital art
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DALE CHEYS, Grant Luther
Photography
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my best friend once told me that i act like art (I), Siena Moran
he said to me you know, you leave this space when you speak, this space—that I don’t know how to describe— like art. you leave space for, interpretation. not exactly that butyou know, you know?
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colored pencil
NEON, Colleen Wiseman
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COPENHAGEN
by Olivia Estes-Downs
Photography
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nd e i r f t at es h b t y e m ld m ) I don’t, but it’s why- o t e I I ( t onc r I think, ke a i l t c so many people fall for you i a Moran Siena
in the way that they do. a faceplant on the concrete- and when they look in the mirror they don’t see the bruises, just the watercolor blacks and blues that you painted. a breath in exchange for a word, a space for interpretation. you say something with that voice, like you know something more, and they go home and lie in their beds playing it over and over again trying to figure it out, and it consumes them; you, that’s what I think.
I just stared blankly. something in me felt like- something. I told him that was so… and he just laughed.
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ME, BUT LINES, Isabel Kinnme
ayrke rs o
np ap
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r
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This is the Ivy The art and lit magazine This is a Haiku To help inform you That we are accepting ads! Fill this space right here
Wish to advertise? Do you have a lovely ad? This space could be yours!
Thanks for reading!
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Email us your ad! theivy.phs @gmail.com!
For things such as rates, Also what sizes we have, And other info!
Thank you for reading! We hope you reach out to us, Angel and Maya
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STAFF LIST ADVISORS
PUBLIC RELATIONS
EDITORS-IN-CHIEF
COPY EDITORS
Mr. Gonzalez Ms. Muรงa
Maya Pophristic Angel Musyimi
CREATIVE DIRECTOR John Liang
MANAGING EDITORS Shane Spring Ashley Wang
SPREAD DESIGNERS Eli Nathan Jane Lillard Vera Ebong Han Jiang Ellie CD Anna Lin Rida Ahmed Elizabeth Chuei 34 | PHS
Cecily Gusber Rida Ahmed
Andre Biehl Chris Shen Travis Thai
BUSINESS Matt Karns
SECRETARY Anya Sachdev
GENERAL STAFF Han Jiang Lydia Jane Nina Li
COLOPHON FONTS
The artworks in this issue were accepted through standard review board voting and group discussion. During this process, the artists’ names were kept anonymous to everyone besides the managing editors, who had compiled all of the submissions beforehand. Each staff member voted anonymously either “yes” or “no” on a Google form. All art and literature pieces with higher than 50% approval were published. A few others with at least 48% were also accepted based on their potential, both as complements to other pieces and their abilities to unify entire layouts. We keep a consistent art-to-literature ratio. We are Princeton High School’s only art and literature magazine, we are an extracurricular club that meets after school, on normal meeting days we meet for half an hour on Tuesdays. When we were on layouts we meet for three hours every day for four days. For Issue XVII there are four hundred copies circulating the school.
COVER AND TITLE PAGE| Baskerville regular 60pt, 12pt
CONTENTS | Open Sans semibold 14pt, Lora italic 14pt SUBMISSION TITLES | Open Sans light 18pt, 20pt,
24pt, Lora regular 18pt, Trajan pro regular 18pt, 72pt, Highway Gothic regular 30pt, Myanmar MN regular 23pt, AB Manuscript Outline regular 36pt, Stencil Std bold 30pt, Mesquite Std medium 30pt, Charlemagne Std bold 30pt, ZB Manuscript Outline regular 24pt, 30pt, Birch std 30pt, Phosphate in-line 30pt, Big Caslon medium 30pt, Apple Symbols regular 30pt SUBMISSION TEXT | Lora regular 12pt, 13pt, 14pt, 19pt Minion Pro regular 10pt, Open Sans regular 12pt, 14pt, Perpetua regular 10pt, 13pt, Myanmar MN regular 16pt, Trajan Pro 14pt, Sinhala MN regular 20pt, Open Sans light 14pt, 16pt, AB Manuscript Outline 12pt, 36pt, Highway Gothic narrow 11pt, ZB Cursive regular 24pt STAFF LIST | Open Sans semibold 13pt, Open Sans light 24pt, Open Sans bold 24pnt COLOPHON | Open Sans semibold 12pt, Open Sans light 12pt, Lora italic 10pt, Open Sans bold 24pnt, Lora regular 13pnt
PRINTING PAPER | House Laser Gloss #80, 8.5x8.5 inches Printed by Short Run Printing, 2018 regular 14pt
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WHERE I WISH I WAS, Andrew Markau photography
Andrew Markau