THE IVY ISSUE XXX | PHS
THE IVY ISSUE NO. 30
TheIvy began in the 1960s. Its serialization began in 2014.
Editors’ Letter
Dear Reader, Issue 30 is a celebration of a year of growth, development, and recovery from a pandemic. Starting from online meetings, we built our presence in the Princeton High School community, transitioned to in-person review boards and productions, and printed physical copies for the first time in two years. We hope you are in spired by the delicateness and intricacy of the artwork, literature, and spread designs as much as we are.
This magazine consists of a variety of pieces ranging from an oil painting of a thoughtful girl to a poem about finding home in nature. Despite being a Black & White issue, Issue 30 is full of expressive artistry and introspective literature that seek to change the way you view yourself or the world. We are wholly grateful for all the support you have given us, whether through submissions, reading this magazine, or simply appreciating the creativity of our students. As always, this issue would not have been possible without our talented staff and advisors. If you’re interested in joining our expanding team, you can reach out to us at theivy.phs@gmail.com or check out our Instagram @theivy.phs. Issue 30 is meant to be an ending and farewell; however, we wish it to become a springboard for a better The Ivy in the next school year. Hope you enjoy!
Kind regards, Lawrence & Shaila
4 | PHS XXX | 5 Table of Contents HOPE ...................................................................... 6-7 Yilei Chen LUNA ...................................................................... 7-9 Lana Swindle A GLANCE ................................................................. 8 Yunbing (Emily) Qian PILLARED ................................................................ 10 Shaila Sachdev I CANNOT F(X) ........................................................ 11 Ryan Xu KALEIDOSCOPE ...................................................... 12 Zara Chen AH, RATS! ................................................................ 13 Lindsay Hirschman THE HIGHWAY GAS STATION .......................... 14-15 Nicholas Niforatos WHY BOYS ARE MORE ATHLETIC ......................... 14 Ellie Kovalick SEE YOU ON MONDAY ..................................... 16-17 Luca Balescu THE FOREST’S PRISONER ....................... 16, 18, 20-21 Ada Metaxas THE DARK LADYBUG .......................................... 18-19 Maxine Slaymaker CAST IRON WALLS .................................................... 22 Tracey Liu UNTITLED .................................................................. 23 Liam Caswell-Klein SHEET OF CLOUDS ............................................. 24-25 Eva Lependorf UNTITLED .................................................................. 25 Katharine Becker COVER PAGE: MONKEY SEE, Todor Pophristic photography
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LUNA (I), Lana Swindle
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He liked to explore the rooms.
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He was fascinated with them at first. Each was slightly different: the organization, the colors, the sheer amount of papers piled in their confined spaces and the way they were kept in check. He’d spent hours sitting inside each one, riffling through pages and reading labels to his heart’s content.
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1.How did the motives behind European coloni zation in the 19thcentury differ from what they had been previously?2.The Dutch were the colonizers of what present-day country?3.Who were the sepoys?4.Your text citesan exception to the British victories in their con flict with the French in the 18thcentury. What was the exception?5.In controlling India the British were based
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Some were designed carefully, organized to the last minute detail. Papers tucked away carefully in locked cabinets and drawers, neatly labeled in open boxes. Sterile white walls and concrete floors, absolved of any color, pattern, graffiti. Storage rooms, almost. He’d tried to sit inside and find the keys to the cabinets and drawers as he’d done with all the rest, yet those rooms repulsed him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever understand them, their discipline, a place for each page, each word, each necessity.
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Yet most were different. He’d entered rooms with barely any light, dim and in ab solute disarray, papers littering the floors. Everywhere he walked he’d stumble into something: a discarded word, an overturned box, an unfinished drawing. They amazed him, too, though he supposed he understood those rooms a little better.
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It was always interesting, finding the entrance to each one. Some doors were locked, others without a door at all, yet he always managed to find a way if he looked hard enough. It was hidden somewhere on their demeanor, tucked away in a creased eyebrow or a sideways glance, the ceaseless tapping of a foot. It was there in the biting of a lip, the brushing of the hair. The small, miniscule details.
XXVI | 7
6 | PHS XXX | 7
HOPE, Yilei Chen
photography
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He’d grown used to most rooms and their inevitable similarities. Riffling through the words and drawings was an addiction; he’d waste most of his time just sitting inside, watching and listening, sometimes even exploring the darker corners of each. He’d stopped because he had to. He turned his gaze away most days before finding the key to the locked rooms, didn’t bother looking for the door in the first place.
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And so when the new employee stepped inside the office, making her way towards the boss’s desk with her gaze averted, her head tilted downwards, he’d all but ig nored her. It was always the same with those people anyway, those that lived with their neat hair and careful clothes, the ones that moved with a purpose. Their doors were almost always locked, the key hidden rather carefully, and when he’d managed to find the entrance at long last, he knew he’d see boxes and boxes, cabi nets and files, sterile walls and labels on all sides without a trace of color or graffiti. He’d become so used to the exploration that it was no longer exploration anymore.
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Yet he’d found the key quite by accident with this one, without really trying. She’d moved towards her desk, hand clutching her briefcase, and she’d looked at him. He wasn’t expecting it, her quiet glance, but her head had turned slightly, purposefully, as though she’d noticed him.
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He didn’t know what possessed him to open the door in the first place. He knew what he’d find, and opening one door was a risk; opening one door always seemed to open so many more.
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He supposed he’d opened it because she’d looked at him.
8 | PHS XXVI | 9
A GLANCE , Emily Qian
oil paint
8 | PHS XXX | 9
LUNA (II), Lana Swindle
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10 | PHS PILLARED , Shaila Sachdev photography XXX | 11 Magnitude towards a direction, vector. Derivative of position, velocity, derivative of velocity, acceleration. Scalar dot product cross product Quadric surfaces? Tangents, Normals Rectifying, Bosculating, is it normal? K or κ? MY HEAD HURTS ∂��/∂�� lim (x+h)-f(x)/h dw=(dw/dx)(dx/dt) fxy=fyx? gibberish Welcome to math class ICANNOTF(X) , RyanXu
photography
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RATS!, Lindsay HirschmanInsert Lit here Insert Lit here
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The sound of scuffling and gnawing above me, in my attic, jolts me awake. It is the sound of a rat. It makes itself at home on the other side of the ceiling directly above my bed, not above my desk, not above my dresser, and certainly not above my closet. It wants me to know it is there. I lay in bed as if asleep, hoping that my soundlessness will encour age it to coexist with me in silence. But it continues to furiously gnaw at the wood in between us. I want to go back to sleep, so I shape my hand into a fist and strike the wall beside me, frightening it with a thud. It final ly ceases its pestering nocturnal activity and buries itself in the insulation, its makeshift nest. We both go to sleep. A minute of si lence passes between us until it scuffles and gnaws again, awaking me with the fear that it would eat away the barrier between us, drop through the hole it made in my ceiling, and land on me. Maybe it would eat me, too.
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The sound of scuffling and gnawing above me, in my attic, jolts me awake. It is the sound of a rat. It makes itself at home on the other side of the ceiling directly above my bed, not above my desk, not above my dresser, and certainly not above my closet. It wants me to know it is there. I lay in bed as if asleep, hoping that my soundlessness will encour age it to coexist with me in silence. But it continues to furiously gnaw at the wood in between us. I want to go back to sleep, so I shape my hand into a fist and strike the wall beside me, frightening it with a thud. It final ly ceases its pestering nocturnal activity and buries itself in the insulation, its makeshift nest. We both go to sleep. A minute of silence passes between us until it scuffles and gnaws again, awaking me with the fear that it would eat away the barrier between us, drop through the hole it made in my ceiling, and land on me. Maybe it would eat me, too.
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12 | PHS XXX | 13
KALEIDOSCOPE
Zara
,
Chen
AH,
WHY BOYS ARE MORE ATHLETIC
I had my earbuds in Running on the sidewalk of my busy street, Because I didn’t want to think about the cars going by. When I was honked at by speeding trucks and vans, I kept my head down. But I was scared. My hands shook. When one of them yelled at me from his open window, I ran a little faster, And hoped he would keep driving. My lungs trembled and my heart slammed against my ribs.
Dread and guilt and panic. No, the earbuds didn’t really do anything. I could still hear their startling passes Clear as day.
It was like being scolded as a little kid. They were angry.
I told myself, Maybe they were talking to someone else. Maybe the car horns weren’t meant for me. Though I knew full well I was the only one on the sidewalk. I wanted to do something. But what was there to do?
14 | PHS XVII | 15 XXX | 15
THE HIGHWAY GAS STATION, Nicholas Niforatos photography
, Ellie Kovalick
THE FOREST’S PRISONER (I),
TITLE
Ada Metaxas
OF ART, Artist Name art’s medium
TITLE OF ART, Artist Name art’s medium
I was once a prisoner of the forest Enthralled by the Blossoming Baby’s Breath Chirping Chickadees Glorious, green grass
Comforting clouds And Dancing, delicate deer Funny thing is, I never felt like a prisoner
It was so calming Lying down Looking up at the sky Daydreaming about playing with my animal friends And imagining what lay just beyond the forest’s edges
One morning, a big yellow bus drove straight through the forest To me
Destroying everything in its path Killing the Flowers Trees Grass And some animals
That day, the bus liberated me But I missed the forest So I returned that afternoon Each time I returned I had less and less time in the forest
I grew more and more curious about that which lay beyond the forest. Each time I returned, Something new came to take me away
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YOU ON MONDAY,
XXX | 17 16 | PHS
SEE
photography Luca Balescu
Later,
I realized that I was starting to feel like a prisoner again But this time I realized, I was a prisoner of those somethings So I thought again about the forest And I wondered Had I been the cause of the forest’s misery? Or Had those somethings been the cause of its destruction?
THE FOREST’S PRISONER (III), Ada Metaxas
I left the forest when I was ready I made a promise to myself to return to the forest
Whenever I started feeling like a prisoner again I understood that I can only be made a prisoner when I allow it
When I give too much power, Too much control over my life, to those somethings or even to the forest itself
I made a plan I would return to the forest once more But I would not think of the somethings
I would not be afraid that they could return at any time I would not be afraid of the destruction they could cause And when I returned this time, The forest had regrown It looked once again like it had when I was still its prisoner Funny thing is, I no longer felt like a prisoner Of those somethings Or of the forest
It was so calming Lying down Looking up at the sky Daydreaming
XXX | 21 20 | PHS
CAST IRON WALLS, Tracey Liu
photography
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UNTITLED, LiamCaswell-Klein
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Mom always told me that my legs were made for walking. So when I left that cold late night, I had one goal in sight. To walk. I wanted to move forward, feel what it was like again. Not too much thought behind it, really just for the sake of itself. It seemed I’d forgotten, the swift trod of footsteps and the slow clomp of heavy boots. I don’t know if I’d forgotten, or just hadn’t been reminded, how good it feels to be alive.
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22 | PHS
XXX | 23
UNTITLED, Katharine Becker
The water was the most soothing of the elements. But it was also capable of earth-shattering destruction. The jellyfish was hungry, but its tentacles couldn’t reach anything. Waves rolled over and over, with a monot onous comfort to them. Maybe if it ate at a later time in the day the hunger would dissipate. At the moment though, it was all-consuming. The inability to swim against the current was damning. Sleep was the only solace. If all jellyfish couldn’t control their direction of travel, where were the rest? Why weren’t they all being pushed together? The current grew in strength. Perhaps there was something rewarding about trying to fight back; even in a fight that can’t be won. The jelly fish wondered what it would be like to travel in schools, like the fish it preyed on. That was a dumb thought. But how could it be any dumber than its other thoughts (it had no brain)? Oh wait, there are some crabs.
XXX | 25
24 | PHS
SHEET OF CLOUDS , Eva Lependorf
photography
ADVISORS
Mr. Gonzalez Ms. Muça
EDITORS-IN-CHIEF
TECHNOLOGY
MANAGING EDITORS
BUSINESS
SECRETARY
EDITORS
WORKSHOP
COORDINATOR
Hillary Allen SPREAD DESIGNERS
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 every one besides the managing editors, who had compiled all of the submissions beforehand. Each staff member voted anonymously ei ther “yes” or “no” on a Google form. All art and literature pieces with higher than 50% approval were published. We keep a consis tent art-to-literature ratio. We are Princeton High School’s only art and literature mag azine. We are an extracurricular club that meets after school; on normal meeting days we meet for half an hour on Tuesdays. When we are designing layouts we meet for three hours every day for four days. For Issue XXX, the initial distribution took place online.
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STAFF LIST COLOPHON
Lawrence Chen Shaila Sachdev CREATIVE DIRECTOR Yunbing (Emily) Qian
Heidi Gubser Christopher Bao Serena Lathi PUBLIC RELATIONS
Laasya Gadiyaram COPY
Irene Dumitriu Emily Saunders Lana Swindle
Lindsay Hirschman
Zara Chen
Delaney McCarty
Sky Jo Freya Patel Hanaan Sikder
PAGE
FONTS COVER AND TITLE PAGE | Minion Pro 60pt, 12pt, Open Sans 14pt TABLE OF CONTENTS | Open Sans 11pt, 14pt, 24pt SUBMISSION TITLES | Open Sans light 18pt, Minion Pro 18pt SUBMISSION TEXT | Open Sans 12pt, 13pt, Minion Pro 14pt STAFF LIST | Open Sans semibold 30pt, Open Sans light 24pt, Open Sans 13pt COLOPHON | Open Sans semibold 30pt, Open Sans 13pt
NUMBERS | Open Sans semibold 12pt
