“This world is but a canvas to your imagination.” H E N RY DAV I D T H O R E AU
Our Mission We exist to provide students a forum to share their very best works. Curated by students, the journal seeks to be intimate, exploring art from every angle.
about the cover There are four variations of the cover to this year’s Port City Review. Each artist has a unique story behind their artwork and how it was created.
THE LITERARY ARTS JOURNAL OF SCAD WINTER 2020
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THE LITERARY ARTS JOURNAL OF SCAD WINTER 2020
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
Port City Review
THE LITERARY ARTS JOURNAL OF SCAD
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
Port City Review
THE LITERARY ARTS JOURNAL OF SCAD
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copyright & colophon Individual pieces contained herein are the intellectual property of the contributors, who retain all rights to their material. Every effort was made to contact the artists to ensure that the information presented in this journal is correct. No part of this journal may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the editorial staff and the adviser. Port City Review, established in 2012, is an annual literary arts journal showcasing the work of SCAD students exclusively via a submissions process. Published content is determined by student editors.
staff K A I T LY N M I T C H E L L SAM BRAMLETT
Simulation,
City Life
Digital Illustration
Photography
Nathanael Ozburn
Jessica Caughron
Indonesia
Annapolis, MD
B.F.A. Illustration
B.F.A. Photography
Office Wear
Amalgamation
Photography
Digital Illustration
Jessica Caughron
Nathanael Ozburn
Annapolis, MD
Indonesia
B.F.A. Photography
B.F.A. Illustration
Opinions expressed in Port City Review are not necessarily those of the college. The ninth issue of Port City Review is available free of charge to SCAD students, faculty and staff. Subsequent copies of the journal, and copies for the general public, are available for $10 each. The typefaces used in this edition of the journal are Rylan, Montserrat Light, and Roboto Condensed.
This journal was designed by Kaitlyn Mitchell with the use of Adobe Illustrator CC and Adobe InDesign CC.
Back Walking behind you I notice the loosely formed oil stain on the back of your shirt, shaped like a half-formed Dalmatian, it runs and barks to the wind in rhythm with your steps as you weaved in between growths of thickets and low-hanging brambles. We’re in the woods and it’s early Autumn. You have your old twenty-two rifle clutched in your good hand, your left hand, and your knuckles are swollen around the polished chestnut stock. Your walk is hard, heavy, and your feet push deep into the muddy leaves on the ground. You’re limping. I’m about four yards back from you, Grandpa, walking slow to dodge the switches you push out in front of you. For a time, this is good. We walk like this for a moment, patiently listening to the sound of the creek ten careful steps to our right and the dogs to our front. They’re coon dogs, and they get their name from what we’re hunting. They’re about twenty yards ahead of us, prancing delicately as they sniff the ground for recent signs of a raccoon. We’re hunting raccoons, but we’d be happy with squirrels at this point. I hear you cough and wheeze from over my shoulder but shrug it off as we cross over a log that’s fallen over our trail and take a few steps towards a patch of yellow flowers sprung up in a clearing of about fifty feet. 4
It’s around this time that the dogs start barking. From up ahead, we see them dart across the clearing and into the shadow of a line of pine trees. As we chase after them, we enter the clearing and for the first time in two hours I can run beside you. I look over to see your face, a crooked deep smile is etched into your winkled mustached face. You’re happy, and I match your speed. You’re much slower than me, but the dogs are still barking up ahead and we are getting closer. There’s a whistle in your throat as you run. You don’t seem to mind – maybe it’s always been there. There are two logs piled up at angles to one another, making an ‘x’ in the muddy, barren path. The dogs had jumped over it, I could see the claw marks from their paws etched into the moss. I jump over one, then the next, and continue toward them. I hear you yell from behind me, “Keep going after those damn dogs!” So, I do. Continue reading at portcityreview.com...
Back, Fiction Perrin Smith, Rock Spring, GA B.F.A. Writing
Reclaim, Giclee Print Lexie Peterson, Milwaukee, WI B.F.A. Photography
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period. B
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A. Please Seat Yourself, Inkjet Print
C. Make the “Right Choice” for Your Future
Yaniurka Pedroza, Bolivar, Venezuela
Plaster, Pen, and Collage
B.F.A. Photography
Sonal Kawatra, Delhi, India B.F.A. Production Design
B. Period, Animation Daniella Graner, Lima, Peru B.F.A. Illustration
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B
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A. Empty Car in Transylvania, Photography Alexandru Mironescu, Savannah, GA M.F.A. Film and Television B. Pals, 35mm Digital C-Print Sophie Nelson, Savannah, GA B.F.A. Illustration
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A. The Heart of a Magical Tree Sequential Art/Comic Book Ting Wu, Wuhu, China M.F.A. Animation B. Sonorous in Red, Photography Madeline Esper, Belgrade, MT B.F.A. User Experience Design
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A. Aesthetic Words, Acrylic on Canvas Christy Lo Lok Lam, Hong Kong B.F.A. Painting B. Unbreakable , Photography Bailey Flanzraich, Long Beach, NY B.F.A. Photography
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Palm Fronds The palm fronds are flattened in the rushing wind, Splintered and battered by the singing breeze. Whipped and whizzed, zipped and zapped. Slapped against street poles and construction cranes. We don’t have palm fronds, where I come from, up North. But we do have elephant leaves, the size of a child’s face, The perfect width for a Fairy House roof, or a loincloth. You could climb the wide oaks, which stretched wide as they grew tall, So that you could run and catch the lowest branch, and find easy passage through the rest. There was one sappy tree, by the soccer fields. It rose high and wide, like a mushroom cloud and Was always teaming with children. Wriggling like maggotts in rotted fruit. I would climb to the top and use my elephant leaf as a visor and gaze down on a world in miniature. The wind would whip and whizz, zip and zap and slap. But the tree wouldn’t move. It’d
or it would fly up and away, away. 14
stand firm, with me perched Precariously on top of it. I always lost the elephant leaf quite quickly. Sometimes I let it go to be battered and bashed. Sometimes it was stolen from my sappy fingers, And sank, dead, to the thrush of grass below. Or it would fly up and away, away. Sweet on the breeze till it winked out of sight. Then the sun would catch my face like it does here. Leaving too-little eyes to squint, and too-pale face to burn. But my mother would come at the end of my sister’s soccer game to Collect me. Here there are no big, sappy trees to climb, Or elephant leaves to snatch up from the ground But there are palms and their fronds, That snap and snicker in the breeze.
Palm Fronds, Poetry Phoebe Covey, Downers Grove, IL B.F.A. Sequential Art Eyes Wide Shut, Mixed Media Yongxiao Wang, Savannah, GA M.F.A. Illustration
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B
A. Audrey and London, 35mm RA-4 Print
C. Late Nights, Photography
Ethan Helow, Jacksonville, FL
Shannon Widjaja, Jakarta, Indonesia
B.F.A. Photography
B.F.A. Animation
B. The Flood, Acrylic on Dura Lar Anthony TungNing Huang, Taipei, Taiwan M.F.A. Illustration
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C
A. Colored Film, Photography
C. Love and Sacrifice, Film & TV
Christopher Gibbs, Griffin, GA
Jeremy Tan, Penang, Malaysia
B.F.A. Photography
B.F.A. Film and Television
B. Between Worlds, Mixed Media Phoebe Rothfield, Chico, CA M.F.A. Illustration
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A. In Transit, Photography Katie Ulsh, Carlisle, PA B.F.A. Photography B. The Eternal Walker, Mixed Media Esteban Millan Pinzon, Bogota, Columbia M.F.A. Illustration
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A. Pit Stop, Stop Motion Animation Sound editor, foley artist, and editor Juliana Henao Mesa, Savannah, GA M.F.A. Sound Design B. Leave No Trace, Self Directed Stop Motion Animation Sophie Nelson, Peoria, IL B.F.A. Illustration 22
C. Heavenly Bodies, Film, Inkjet Print Drishti Joshi, Tampa, FL B.F.A. Photography
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I Love You the Yellowest I stare, mesmerized by the swirls of thickly applied impasto. The bright and vivid colors warm me from the inside out. I am mesmerized. I have the painting burned into my memory, the lines, and the curves, the different stages of life the flowers are in. The brightest still life composed by a tortured mind. I touch the outline of the sunflower at the back of my neck. The colors make me think of my mother. We moved all the time, but the kitchens were always yellow, like her mother’s and her grandmother’s. Jump back to my childhood, to sweet smells pouring out of ovens, and sunflowers in a red clay pitcher substituting for a vase. “I just love the way they brighten up a room”, she’d say as she cut the stems at a sideways angle, and it stuck. Generations of women whose favorite color was yellow, their favorite flowers were sunflowers, it was as if I didn’t have a choice, maybe I didn’t really want one. The sunflower is the common name for the Helianthus. The flower is cultivated in temperate regions. In some tropical regions, they are used as food crops, feeding cattle, poultry, and even humans. Native to the Americas, they were used for food, medicine, dye, and oil as far back as 3000 B.C. The flowers tilt towards the
the colors make me think of my mother. 24
sun during growth and stop doing so once they begin the blooming process, called heliotropism. The plants are not ideal for gardening, they spread rapidly, they are invasive. Flowers planted too close together will compete and fail to thrive to their full potential. They are a symbol of faith, loyalty, and adoration. To me, they are a symbol of her, a symbol of the women that came before me. Jump to a summer studying art history abroad. I’m in London, at the National Gallery, staring into the depths of Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers” and the next moment I’m in my mother’s kitchen. People snap photos, selfie sticks swing around my head, and I think, ‘Haven’t they banned those things from museums yet’? I think of the ways in which art is universal, the ways in which it can transport you to another time and place. Jump back to my mother’s kitchen table, nursing books stacked high, yellow-lined notepads with her loopy, illegible handwriting. A Stevie Wonder CD plays from the old beatup stereo, the one we had to tape the lid down for it to play. She dances around the tiny kitchen, sings “Isn’t She Lovely,” yes, she is. Continue reading at portcityreview.com...
I Love You the Yellowest, Nonfiction Sommer Downs, St. Petersburg, FL M.F.A. Writing
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Saints, Inkjet Prints Yaniurk Pedroza, Bolivar, Venezuela B.F.A. Photography
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A. Celebrating the Peace
C. Opioid Addiction
B. Food Delivery
D. Farewell My Concubine
Digital Illustrations Ni Ma, Taiyuan, Shanxi M.F.A. Illustration
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C
D
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B
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A. Return to Me, Digital Illustration
B. Port City, Oil on canvas
C. Belly Up, Sequential Art
McKenzie Fitzgerald, Oviedo, FL
Kathleen Varadi, Savannah, GA
Hannah Smith, Valencia, CA
B.F.A. Illustration
M.F.A. Painting
B.F.A. Sequential Art
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Port City Review
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A. Big City, Mixed Media Mikayla Brander, Cherry Valley, IL B.F.A. Animation B. Awake, acrylic and oil on dura lar Tung Ning Huang Taipei, Taiwan M.F.A. Illustration C. Sunny Day Scratchboard Mikayla Brander, Cherry Valley, IL B.F.A. Animation
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A
Crisis Averted B
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A. Elephant Adoption
B. Crisis Averted
C. Paint it Red
Mixed Media
Acrylic on panel
35 mm film and red gel
Kevin Josephson
Allison McIntyre
Julia McCartney
Greenlaw, NY
Shinnston, WV
Austin, TX
B.F.A. Illustration
B.F.A. Painting
B.F.A. Photography
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The Eyes
They stare at you from the corners of your consciousness. Pinpricks of darkness haloed by bloodshot whites. Glasssmooth corneas slick with suppressed tears. Tiny red veins webbing dilated pupils. Thousands upon thousands of pupils, myriad and mystical. They stare at you. And stare. And stare. A gaze with no beginning and no end. “Stop looking at me,” you tell them. But they do not stop. They could not stop, even if they wanted to. Their gaze cuts you open like a blade. Eviscerates you. Your insides spool out in tangled strings, organs and muscles piling onto your lap. Agony swallows you, exquisite in its magnitude. But the agony is not enough to consume you. Not enough to make you stop seeing them.
“Stop looking at me,” you tell them. But they do not stop. “Stop looking at me,” you tell them. But they do not stop. And you are left with no choice. Two hands reach up to your face. Your hands. You pry your fingers into your eye sockets. Sticky wetness soaks your fingertips. A squish and a crunch echoes in your skull. Your own two eyes fall into your lap.
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C
A. The Eyes, Fiction
B. Not Your Mother’s
C. Boys Boys Boys, Mixed Media
Bri Ruhlmann, Washington, D.C.
Cherry Virginia, Indonesia
Sarah Campli, Philadelphia, PA
B.F.A. Animation
B.F.A. Illustration
M.F.A. Illustration
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A. Hot Off the Press, Digital Illustration Katsy Garcia, Manila, Philippines M.F.A. Illustration B. The Brown Leather Top, Brown vinyl Rachel Boggs, Griffin, GA B.F.A. Fashion Design
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A
A. Auspicious Gatherings,
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B. Beauty of Heritage,
35mm film RA-4 Print
Digital Illustration
Ethan Helow, Jacksonville, FL
Amelie Wang, Shanghai, China
B.F.A. Photography
M.F.A. Illustration
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B
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C. Roussillon
A. Pathways
B. My God Wears a Durag
Digital Illustration
Digital inkjet print
Dirt on paper
Julia Kartcheva
Emerald Arguelles
Shanae Roberts
Deerfield, IL
New Orleans, LA
Woodland Park, CO
B.F.A. Animation
B.F.A. Photography
B.F.A. Visual Effects
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A. Beige, Inkjet Print Drishti Joshi, Tampa, FL B.F.A. Photography B. The Ritual, Digital Illustration Cherry Virginia, Indonesia B.F.A. Illustration 43
Mountains We Make
A
Atop that man-made mountain, I felt small, smaller than the packed down trash, half-buried under dirt. I worried that the earth-mover drivers would mistake Papa and our tiny truck for toys. The back of my knees sweat as the enormous machines sculpted the garbage. I still feel little thinking about that mountain, now so tall that it overlooks the ocean. I feel small knowing that plastic will outlast my memories, the purpose it served, the seagulls high above. We’re no longer little humans pushing around dirt with our hands, but little humans hiding behind big machines that move mountains of dirt, move mountains of trash, mountains of money. This is not what God meant by faith that moves mountains. I’ve seen fear move mountains, too. Why are our hands never enough?
hiding behind big machines that move mountains. Mountains We Make, Nonfiction Maggie Maize, Soquel, CA B.F.A. Writing
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Port City Review
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C
A. Untitled, Digital C-Print Calvin Scott, New York, NY B.F.A. Photography
B. Rainy Day, Watercolor Shaowen Zhang, China M.F.A. Illustration
C. Mumbai Rooftops, Digital C-Print Riley Brennan, Winstead, CT B.F.A. Photography
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B
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A. Luncheon
B. Pig Pile
C. The Witch
35mm film RA-4 Print
Portra 400 Film
Digital Illustration Anna Hunter
Ethan Helow,
Joshua Nee
Jacksonville, FL
Randolph, MA
Vilonia, AR
B.F.A. Photography
B.F.A. Photography
M.F.A. Illustration
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A
How Are You B
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A. One Eyed Man, Mixed Media Halle Dowling, Scituate, MA B.F.A. Animation B. How Are You?, Inkjet Print Jennifer Upperman, Austin, TX B.F.A. Photography C. Escape, Digital C-Print Hannah Reen, Millersville, PA B.F.A. Photography D. Wild Beauty, Digital Hailey Jenkins, Memphis, TN D
B.F.A. Graphic Design 49
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A. Lifted Veil, Oil on Canvas Sophia Zannini, Martha’s Vineyard, MA B.F.A. Costume Design B. Athena Raven, Inkjet Print Josseline Martinez, Houston, TX B.F.A. Photography 51
A1
A2
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A. I Love Him, Might and Power
B. Untitled,
Ink on Paper
Oil and Acrylic on Canvas
Shayla Wigand, Dublin, OH
Ahimsa Llamado, Philippines
B.F.A. Painting
B.F.A. Painting
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Speaking of Self
Such an elusive thing I am, A Siren for my own misery. Ocean waves Drowning in songCalling. In whisper. My falsettos bring Shipwrecks Under burned bridges With Neptunes scepter in handI write. Re-live me, Relieve me, Sink in sweet sufferings Knotted in your own grief. I dive heart first under riptides Passing litters of my pastI sink. Trapped, in have beens and should be’s Seaweed strangles my thoughts, broken remains left Salt, Along the ocean floor.
I write. Re-live me, Relieve me, 54
Speaking of Self, Poetry Emily Sanders, Dallas, GA B.F.A. Writing
Port City Review
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B
A. Collective Arts Brewing Labels, Digital Illustration Katsy Garcia, Philippines M.F.A. Illustration B. Interior Striped Pitcher Set, Ceramics & hand mixed underglaze Emily Rozar, Wichita, KS B.F.A. Fibers
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B
B. Mom Cutting My Hair, 35 mm film Gabrielle Gonzalez, Ormond Beach, FL B.F.A. Photography
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A. Jungle Man, Inkjet Print
C. Specimen 33, Pen and ink
Drishti Joshi, Tampa, FL
Jacob Dudek, Saginaw, MI
B.F.A. Photography
B.F.A. Sequential Art
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A. Red Mountain, Digital Illustration
B. Untitled II, Photography
Kexin Yang, China
Andrew Gabay, Kennet Square, PA
B.F.A. Motion Media
B.F.A. Photography
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B
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A. Nishika Bhagat, 35mm film
B. The Qin Empire, Animation
C. Down the Rabbit Hole, Charcoal
Ethan Helow, Jacksonville, FL
Amelie Wang, China
Megan Schostek, Carmel, IN
B.F.A. Photography
M.F.A. Illustration
B.F.A. Fashion Design
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A
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A. The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, Digital Illustration Tao Leng, Savannah, GA B.F.A. Illustration B. On & Off, Animated Illustration Nathaneal Ozburn, Southaven, MS B.F.A. Illustration
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Pulling at Masks
Somewhere you breathe the same air You feel the same impatience You are lost in the same void We blindly search in the black amongst a billion strangers Naively hoping to catch some luck I can ďŹ nd you in gliding keys or strings I can feel you in the calm and quiet air before a summer storm In the light that cracks the sky I can sense you when the sun rises low over these wild plains Creeping along each leafy tree and unruly ďŹ eld Casting scarlet and gold upon crimson honeycrisp apples Its tint gradually transforming Spilling brilliant blood red over the soil
I can feel you in the calm and quiet air
Then dipping the world in rich golden honey I wonder again if you are there beneath another mask I tug and pull, but to no avail But to doubt is to fall into despair To despair is to die
So I continue Continue to blindly grope in the black, pulling at the masks of a billion strangers Never wavering Always waiting Waiting until our souls may collide once more Under the celestial system From whence we came
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Port City Review
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B
Pulling at Masks, Poetry Adrienne Krozack, Kent Island, MD B.F.A. Illustration
A. South Carolina Home, Gouache on Illustration Board Daniel White, Greenville, SC B.F.A. Illustration
B. Hand Emotion, Motion Media Chiyao Lien, Savannah, GA B.F.A. Motion Media
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How to Cut Your Own Hair, Mixed Media Sarah Davidson, Savannah, GA B.F.A. Sequential Art
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Secret Garden Book Cover, Digital Illustration Katsy Garcia, Philippines M.F.A. Illustration
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A
B
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A. Cooper, Acrylic on Panel
B. Luke Fifteen, Digital C-Print
C. Portofino, Digital Pattern
Martha McLeod, Greenville, SC
Jordan Petteys, Franktown, CO
Emily Rozar, Wichita, KS
B.F.A. Painting
B.F.A. Photography
B.F.A. Fibers
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A. Chinatown, Digital Illustration
B. Reflections, Acrylic on Canvas
Haosong Chen, China
Daniela Torres Wong, Panama
M.F.A. Illustration
B.F.A. Advertising
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Marques Por Una Primavera, Photography David Aguilera, Santa Clara, Cuba B.F.A. Motion Media
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When Beetles Die I was praying in the basement when my sister says that moths eat prayers like gravy. Sometime after then is when I stopped caring about the New York Jets and that I would croak drinking Pepsi. I’ve seen the dying beetles-I do not wonder where we go. I enjoy things, sure. Like men and watching people lie, grass juice, soft-wooded trees. My life was like this-a doughy desmantling, falling off the bone in manic impotence. A fruit of penetration. A wonderful humiliation. A swamp. I never stomped on the earth. Not once. It was so much quieter than that. It was even somehow futile, you know, all of this becoming.
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Moonlight is better than because it doesn’t pray to God when its dark out. Moths eat prayers anyway. I just don’t wonder where we go.
I never stomped on the earth. Not once.
When Beetles Die, Poetry Julia Corin, Parkland, FL B.F.A. Film and Television
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United By Colors, Digital Illustration Chimnayee Bagade, India M.A. Illustration
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A. Sunlight, Digital Illustration
B. The Secret of Red Planet, Motion Media
Abbie Bosworth, Austin, TX
Chiyao Lien, Savannah, GA
B.F.A. Motion Media
B.F.A. Motion Media
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A
Sarah Lane B
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Port City Review
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A. LOOP,
B. Sarah Lane,
Furniture Design
Oil on Canvas
Gouache
Charu Sharma,
Kathleen Varadi,
Jeri Venegas,
C. Grey Market,
Rajasthan, India
Savannah, GA
Houston, TX
B.F.A. Industrial Design
M.F.A. Painting
B.F.A. Illustration
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A
B
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A. Living Coral, Pattern Design
B. The Musician, Acrylic
Olivia Rogers, Louisville, KY
Madison Park, Noblesville, IN
Jin Tao, China
B.F.A. Fashion Marketing
B.F.A. Illustration
B.F.A. Illustration
C. Apsaras, Digital Illustration
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A
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B
C
A. Expansion,
B. CocoCause Packaging,
C. Full Moon,
Oil on Canvas
Digital Illustration
Watercolor and Ink Anthony TungNing Huang,
Sophia Zannini,
Mruna Mistry,
Martha’s Vineyard, MA
Gujarat, India
Taipei, Taiwan
B.F.A. Costume Design
M.F.A. Illustration
M.F.A. Illustration
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One-Way Glass With No Traustien Every time I commit pen to paper, what becomes clear to you is obscured to me, and more detail disappears with each divulgence. By the time you’ve finished reading this, you will know who I was and who I am, and I will be more lost than ever before. Yet, in hopes that you will tell me who I am, I will tell you again. Let’s get lost together. “JEW” I was a nice Jewish boy who grew up in Jewish Toronto. Like other nice Jewish boys, I went to Synagogue on the high holidays, attended Hebrew school, kept kosher, and secretly wanted to light the candles. On Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement for sin, I remember praying my heart out in Synagogue for God to forgive me after I kicked that awful boy David in my kindergarten class. I didn’t mean it though. He certainly deserved it. My best friends were other nice Jewish boys, and there was no difference between us yet. I was a nice Jewish boy who grew up in Jewish Toronto and moved. My memory of that day is like the weather most days in London, in that
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it is shrouded in a perpetual fog. I was sitting at a bustling table in the dining hall of my orderly primary school. There were dozens of us, color coordinated in our white uniforms and smart blue caps, settling in for the lunch hour. We sat facing one another on benches in neat rows, and between every few students was a large jug with water with a metallic tang to it that was refreshing nonetheless. On the rare afternoons when there was nobody to talk to, I like to imagine that my young self was enraptured with those large, geometric vessels, and the way they scattered light across the tabletop. On that day, however, there was much to talk about, and eager conversationalists all around me. One of the older boys, let’s call him Jack, was seated across the table from me - but you could probably hear him from a mile away. The topic was a popular one - the winter holidays - and for once, there was no endless conversation of some resort in Dubai that my parents would strangely refuse as the destination for our next trip whenever I would ask. Continue reading at portcityreview.com...
One Way Glass With No Traustien, Nonfiction Ben Elhav, Toronto, Canada B.F.A. Film and Television
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Bliss, Mixed Media Ploy Rujirawanichtep, Savannah, GA B.F.A. Fibers
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A
B
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A. My Grandma
B. 2020 Olympics
C. The Monk Players
Digital Illustration
Animation
Mixed Media
Soo Hyun Mamkoong
Carly Johnson
Clara Hunt
South Korea
Wylie, TX
West Bend, WI
B.F.A. Motion Media Design
B.F.A. Motion Media Design
B.F.A. Illustration
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A
A. Beauty is Pain, Oil on Board Nick Metz, Hillsdale, NJ B.F.A. Painting B. The Post, Title Sequence Hunter Scully, Florence, KY B.F.A. Motion Media
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A
B
B. Talking Flowes, 35mm film Ethan Helow, Jacksonville, FL B.F.A. Photography
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A. Mariday Tote, Leather and Vinyl
C. Alabama, Watercolor
Emily Rozar, Wichita, KS
Shaowen Zhang, China
B.F.A. Fibers
M.F.A. Illustration
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
C
91
A
B. Prescribed Addiction, Photography Chris Honthy, Clinton, NJ B.F.A. Photography A. 4 Horsegirls of the Apocalypse,
92
C. Relax While We Do It All,
Digital illustration
Mixed Media
Lucy Le, Vietnam
Ben Batchelder, Boston, MA
B.F.A. Sequential Art
B.F.A. Illustration
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
B
C
93
Be the hero, but carry it with regret.
I am scared of the little bird that plucked the thorn from Christ’s head. A chest covered in blood and a body covered in responsibility. Be the savior, be the hero, but carry it with regret. Pluck the apple, kiss the serpent, and unto you is sex. Mirror, mirror on the wall, was Eve ever the fairest of them all?
Moulting I, Poetry Robin Elise Maaya, Orlando, FL B.F.A. Photography
A
94
The apples and laurel branches haunt my ďŹ ngertips, Apollo and Adam will never know my crimson lips.
Port City Review
ISSUE 09
WINTER 2020
B
C
A. Ferris Wheel, Digital C-Print Elise Mullen, Cape Elizabeth, ME B.F.A. Photography
B. CafĂŠ de Nuit, Oil on Board Nick Metz, Hillsdale, NJ B.F.A. Painting
C. Orange Blossom Dinner Set, Ceramics Emily Rozar, Wichita, KS B.F.A. Fibers
95
A
A. Dogs!, Digital illustration Fernanda Cerri, Brazil B.F.A. Illustration B. The Demon Cat, Digital Illustration Zhinuo Zhong, China M.F.A. Illustration
96
ISSUE 09 — 2020
Port City Review
C AT E G O R Y
B
97
A
A. Patron Saint of Grad School,
98
B. 30 Days of SCAD,
Digital Illustration
Digital Painting
Sarah Campli, Philadelphia, PA
Seyoung Jang, South Korea
M.F.A. Illustration
M.F.A. Animation
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
B
99
A
100
A. Tong-Young Collection, Jewelry Design
B. Daydreaming, Ink
Mia Seo, South Korea
Mengying Cao, China
M.F.A. Jewelry Design
B.F.A. Illustration
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
B
101
A
A. French Blue, Acrylic and Pastel on Canvas Libby Barret, Tyler, TX B.F.A. Painting B. Aurora, Photography Alice Winter, Brazil B.F.A. Film and Television
102
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
B
103
Doll In your collection of dolls
You made me believe
I wasn’t the one you begged for
No one else would pick me
I sat on your shelf
I was too used, too worn
Wrapped, untouched
But I was not made for you
Until you picked me up Pulled my string Heard my pretty songs That made you become Obsessed, consumed I feared our playdates That made my buttons fall off
You made me believe no one else would pick me.
My strings go raw You played so rough I played pretend You made the rules I played dress up
104
Doll, Poetry Leila Scott, Naples, FL B.F.A. Writing
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
Valentino, Photography Yaniurka Pedroza, Venezuela B.F.A. Photography
105
A
A. Waves, Oil on Canvas Kathleen Varadi, Savannah, GA M.F.A. Painting B. Bat Quai, Table Minh Hoang, Vietnam M.F.A. Graphic Design C. Spy, Photography Alice Winter, Brazil B
106
B.F.A. Film and Television
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
C
107
A
B
B. Anvils of Time, Concept Design Akshay Tiwari, India B.A. Motion Media
108
A. Our Love, Motion Media
C. Invasion, Digital Illustration
Hsin-Hua Yang, Annapolis, MD
Olivia Colangelo, Savannah, GA
B.F.A. Motion Media Design
B.F.A. Illustration
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
C
109
A B
110
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
A. The Mountain, Animation Amelie Wang, China M.F.A. Illustration B. Cherry Blossom Festival, 35mm FIlm Kennedy Lindberg, Hueytown, AL B.F.A. Production Design
111
A
A. Spring Day, Photography Skye Brumley, St. Petersburg, FL B.F.A. Advertising B. Dramatic Man, Photography Jovanna Shultz-Yepez, Fort Worth, TX B.F.A. Photography
112
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
B
113
Solace of the Solstice It was the absence of teapots and the smell of bread freshly baked that turned memory to wine in the span of time before dinner was served. Silver cutlery acquainted itself with white paper napkins, and “amen” echoed through the walls into the adjacent rooms, to other memories I’ve forgotten to remember. But the sun, as it dissolved into a glaze on the horizon, reminded me that fire floats just as the lingering bodies at the dinner table, too tired to talk.
But the sun, as it dissolved into a glaze on the horizon,
Solace of the Solstice, Poetry Jack Young, Lexington, SC B.F.A. Writing
114
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
A
B
A. Streamliner, Gauche on Illustration Board Daniel White, Greenville, SC B.F.A. Illustration B. Got it, Got it, Music Video Tanaseth Tulyathan, Savannah, GA B.F.A. Film and Television
115
A
116
A. Untitled, c41 Film
C. Wake, Animation
CoCo Hubbeling, Fort Collins, CO
Adenike Folorunso, Colonial Heights, VA
B.F.A. Photography
B.F.A. Animation
B. History Channel, Motion Media
D. Wander, Animation
Chiyao Lien, Savannah, GA
Juliana Henao, Savannah, GA
B.F.A. Motion Media
M.F.A. Sound Design
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
B
C
D
117
A
118
Port City Review
ISSUE 09
WINTER 2020
B
C
A. The Singing Crane, Digital Illustration Kexin Yang, China B.F.A. Motion Media
B. Pillow Talk in Paris,
C. Be Daffodils,
Pin Hole Camera
Mixed Media
Gabrielle Gonzalez,
Phoebe Rothfeld,
Ormond Beach, FL
Chico, CA
B.F.A. Photography
M.F.A. Illustration
119
A
120
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
B
C
B. Resilience, Photography Yaniurka Pedroza, Venezuela B.F.A. Photography A. Better Beans, Motion Media
C. Vendors, Film Photography
Hsin-Hua Yang, Annapolis, MD
Tawin Mathew Nunbhakdi, Thailand
B.F.A. Motion Media
B.F.A. Film and Television
121
A
A. Logo Reveals, Motion Media David Aguilera, Cuba B.F.A. Motion Media B. Broken, Photography Manuela Duran, Savannah, GA B.F.A. Photography
122
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
B
123
A
B. Print Place, Motion Media Carly Johnson, Wylie, TX B.F.A. Motion Media
124
A. Bandaids, Digital Illustration
C. Constellations, Charcoal
Julia Kartcheva, Deerfield, IL
Adrienne Krozack, Kent Island, MD
B.F.A. Animation
B.F.A. Illustration
ISSUE 09
Port City Review
WINTER 2020
B
C
125
artist index Aguilera Arguelles Bagade Barret Batchelder Boggs Bosworth Brander Brennan Brumley Campli Cao Cerri Chen Colangelo Corin Covey Davidson Dowling Downs Dudek Duran Elhav Esper Fitzgerald Flanzraich Folorunso Gabay Garcia
126
72, 73, 122 40 75 102 93 36 76 30, 31 45 112 35, 98 101 96 70 109 74 14 66 48 24 57 123 84 11 28 13 117 59 37, 55, 67
Gibbs Gonzalez Graner Helow Henao Mesa Hoang Honthy Huang Hubbeling Hunt Hunter Jang Jenkins Johnson Josephson Joshi Kartcheva Kawatra Khandelwal Krozack Le Leng Lien Lindberg Llamado Lo Lok Lam Ma Maaya Maize
18 56, 119 06 16, 38, 46, 60, 90 22, 117 106 93 16, 31, 83 116 87 47 99 49 86, 125 32 23, 42, 56 40, 124 07 30 64, 125 92 63 65, 77, 117 110 53 12 26, 27 94 44
ISSUE 09
Martinez McCartney McIntyre McLeod Metz Millan Mironescu Mistry Mullen Namkoong Nee Nelson Nunbhakdi Ozburn Park Pedroza Peterson Petteys Reen Roberts Rogers Rothfeld Rozar Ruhlmann Rujirawanichtep Sanders Schostek Scott (Calvin) Scott (Leila)
Port City Review
51 33 32 68 88, 95 20 09 83 94 86 46 08, 22 121 62 80 06, 25, 105, 121 05 68 49 41 80 19, 119 55, 69, 90, 95 34 85 54 61 44 104
Scully Seo Sharma Shultz-Yepez Smith (Hannah) Smith (Perrin) Tan Tao Tiwari Torres Tulyathan Ulsh Upperman Varadi Venegas Virginia Wang (Amelie) Wang (Yongxiao) White Widjaja Wigand Winter Wu Yang (Hsin-Hua) Yang (Kexin) Young Zannini Zhang Zhong
WINTER 2020
89 100 78 113 29 04 19 81 108 71 115 21 48 28, 78, 106 79 35, 43 39, 60, 111 15 65, 115 17 52 103, 107 10 108, 120 58, 118 114 50, 82 45, 91 97
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The Savannah College of Art and Design exists to prepare talented students for professional careers, emphasizing learning through individual attention in a positively oriented university environment.
How To Submit Currently enrolled students may submit to Port City Review beginning in April of every school year. Works are accepted on a rolling basis from April until midNovember (deadlines announced via social media). The submission process is free to students and handled entirely online through theportcityreview.com Students may submit as many entries as they’d like to any category, regardless of major. A panel of student jurors from a variety of majors evaluate the works each Fall, and a student designer compiles the entries and designs the journal. For more information, email studentmedia@scad.edu
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