PAWPRINT APRIL 2022
SUSTAINABILITY
APPENDIX
THROUGH MY EYES BY NYA SMITH PHILOSPHY ESSAY BY AMALIA ALLEN WHERE I'M FROM BY AMY LANTERMAN COLLEGE ESSAY BY MIA HENNUM FOREST FIRES BY LEXI FARWELL OLD FLAME BY MIA HENNUM REGRESSION BY JEREMY KURZYNIEC PAINTING BY JASON SHAPIRO STANDARDIZED TESTING BY MIA HENNUM INTERPRETATIONS OF THE DESPRATE MAN BY BENNY MORGADO-CABUTO
APPENDIX
MONARCH BLUES BY LISA MCNEALUS SPEICES IN VERMONT ACADEMY BY JOSH SWAN WHAT DRIVES CLIIMATE CHANGE? BY JESSICA SHAPIRO BUTTERFLY COLLAGE BY LILLY SHLOSSER BUTTERFLY COLLAGE BY SOFIA BIANCONI WATERCOLOR BY NATALIE KUCEROVA POLLINATION BY JESSICA SHAPIRO
THROUGH MY EYES BY NYA SMITH Can you imagine a world that’s upside down, a world that only you can see? Well I can. I was about 5 years old when I started to see the world differently. It's not like I saw the sky on the ground or the ground on the sky. It was like words and letters would look so scrambled to me like they were flipped. I couldn’t really read anything unless I looked at it upside down. It was like my brain was broken. When it came to learning how to spell my favorite letter was the lowercase T. For some reason it fascinated me even when upside down or right side up you always know it's the letter t. In class I had a friend named Tyler. He was normal, he was average. That's what I liked. We had a friendship that was only accepted in school, there was no text or call only if we needed to. if we saw each other outside of school we would walk past each other like strangers but in fact we were not strangers we were really close. He knew most of my problems and I knew him. He was my Batman and I was his Robin. When listening to music I like to listen to it reversed because it challenges my brain to figure out the lyrics. I don’t like loud music if not my own, or big crowds; that's probably why I don’t go to parties anymore. It gives me anxiety and then I lash out, sometimes I scream and lay on the floor in a ball with my hands over my ears crying. When you think of crying you think water coming out of your eyes but no, I never cried out my eyes. When I get overly emotional and want to cry it comes out of my skin so I sweat instead of cry and the more I cry the more drenched I am in my own tears. My mom said when I was a baby and she held me for the first time I looked at her with the saddest face she had ever seen. I did not cry or make a noise but it was like she was holding a soaked baby that not even the towels the doctors gave her could dry me off. She knew I was different but she never let her curiosity take over and find out what was wrong with me. Instead she ignored my outburst and called me crazy when I would tell her I saw everything upside down.
THROUGH MY EYES BY NYA SMITH When I was 12 she took me to McDonalds and pointed at the big pole with a yellow M on top of it but all I saw was a big yellow W. She would scream at me and tell me I was wrong then look away and shake her head in disappointment. I felt so distraught and struggled to understand why no one saw the world like me. I wish I could change myself and change my view on the world but I can’t. I can’t just pretend that this world is so perfect and flawless when in reality… well in my reality it's not. It’s dysfunctional and a mess. Relationships, friendships, everything Is completely broken just like me. I’m broken. Wouldn’t you call yourself broken If you were the way I am? My mom calls me broken and unstable and maybe she’s right. Not too long ago I had one of my outbursts because the neighbors’ music was so loud I could hear it over the music I had blasting in my ears so I ran under my bed and I screamed and I kept screaming so loud that numerous neighbors knocked at the door to see If everything was okay. My mom wasn't too friendly so she always ignored those concerned neighbors just like she ignores me. That day was different, She came running upstairs but once she opened the door she stepped in a lake of tears. She looked pissed and told me how I was the reason why my father left. My jaw dropped and my heart sank. I only remember little bits and pieces of my father but what I do remember was all the times he would get angry because he didn't want to deal with me and the responsibility of all the challenges I came with. My mother always told me it was never my fault that I am who I am but what she said that day made me feel worse about myself than I already did. I got up and ran out the yellow door and down the steps and out the house. I can hear my mom yelling “wait, come back, it's freezing!!”
THROUGH MY EYES BY NYA SMITH But I kept running not knowing my destination but knowing I wanted to get as far away as possible. I called my friend Tyler but no answer. I was worried because he said he would always answer if I called. I tossed my phone into someone's lawn that had a big yellow door. It felt so similar but I kept running. It was the middle of winter and roughly around noon and I ran outside with just a pair of pants and a t-shirt on. I was cold and drenched. I started coughing and shivering. I was getting tired until I walked through these naked trees that glistened with frozen ice hugged around them. I was mesmerized, I felt calm at that moment. I felt happy, and I was in my own world, A glass world where I was free. I laid down on what felt like clouds and looked up at this upside down world and began to smile while my body began to feel weak. I drift off into a place where everything was covered in ice and it was colder than before, the sky was gray and it was very foggy I got up and looked around for a moment until I was approached by a small gremlin that was no bigger than 3 and a half inches it was all red with bunny ears and pitch balck eyes. It spoke to me and said, “Hello and welcome.” I wasn't too sure where I was so I said “I want to go home.” It nodded and started to hop away out of the forest I followed and it took me down the street to a house with a yellow door where I remember I threw my phone, Before I could tell the gremlin this wasn't my house I saw a ghost flying over top of this house I realized it was Tyler. I yelled out to him but I got no response. The gremlin said, “you can not reach them here, you are no longer of that world.” I began to scream at the gremlin, “Where am I? I just want to go home!!” The gremlin looked dead in my eyes and said “You're already here.”
THROUGH MY EYES BY NYA SMITH My eyes widened as I let out a deep breath. I started to run down the street until I got to my house. As I opened the door I saw my mom sitting at the kitchen table with a cigarette in her hand. She looked stressed and worn out. I yell at her and say “mom im home,... im home” but no answer as I get closer I notice a bunch of papers laid out on the table with big letters saying “MISSING” with my face plastered on the front. I turn my head to look at the microwave that says the date and time on there. It's March but how could this be? I ran to the window to see no snow on the ground. I left in December what felt like moments turned into months. For the first time since my dad left I saw my mom cry, she grabbed the paper and put it towards her chest and said “ I'm so sorry” as I stood beside her my heart started to race I felt something run down my face. It was tears and a lot of them. I wiped my face and looked at the palm of my hand then slowly looked at my mom and then dropped to my knees. I began to feel my body lose itself. I fell to the ground and heard a voice that said ‘Now you may rest Tyler” I let out a gasp as I closed my eyes knowing I would not awaken.
PHILOSPHY ESSAY BY AMALIA ALLEN The novel What Are You Going Through by Sigrid Nunez begins with a message about the immorality of having children. This message comes from a speaker whom the narrator has gone to see present and although it is not necessarily connected to the main plot line of the book, it is the part that most caught my attention. I, myself, have never experienced the desire to endure pregnancy nor have any biological children. However, reading Nunez inspired me to dive deeper into the morality and ethics of procreation and in particular, the anti-natalism argument in favor of adoption. The aforementioned speaker in Nunez’s work suggests that “it was a mistake to bring human beings into a world that had such a strong possibility of becoming, in their lifetimes, a bleak and terrifying if not wholly unlivable place,” (Nunez, 15). He goes on to reference the already millions of people suffering in our world and questions why we would add to their numbers. He emphasizes this point by asking “why could we not turn our attention to the teeming sufferers already in our midst?” (Nunez, 15). It is these two points which most resonate with me: the concept of it being immoral to nonconsensually give life to someone who may have to watch the world end in the first half of their lifespan, and the suggestion that rather than taking such a selfish route as that, we instead focus our efforts on those already forced onto this planet. According to the United Nations Children’s Emergency Fund, there are roughly 153 million orphaned children worldwide. The top three countries for intercountry adoption with the United States are India, China, and South Korea. Between those three countries, there are approximately 20,517,000 orphans, whose numbers continue to rise1. However, according to the U.S. Department of State, only ~4,700 children from other countries were adopted out to the United States in 20171. Even within the United States there are over 420,000 children in the foster care system and yet in the last year of reported data, only 57,000 of said children were placed with forever families1. It is therefore indisputable that we are facing a crisis of parentless children which we are severely lacking a significant response to. Renowned philosopher Peter Singer argues that “we are morally obligated to assist those in need as long as we do not stand to suffer comparable harm2.” It is this notion which I believe all hopeful parents ought to consider and use as reference in making the choice to adopt.
PHILOSPHY ESSAY BY AMALIA ALLEN Understandably, adoption is not a feasible option for all families. The expense of adoption is a common argument in opposition to it. However, the expense of raising children in general is extraordinarily high. Moreover, if one cannot afford the process of adoption (which is typically spread across a couple of years), it’s possible that one might not be financially stable enough to raise any child, even a biological one. The expenses of carrying out a pregnancy, and the resultant time off from work which would be necessary for at least one parent to take, are likely comparable to the cost of adoption, particularly if the child is from the U.S.. Other common arguments against adoption stem from the desire for a biological child and everything that comes with that. For example, many women wish to experience pregnancy and childbirth. They also want to experience all of the milestones in their child’s life such as their first words, which they might miss out on if they were to adopt. However, in response to the former, the negative physical and emotional toll which pregnancy has on a person is rarely considered. A recent study found that 1 in 7 women in the United States alone suffer from postpartum depression in the year immediately following giving birth3. As for the latter, one would still experience their child’s first day of school, their first romantic partner, their graduation, and so many other significant life events even if they chose to adopt. This is not to mention that such an insignificant argument in the grand scheme of things should not nearly be reason enough to forgo the option of adoption all together. In short, it does not appear that families are proportionally weighing the costs and benefits of adopting versus giving birth. Aside from the moral obligation to assist those already suffering, there is of course the consideration of if it is ethical to procreate considering the environmental impact it has. In 2004, the year that I was born, there were roughly 6.4 billion people on Earth. Today, there are 7.9. Between the years of 1900 and 2000, the world population grew from just over 1 billion to just over 6 billion4. There are people alive today who have watched the global population double in their lifetime. We are in the midst of a global climate crisis which is being fueled by our overpopulation and a subsequent rise in demand for finite resources.
PHILOSPHY ESSAY BY AMALIA ALLEN According to a study conducted by the Department of Statistics at Oregon State University, the decision to not have a child is almost twenty times more effective in reducing one’s carbon footprint than many other ‘green’ initiatives such as a change in diet or a switch to electrical transportation5. Having children has an undeniably negative impact on the environment whereas the simple act of not having one has a significant, positive effect. Choosing to not have a child and choosing to instead adopt is not only more environmentally sustainable, but it allows people to still fulfill their desire to become parents. Humans have an innate pro-natal bias both inherently and socially. I don’t wish for this paper to come across as cynical and I certainly don’t believe that people should stop having children altogether. However, given the current state of the world, I believe that human’s philosophical “duty to rescue” should be applicable to procreation. Adoption is not an option for everybody but for everyone it is possible for, I believe that leading a more sustainable life and assisting someone already suffering should take priority over having a biological child. Returning to What Are You Going Through, Nunez’s speaker in the opening chapter of her novel is a controversial character. As a person, he is arrogant and rude. As a scholar, he is quite intelligent. The passive narrator who guides us through various interactions with this man gives us an objective perspective on him and his work, and therefore serves as a commentary on the two. Given that his points are strong, however disagreeable they may be, I interpreted Nunez’s choice to portray him as such an unlikeable man as an observation of how touchy this subject is. I view him as a personification of the topic as a whole. As a representation of this notion, the speaker is also very realistic. He’s not happy, he’s not enjoyable, but he may very well be right and people are uncomfortable with that. Nunez even acknowledges this in her text, stating that it was when he brought up his thoughts on procreation that “murmurs and shifting among the audience” (Nunez, 15) began.
PHILOSPHY ESSAY BY AMALIA ALLEN In summary, humanity and our planet are in a state of crises. We have long passed the period of possible prevention and now we can only try and minimize the amount of damage we do as much as possible. This may not be the most optimistic of messages, but it is true. Choosing to not have a child and choosing to instead adopt if one wishes to become a parent is a more than viable option on many accounts, including morally and ethically. Nunez sparks an interesting debate in her work which I particularly enjoyed researching and she has led me to the conclusion that it is immoral to procreate when one has the option to adopt.
WHERE I'M FROM BY AMY LANTERMAN I am from marbles, from Maypo and fire-roasted apples. I am from Ghost-town Gully, narrow, timeless, until the faint cry of “time to come home” I am from the weeping willow, the tiger lily, and hickory nuts, white flesh on gray rocks, hair smelling like freedom. I am from “Would you like a piece of fruit?’ and five feet, From Evie and Ike and Pedro Pedro. I am from belly laughs and lung cancer, From sit up straight and I think I can, I think I can. I am from why is this child not like any other child?, never forget, and we shall overcome. I am from Shrub Oak, Coney Island, and pogroms, from potato pancakes and currant jam, From records thrown into the incinerator and water balloons in Sweden. On the shelf in the hall closet, leather covers and black corners– He had a crush on me, white gloves at baseball games, and smuggled silver, Smiling eyes and dancing in fields. I am from it’s only a thing, a day of listening, from love once misunderstood and deepest gratitude.
COLLEGE ESSAY BY MIA HENNUM I was sobbing so hard in an Aldi’s grocery store parking lot that I could barely breathe. My bewildered mother, my ultimate confidante, couldn’t understand why I was in such distress and I didn't know what to tell her. I didn’t want her to think I wasn’t owning up to a rule I broke, but I couldn’t figure out where the crushing weight of guilt was coming from. How could I confront the irrational embarrassment I felt for my adolescent sexual explorations? And how the hell was I going to tell my mom? Four months earlier, still a freshman in high school, I found myself infatuated with a short redhead boy. It truly felt like the first time I felt attraction towards someone, so when he asked me to go to his dorm, something I knew was against the rules, I was exhilarated. I had always been a rule follower, a leader, my only sleepless nights came from worrying about perfecting school assignments. My fifteen-year-old brain weighed the risk, and I let the lack of development in my prefrontal cortex get the better of me. He had friends who had similar excursions with frequent visitors, so I trusted his plan. When we were inevitably caught, I asked the teacher who had found us what would happen. Pity showed through her eyes. “Well...you are probably going to get a standards.” I trembled, “A standards?” She shook her head sympathetically, “a meeting with teachers, your advisor will talk to you about it.” My advisor, who I would become close with later in my time at school, was still a stranger to me, so I was left feeling totally alone in that meeting. He was supposed to be my advocate, but when I sat next to him in a small side room in my tiny private school, packed with people, he did not feel like a safe zone. I could only imagine how strange it was to observe a 15-year-old advisee squirm as the faculty in the meeting probed me with questions about what I was doing in that room? How dare I begin doing such things? Why would I ever go up to a room? I could feel 15 pairs of eyes watch me, tears brushed down my cheeks the entire hour, my first real taste of womanhood. I was reprimanded for our two-year age difference and asked if I was raped, fortunate as I was that it was completely consensual, I walked out of that meeting stripped raw of my pride.
COLLEGE ESSAY BY MIA HENNUM The meeting succeeded in discipline for breaking a rule, their words had a far deeper impact, and I held onto that shame. Knowing that was not the intent, I still wore that disappointment heavily. The relationship with the red-headed crush didn’t last but, after this experience, my understanding of how the world treated women and their bodies did. Not wanting to take my feelings of unjust shame and shelve them away anymore; I decided to forgive myself. I made a mistake but I wasn’t ‘broken’ for being curious about sex; as I progressed through high school I dealt with slutshaming and toxic dating culture, but now knew better. I had no hesitation confronting a boy from my biology class when he felt the need to spread salacious rumors about us, despite the fact we hadn’t kissed yet. I had a newfound respect for my autonomy and I have refused to let someone take it since. I am passionate about speaking of these issues and hold no qualms in bringing attention to misogynistic thinking, even my own. I observed sexist slang and taboos, why slut-shaming is wrong, #metoo movement, sexual health, domestic abuse, female and male reproductive systems. While I have no concrete idea where college direction will take me, I am sure that whatever my major will be, is a result of my freshman standards committee meeting.
FOREST FIRES BY LEXI FARWELL We were on fire We were never supposed to burn out the way we did The only way to keep us going was by throwing oil into the flames hoping we have some more time In the end the flames burned every bit of me My mind My dignity My body And lastly you made my heart burn.
OLD FLAME BY MIA HENNUM Pt1- Éteignoir had waited for a long time to find love. She grew up with only her mom, her father having left the family when she was only 3. Her only bond was to her mother. She listened to her mother and took her advice to heart. “You’ll never find a husband with that tummy Éteignoir” So Éteignoir ate only the colors of the rainbow. Éteignoirs body began melting away. She had no control over her newly thin limbs. “You’ve got to be less clumsy Éteignoir or you’ll never find a husband.” Éteignoir began taking ballet lessons. She spent hours in front of the mirror watching her lines and fixing her posture. She practiced and practiced until she moved with such grace that she appeared to be floating. “You’ve got to dress like a wife Éteignoir, not a girl, or he will leave you like your father left me.” Éteignoir spent her young womanhood perfecting herself for her mother. She tossed away her brightly colored sweaters for thin black straps and rouge lips. She stopped laughing loudly and only politely giggled. She made herself small to make her lovers feel tall. And then her mother died and she felt her bond snap. She never realized how tightly she had wound herself around her mother; the only love she had in her life. She missed that feeling, no one to be connected to, no one to hold on to. Until she met Bougie. They had run into each other in a restaurant outside of the city. Éteignoir had been leaving a boring date behind, trying not to tempt him into asking her for a second one, when she literally ran right into Bougie. In fact her stiletto heels were not slowing her down because when she plowed into the man in front of her, he stumbled all the way back to fall on his bum.
OLD FLAME BY MIA HENNUM “Oh my goodness!” She nervously squaled, “I should have looked where I was going.” Bougie brushed off his pants from the slight stumble he took and laughed. “It’s ok, I need to be knocked on my ass sometimes.” Éteignoir blinked at him and then started laughing. Really laughing. Bougie’s face twisted into a humored but confused look as this prim woman began cackling continuously. Then, she snorted. She laughed so hard Éteignoir made a similar noise to a pig and then silence. Her hand went to cover her mouth, eyes wide in horror, if only her mother could see her now she would be rolling in her grave. But then Bougie began to laugh, not at Éteignoir, but with her. So she began to laugh again too. There they were, two strangers who were practically falling over in laughter. Tears started streaming down her face from laughing so hard, she had to grab on to the stranger’s forearm to stop her from making a bigger fool of herself. In between gasps of breath, “I… have never… heard a woman snort… in my life!” Bougie remarked. Éteignoir laughed quieter, suddenly shy of her new vulnerability with this strange man. “I’ve never.. Let someone hear it” Bougie quitted his laughter too, genuineness shown through his eyes, his tone serious so that this strange woman would listen to him earnestly. “You should let the world hear it more often.” Éteignoir thought to herself, maybe she had found someone who would love her, for her. And maybe, just maybe, her mother would be happy for her. Bougie was walking hand and hand with Éteignoir. Her thin heels clicked on the cobblestones as she walked briskly with her fiance. She walked fast, not noticing when Bougie’s pace slackened against her own, busy in her own jittery excitement.
OLD FLAME BY MIA HENNUM But Bougie slowed his pace. He felt a tug from the left side of his chest. His thoughts were clouded by the feel of his rapid heart beat, he remembered the feeling once before, and he looked around and recognized her. Correspondre was just leaving a small boutique, pale blue and plain, compared to her smoothly content face. The loud ambulance passing down the left side of the street faded, Bougie could not hear his waiting companion try to get his attention, as he remembered what Correspondre’s face had last looked like when she walked toward him.. “Bonjour!” Bougie felt, more than he saw, the woman on his arm huff and then respond back. “Bonsoir.” Her eyes slammed into Bougie’s peripherals, but he only seemed to just remember to breathe. The words escaped from Bougie’s mouth, “Correspondre, I have not seen you…’ again his tongue seems to have failed him and he has gone searching for the correct words. “Since Uni, right?” She huffed so forcefully in the autumn mist gave her a hard breathe away in her laugh. “Long time no see old friend.” She finally looked at Bougie long enough that he could see how her golden brown eyes had not changed. The joy that seemed barely contained in her body. Something in his left arm swiped at his attention in a tingling shoot through his chest. “And you have not even told me about your beautiful mademoiselle either Bougie! How rude of you” Correspondre shot out her right hand, and blonde Éteignoir, whom Bougie forgot had been beside him when his mouth let him down, had extended her gingerly. Éteignoir halted, took her hand back before her gloved finger tips could reach Correspondre purple gloved hands’ and Éteignoir removed her hands to the brisk cold of the Paris air. As she reached back out to shake hands with an obvious ex-lover’s of Bougie’s, she relished in the joy that dropped out of Correspondre’s eyes, as she noticed the decadent rock that sat on Éteignoir’s left finger. Bougie saw it too, then felt the tautness on the nerves in his arm go limp.
OLD FLAME BY MIA HENNUM “Ooo congratulations! Mosteltov” She tittered in the socially supportive lady-like way, but when she turned to Bougie, the light he had just seen in her eyes dimmed, something snapped, even making Bougie even stumble back at the sheer force of it. The strong tingling sensation that had taken hold of the left side of his chest vanished, and seemed to have left an empty hole in its wake. “Thank you…''Bougie's fiance responded, but he was busy rubbing his hand across his sore chest, trying to make sense of these new sensations, or lack thereof, when he truly looked at Correspondre. The vibrant paris light seemed to dull colors now, he remembered her dry salty tears on his dress shirt after thanksgiving meal. He remembers feeling a steel strong pull between the two of them, Bougie was overjoyed with the idea of finally introducing the person who made him feel whole, and connected himself and her at the same time, to his family. He couldn’t fathom that such a thing as different prayers would result in an unsanctioned marriage, in the eyes of his catholic relatives. He knew his short girlfriend of the jewish faith practiced differently than them, but the same morals or joys and striefs seemed so similar. It’s what left them both speechless on the steps of his parents house, steps of the house he thought she could call her in-laws by the end of the meal. But by time they had left, their tentative hands held together reflected the fragile state their concrete relationship had been rocked in. As Corresponde walked away from her old lover, the strain on her arm began to loosen. Her brow was bent in deep thought as she rounded the corner, putting yet another yard of distance between herself and her old lover. But then she looked up from her furiously walking feet on the cobblestone, to look at the city before her, not sure exactly what direction she was going in. But then that fading warm feeling in her arm went taunt and she remembered why she was in France. Sure, originally she had fled to the foreign city to escape her heartbreak, and her family. But in healing from her breakup with her only love, she found another comfort in this strange city, and fell in love with exploring it.
OLD FLAME BY MIA HENNUM She immersed herself in the culture, night classes taking French, peaceful painting class, and only slightly overwhelming philosophical french history classes. Her heart began to lift with stories of old mythology, her eyes couldn’t take in the beautiful museum art fast enough, and her brain was stimulated by foreigners. In losing her lover, a future she envisioned for herself, she began to discover a new path that she would love to. She did not owe anything to anyone, and for once in her life, Corresponde flourished in that feeling. She did not feel empty without a lover anymore because she felt that love stretch out to the top of the eiffel tower, to the bottom of the perish in the Cathedral De-Notre Dam. When she had been drowning in the possibility of love, she now could swim through the city of delightful intellect and feel whole. Infact, she found pity for her old lover, and her heart softened for him. She had seen the longing in his eyes, but she had to laugh, knowing his fascination was simply because he could not have her. And when Corresponde had set her eyes on her ex’s fiance, she could see how much Bougie meant to her, for she made her whole, and he needed to move on from Corresponde. The door on Corresponde’s regular cafe chimed, and she stepped into the coffee scented scenery, and let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding in. “Bonjour Mademoiselle Correspond!" "Bonjour Patrick!” The barista she had become quite familiar with, picked up a cup for her, already starting her order, “You’re usual miss?” “You know me so well” “And your French is getting even better! One day we might not be able to tell you are not a natural born french!” he chuckled to himself, his belly moving with delight, and Corresponde laughed too. She knew her friend was right because she had found love in where she lived. She loved exploring new adventures for herself. Corresponde found herself in a foreign city and that was the only love she needed to feel whole.
REGRESSION BY JEREMY KURZYNIEC Split-moon cricket song Pillow halved glowing Seeps in, humid fresh, And washes in two Isis-aching dreams. Oceans and gulfs, A godly breath, Bars the bridge of This to that yet I was there, Blind, deaf to Her moves, cries, Toys, games, Childish Wiles.
PAINTING BY JASON SHAPIRO
INTERPRATATIONS OF "THE DESPRATE MAN" BY BENNY MORGADO-CABUTO
WHAT DRIVES CLIMATE CHANGE? BY JESSICA SHAPIRO
BUTTERFLY COLLAGE BY LILLY SHLOSSER
BUTTERFLY COLLAGE BY SOFIA BIANCONI
WATERCOLOR BY NATALIE KUCEROVA
POLLINATION BY JESSICA SHAPIRO
WHEN I KNEW I FOUND THE ONE BY WHITNEY BARRETT
I DONT LIKE IT AT HER PLACE BY WHITNEY BARRETT