Pages Anthology 2015-16 by Wexner Center for the Arts

2015â&#x20AC;&#x201C;16 ANTHOLOGY An Arts, Literacy, and Writing Program for High School Students Celebrating 10 Years

“By allowing our students the freedom to use their journals as they wish, they were able to improve their understanding through their own writing. Students became more vocal during class discussions, unafraid to share their thoughts and opinions. Pages was so engaging, the opportunities for learning were endless.” —ENDDY MESSICK, 2007-9 WALNUT RIDGE HIGH SCHOOL

“Pages is a risk; students surround themselves in a bubble of comfort, and Pages bursts that bubble. Students must deal with complex, adult, modern, and problematic concepts that they are not used to seeing in school. Pages asks them to challenge themselves to look beyond the classroom walls to the adult world which they are soon to enter.” —MAUREEN GORSUCH, 2011–12, REYNOLDSBURG HIGH SCHOOL

“I love when the history and literature that we teach are alive for students because their issues are so relevant to issues that we are facing today. Pages brings these issues to the students and forces them to experience some of what the world-at-large is wrestling with. In other words, Pages matters.”—GARY LIEBESMAN, 2011–15, COLUMBUS ALTERNATIVE HIGH SCHOOL

WEXNER CENTER FOUNDATION BOARD OF TRUSTEES Leslie H. Wexner Chair Michael V. Drake, MD Vice Chair Bill Lambert President TRUSTEES David M. Aronowitz Jeni Britton Bauer Shelley Bird Michael J. Canter Adam Flatto Sherri Geldin Ann Gilbert Getty Michael Glimcher Elizabeth P. Kessler

C. Robert Kidder Nancy Kramer James E. Kunk Mark D. Kvamme James Lyski Ronald A. Pizzuti Robert P. Powers Janet B. Reid, PhD Joyce Shenk Alex Shumate Abigail S. Wexner John F. Wolfe EX OFFICIO Peter L. Hahn Bruce A. McPheron Bruce A. Soll Mark E. Vannatta

MAJOR SUPPORT FOR PAGES

ADDITIONAL SUPPORT FOR PAGES

SUPPORT FOR OTHER TEACHER AND SCHOOL PROGRAMS MILTON & SALLY AVERY ARTS FOUNDATION SUPPORT FOR FREE AND LOW-COST PROGRAMS

GENERAL OPERATING SUPPORT FOR THE WEXNER CENTER

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

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2015–16 ANTHOLOGY An Arts, Literacy, and Writing Program for High School Students Celebrating 10 Years

Wexner Center for the Arts The Ohio State University Columbus, OH

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© The Ohio State University Wexner Center for the Arts Individual projects © the authors Pages 2015–16 experience photos: Katie Spengler. Pages 2015–16 summer teacher workshop photos: Kimberly Cole. Project Staff Dionne Custer Edwards, Educator for School Programs Ann Jacobson, Graduate Associate, Marketing/Communications Kelly McNicholas, Graphic Designer, Design Ryan Shafer, Publications Editor, Marketing/Communications Hannah Stephenson, Editor Madelyn Tiberi, Education Intern Education Department Staff Shelly Casto, Director of Education Dionne Custer Edwards, Educator for School Programs Marisa Espe, Education Assistant  Jo Anne Jenkins, Purchasing Assistant Tracie McCambridge, Educator for Teacher and Docent Programs Jean Pitman, Youth and Community Programs Manager Amanda Potter, Educator for University and Public Programs Verónica Betancourt, Graduate Associate

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Table of Contents 4–5 6 7–11 12–15 gatefold 16–75

Director's Foreword Sherri Geldin Acknowledgments Dionne Custer Edwards Pages Artists-in-Residence and Teaching Artists Pages Schools, Students, and Teachers Pages at 10 Writing Pages students' responses to: Visual Arts Experience Noah Purifoy: Junk Dada Performing Arts Experience The Object Lesson | Geoff Sobelle Media Arts Experience Girlhood | Céline Sciamma

76–123

Artwork

124–25

Open Mic Reading and Reception

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Director's Foreword

Ten years ago, Wexner Center Educator for School Programs Dionne Custer Edwards conceived the idea for a truly pioneering program that would integrate essential literacy and writing skills into first-hand experiences with contemporary art. The case for Pages at that particular moment was especially compelling. With state budgets challenged on multiple fronts, public schools tended to sacrifice their arts programs before most others. At the same time, standardized test preparation was taking an increasingly prominent place in the curriculum—often at the expense of so-called “creative” pursuits such as writing and imagemaking. Pages offered one potential way to mitigate that pedagogical shortfall. Partnering with local high schools, this unique program brings students to the Wexner Center to experience contemporary art in each of our program areas: exhibitions, performing arts, and film/video. Under the guidance of Wex educators, participating teachers, and artists-in-residence, Pages students then produce an impressive array of writings and artworks in response to their encounters and discoveries over the course of multiple sessions, both at the Wex and at their own schools. At the end of each year-long program, we proudly present those efforts in a handsome anthology like the one you’re holding.

Culminating Pages' 10th academic season, this year’s publication features a special gatefold section to mark this important milestone. As you’ll read in Dionne’s acknowledgments that follow, the program has grown considerably in terms of students and teachers engaged each year. And with each successive class, the impact of Pages on participating students is ever more evident in the insightful, inventive, and moving works of visual and verbal art created over the course of their Wex curriculum. As veteran Pages educator Gary Liebesman of Columbus Alternative High School says so succinctly, it’s abundantly clear that for participating students and teachers alike—“Pages matters.” Ambitious programs like Pages achieve lasting success only through the expertise, ingenuity, and passion of exemplary educators like Dionne Custer Edwards, whose unwavering dedication I gratefully recognize. My abundant thanks go as well to Wexner Center Director of Education Shelly Casto, our entire team of Wex educators, and the schools, teachers, and artists-inresidence who have worked so closely with us over the years.

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Pages is also made possible by the commitment and generosity of several local and national patrons and partners. Our abiding thanks go to American Electric Power, Milton & Sally Avery Arts Foundation, Columbus Metropolitan Library, Ingram-White Castle Foundation, Martha Holden Jennings Foundation, JP Morgan Chase & Co., Key Bank, Harry C. Moores Foundation, Ohio Arts Council, and Puffin Foundation Ltd. for their contributions in support of Pages. Our appreciation also goes to Huntington Bank and Cardinal Health Foundation for funding free and low-cost programs at the Wexner Center that provide access to arts and culture for all—with Pages serving as but one shining example. Sherri Geldin Director Wexner Center for the Arts

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Acknowledgments

Many years ago, as an emerging teaching artist, I developed a curiosity for K–12 education and wondered what artists could contribute to teaching and learning. I wanted to partner with schools, teachers, students, and other creatives to reimagine teaching and learning engaged with the arts, embedded with arts education as a fundamental presence in the curriculum and classroom. Pages grew out of that interest, and out of a desire to seek transformative experiences for teachers and students (particularly high school students, who remain an underserved audience). Pages began at the Wexner Center with a small pilot of 60 students and two teachers in 2005. Ten years later, we have worked with nearly 2,000 students, over 60 local teachers, and dozens of teaching artists. The program is more than an opportunity to engage writing in new and dynamic ways—it is a seasoned and thoughtful practice with proven strategies and methodologies. Offering an alternative, collaborative space outside the traditional classroom, Pages pairs learning with arts experiences that ask the program's participants to discover, think, reflect, write, create, and learn, together. What happens when a teacher in Pages has a transformative experience? The impact is greater than we can possibly measure, a sustainable echo in the practice of that teacher that will resonate with successive waves of students for years to come. I would like to thank this year’s partnering teachers and schools: Elise Allen of Central Crossing High School, Laura Garber and Sarah Patterson of Franklin Heights High School, Thomas Hering and Kevin West of Rutherford B. Hayes High School, Kim Leddy of Mosaic, Andrea

Patton of Whetstone High School, Aaron Sherman of Arts and College Preparatory Academy, and Kim Swensen of Westerville North High School. And nothing could be more magical than partnering with brilliant fellow artists: Bryan Moss, visual artist, and Joy Sullivan, poet. Both were flexible collaborators with great range in working with students and teachers. For their partnership each year in hosting our exhibition, open mic reading, and reception, I would like to recognize both Tonia Derring from the Columbus Metropolitan Library and visual artist and curator Stephanie Rond. Pages would simply not be the same without your sustained friendship and support. Thank you to all of my colleagues here at the Wexner Center for their comprehensive and unlimited support—and particularly to our director, Sherri Geldin, for believing in the work of this program from the beginning. And a special thank you goes to my fellow practitioners in the education department, led by Director of Education Shelly Casto. And finally, thank you to anyone and everyone I’ve had the opportunity to meet, reach, and engage with through Pages. As a writer and arts educator, this program is where my curiosities, creativity, and scholarship meet in service of the community, teachers and learners, and of course, the arts.

Dionne Custer Edwards Educator, School Programs Wexner Center for the Arts

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Pages Artist-in-Residence

Dionne Custer Edwards, educator and writer Pages offers a collaborative creative space for teaching and learning among educators from disparate disciplines and engaged students of varying abilities, demographics, and grade levels. When woven with the wise creative vision, wonder, skill, and reach of the teaching artists, it all makes for a brilliant blend of exquisite, messy, interesting, and dynamic learning in and around the arts and the high school curriculum.

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Pages Artist-in-Residence Bryan Moss, visual artist 2015–16 was my first Pages experience, and it was incredibly rewarding. Working with writers provided a shared platform where we were able to address our strategies as fellow artists. This method truly reinforced the evolution process because you're able to reflect on one another’s approach. Heart is a response to what I’ve learned from the students. I can treat the art as an idea, just as a writer might be inspired by the moment, and therefore quickly note the experience. Approaching art in this new way allows me to be more fluid and less crystallized.

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Bryan Moss Heart, 2015 Mixed media Image courtesy of the artist

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Pages Artist-in-Residence Joy Sullivan, poet One of the highlights of my experience as a Pages artist-in-residence was working with students on collaborative poetry. For this activity, students viewed a similar object and then together built a poem, line by line. I often asked students to generate questions in this process. Then, we listened to the conversation that was being built as we circled the room offering our responses. I loved watching the sense of ownership and authorship bloom as students took time to ask, listen, answer, and then ask better. The investment students felt in this communal experience became palpable. Through these activities, I witnessed a change come over each classroom’s attitude towards the experience of poetry. It became meaningful, exciting, and relevant to their shared experience. Asia, a student from Westerville North, said, “This feels just like an awesome mash-up between Beyoncé and Nicki Minaj. We’re good at this.” Another student undid me with her gorgeous line, “I have no simplicity.” Time and time again, through Pages, I watched words win. This experience showed me how deeply essential arts integration, creative writing, and personal expression remain in education and in the lives of our young people. Simply put, my work this year has been transformative, hearty, life-giving. I believe in the spirit of Pages and how much I feel revitalized by my experience. How I know it will shape and propel me towards seeking points of entry in my future endeavors that are risky, beautiful, unexpected. Arts integration is good work. Moreover, it is necessary. For all of us.

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We Filled Our Mouths with Wine and Forgot to Dance Joy Sullivan

The remnants— I am endlessly bartering. There goes the kitchen sink, the boudoir, the ivory comb from my grandmother. Take the last bar of soap, my lover’s necklace, the key that unlocks my golden mouth. Here are my shoelaces so I can’t follow, my brass knuckles so I’ll stop throwing punches. Your hands are shallow, backlit with emptiness. To be poor is to be sleek, familiar with bones. You signal this poverty. Uneasy absence awakens: inside your palm is so much nothing an appetite for sadness and yet gladly gladly I reach.

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Pages 2015–16 Schools, Students, Teachers Arts and College Preparatory Academy Teacher: Aaron Sherman Michaela Clem-Jacobs Ian Clifton Antionn Cooper Myani Cooper Allison Dean Matthew Dinning Taylor Endicott Alejandra Espinoza Logan Fondriest Connor Fowler Elana Fulkerson Sydney Houze Thailer Jenkins LeVaughn Johnson Lizeth Martinez Morelos Nicole McGinnis Nicholas Mikulski Elleigh Olson Mitchell Ooten Eden Richardson Kei Satomi Belinda Shanley Rachel Shesky Antonio Smith Dave Strider Claire Tillman Bambi Tuvshinjargal Arnajia Woods Central Crossing High School Teacher: Elise Allen Sidi Abukar Sara Arnold Carissa Dembinski Jacob Dolloff Noe Evans Brendon Hill

Steven Hockingberry Cody Huffman Cindy Le Hailey McGinnis Maxim Meleshchuk Rashed Milhem Dominique Moore Tyler Partlow Victoria Price Aspen Roberts Andrew Sain Dillon Stephens Jose Vasquez Mohamed Yacoub Farow Yusuf Franklin Heights High School Teachers: Laura Garber and Sarah Patterson Ghazi Abu-Obeid Asha Ahmed-Lane Aisho Ali Paulino Amaya Reinhard Bare Sierra Buzzard Daunte Campbell Grace Caplinger Bradley Castle Rigoberto Cleveland Dalton Collier Sydney Cooley Drake Curry Ore Giwa Savion Golden Josue Grajales-Vazquez Abdijabar Haji Shawn Holt Walaa Hussein J’Von Jones Sadik Ibrahim Camelia Ladjadj

Marena Mang Lacy McGuire Farhiya Mohamed Maryan Munye Asia Mussa Wila Ouk Damya Powell Angelique Rasnick Tyler Slussar Brittany Settles Cassie Sherman Kaylynn Shupe Jesse Vancooney Griffin Viers Hannah Weiner Natalie Whittington Damonique Wright Isabel Ramos Yanez Shea Young Mosaic Teacher: Kim Leddy Mashal Ahmed Alexis Anderson Tori Armstrong Jeffrey Arndt Casey Basil Jane Deibel Travis Hicks Clara Hirsch Avery Hoang Griffin King Veronica Kramer Tellie Lee Alexis Leib Michelle Massey Kelli Mazzara Erin Moore Sophia Mustric Dustin Myers Richard O’Neil

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Emma Pommering Alison Reichard Annette Reichard Sophie Schuss Jacob Seitz Sara Shank Cierra Stevens Kelsey Truex Andrew Villarreal Kristen Wall Jordan Walton Alyssa Whitt Rutherford B. Hayes High School Teachers: Thomas Hering and Kevin West Gavin Black Dominic Byers Shelby Carlson Caleb Carroll Jasmine Clark Jason Cross Madison Eldridge Samuel Green Marcus Haase Ryan Hawkins Justin Johnson Emilie Kinney Emily Metheney Robert Milner Nicholas Neuhart Wilhelm Parks Mary Schafer Alexander Whited Madelynn Wilson Owen Boyer Courtney Buck Gabriel Haferman Morgan Halterman

Serena Ishwar Julia Justice Keegan Lammers Jack Marks Anthony Matus Evan Mickley Robert Proffit Sara Rainey Annabelle Schoonard Madelyn Smit Joseph Strubler Emma Tucky Anna Wells Charles Zimmerman Westerville North High School Teacher: Kim Swensen Adow Abdi Yusuf Ahmed Journie Blackford Charli-Danielle Brownlee Devin Bussard Michaela Cawthorne Vahl Davies Sara Farkas Nicholas Fograscher MacGuire George Mahad Halane Asia Harris Megan Hoover Zachary Hughes Jared Iannarino Joshua Jarrell Hillary Marshall Echo McAtee Joshua Moyler Adedotun Ogoji Micah Orr Devin Pace Sara Painter Anthony Polito

Keeton Rafferty Jenna Sralik Domo Wilson Drew Wilson Sarah Yonut Whetstone High School Teacher: Andrea Patton Rahma Abdullahi Atyana Adams Istahil Ali Sarah Al-Saidi Paige Aldrich Spencer Comyns Connor Flanagan Ava Geiger Haley Hoffman Stephanie Huynh Stephanie Jackson Isabel Johnson Elijah Kalyn Joe Kilgore Shania Kimble Silas Land Vianna Luu Colin Martinez-Watkins Ava McCargish Pak McCollum Kelly Nguyen Maggie Prosser Michael Ray Stanic Russ Elena Smith Viviana Smith Zoe Spokas Jack Staggs Callie Umbarger Connor Vokac Bailey Waitkus Cecelia Williams

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Teachers and Teaching Artists

LEFT TO RIGHT FROM TOP Marisa Espe, Dionne Custer Edwards, Kim Leddy, Elise Allen, Bryan Moss, and Laura Garber

“Pages is a way for my students to learn how to explore themselves and the world—how to feel, how to write. Pages was the first opportunity many of my students had to explore the arts and make it meaningful to them. It is their window to a different world! Well, a window implies a barrier. It is an open door!” —LAURA GARBER, 2013–15, FRANKLIN HEIGHTS HIGH SCHOOL

“This program changed the lives of everyone it touched. Pages helped me connect SEE PAGES IN ACTION ONLINE— AND LOOK BACK AT 10 AMAZING YEARS BLOG: wexpagesonline.edublogs.org FACEBOOK: facebook.com/PagesProgram TWITTER: @pagesprogram INSTAGRAM: @wexpagesprogram

art and literacy in my English curriculum because writing about art is a cross-brain function which increases literacy and grants students permission to discuss art. My students who participated excelled in school. They began to discuss issues in the classroom with a greater intimacy and respect.” —CYRUS MCKINNEY III, 2007–9, BROOKHAVEN HIGH SCHOOL “I watched my students grow all year.”—DAVID REESE, 2006–7, METRO SCHOOL

“I was able to see the challenges in students that were hesitant or disagreeable or just plain disengaged, and I liked how the teaching artists didn’t ever really let students off the hook. As a teacher, that’s been a challenge for me, and I really like the dedication and commitment from each of the presenters who worked with our students. Pages reminds us that writing is important and should not be left out for any reason.” —CRAIG SAARIE, 2008–9, METRO SCHOOL

Pages at 10 Celebrating a decade of arts education

“Pages is that moment in the theater just before the curtain goes up. Whether you are on stage or in the audience, you know you are in for a transformative experience.” —SHERRY FORSTER, 2011–15, DELAWARE AREA CAREER CENTER

“[After Pages] my students were more confident as writers—their creativity was encouraged and more open to different perspectives about the world.” —RIKKI SANTER, 2010–12, UPPER ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL

Pages at 10 A decade of arts education In 2016 the Wexner Center’s innovative literacy program for Columbus-area high school students celebrates its 10th year of immersive, interdisciplinary learning. Throughout every school year for the last decade, participating students have experienced an exhibition, film, and performance at the Wexner Center and responded by creating their own prose, poetry, and art—works highlighted in a series of handsome, limited-run anthologies pictured inside this gatefold.

Pages at 10 Celebrating a decade of arts education

Pages Is... 10 years of engaged students

“Pages is an eye-opener, a mind-blower, a thought-provoking experience.” —LAURA PHOLE, 2009–10

“Pages is empowerment through education.”

“Pages is music to my pencil”

“Most of what I write has been inspired by Pages, whether directly or not…the experiences, the conversations, cause dominoes to fall until I end up with a page full of words.”

—HANNAH RUSSELL, 2012–13

—THOMAS CAIN, 2012–13

“Pages is painting, except the art you make is with words.”

—MOHAMAD ABDULLE, 2009–10

—DANIEL BOTOMOGNO, 2009–10

—CHRISTIAN SCHUMACHER, 2014–15

“The best thing about Pages is we learned with hands-on experiences, which helped us to remember and to appreciate everything we saw and did.” —HALLE WARDLE, 2014–15

—MADISON BERNHARDT, 2011–12

“Pages is a space to think.”

“Through Pages I learned that my voice matters.”

“Pages helped me understand the complex art of writing.” —BRENDAN FABIAN, 2013–14

“Pages is what education should be. It’s an immersive journey that invites you to think boldly and write freely. I walked into this experience as an English student with a bare notebook and sharpened pencils. I leave this experience as a writer, armed with dull pencils and a notebook full of life. And that’s something that classes just can’t teach.” —KEEGAN LAMMERS, 2015–16

“Pages is a gust of refreshing air.” “Pages is a great way to discover new artists and writers and to watch your words grow alongside theirs in a way that you never imagined was possible.”

—AMELIA KOONTZ, 2013–14

—MADELYN TIBERI, 2011–12

“Pages is thinking about more than just the surface.” —SELENA LATOYA HOPE TIPTON, 2011–12

“Pages is a guiding light in a dim world. It offers intuitive outreach many need but won’t ever get.” —NATE FRALEY, 2010–11

“The Pages program lets us express the thoughts and creativity in our writing that are so often suppressed by formal essays and Scantron tests.” —KORY NAYLOR, 2012–13

“Pages is stepping outside of the classroom and learning in an alternative way. We were exposed to things we never would have known about otherwise.”

—KATIE NELMS, 2014–15

“Before Pages, I didn’t have an interest in writing, but now I write every day.”

—MIA HANES, 2013–14

“Pages is the wonder of wielding words, and the endless exploration of education.”

—ABIGAIL SPIERS, 2013–14

Pages Is... 10 years of engaged students

“Pages is an eye-opener, a mind-blower, a thought-provoking experience.” —LAURA PHOLE, 2009–10

“Pages is empowerment through education.”

“Pages is music to my pencil”

“Most of what I write has been inspired by Pages, whether directly or not…the experiences, the conversations, cause dominoes to fall until I end up with a page full of words.”

—HANNAH RUSSELL, 2012–13

—THOMAS CAIN, 2012–13

“Pages is painting, except the art you make is with words.”

—MOHAMAD ABDULLE, 2009–10

—DANIEL BOTOMOGNO, 2009–10

—CHRISTIAN SCHUMACHER, 2014–15

“The best thing about Pages is we learned with hands-on experiences, which helped us to remember and to appreciate everything we saw and did.” —HALLE WARDLE, 2014–15

—MADISON BERNHARDT, 2011–12

“Pages is a space to think.”

“Through Pages I learned that my voice matters.”

“Pages helped me understand the complex art of writing.” —BRENDAN FABIAN, 2013–14

“Pages is a gust of refreshing air.” “Pages is a great way to discover new artists and writers and to watch your words grow alongside theirs in a way that you never imagined was possible.”

—AMELIA KOONTZ, 2013–14

—MADELYN TIBERI, 2011–12

“Pages is thinking about more than just the surface.” —SELENA LATOYA HOPE TIPTON, 2011–12

“Pages is a guiding light in a dim world. It offers intuitive outreach many need but won’t ever get.” —NATE FRALEY, 2010–11

“The Pages program lets us express the thoughts and creativity in our writing that are so often suppressed by formal essays and Scantron tests.” —KORY NAYLOR, 2012–13

“Pages is stepping outside of the classroom and learning in an alternative way. We were exposed to things we never would have known about otherwise.”

—KATIE NELMS, 2014–15

“Before Pages, I didn’t have an interest in writing, but now I write every day.”

—MIA HANES, 2013–14

“Pages is the wonder of wielding words, and the endless exploration of education.”

—ABIGAIL SPIERS, 2013–14

Pages at 10 Celebrating a decade of arts education

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LEFT TO RIGHT FROM TOP Kevin West, Andrea Patton, Kim Swensen, Aaron Sherman, Thomas Hering, Joy Sullivan, and Sarah Patterson

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EXPERIENCE

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

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NOAH PURIFOY: JUNK DADA

Pages Artist-in-Residence: Bryan Moss, visual artist “My primary concern is others getting into the act of doing something creative. Art is a tool to be used to discover the creative self.”—Noah Purifoy This past winter, the Wexner Center presented Noah Purifoy: Junk Dada, the first major museum retrospective of Purifoy’s work in almost 20 years. A legend in California’s postWWII art scene, Purifoy (1917–2004) is regarded as a crucial and distinctive presence in the development of contemporary art. The artist, designer, and social worker used the modest materials of everyday life to produce assemblage sculptures and mixed-media constructions of dazzling visual invention, embodying an aesthetic the exhibition’s curators termed “junk dada.” Working originally in Los Angeles, he was the first African American to graduate from what is now CalArts, a founding director of the Watts Towers Arts Center, and a founding member of the California Arts Council. Pages students toured the career-spanning exhibition, which included over 50 of Purifoy’s vibrant works, as well as photographs and ephemera that gave added insight into the artist’s indelible impact. Students worked with visual artist-in-residence Bryan Moss to explore the use of found objects in art and design; investigate issues of identity; and to understand the impact of art education, activism, social justice, and the creative process.

“Pages is a small step onto a bus, but it is a giant leap for your imagination and perception of reality.” —NICHOLAS MIKULSKI

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Tolerance

Reinhard Bare

The next time you step into the lunchroom or your classroom, look around at just how diverse your classmates and fellow students are. At my school, people from all around the world are represented. Most students will get along just fine, sitting next to each other at lunch, smiling and laughing as they talk about something hilarious, or in class as a group, chatting and thinking critically about a particular problem or project. There’s an underlying theme throughout all of this—the importance of tolerance. I believe that tolerance is something that has improved over the years, but has always been an issue of utmost importance in today’s society. Perhaps if you went back 40 or 50 years ago to the time of segregation, before the civil rights movement, such a theme would be almost alien to most, and almost unheard of. I believe this is testament to how far we’ve come since then. We have made steps to improve, but what about the drastic steps back we’ve gone through over the years? It shouldn’t matter what skin color you have, where you’re from, or what you look like. That’s what I believe tolerance addresses—our ability to look past these features and see someone for who they are. We all have something different to share with the world, different features, and different outlooks. You might criticize these as faults or conflicts of interest, and decide to lash out at them. I’ve seen that happen to and come from people very close to me. That doesn’t make it right, however. We should remember that we’re all human in the end, and learn the importance of tolerating uniqueness instead. Without it, there’s no way for us as a whole—as the human race—to improve. If we don’t improve, where will we be in a century from now? If we don’t learn now, what legacy will we leave for our descendants? Think about that for a moment.

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

I Want a World Sara Rainey

I want a world where “equality” truly means “everyone is equal.” I want a world where no one is ashamed. I want a world where everyone stands out and no one fits in. I want a world where no means no. I want a world where everyone feels secure. I want a world where it’s okay for girls to be whatever they want. I want a world where your sexuality is nothing to be scared of. I want a world where love is without limits. I want a world where no one cares how you fit into the box. I want a world that is free. Free of oppression, and free from hate. I want a world that is full. Full of acceptance, and full of happiness. I want a world.

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VA — 20

“Pages was a learning experience. It taught me that the classroom goes beyond just a small room and 20 students. The whole world is a classroom.”

This Is What Art Is Marena Mang

I stare at the pile of junk right before my eyes, Slapping paint on a canvas with such delicate precision. Putting junk next to junk, It was as if I was solving a puzzle. A puzzle to beauty. A puzzle to creating a message, To the human viewing the masterpiece. But no one knows the full mystery behind this art. Left unexplained. Waiting for someone to create its meaning. And as I finally view my painting on the wall of a museum, I’m filled with a sense of completion. This is what art is. Turning something messy into a beautiful story. This is what art is. Transforming a white canvas into a stunning meaning. This is what art is. Being able to just create something, Something that means so much to you. Being able to just use all of your resources To create one thing that could change your life. And maybe the world, too.

—SIDI ABUKAR

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

There Can Be More Than One He Bambi Tuvshinjargal

He who bears the holy sword, He who gave everything away, He who guards humanity— He is a legendary figure. He is not judged by his appearance, He is judged by his loyalty, honor, and bravery. He who wears the armor of his beloved father, He who swore to protect what others can’t, He who holds the balance between good and evil, He was a hero to our grandfathers. He was a rumor to our fathers, He was a legend to us— And he will be a myth to our sons.

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Racey Bug

Claire Tillman

Racism is a drug. Once you’re fed, you can’t stop— gets in your bones, feels good to boost you up and the others downtown. It’s in your blood jet, flowing through veins, black, white, brown, yellow— colors of disapproval of each other.

VA — 22

Illness, sick, racism must be. Don’t want to have it, not sure how to get rid of it. All infected? To some degree… Hereditarily birthed. And yet, could we someday cease with awareness and start with healing?

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Life Is Art

Walaa Hussein Someone once told me, “Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual.” I didn’t think much about it, seeing as I was only a small doe-eyed girl, not having much understanding of life. About who we are, what we are doing, who I am. Didn’t come across my mind that was untouched by the realities of the world. “Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual.” Those words echo in my head again and again; after seeing life through different lenses, after seeing the world that slowly changes without you noticing, you do notice that life is like art, like controlled chaos, something that doesn’t need a manual. All these different, seemingly meaningless things in life get turned into something beautiful.

Noah Purifoy Poem Ore Giwa

One man vs. the world, Challenges all around him like a slushie swirled. Yet he keeps building his creations, A man just following his ambitions. Each structure a different puzzle, Once solved, realized it was worth the struggle. The doubt saying he couldn’t change anything Didn’t put him in a downswing. Even though he might not affect anyone It didn’t put him on a dry run. He keeps expressing himself Hoping one day people will learn themselves.

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Peculiarities of the Past Marcus Haase

“One metallic locket, empty, possibly used as a vessel of sentimentality,” reads the auctioneer from the item’s description, provided to him by a first assistant, while a second holds up the corresponding locket for the bidders to see.

VA — 24

I have no idea what purpose such an object might have had in the ancient past, as sentimentality is an emotion, and I know that you cannot contain emotion in a physical object. Nevertheless, the empty locket seems to attract a high number of bidders. Inexplicably, I bid $17 on the useless trinket, not enough to win the object, but still unnerving. The winner, a woman appearing to be in her late 50s who paid $65 for the locket, pockets it with a small, satisfied smile. I awake with a start. What a strange dream, I think to myself with a shiver. Complete nonsense, I add. After all, no one in their right mind would pay money for an object that holds something that can’t be held. With this assertion firmly grounding my mind, I turn over and fall back asleep. “One pair of climbing shoes, slightly worn,” reads the auctioneer from the item’s description, provided to him by a first assistant, while a second holds up the corresponding pair of shoes for the bidders to see. Slightly worn is an understatement. The shoes are tattered beyond all practicality. Nevertheless, the shoes seem to attract a good number of bidders. Inexplicably, I bid $34 on the useless shoes, not enough to win the object, but still unnerving. The winner, a man appearing to be in his early 30s who paid $125 for the pair, carries them away with a small, satisfied smile.

I awake with a start. Interesting, I think to myself with a shiver. Two similar dreams in a row. Why would someone pay so much for something useless, I wonder? They must be crazy. After all, no one in their right mind would pay money for an object that holds something that has no use. With this assertion firmly grounding my mind, I turn over and fall back asleep. “One ball, dirty, possibly used for entertainment,” reads the auctioneer from the item’s description, provided to him by a first assistant, while a second holds up the corresponding ball for the bidders to see. I have no idea what purpose such an object might have had in the ancient past, as a ball does no tricks, and therefore cannot be entertaining. Unless…no. It cannot. Nevertheless, the dirty ball seems to attract a fair number of bidders. Hesitantly, I bid $9 on the useless trinket, not enough to win the object, but still strange. It’s not like me to feel inclined to own something with no purpose. The winner, a man appearing to be in his late 40s who paid $50 for the ball, pockets it with a small, satisfied smile. I awake with a start. How odd, I think to myself with a shiver. To think I considered getting a useless ball. After all, no one in their right mind would pay money for an object that doesn’t do anything. But the auctioneer did say it might have been for entertainment, and the man paid more than five times what I would have. Shaking these highly illogical thoughts from my mind, I turn over and fall back asleep. “One plastic figurine, faded and cracked, possibly used to amuse children,” reads the auctioneer from the item’s description, provided to him by a first assistant, while a second holds up the corresponding item for the bidders to see.

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

I don’t understand why a child would be amused by a little hunk of plastic with posed limbs. Nevertheless, the figurine seems to attract a few bidders. Doubting myself, I bid $3 on the useless trinket, but that’s not enough to win the object. The winner, a man appearing to be in his 70s who paid $30 for the figurine, hugs it with a small, satisfied smile. I awake with a start. He hugged it, I think to myself with a shiver. Hugging shows affection, I tell myself, but why would a person show affection to on object? After all, no one in their right mind would love something that doesn’t love them back. Even now I doubt this assertion, but I ignore the nagging and turn over and fall back asleep. “One metallic locket, empty, possibly used as a vessel of sentimentality,” reads the auctioneer from the item’s description, provided to him by a first assistant, while a second holds up the corresponding locket for the bidders to see. Finally, I understand. Objects mean more than their practicality. People pour their being into their objects, and the objects become their owners. Looking around, I see no one shows even the slightest interest in the empty locket. I raise my card. “$70.”

“The Pages program showed me that thinking and speaking my mind doesn’t always have to be through pen and paper, but through pictures, art, and poetry.”

—TORRIE PRICE

VA — 25

The Man Of Armor Wila Lane Ouk

We thought we were okay, but all we could do was pray and stay. A man we could all trust and admire. Together we are one, apart we are none, but we’re still not done.

VA — 26

“Pages is like an odd wizard spell. It turns English class into art class.”

—CONNOR FOWLER

I heard the call, and walked into the world of terror. Standing in horror, I saw it all appear. I stood in the destruction of it all, I wished it would all disappear. A cemetery in the making, dying men scattered everywhere. The blood came rushing out of his chest, just where the blade had touched him. There was nothing I could possibly do. I ran and ran into the trenches, his armor still shining bright in the distance. I was devastated and full of sorrow, but my eyes remained dry. I would rather show strength and perseverance than to just cry.

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

VA — 27

Look Around Rachel Shesky

Objects rule our lives. They control us, whether or not we like to admit it. Look around you. Do you see the man waiting on the bench? He is waiting for the bus to get back home, but he doesn’t realize it already came 30 minutes ago. His eyes are glued to that glowing screen in his hand. What he doesn’t know is that his little baby girl is being born, his wife without her husband, a child without a father. He is so addicted to the feeling of being “connected,” that he doesn’t realize his wife is feeling disconnected.

VA â&#x20AC;&#x201D; 28

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Untitled

Anthony Matus A dented soda can, or broken cassette An old shoelace, or a tangled net Junk, rubbish, trashâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;or something more? Littering the streets, nothing but an eyesore But this trash has potential to be something new Transforming it just requires a little glue Some ingenuity and an artistic eye All that is needed to beautify Creating an animal, all out of junk This hose could be an elephant trunk Drawing inspiration from the natural world Where things are not geometric, but twisted and curled Individual pieces coming together Making a sculpture that is something better This animal is a piece of art Whose whole is greater than the sum of its parts

VA â&#x20AC;&#x201D; 29

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EXPERIENCE

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PA — 31

THE OBJECT LESSON, Geoff Sobelle

Pages Artist-in-Residence: Joy Sullivan, poet

“That most of us maintain—and effectively are—our own museums is the premise of ‘The Object Lesson.’”—New York Times Do you have what you need? Do you need what you have? As hilarious as it is poignantly heartbreaking, The Object Lesson is a magical and bittersweet comic rumination on the stuff we cling to and the junk we leave behind. With boxes stacked to the ceiling, physical theater artist and illusionist Geoff Sobelle transformed the Wexner Center’s Performance Space into a giant storage attic of epic proportion. Pages students were free to roam and poke through the jumble of this immersive performance/installation that unpacked a lifelong relationship to everyday objects. After Sobelle’s performance, students worked with artist-in-residence and poet Joy Sullivan to explore a range of ideas that included identity, consumption, collecting, memory, illusion, memoir, and narrative.

The Object Lesson Oh, hello there. Didn’t see you reading this—sorry to interrupt! Just wanted to welcome you to this place. (Wherever you are—welcome.) It’s really lovely to have you here. All of this has been waiting for you! If you are sitting in this room, and waiting for the show to begin—please know: there is no waiting. This thing has already begun. So—go enjoy yourself. Take a box and open it. Explore. Find someone curious in the room and give them something—like that guy over there. The one with the funny hair. Or the girl who looks a bit tired. You could ask them what they’re looking at—just tell them you were told to do so by this piece of paper. Don’t be creepy about it. As the next hour unfolds in whatever way that it will, feel free to move around wherever you’d like. Sit, stand, lie down...it doesn’t really matter. Just be mindful of the people around you. (Actually, this is a good way to meet people. I might suggest deliberately standing in front of someone that you fancy, then turning around to say, “Oh sorry—am I in your way? Would you like me to be?” No—don’t say that. That was a joke. Just be mindful.)

PA — 32

Perhaps you’re NOT reading this in the little room. Maybe you’ve saved it for later and are reading it after the show. And as you read this line, maybe you’re thinking of the things in your house, in your room, in the one room that you left and will never go back to...and of the things that made up that room, and what happened to all of that stuff... Or maybe you’re reading this miles from here, and a long time from now. From then. Do you remember any of it? Who would? Maybe this is at the bottom of your bag and you’ve just dug it up. And you should probably get rid of it. Whenever it is—throw this thing away. Or maybe keep it. Keep it as something to remember this by. No—get rid of it. Or maybe—use it in some clever way. That’s certainly more conscientious. Actually it’s ridiculous. Just chuck it. It’s trash, and it will be out of your hands at least, this thing. This thing that is in your hands now. This thing that is yours now. Your property. Not trash, your property. It wasn’t, but now it is. It’s all yours. What will you do with it all? Do you have what you need? Do you need what you have?

Geoff Sobelle

Director’s note from the performance program

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

Dear Mya Mya Powell

Do have what you need? Do you need what you have?

Dear Sobelle, It felt good to be part of your experiment. Your character just kept pulling on his life, but I wonder if he got sick and tired of pulling on his life like that. He had all of those things in a box. Sometimes I wonder why life is like this.

I personally think that I have everything that I Sincerely, NEED, but I also think that most of what I do HAVE, I don’t need. What I have that I know I Maryan Munye NEED is my family. My family streams love into my heart and life, which gives me the strength to move each step of the way to where I’m destined. Waking up each morning to know that I have someone to care about me and to listen to what I’ve got to say is amazing.

PA — 33

Invaluable

Camelia Ladjadj Why is life so heavy? We fall on a spectrum of value and I feel closer to worthless than ever. There’s a fine line between vintage and garbage and I’m right on it. But hey, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Right? Then why is life so heavy? It echoes to the tune of a dial tone but no one is on the other end. Reminding me that I am no “treasure.”

PA — 34

Dear Me

Bradley Castle Dear Me,

Dear Me,

Remember the things you have lost. The items that matter and do not matter. Remember the paper you used to solve a math problem, the plates you threw away after eating. Remember the birthday letters that you can’t find anymore, the presents that broke or that you grew out of. Remember the friends who have gone on their own way, on a path isolated from yours. Remember the family members who have lost their lives, who loved you.

Forget about tomorrow. Don’t worry about it, the next day has enough worries of its own. Don’t worry about what you will lose. Don’t worry about the money you will have to spend or the presents you will have to give away. Do not worry about the friends who will leave or the family members who might die. They have their own problems to worry about in the future; don’t worry about them longer than you must. Dear Me, Please start remembering the past instead of thinking about the future. From, Brad

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What’s My Purpose? Sydney Cooley

Worn on the wrist, every single day. What makes me so special? I’m Linus’s blanket, always dragged around. Just a cheap piece of plastic, what’s the big deal? Reminder? Of what kind? In real life things like me don’t exist. Thanks, though, for keeping me close.

Freedom Caged

Central Crossing Class It’s a mobile home, A bird cage someone decorated. It can move, it can’t change. It stays the same. Animal busting out of captivity, A bird cage with wings. What is this object used for? A prison freeing prisoners, A caged nest with wings. What sense of irony is this? A lie of freedom, Freedom trapped, my wings are free. Antique flying cage, The caged bird flies.

PA — 35

First Love

Jesse Vancooney One night we were walking hand in hand, The stars were bright, we stopped under the limb of a big oak tree. She told me she loved me, then kissed me. I told her the same, and she held me close. I thought for a moment, I would never let go. That night I will never forget, a promise of love.

“Pages is wonderful people inspiring other people to find the wonder within themselves.” —MICHAELA CLEM-JACOBS

Object Lesson

Connor Fowler

I sit here. Underneath a desk with various things. It’s hard to see. This screen is old but new to me. There was a different one but it died some time ago. The screen is lucky. All it does is show my hard work and it gets to see the user. The user sits in front of the screen and the screen gets to see all the emotions. It gets to see the memories being made. I sit here content, under the desk, awake usually, but sometimes sleeping, waiting. I sit here and wait to be awakened, to be useful. Whenever I can see the artificial light from above me I know I will be useful soon. It may sound like a boring life, but I enjoy it. I was made for this, quite literally. I stay awake for a few hours, anywhere between 3–14 hours, doing my job whether it’s for fun or work. After this time I may go to sleep. I may stay up and keep some things going while the user sleeps. I can’t stay up all the time, though. I don’t know how the power strip stays up forever. Everyone here does a job, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.

PA — 36

The UNiverse is oNe PaGE Alli Dean and Michaela Clem-Jacobs

The sun is bright and shining The moon is shining but not so bright The sun is too hot to touch The moon is simply too far I think the sun is yellow or white The moon thinks the sun is green but it’s wrong The sun is awake all day The moon says “I’m awake but I pretend to sleep” The moon makes people werewolves The sun thinks the moon is a stalker The moon is like “yeah sorry” The sun says “watch it buddy” Who do you think you are? Do you know who my father is? No, actually I do not Me either Well, we are on the same page

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

I Think the TV Is Out

Arts and College Preparatory Academy Class Everything goes to ruin eventually The TV is only a mirror reflection of light I think the TV is out Why is there moss everywhere? This room is a pain that has festered for years Nature taking over Is the furniture the intruder? Is it an invasion or are we the invaders? Time deteriorates us and leaves us mindless Past recollection how beautiful is she From rot and ruin comes a new era of light and life Nature is the life around us the part that we miss What life has been lived in this room It is still beautiful in its own way Destruction can be a tunnel of hope It does not have to be new and perfect to be beautiful Waiting for love’s embrace Or do you sprout new leaves This room is like the rewriting of history Birth is the foreshadowing of death

PA — 37

Rolling Waves

Vianna Luu

Anxiety is like an ocean. The waves overwhelm, They crash on the shore loudly. Everything is inaudible, And it can’t be helped. After a while things die down. Calm once again. Anxiety can stay silent. But like the ocean, It is deep and unpredictable.

Object Lesson

Isabel Ramos

If you’re reading this it’s not too late to reflect. Reflect over what, you may ask? Maybe your life. Don’t you ever ponder about life? I do all the time. I have everything I need; sometimes we believe that we don’t have enough. What’s the purpose of complaining so much about what we don’t have instead of being grateful for what we do have? We don’t always need what we have, but we have what we want. I think we all have things that are worthless in our lives and some things that we feel we couldn’t live without. Personally, during this lesson I really thought about the things that are important to me. I really feel like this lesson opened my eyes wider to valuing things I have and the things that are very important to my life.

PA — 38

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Object Lesson

Ghazi Abu-Obeid

I don’t know what to write, because the play was indescribable. At points in the play I didn’t know if Sobelle was being performative or being what some might call “a real person.” A question I had throughout the play was whether it was improvised or if it was scripted. I also wondered why the play had so many settings, and why Sobelle had talked about SO many different things. But even though I was confused about most of the things going on in the play, I still felt like I learned so much. Each moment made me think about what had previously happened in the play and really put my mind to work.

Drum Sticks Tyler Slussar

Why do you cover me up? Is it to protect me? If so then why am I dented? You use me Why? You claim you become more talented It’s hard to tell But maybe Maybe you do After a while I get replaced But you keep me On that “special” shelf To remind you Of what you accomplished with me

" Pages taught me that there is no limit to creativity. I can be myself and express who I am without feeling judged for my ideas.” —CINDY LE

Gold Chains

Farhiya Mohamed My heart dropped as I looked at the picture that I held in my hand. My aunt wore the shiny necklace around her neck with a bright smile on her face. The gold chain sparkled in the sun the same way it did when I wore it. I felt my eyes burn with tears as I thought about the necklace. How it felt against my skin and how I felt when I wore it. Like she was with me, only she wasn’t. I searched for it desperately, hoping I’d find it. I felt a tear run down my face as I came into the harsh reality that it was gone, just like her.

PA — 39

Object Lesson

Asia Mussa

On October 29, 2015, I went to the Wexner Center for the Arts to watch a play. The actor shared a story of when he was in Paris with a couple of his friends. He was happy and really enjoying the time he had with his friends, and most of all he was appreciating life. When he moved to San Francisco he wasn’t happy and he was lonely. He would be at a party with tons of people but still feel unhappy and lonely. It really stuck with me because even though I’m only 14, I should start appreciating life and what life gives me. The people I end up meeting, the sad moments, the happy times—all of it. Listening to him share his story, which I thought was personal, showed me that I should be thankful and happy about what I have. I should start worrying about myself and my happiness rather than how many followers I have on Instagram. It’s really hard to explain if you weren’t there to see the play, but that moment showed me that I should be thankful for what I have and always enjoy life even when I’m going through a hard time. I should be having fun and making good memories. So whoever is reading this: go tell someone you care about that you’re thankful to have them and that they make you happy, because maybe tomorrow they won’t be there to make you smile.

PA — 40

It Is a Literal Bird Cage

Whetstone Class

What came first, the chicken or the egg? We restrict ourselves from our given liberties. Is the bird trapped in the cage or is the cage trapped in the bird? Can the cage fly? Are these wings of other birds feathers put together? What does the birdcage represent? Children born in captivity may never take to the air. Beaten bronze leaving me alone like a prisoner in his cell. The cage seems kind of small for a bird. Is this a metaphor? The cage taunts the bird. Why does the cage have wings? The cage is glorious as an eagle. Please…let me fly.

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Untitled

Angelique Rasnick I’ve lost my necklace. Its tangled words spell out a name. This name, It gives me security. Why am I lost? I can’t seem to find myself— A meaning anymore. I don’t know where I have been placed, It’s dark and confusing. Unconnected and unknown. For I am like this necklace, Given a name, Lost without a meaning.

PA — 41

Dear Sobelle, Didn’t think you’d read this—sorry to interrupt!

PA — 42

It’s lovely to have you here. Surely you must have been looking for something to do and came upon my blog! So, go on—read! The reason I came here is to tell you that your performance left me mesmerized. The question in your letter to me, “Do I have what I need? Do I need what I have?” left me thinking. DO I? Maybe. Maybe each and every thing I keep holds a key to one of my memories. Remember that light—the one you pulled out of the box? Or what about that wine bottle you kept on the desk? Furthermore, that one paper you had and didn’t know whether to burn or rip up, but instead you kept? All these examples I mentioned from your performance made me think whether I have things that I don’t need. And I do! From a blue ribbon to a letter from my fourth-grade teacher, I have things I don’t need. But why do I still hold on to them? I came to the conclusion that each of the things we keep is the key to a memory concerning that particular object. For example, the blue ribbon reminds me of a time in third grade where we had to make a tribute to our parents using ribbons and strings. And the letter from my fourth-grade teacher reminds me of how much of an awesome person she is. All in all, thank you, Sobelle, for giving me a meaningful perspective on objects I keep and why I keep them. Sincerely,

Aisho Ali

“Pages is a way for students to communicate with other students that don’t go to [our] school, allowing us to not only see the perspectives of our peers, but open our minds up more. Pages also gives students a chance to see other forms of art and explains that writing is an art, too.” —ANGELIQUE RASNICK

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New to Me, Old to You Shea Young

So special to My heart I want to keep This To remember OUR Memories Together! “Hold my ring Forever… May you go far in life. I may not be here Forever… Take my ring with You and Hold my ring Forever…”

My Favorite Book Asha Ahmed-Lane

My eyes roam the page with a thousand words telling me the story. The words, phrases filling my head, sending me to a new world. One which I didn’t know of. Do you like me? It asks me. Do my words affect you the way they affect others? She asks me again How can you use me for so long and then put me away for the next read? What happiness do I bring you? The words, meaningful that they bring warmth, love. Bring lust for more Words on the page. She asks me if the others will like her, too? Of course. Who wouldn’t. You bring insight, magic, the power of education.

PA — 43

Dear Geoff Sobelle, In 2011, I moved to Rome, New York, and my family and I stayed in New York for three months and then moved back to my hometown. I left so many memories. So many valuable things that I can never and will never get back, like my stuffed animals that are very near and dear to my heart. When I watched your performance I could relate totally and it was amazing. Sincerely,

Damonique Wright

PA — 44

“Pages is a new way of connecting to art, literature, friends, and even yourself.”

—FARHIYA MOHAMED

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

Dear Mr. Sobelle, Hello! First off, I love how you spell your name, Geoff; it’s nice, but different. Second, my name’s Nat, which is not creative whatsoever, but oh well. Your play was amazing, and confusing. I have so many questions about it. What did the end represent? What were you pulling out of the box? How did you get the play to be like that? Was it what you wanted? Did you get any emotions from it? What was your favorite part? I mean, of course you probably don’t have time to answer all the questions I have; is there anything you can tell me specifically? Do you have anything that most people wouldn’t get or understand? Also, responding to the letter you wrote us and your questions: “Do you have what you need?” “Do you need what you have?” What exactly do you mean by that? Nothing is exactly a “need” or “want.” Like some things aren’t as important as others, but they all mean something. Also, what more do you absolutely need than water, oxygen, food, and shelter? Do you need love in your life? What all do you think you need? Anyway, yes, answering your questions, I do have what I need, and I need what I have. Every little object I own has created a situation for me. The little piece of paper that has my friend’s number on it means something. It shows me that I’ve experienced something with that person, or I’ve spent my time talking to them. The Starbucks bottle reminds me of how much I love coffee, or the car ride I had while getting the coffee. (By the way, my car rides seem to be so emotional nowadays.) What objects create the most emotion for you? Is there anything that you don’t need but just have for a memory? Sincerely,

Nat Whittington

“Pages is a wake-up call to those mildly interested in freedom. Once you experience the program, you’ll end up in the rabbit hole of learning, wanting more.”

—REINHARD BARE

PA — 45

Dear Geoff, I thank you for the amazing experience and journey you took us on in The Object Lesson. It was very hard to understand at first, but as I reflected and reflected on the performance, I started to understand it better. I realized that you were teaching us about why we keep an object when we don’t really even need it, we’re just attached to it. I especially liked how you incorporated Dionne into the play like she was an actor, but she did not even know that you were going to choose her. I also liked the traffic light story: how you could be with a small group, be extremely happy, and have the best time of your life, but later be surrounded by a large group of people at a party and feel so lonely. I thought of that story as a very important life lesson. So, I would like to thank you for the great performance and life lesson you taught me. From,

Sadik Ibrahim

PA — 46

Dear Shawn, What Geoff is trying to say here is that we don’t truly appreciate the things that we have, and we need to start appreciating them because we will regret and/or miss them in the future. And that we should appreciate things in life before they are gone and we never see them again. Always appreciate the things everybody does for you, and you’ll be happier in the long run. Do you have what you need? Maybe this is trying to say that the things we want most we don’t need, and the things we need most we don’t want. Do you need what you have? This is also saying that the things we have now are not needed. This reminds me of The Object Lesson because there were stacks and stacks of boxes with random items inside them that you don’t really need. Hopefully, one day we all can appreciate things like this better. Think about it; it is really deeper than what you might think. Love,

Shawn Holt

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“Pages gives meaning to things that appear to be meaningless.”

—GHAZI ABU-OBEID

Stop and Smell the Roses

Colin Martinez

As most of us carry out our repetitive everyday routines, taking a moment to think about the miracle of our own existence is at the bottom of our to-do lists. Unfortunately, because of this, marveling at the fact that our cars started in the morning doesn’t fit into our schedule, and although each are amazing in their own way, everyday events are just that: every day. In truth, we would not be a productive species if we spent all day admiring the world around us; we save that for babies. However, many of the luxuries we enjoy today are direct results of just that: amazement and curiosity about what goes on around us. For without people who wondered about the world, how it worked, and what laws governed it, we would be a people that only lived in the moment, with no curiosity or ability to perceive the big questions: why are we here, how did we get here, and so on. This curiosity is so fundamental to being human that, as I stated before, it gets swept away, hidden under the shadow of a routine or an obligation, only to be uncovered when we read a good book or watch an interesting video explaining how something really works. I would argue, in contrast, that curiosity needs to be more integrated into simple routine tasks. If you, the reader, have made it this far into this short essay, then there is a good chance that you have formulated some kind of opinion of it, or perhaps you read the title and formed your opinion then. Even that, having an opinion, a simple thing that every human has, is an amazing feat. An opinion is imaginary, not like a reaction to photons of light as with sight, nor the firing of an olfactory neuron with the sense of smell. A very figurative thing like a thought can trigger cells in our brains to work together, using small electric impulses to transmit a message to nerves that make muscle cells release calcium ions to create a very real effect, like moving a finger. Amazing processes like this happen literally every second of every day, as we go on about our business without thinking about them. Living in a state of constant awe is obviously not feasible for those who want careers or friends, but to be curious is to break routine, and to possibly learn something new. So do yourself a favor: stop, break the habit, and take a moment to admire how amazing the world around you actually is.

PA — 47

Dear Mr. Sobelle, I was lucky enough to be able to see your performance. It was definitely the weirdest play (or whatever you’re calling it) I’ve seen, and I loved how you presented it. You really made it interactive. I felt like I was living your life along with you. When we passed around the dirt and bread, it made me feel like I was there. I especially loved your traffic light story. This was the story about how one of the best moments of your life was just sitting in a field watching stars with your friends, where everything is quiet. Where you guys could see a traffic light in the distance, and you feel grateful that you’re on the other side of it. Then you went on to explain the party in San Francisco years later and how, even when you were surrounded by people, you saw that traffic light and somehow you were alone. I think a lot of people can relate to you. The constant worrying of whether or not you’re really stopping to enjoy and appreciate the people and things around you. It’s really easy to get caught up in school or work and start to question your purpose, and whether or not you’re doing something meaningful. What do we get to leave behind in this world? At the end, you were pulling out a variety of things from a box. Toothbrushes, shoes, glasses, lights, toys. All these things that have been ours, and have belonged to others, too, suggesting the idea of how all these objects relate to people. I myself am a bit of a hoarder. I find it hard to get rid of things. I get attached to things that remind me of good stories. I think I keep things because I don’t want to forget certain stories or memories. I think a lot of times objects become so much more than objects. Objects hold memories and tell stories. Humans have a constant need to remember or to be remembered; we need a sense of purpose. I think we find purpose in the objects we possess. Thank you for being you. Do you have what you need? Do you need what you have?

PA — 48

Yours truly,

G Caplinger

“Pages has been a whirlwind tour of English, history, the arts, and finding myself.”

—SHELBY CARLSON

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PA — 49

MA â&#x20AC;&#x201D; 50

EXPERIENCE

Girlhood, image courtesy of Strand Releasing

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

GIRLHOOD, Céline Sciamma

Pages Artist-in-Residence: Dionne Custer Edwards, Wexner Center educator and writer “One of the best coming of age movies in years.”—Indiewire This fall students viewed Girlhood, a film by Céline Sciamma, featuring a look into the life of Marieme, a shy, bored, put-upon teenager living in a disadvantaged suburb of Paris. Recruited to join a “gang” by three tougher girls, she sheds some of her inhibitions, restyles her hair, changes her name, and tries to take charge of her own life. Teenage girlhood, with its nervous stretches of boredom and its violent, electric upsurges, has been Sciamma’s dominant subject, as seen in her two previous films (Water Lilies and Tomboy). However, Girlhood has widely been praised as her best to date, as Sciamma captures these girls’ lives with a rare empathy and a close, attentive eye. The result—one of the few modern French movies to take a deep interest in the country’s working class. Students worked with artist-in-residence and Wexner Center educator Dionne Custer Edwards to explore ideas and issues surrounding identity formation, coming-of-age, gender impressions, socioeconomics, and cultural representation.

MA — 51

Short Growth Myani Cooper

He’s a beautiful rose, grown and bloomed off this dangerous other rose bush, and each thorn he makes it through safely, but somewhere in between he’s taken by a gardener, cut away, torn, and sold.

His life shrinks away… shrinks away… Beauty lost, petals dried— a beautiful rose no more. Who wants a dead rose?

Life Is Full of Paths Dalton P. Collier

MA — 52

When the world is too big for anyone to explore, but you want to do something about it, then you need to believe that you know how to choose your path to who you want to become. Just don’t listen to people that try to bring you down—fight back to become who you want to be. Never try to become as good as your role model, because if you think this, you will always just be number two. If you be you, you will become better than that person. Always come with a smile. Try your best even if you fail a class or test; work on what you need to do better for the next test. When you want to choose a different path, you can always try again and find the new path. I’ll tell you this now—life is not happy and easy. It takes hard work and most of your time to reach success in life. Never go crying to your parents for everything, and don’t always ask for stuff. They aren’t here forever. Work for it. You’ll get through life better if you listen to me. We all start as a baby and ask for everything, then we all have two paths to take, the easy or the hard. If you take the easy way, you just make it a lot harder when you grow up. Remember that this life is always a path; choose one, and follow and change that path till it runs out into space.

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

These Three Girls Brittany Settles

These three girls are like a pack They all have each other’s back Living in the low of Paris Nobody can bear to be us Fighting to earn respect But the lack of knowledge is the effect Stealing clothes While nobody knows These three girls are like a pack

B.aking S.oda Belinda Shanley

I am the baking soda of the family— —guardians of the galactic family are upset and their emotions are sucked up by me. Neither of them feel the other’s emotions, but I feel everything.

MA — 53

Finding a Way

Annabelle Schoonard She walks through the door holding her head high, confidence beaming through her. She’s the only one that knows it’s just a show for society. Deep inside she fears these plain walls, the side glances people will give her, and the attention. Most of all she fears what’s to come, but she would never admit that to anyone. By now she should be used to going to new places, and being the new girl with no friends. But the loneliness isn’t something she can get used to. I shake off those thoughts and get off the train. The girl I was studying is still deep in thought. She didn’t even notice me staring at her; she has a new recruit tattoo just like I do. I walk through the giant doors, using all of my body weight to push it open. I’ve memorized the route I’m supposed to take but I still get lost. Walking down the dull hallways, the number of people dissipate. The man in front of me is tall. As I reach for the man to ask him where I am, someone grabs my arm and tugs me back. He starts yelling at me; I am too in shock to understand what he’s saying. I’m tugged back the way I came from. Once the colossal man is out of sight, the boy pulling my arm lets go. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I just got my badges and I couldn’t let you informally address a commander; he would have seen me and blamed me.” His emerald green eyes define him. They show everything about him. It’s as if I can feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins—with just one look I know him better than he knows himself. “I’m Adam, by the way,” he proclaims, knocking me out of my thought bubble. “Lexia,” I mutter. “What’s that?” he asks. “My name is Lexia,” I respond more irritably than intended. He runs his hand through his dark hair, notices that I flinch at the movement, and gives me a worried look. I flash a fake smile to assure him I am sane.

Unsure of what will happen next, I follow the strange boy into a blinding white room. I wonder how he knows where I am supposed to go. Is it that obvious? I wish I was someone else, something else. Everyone looks at me as the enemy. They fear coming near me, as if I’m contagious. Eighteen years ago my people invaded this planet. The humans call us fairytale creatures. My people started a war with these humans, for they were too stubborn to agree to peace. My mother was one of the five elders. They are the decisionmakers of our kind. When we came through the portal to earth, my mother advised against war. She even went as far as speaking against the Grandfather, who is our highest leader. She was cast out of the society and sent to live among the humans. She would have been sentenced to death, but she was with child. A few weeks later I was born. We hid from the humans and struggled to make a living. A year ago, I got caught stealing food for my mother and me. The soldiers quickly realized what I was and the power I possessed; they called me a mind reader. They ran tests on me to understand me further. I was poked and prodded for months. At night they locked me in a jail cell, treating me as a prisoner. They could never comprehend my ability—they didn’t understand. I couldn’t read their minds, but they knew I could read them somehow. I was a mystery to them. Last week they told me I could be free, but it had conditions. I had to join their army, fight along the people who deem me as a threat, and fight against the creatures that threw me out. Adam takes me through the stations, being my personal guide. They must have chosen him specifically for me because he does not act like I am a diseased creature. I feel bad for him. He cannot get out of this place until he has fully trained me, and I never learned how to fight.

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

The next morning I wake up before sunrise. They make us run for miles on end. Most people pass out, but I’m used to running. I have run from reality most of my life. Next, we are pushed into a weapons room and told to choose a weapon. Everyone is rushing around to get the weapon of their choice. People are pushed, but no one touches me. I pick up the only weapon left, a double-bladed sword; it is agile, and fits perfectly in the palm of my hand. At dinner Adam is the only one that sits by me. We talk about his life before he was recruited. This becomes a routine: wake up, train, eat, talk to Adam, and sleep. I find out that I am a good fighter. My advisers notice this as well. I can tell my opponent’s next move, making it easy to block and counterstrike. A few weeks into training, the advisers call me to their office. Adam comes with me; he’s my partner in crime. They tell me I can graduate early, and that Adam and I can join the war as soon as we are ready. We walk back to our dorms silently, and when Adam speaks it takes me by surprise. “What are your fears?” he asks. I have to stop and think about this. I have never considered anything as a fear—more as an obstacle I must overcome. He repeats his question, thinking that I didn’t hear him. “Being alone,” I whisper. He grabs my hand and says nothing else the rest of the walk. At first I am frightened by his affection. My kind has rules against affection, so my mother never touched me, but his touch is comforting in a way. At dinner we talk about the war, and the conversation quickly turns to death. Adam tells me that he fears death. He says he fears the pain, and he fears life after death. We talk about what war will look like and what it would feel like to take another’s life. Shivers race through my body during the conversation. The fear is consuming me; I am not ready to die. I must have said this out loud because Adam slides closer and puts his arm around me. “I’m not ready to die either,” he whispers in my ear.

The next morning Adam and I go down to the general’s office and tell him our decision. The man I once called a giant now pins my badges on me and shakes my hand. He tells us what squad we will be serving in, and to be ready in the morning to move out. Before we leave his office he salutes us. It is the greatest honor a soldier can receive, and out of all people, he gave it to me. I finally feel like I fit in somewhere, and for once I am glad to be who I am. If I were anyone else I wouldn’t possess the power that makes me special. I no longer dread being an outcast among the humans, because I have accepted that I am already one. I no longer fear going against my people and punishing them for the mistakes they have made. I am ready to fight among the people who treat me differently, for I am different and that’s what’s going to win the humans this war.

“Pages is an experience that helps students to think about their future.”

—MARYAN MUNYE

MA — 55

I Prefer Coffee Now Serena Ishwar

MA — 56

It’s not that I dislike you, If you believe so then I’m afraid you are mistaken. You came into my life as tea and I needed it. Now it is different. I prefer coffee now and you just don’t cut it. You are not as rejuvenating, You are not as strong. Maybe I became tougher and you began to decay, Decay as you believed that I was dependent on you. We both know this is not so. Then in between the lies I needed something to knock me out cold, As the tea I gulped down began to sway uneasily in my shriveled stomach. Nothing worked. But the feeling was temporary, Like my appetite for tea. I prefer coffee now.

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

This Feeling Shania Kimble

I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.

—Nelson Mandela

My body shakes like I’ve been hit with a cold breeze My heart races like a stampede My hands feel like they have been dipped in water My voice is barely above a hushed whisper My stomach is a cage to butterflies My body has a mind of its own I am losing control This feeling... It stops me from doing something great I take one step forward to be pushed a million steps back I lost my courage as fast as it came I’ve missed life-changing opportunities…why? This feeling…it’s making my life pass by I had great ambitions Now it’s too late, my life has taken another direction I let my fear control me Feel the fear, but take chances anyway

MA — 57

Answering the Phone Keegan Lammers

I got my first phone at 1:26 pm on May 1, 2010, my 10th birthday down to the minute. Three minutes later, I received my first call from the person who would transform my childhood with that phone: my Grandma Patty. I already knew how to use this device; I had been calling my grandmother since I learned to speak. As a toddler, I would open my mother’s flip phone, dial her number (the first and only one I knew by heart), press it to my ear and wander my humble home as I talked to my Grandma Patty for hours. So naturally, when I got my own phone, the calls never stopped. We talked about everything: flowers, family, lame jokes. We would even sing our favorite songs. If I missed a call, I’d listen to her voice mail, her soothing tone and sarcasm making me giggle. One voice mail, though, would begin the slippery slope to the crumbling of my world.

I saw I missed her call on the way home from my 5th grade play practice, which I was so eager to tell her about. When I listened to her voice mail, I stopped dead in my tracks in the middle of a road. My world stopped spinning. A flashing red sign on the other side of the crosswalk counted down the seconds I had to cross. 5…4…3…2…1…. I staggered across the road in a daze. This voice, it couldn’t belong to my grandmother. She was slurring her words, stumbling through incoherent sentences. That was the one and only time I didn’t call her back. Even at 11 years old, I knew. She was drunk. What I didn’t know, though, is that ignoring the problem would only make it worse. I didn’t tell anyone. I was young and naive. I didn’t understand it, or maybe I just didn’t want to. Ten months later, at 12 years young and scared, I got the call that my wonderful grandma was dead. She was an alcoholic. It killed her.

MA — 58

Girlhood, image courtesy of Strand Releasing

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

Looking back, all the signs were there. The beers stuffed in her couch, past-my-bedtime phone calls, voice mails left in a drunken rage— they had all become more frequent. I told no one. I want you to know that I don’t remember her by the drunken ramblings that our phone calls were at the end. I remember her by all the ones that came before that, when she sang “Happy Birthday” to me on the phone. The way she called me when she saw the first dandelion in the spring. The times we sang “You Are My Sunshine” on the summer solstice. But most of all, I remember her laugh, the way she called me her peanut, all of our phone calls beginning with “I miss you,” and ending with “I love you.” I didn’t write this for sympathy. I wrote this to make you realize what you have: a chance, a phone, and a limited-time offer with an unknown expiration date. Call someone you love. Memorize the way they roll their letters, listen to their giggles, and tell them you love them. Someday, you’ll be glad you did.

“Pages gives meaning to things that appear to be meaningless.”

—GHAZI ABU-OBEID

MA — 59

Amphidromic

Ava McCargish

I remember as a child the trips we took to the beach as a family. The memories of walking on sand dunes and camping on the beach will always be something I cherish. I spent some of the best times of my life walking on the beach with my sister. These memories, all too inevitably, are like an old box on a shelf that is never touched or opened, just filled with old memories. I long to recreate these memories that have now been replaced with hardship, damaged dreams, and expectations. Life seemed so simple when I was running on the hot sand to the water to escape from the heat. Although things have shifted like the tides, and my stresses run deeper than the everlasting, destructive waves, I still find that splotchy, dry, sunburnt skin and coarse, salt-soaked tresses wash away the burdens that only land dwellers can succumb to. At the beach, all my worries are tossed aside and the only thing that wanders into my mind is the sound of the water crashing against my legs. I long to feel like this again, but everything has changed. The currents that used to soothe my mind have been replaced with the stressful thoughts of my future and school. I wish I could take life back to small, sunburnt feet hiding from berating expectations blowing around the dome of safety I took refuge in at the beach.

MA â&#x20AC;&#x201D; 60

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

The Fire That Once Burned Kelly Nguyen

My love was like a fire. It grew so quickly So rapidly That it was unstoppable. My heart was engulfed in this fire. It was intense. The love burned vivid colors and was destructive. But I liked it, this love we had. It was great until one day, this love burned out. My love was like a fire and like every fire, My love slowly died down until it was nothing but ashes. Ashes we called memories. As the ashes fade away, so do the memories we shared. Memories of him. But my love for him is strong So I shall wait for him. Wait for the fire to rekindle… If it ever does.

“Pages is helping students open a path toward the literary arts, helping them turn a page toward more interesting writing.”

—RIGOBERTO CLEVELAND

MA — 61

“I was flipping through the pages of my life, and entering the program opened up a new, exciting chapter. One I’d love to continue writing.”

—ASPEN ROBERTS

The Bus

Sara Rainey

There’s not a lot to say about the bus. It stops and goes, ebbs and flows. People get on and off, and no one cares about their surroundings. Like the fact that it’s snowing outside. The beautiful, simple snow that hasn’t stopped falling. Or the fact that the girl across the aisle is crying. Silent tears staining her pink cheeks.

MA — 62

Everyone is trapped inside their own private worlds. Waiting for the bus, and then waiting to get off. I guess there is a lot to say about the bus. The way it stops and goes, ebbs and flows. People getting on and off, and they might not notice everything, but I try.

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

Welcome to Monday

Atyana Adams

I spend an unhealthy amount of time looking through old pictures and videos on my phone and computer, bringing me back to the moments I pressed record, or when I pressed the shutter. But these moments, these memories, they bring me back. I can close my eyes, and no matter how cliché it may sound, I can feel my hair blowing in the soft summer breeze, the warm sun glowing on my legs and bouncing off of my red, sunburnt cheeks. And I’m smiling. I’m smiling at my friends, and they’re smiling back at me, and at each other. These memories fade away when I open my eyes. But I can remember them. Those nights when the sun never seemed to set, the everlasting shades of pink and purple making our skin radiate. And the air, it never seemed to grow cold. We were always warm and full of light. I remember how you made me feel, and how that one sunset made me feel, and how that one stupid game of Uno made me feel. I remember what that one smile did to me, and what that one rainstorm sounded like, and what that one hug felt like.

MA — 63

Muslims Are Terrorists (a satire)

Istahil Ali

You’re running through the airport. After having a crazy night celebrating the last night of your vacation, it slipped your mind to set an alarm. Instead of having time to have breakfast with family, you have to make sure you don’t miss the 10:30 am flight back to New York. You soon find yourself racing through security and getting the satisfaction of having 20 minutes to spare, so you go grab a coffee, sit in the terminal, and wait to hear your flight announced. Suddenly, your worst fears hit you. You see a woman covered from head to toe and in a head scarf. The woman is awfully quiet despite the fact that it’s nine in the morning. She suddenly gets a phone call and starts speaking in Islamic! You feel your heart sink; your worst fears are becoming true. A suicide bomber is on your plane. Today’s society is faced with the continually growing problem of terrorism. What once was an unimaginable thought of hatred quickly became reality after 9/11. After once allowing these people into the country and welcoming them with warm arms, they backstabbed us. Although I’ve never read the Quran, this is what it preaches. It tells its people to kill, bomb, and destroy lives. They are burning down holy places of worship, schools, and slaughtering innocent people everywhere because it’s what they believe! After watching episodes of Fox News back to back, I’ve come to the conclusion that all Muslims are wild. We need a shutdown on Muslims entering the country. After the recent attacks in Paris, the question of allowing 10,000 Syrian refugees into the country has been raised. Polls have shown that 31 states are against the idea completely. European countries have allowed thousands of these Syrians asylum, which is more than America (land of the free, home of the brave) can say! Would it really be wise to ignore these people’s pleas for help and let them remain in a war-torn country run by ISIS? Just like how we let the Jews stay in Germany? Well, of course we should, because we can’t risk helping these people who will ruin our values and soon take over.

MA — 64

The fact is, if we let these Syrian refugees into the country, the Muslim population would be expanding at warp speed. We have no way to monitor these people and see what they are up to! One presidential candidate has advice and big plans to deal with radical Islam. He believes he can find a way to solve these terrorist problems. His plan is to give Muslim people special identification cards. Sound familiar? Oh wait, Germany did it to the Jews! The best way to deal with these Syrians would be to just let them remain where they are and let them be slaughtered by other “Muslims.” While they are crying out for help, we are silencing them because of our fears. Yet it’s the same fear that these people are trying to escape. All Muslims are terrorists. If a Muslim commits an inexcusable crime, instead of blaming that individual, blame the 1.5 billion people who share the same beliefs.

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

The City at Night Zoe Spokas

The city at night, the city grown colder. The skeleton statues, hollowed-out faces, resting on the street’s shoulders. Each needle still pointing towards something, unreaching, burnt out, empty, left only with the star's gentle preaching. Merely the outline, dissolved in the day, of invisible stories, in time washed away. The blood in its structures has long since been drained. The city at night, not one heartbeat remained.

MA — 65

Hatred Inside

Paulino Amaya

There was a boy that wanted to be the best at everything. He was the best until one dreadful day. It all started August 29, 2010, when he woke up to one of the most life-altering events that could ever happen. He woke up like usual and went to greet his mother, only to find out that there would be no response. No matter how much he kicked and screamed, he wouldn’t be able to bring her back. He felt the pain surge through his foot after he kicked the wall. Could it have been the last words that he said to her? Could it be the result of him saying that he hated her the day before? He called his sister for help. She busted in the house and said “What’s wrong, Paulino?” All he could manage to mumble was “Mom,” then she found their mom dead on the living room floor. All Paulino could think of were his last words to his mom. The words kept repeating, “I hate you…I hate you…I hate you.” People said that the best thing to do was to remember the fun times you shared. But how could he when he felt as if it was his fault that she had left them. He was stuck on the thought of how oblivious he was about his surroundings. Or how many times his mom busted her ass to get something that he wanted, but it just was never enough. Well, mom, it was more than enough.

MA — 66

He didn’t have anything after his mom left. At the time, he thought that the only people who would love him were in the local gangs that his cousins were affiliated with. He ended up getting jumped into a gang that his cousin was in before he got shot and killed during an attempt to hold up a convenience store. He had nothing left. All his family kicked him out. He had troubles coping with the emotions that he felt. At one point, he ended up going to live with some friends at the local rec center. He jumped from place to place just trying to make it through. Remember how he loved being the best? Well, he stopped all sports and started skipping school. On December 19, he was stopped by a cop during his attempt to skip school. He later found out that the cop was a good friend of his mom’s. Officer Love told Paulino that he shouldn’t be skipping school. He also said that he should be in school getting good grades. He told Paulino that he should try to make his mom proud, and that’s when it hit him. He thought to himself, “Would mom be proud of my actions?” Would she like the reputation he was setting? No, of course she wouldn’t, and he knew that. He just didn’t have the support that his mom gave him anymore. That’s what he was missing. He knew that his mom would rather he try hard in school than beat himself up over his last words. He got to go live with his uncle on his mom’s side. His uncle lived in Columbus, Ohio. (He didn’t do well in school, either.) So Paulino went through 6th and 8th grade getting suspended like every other week, sometimes coming back from one suspension only to get suspended again. He started to try to turn it around when he hit high school because he made the varsity football team. He had many bumps, but it was definitely his best year so far. He got kicked out of the band and got sent to Ms. Furlong’s study hall. He sat there bored, and he felt sad because he saw a picture of his mom. He got on a computer and started to write a life story called “Hatred Inside.”

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

Circle of Life

Logan Fondriest

The young, curious bear grows old. He watches the trees and listens to the sounds of the old oak tree, losing its sight along with its hope. Each day, the middle-aged bear approaches the tree, and collects the knowledge of the wise old earth limb. One day, the tree passed, and the bear did, too. The bear’s soul entered the tree and found a new bear to give advice to. And so on…

MA — 67

A Walk Inside

Anna Wells

My friends and I always have our best conversations outside. We will walk to the park and go skip rocks in the river, staying silent for minutes at a time just to take in the world around us. So we stand in the river. Feeling the cool water rush around our feet and the breeze blowing against our backs; listening to the birds and the insects in the trees. The peace that comes with the scenery and the life around you opens a window of conversation unlike any other. For some reason, being outside always makes my friends and I have deeper discussions about our personal lives. And sometimes, when I just need to get away, I go to that place to think about my own life. I had a conversation with myself in that river one day not too long ago. I’ll remember that day for years to come. School had just started. I was already struggling to keep up with my classes and manage my social life at the same time. My freshman year had been less than stellar, to say the least, and I was trying to come out on the other side of it all. My family was always there for me, but my friends were really the ones who kept me grounded. I’d made some great new friends through sports and school, yet I still had the group I had hung out with for the past few years (though they were more like family to me than anything). The second week into school, all my friendships started going through their own hardships. I didn’t have classes with any of my close friends, and we barely talked due to our busy schedules. Some of my mutual friends started arguing a lot and I didn’t know what to do about any of it. All the drama that started to unfold around me started to pull me in. With all the struggles I was already going through, drama was the last thing I needed. The world around me just seemed to be falling apart. I didn’t think it could get much worse, until it did. I thought everything was beginning to sort itself out. Then it hit me like a freight train one Tuesday afternoon after school. One of my best friends—who was more like one of my sisters—did the one thing you never would expect them to do. She lied to me. She betrayed me. She used me. And all for what? A guy. I was completely blindsided. Instead of yelling and screaming at her right then and there, I just walked away. I walked away to that river. I walked away to the peace and quiet. I walked away from the world for a little while.

MA — 68

If it wasn’t for that walk to the river with the rocks and the birds and the water rushing around my feet, I wouldn’t have decided to forgive my friend a week later. It gave me the time I needed to realize that there are more important things in life than holding a grudge against someone who made a mistake. We all make mistakes. The river washed away all my anger and replaced it with forgiveness. I thank God everyday that I went on that walk. I would have lost a great friend if I hadn’t. I believe in the power of a walk to the river. A walk to reflection. A walk to forgiveness. And a walk to a new beginning.

Pages 2015â&#x20AC;&#x201C;16 Anthology

Girlhood, image courtesy of Strand Releasing

Untitled

Haley Hoffman

Young to old colors to black outgoing to calm from front to back They both work fine but my preference has changed Once was my favorite now just a memory I now have moved on but will never forget From colors to black no longer a kid

MA â&#x20AC;&#x201D; 69

Photo: Haley Hoffman

Finding Forgiveness in Affliction Emily Metheney

I remember sitting in the passenger seat of my sister’s first car, not knowing if the blur outside was the rain beating on the windshield or if it was the tears in my eyes on the brink of overflowing. I don’t know if I was angry at you or maybe mad at her for protecting you. I deal with you by not acknowledging you. I got up the next morning and I went to school. I went home, I ate dinner, and then I went to soccer practice. Life moved on even if it felt like my world had stopped. Life moves on even if we don’t want it to; we can’t let the losses in our lives hold us back from new gains. I remember seeing you across the room 184 days after everything had happened. I was silently begging you not to come to the other side of the restaurant and talk to me. But you did. And I hated every second of it. You can’t treat someone like they don’t exist for six months, and then tell them to call you anytime they need something. I joined swim team, maybe because you always wanted me to play soccer. I quit playing soccer. A year later my mom told me that you were in the same grocery store that I was in. That was a few weeks before I cut most of my hair off. Apparently you almost died in a severe car crash, and you didn’t want anyone to tell me. I found out nine months later, when my grandmother told us. I felt a little too numb after discovering that everyone else knew in our family but us. I got really sick; the nurses told me the whites of my eyes were too pale. My lips were the same color as my skin. My sister called me Casper the Friendly Ghost. My mom put N/A next to all the lines on the medical forms where your name was supposed to go. I almost failed all of my classes because I could hardly go to school. You didn’t care. Six months later, you were in the next room over. My grandfather was dying, and all I could think about was you. For my grandfather’s funeral, I dyed part of my hair blue because I knew it would upset you. You didn’t talk to me at all. She tried to, but I ignored her because I knew that it was the best thing to do. I fear you and I beg for your presence at the same time. I received all of my grandfather’s money that was supposed to go to you. You didn’t seem very happy about that.

MA — 70

You got divorced. I’ll sort of miss her, not because I liked her, but because she made really good crème-filled cupcakes. You moved to a new city. I knew because the address on the child support check changed. I remember seeing your wedding photos and I hoped you finally found the happiness that you were pretending to have. I know that I can’t make you happy and you can’t make me happy, so I walked away hoping that we could live separate happy lives, without each other. I believe that grudges are grenades. If you hold onto them for too long, they will destroy you. You can’t spend forever being angry at someone; you have to find peace, even if it’s only for yourself. Forgiveness is the hardest thing, especially if you give it to someone who least deserves it.

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

MA — 71

“Pages is an intellectually stimulating experience that leaves one in awe of the world.”

—SERENA ISHWAR

Mosaic Selfies

I’m more than a long-haired degenerate, my friends. I’m a playful, interesting, wellinformed child.

—Jeffrey Arndt

“Pages is inspiration. It is encouragement to do great things and to be proud of what you’ve accomplished.” MA — 72

—HANNAH WEINER

I don’t really know how to show my dark side, but I guess this sums it up. The black tears are just something that don’t exist. I don’t cry in front of people. I believe that for me it shows I’m weak. Also, I’m just not a dark person unless I’m left in a room by myself and I am left to my own thoughts. By that point, I look at myself like this picture: evil, ugly, and silent. If I’m quiet there is something wrong.

—Travis Hicks

This is me looking girly, which is the side I show on rare occasions such as school dances. I have shoes covering my face because usually I have a very confident face and attitude, but behind those shoes are plenty of my share of bullying and years of self-doubt.

—Michelle Massey

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

This is me after skating alone and listening to The Doors, basking in the sunshine using my Deathwish board as a pillow. I really love people, but I love being alone. It makes the world seem more open to me.

—Sophia Mustric

I put a lot of effort into the way I dress and I love expressing myself through clothing, but there’s a part of me that just wants comfort, comfort, comfort. It’s the part of me that puts my PJs back on after I shower until the last second before school, and that changes into sweats as soon as I get home. It’s a weird duality—in public, I wouldn’t feel comfortable in sweats, not dressed “like myself,” but at home, the last thing on my mind is what I look like. It’s my space to express myself in other ways.

The side of me people never typically see is the silly side. Around anyone else I am usually pretty serious or laidback, but I do actually have a weird and strange side that nobody sees that often.

—Richi O’Neil

—Clara Hirsch

One side of myself I don’t really show is getting angry or annoyed. I don’t know why I do this, but conflict is something I really try to avoid. Often I ignore my own feelings to make other people comfortable. Sometimes I wish I could tell people how I really feel. On the other hand, I am not ashamed that I care a lot about other people’s feelings. I just wish that sometimes, when it’s needed, I could be more honest about my emotions with others.

—Annette Reichard

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Alter ego: Stevie, a nickname of profound patriarchal heritage which was given to a migrant bird in terms of “good luck.” The little chickadee hoped to fly in limitless directions to seek new forms of identity and ultimately reveal a true self.

—Cierra Stevens

My life can sometimes be very chaotic and emotionally overwhelming. I choose to show how, as a female, I feel like most days I have to cover up my sadness and become “picture perfect” for the rest of the world to accept me.

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—Sara Shank

This is a very ugly accidental picture Richi took of me on Friday at Tensuke Market. Like most people, I don’t like posting ugly pictures of myself because I don’t like people seeing a photo of me that I didn’t pose for or didn’t deem worthy enough for my Instagram or Facebook (where it would sit forever for all my followers and friends to see). To me, this ugly picture would be a label of unattractiveness I would never be able to get rid of—scary! But then again, why should I hide it? We all have seen an ugly picture of ourselves or untagged ourselves from a bad snapshot. But if we all are pretending that bad photos don’t exist, aren’t we forcing ourselves to hate what isn’t perfect about each other because we are all pretending to be perfect on social media? I tried to delete this picture when I discovered it, but I’m lucky Richi never let me get that far. I did some deep reflecting on myself because of this terrible eating photo. In the words of our spongy childhood hero, I’m happy I can say, “I’m ugly and I’m proud.”

—Alison Reichard

Pages 2015–16 Anthology

I’ve never stepped out of my house without makeup. In my opinion, it’s too raw and open. At this point I can’t even call it selfconsciousness, but compensating for what I lack has become second nature for me. When I’m at home with myself, I feel the most relaxed and at peace.

—Jordan Walton

I tend to resort to sarcasm when I don’t know what else to say, but I’m finding more and more that I don’t know how to effectively communicate when I have a real emotional problem. So I guess the box represents my feelings, and I’m trying to escape, but also trying to not seem so desperate about it that I’d make whoever is taking the picture stop and help me.

—Alyssa Whitt

Kristen in her rarest (and fakest) form: no makeup, seemingly pleased, and a smile that feigns happiness.

—Kristen Wall

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“Pages is a pathway to your creative spirit.”

—ANNA WELLS

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Pages 2015–16 Anthology

As the creative process is a focal point for the Pages program, we engage with numerous forms of art throughout the program year. Frequently, the work of students in Pages happens somewhere between the students’ own English/language arts classrooms and various spaces beyond those classrooms. Accordingly, the works that appear in this section borrow from the sentiment (and sometimes the materials) of the art room or studio, while leveraging the abilities of the students, the willing support of the teachers, and the practices of our teaching artists and arts educators. While the work on display here does not always follow the traditions and techniques of students training in the fine arts, in every case these pieces demonstrate—and take full advantage of—the Pages process of engaged, interdisciplinary thinking and making.

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Taylor Endicott and Eden Richardson No Title

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Rachel Shesky No Title

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Michaela Clem-Jacobs, Alli Dean, and Logan Fondriest No Title

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Elleigh Olson No Title

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Sydney Houze and Claire Tillman No Title

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Kei Satomi No Title

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Lizeth Martinez Morelos No Title

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Top to Bottom, Left to Right: Victoria Price, Anxiety; Steven Hockingberry, Him; Sidi Abukar, No Title; Sara Arnold, Alone in a Crowd; Mohamed Yacoub, No Title; Noe Evans, No Title; Cody Huffman, No Title; Cindy Le, No Title; Carissa Dembinski, No Title; Brendon Hill, Piano; Andrew Sain, Untitled; Aspen Roberts, Colonial Feuds; Maxim Meleshchuk, No Title; Jose Vasquez, No Title; Hailey McGinnis, No Title; Rashed Milhem, No Title

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Anthony Matus No Title

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Aisho Ali No Title

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Adedotun Ogoji A Snapshot of Life

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Domo Wilson No Title

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Drew Wilson No Title

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Sara Farkas No Title

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Anna Wells No Title

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Sara Painter Hubba Bubba

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Micah Orr To Build a home/Side FX

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Hannah Weiner No Title

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Hillary Marshal Paint Chips

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Asia Harris Star of Today

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Jared Iannarino Puberty

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Keeton Rafferty Young and Pure

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MacGuire George No Title

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Journie Blackford Day 2 Day Proverb

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Journie Blackford Aging Colors

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Rigoberto Cleveland My View on Life

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Sarah Yonut Childhood Crafts

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On November 24, 1971, a Boeing 727 headed for Seattle was hijacked by an unidentified man now referred to as “D.B. Cooper,” demanding a ransom of $200,000 in “negotiable American currency” and a civilian-grade parachute. Little definite record of the man was ever found after “Cooper” jumped from the plane with his ransom, beyond 290 of the $20 bills raked up from the Columbia River. This word collage was created with every seventh word from Cooper’s public FBI file. (11/24/71 → 1 + 1 + 2 + 4 + 7 + 1 = 16 → 1 + 6 = 7)

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Isabel Johnson Alive and Doing Well in Home Town

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Dave Strider Turf War

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Jack Staggs No Title

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Keegan Lammers No Title

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Marcus Haase No Title

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Silas Land sometimes breaking the rules can have a beautiful outcome

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Spencer Comyns Perspective

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Sarah Al-Saidi No Title

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Robert Proffit No Title

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Hailey McGinnis No Title

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Jacob Dolloff No Title

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Maxim Meleshchuk No Title

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Viviana Smith So Much has Changed

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Jose Vasquez Red, Yellow, Blue, Black

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Open Mic Reading and Reception

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After the Pages experiences are over, students revise the works they have written and created throughout the year. Each student is offered the opportunity to submit their work for publication in this book and to participate in a public open mic reading and reception. The Pages anthology is released at the event, which took place this year on May 10, 2016, at the Columbus Metropolitan Library’s new Whitehall branch. Pages 2014–15 Open Mic Reading and Reception photos: Katie Spenger.

“Pages opens eyes and minds that might not have even realized they were closed.” —MANDY BRUNEY, 2012–14, PICKERINGTON HIGH SCHOOL NORTH

“Pages is a dynamic way to get my students to see that learning doesn't happen in a vacuum and we learn best when given the chance to make connections between the disciplines.”—STEPHANIE COHEN, 2010–11, ARTS AND COLLEGE PREPARATORY ACADEMY “Pages is a program where my students get to explore. Not only explore a physical place—the Wexner Center—and what happens there on the walls, on the screen, and on stage, but also a place where they can explore the intersection of art and ideas. It is a place students can explore behind the curtain of contemporary art and learn that it is not some strange, unknowable land, but one that they can navigate through engagement, questioning, and journaling.” —KIM LEDDY, 2011–15, MOSAIC “Not only did AP scores go up last year (and I credit Pages for that), my students and I have been deeply impacted by the Pages program. It is a truly valuable, game-changing educational experience.”—ANDREA PATTON, 2013–15, WHETSTONE HIGH SCHOOL