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CROSSTHREADSArtsJournal
acreativeartsjournalpr
esentedbythe
WestsideArtsCouncilhigh
lightingthe
WestsideofSyracuse,New
York
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CROSSTHREADS Arts Journal
a creative arts journal that promotes and highlights all
the artists who live, work, or have some relation to the
Westside o Syracuse, NY.
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Copyright (c) 2011
No part o this document may be reproduced or transmitted
in any orm, by any means electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying and recording, or by any inormation storage or
retrieval system, without consent rom the authors.
All Rights Reserved
ISBN:
Design: Stephanie Hart
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Pg. 3 Introduction
Pg. 4 Acknowledgements
Pg. 5 Special Thank You
Pg. 7 Nygeleke Jones Oh Dancing Sky
Pg. 8-9 Emily Watanabe Untitled
Pg. 10-11 Samantha Harmon Two Addresses Unknown
Pg. 12 Nygeleke Jones My Mom
Pg. 13 Jadin Cooper UntitledPg. 14 Jessica Sharpe Orange Church
Pg. 15 Teyah Williams Circus Willy Wonka
Pg. 16 Marcus Jacobs Sentry Duty at Fort Stanwix
Pg. 17 Kristen Tietjens St Lucys
Maarten Jacobs St. Lucys Church
Pg. 18 Yanira Johnson Wyoming Street
Pg. 19 Roxanna Carpenter UntiledPg. 20 Nate Pritts New Color o the Background
Pg. 21 Casey Landerkin Untitled
Pg. 22 Sarah Hudkins, Blodgett School
Pg. 23 Thay Mo, Untiled
Pg. 24 Katie Brown, A Real Good Man
Pg. 26 Luis Santiago Untitled
Pg. 27 Ashley Homer A Man getting Ready or Work
Pg. 28 Nijah Haskins My StreetPg. 29 Megan Montana Welcome Inn
Pg. 30 Mother Earth Near Westside
Pg. 31 Temerity Matthews Untilted
Pg. 32 Isaac Rothwell 10:30 on Tioga
Pg. 33 Alexandra Crosby Welcome Inn
Table o Contents
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Pg. 34 Rachel Lyons Fist Palm Peace
Pg. 39 Tia Williams Peace
Pg. 40 Samantha Harmon Blodgett Middle School
Stacy Grin Fused Glass and Bark
Pg. 41 Samantha Harmon Untitled
Pg. 42 Terry Ritchie The West Side Tulips
Pg. 43 Roxana Carpenter St. Lucys Garden
Pg. 44 Samantha Harmon The Welcome InnPg. 45 Calvin West Girl with the Yellow Jump Rope
Pg. 46 Kristin Dugger Ogress
Pg. 48 Louaisa Holmes All About Me
Pg. 49 Roxana Carpenter Untitled
Pg. 50 Josh Stowe Untitled
Pg. 51 Carole Horan New Man in the Hood
Stacy Gin Untitled Fused Glass
Pg. 52 Patrick Suarez The City
Pg. 53 Pattie Fiegl Take Flight
Pg. 54 Jay Furgal Tattered Tickets
Pg. 55 Savier Williams Untitled
Pg. 56 Jacqueline Padilla Untitled
Pg. 57 Jay Furgal Voices
Table o Contents
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CROSSTHREADS is a creative arts journal that promotes
and highlights all the artists who live, work, or have somerelation to the Westside o Syracuse. The journal seeks to
publish submissions o students, the everyday artist, and
proessional artists o all ages. The goal o the journal is
to highlight unity, raise community awareness o the arts,
showcase the historic and emergent arts community, and
reect cultural experiences within the neighborhood.
For the members o the Westside Arts Council the neigh-
borhood o the Near Westside is place unlike any other.
The neighborhood we know is a piece o beautiul art
unto its own or the people who are ortunate enough to
experience and create it every day.
Mission Statement
To act as a cultural advocacy group or the
Near Westside community by bringing together
neighborhood residents, agencies, cultural institutions,
and artists with the intention o exploring our
opportunities in the Near Westside neighborhoodsas well as in the broader Syracuse community. This
group will organize art projects and events that will
engage the entire community driven by residents input
concerning what art they would like to see in their
neighborhood.
CROSSTHREADS Arts Journal
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This collection o art would not have been possible without the
support o many individuals and organizations.
Jessie Keating Imagine Syracuse
Becky Jackson Seymour Elementary School
Stacy Grin - Blodgett Elementary School (Transerred to
Meachum Elementary School)
Kristen Dugger Blodgett Elementary School (Transerred toFowler High School)
Betsey Sipple - Art Instructor Imagine Syracuse
Kelly Moser Art - Teacher Seymour Dual Language Academy
Sarah McCoubrey Syracuse University VPA
Stephen Parks Syracuse University/New City Community Press
Sheena Solomon Giord Foundation
The Westside Arts Council selection and editorial committee:
Mother Earth
Peter Thompson
Isaac RothwellKatie Lemons-Brown
Maarten Jacobs
Mary Stanley
Acknowledgements
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The Giord Foundation
The Near Westside InitiativeNew City Community Press
Special Thank You to:
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OH, DANCING SKYby Nygeleke Jones, age 9
Imagine Syracuse
Oh, dancing sky
I wonder how bright
you really are.
From rain to rainbows
to sun to og
rom lightning to thunderIts so very hard to see the sun.
I would grab a star
and clear it all away,
so that it will all be okay.
Oh, dancing sky
I wonder how bright
your really are.
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Emily WantanabeUntitled, Pen and Watercolor on Paper
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Samantha HarmonTwo Addresses UnknownPencil, Pen,Watercolor, Acrylic
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MY MOMBy Nygeleke Jones, age 10Imagine Syracuse
My mom is magnifcent
Shes like the midnight breeze.
But shes cool as can be.She is like a purple ower
Growing, blossoming, getting brighter
Brighter, brighter!
My mom is nothing imaginable.
My mom is like the sun
Shining over me.
My mom is magnifcent
Shes like a midnight breeze.
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Jadin Cooper, Pre K, Blodgett School
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Jessica Sharpe
Orange Church
Oil on Paper
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Tayah Williams - Grade 6
Imagine Syracuse
Circus Willy Wonka
Wire and Fabric
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Marcus Jacobs
Sentry Duty at Fort Stanwix, May 2009Marker and Colored Pencil
Seymour Dual Language Academy
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Maarten Jacobs
St. Lucys Church
Photograph
Kristen TietjensSt Lucys
Pencil on Paper
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WYOMING STREETBy Yanira Johnson, age 11
Imagine Syracuse
O, shining bright utures
Over Wyoming Street.
The kids bright utures
Cant be beat.
The kids chanting loud over winning kickball
Quiet Down! the neighbors shout. Or thesecurity Ill call!
We are athletes
Over Wyoming Street.
Our winning love
Cant be beat.
We share everything we haveOh, we share all
From the snowy, breezy winters
To the warm yet leay all.
We are all loving on Wyoming Street
Our big puddles o love
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Roxanna CarpenterUntitled
Drawing on Paper
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New Color o the Backgroundby Nate Pritts
Outside the window, a series o buildings
planted in snow. Snow blind in morning,
Im relying on memory. Faltering
in restlessness, Im eeling my way.
In the oreground, ake owers, a sad blue renzy.
Every day I can count on seeing some birds
& every day what the hell are they still doing here.All these trees without leaves. Icy shatterings.
Its February in Syracuse. Its Syracuse,
New York in my heart & I dont know
how I got back here. Except that I do.
Except I was gagged & blunted or years.
The map that I ollowed ran jagged & red.
You hold something close or long enough
& even big sharp things blur. Gigantic,
but who can say what it was. Things in distance
look aded & smudged. They named thisperspective. They say that this blue looks bluer
depending. These shocks more shocking
because o old tremors & shakes.
Orange sunlight even in winter. You can idle
in a car & watch snow turn purple.
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Your limbs heat up. Your body become bodied,
your breath & her breath. Now things are clear.
Remember all those parts you orgot.
The right shade pulled low keeps out the night.
Your eyes a lovely brown to swallow me
whole & so much more whole with your hand
in my hand. Your eyes much more brownwhen theyre brown in this old town. Change
the color o the lights & it all starts again.
Hold this shrapnel up to the sky & its beautiul.
Casey LanderkinUntitled Ink andWatercolor on Paper
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SarahHudkins,B
lodgettSchool,InkonPap
er
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ThayMo,PreK
,BlodgettSchool
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A Real Good ManKatie Brown
A blank
blinking page.
calling inspiration rom theundercurrent o my imagination.
Yet
a subtle hesitation
I think maybe
Id rather jump o this page and into your arms
caught in each others Springtime charmsdisregarding the demand o real lie,
with a real good man.
They dont come along oten you know.
(no you might not know)
It seems all the grown up ones
have grown into their suits and toys
And all the boysstill hang rom trees
o irresponsibility
and just grow into
impressive
chimpanzees.
I think maybe
theres more to Kansas and blue skies
there might just be rainbows in your eyes
You may surpass the adventures o an empty page
(where I have ound my empty stage
and played upon it like a dove reed rom the wire cage
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rom the raters to the worn oor boards
my wings tire without a perching treeand long or more
perhaps with youI could be somewhat
ree as we
balance on the earths edge
looking out on a lemon drop sea)
We could be more than a page could contain.
Star-gazing city lights, making wishes on lit window panes,
delighted when morning creeps under the sheetsand tickles our toes.
(Could you catch this heart in the throws?)
I think maybe theres Godzilla shoes to fll.
But where theres a Will
(a mighty soul
and a holy plight)
I think I just might
jump the black and white words
this real lie demands
into the solid arms
o
a
real
good
man
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Luis Santiago
Untitled
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Ashley Homer, Grade 5
A Man getting Ready or Work
Marker and Oil Pastel
Seymour Dual Language Acadamy
A man is brushing his teeth. Hes about to wash his
hands. This is what he does every morning when he
wakes up.
El hombre est cepillando sus dientes. El va a lavar
sus manos. Este es lo que el hace cada maana
cuando se despuerta.
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MY STREETBy Nijah Haskins, age 9
Imagine Syracuse
All the actions on my street
Its so noisy
but at the same time
its quiet in the air o soaring people
on my street.
I always thought it was sae
but I never know i its dangerous.I may never fnd out
but I know the trees, snow,
and sometimes deer
are there or a purpose.
The purpose
because its my street.
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Megan Montana
Welcome Inn
Acrylic on Paper
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Mother Earth
Near Westside
Pencil and Ink on Paper
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Temerity Matthews Untitled Graphite on Paper
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10:30 on TiogaIsaac Rothwell
Thick paint layered with strokes o promiseThru scattered dreams my ocus honest
Crisp nocturne breeze a melody or the
senses,
As we revel in the lampposts golden glow o
paste concrete
And take my blessings census
With hope or days when all have changed
their tenses,
From mine to ours
Remove labels rom people like we keep on
jars
The clouds are gone, the clouds are gone
But will return,
Empty parks like empty hearts,
No lie to give
Skiddy... Skiddy, tonight you live
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Alexandra Crosby
Welcome Inn
Oil on Paper
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Fist Palm Peace by Rachel Lyons
Sowe should play a game.
Wait, are we throwing on 3 or on shoot? 123shoot or throw
on 3?
Ok, rock, paper, scissors, shoot. Got it.
Rock crushes scissors, scissors cut paper, paper covers rock. Rock.
Paper. Scissors. Shoot.
Rock.
A fst.
Your fst.
A powerul base.A clenched motion to bench anger until it steps up to the plate
or debate and conversation racing towards sensations o tightened
muscles, popped knuckles and that oundation o hate treading
along until it crashes into a cheekbone.
A known wall o deense against those orces pushing you down
and pressing your chest until the nonsense becomes unrest and
what was bottled up fnally erupts to say
Take a breath and get some air and push it back with a resoundingYES, I will be heard
not herded into the masses o anonymous words and aces phased
out by those eyes that chose
to throw stony glances, to take away chances, and to hold in their
fsts the lielines that divide time between fngers o reedom and
twisting wrists
cuslinked together or dinner parties o elaborate vocabularies and
cus
linked together or sentences and terms o undetermined length to
rehabilitate mistakes.
Do your fsticus belie your blu that you stand perched on to over-
look the nooks and crannies o inequalities that historically are
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entrenched in neighborhoods
and inequalities that are drenching the sidewalks o the downtrod-
den with the sweat o brows and bodies and poor souls wondering
what is good or?
What is it good or?What orce compels you to wage this war o fsts and fts and starts
o anger and
rage unolding page to page to page to page until
today,
When I heard your screams down Onondaga street as I sat on my
ront stoop.
And I criedor you, or me, Im not really sure.For your voice so strained, or your spirit so drained, or your fsts
that hopeully missed your target. We all need to work on our aim,
our goal o fnding a strong rock oundation o solidarity and not
a rock bottom street o uncertainty and ear. What will your fst
dismiss and what will it take responsibility or? When will it open up
and recognize the bliss that lies in hands that band together to rock
these perceived notions o dierence and roll into new images o
me and you standing on the same side?Paper.
A palm.
Your palm.
Slapped with the truth o human contact.
Sharing pieces o yoursel and seconds o your health and infnitely
small yet transormative energies speeding and crashing and creat-
ing a bond between borders o skin and arteries and
vain attempts to neglect the resounding beating o the drums o
each heartbeat in this room, eeling in our blood that we are a part
o something bigger:
a riendship, a community, a city, a state, a nation with
leaders on the street and
leaders well never meet.
The women and men meant to govern and add up the cost o war in
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bills and paper and bills and paper and red lines o budgets nudg-
ing our palms to clutch
what sense we have let in our heads and
what cents we have let jingling in our pockets.
Do we ip that coin and risk landing heads up: to declare war, towrite bills o torture, to battle with the past o tough times and
harsh lines and worn hands that wrought an iron ence too intense
to mend and heal;
or do we risk landing tails, tales o widows getting papers and tele-
grams stating that
We regret to inorm you mam,
the truths covered in camouaged lives and uniorms that defne
the texture o
one souls lie against anothers.
How the grain and pain o this army green and khaki and black and
white and brown and red kaleidoscope becomes the rope you climb
to choose that deadline or lieline as you hide behind grasses and
see merely ashes o light because
blinking eyes miss crucial moments.
Blinking eyes divide what is united intrinsically and rhythmically,because
enemies
hearts
beat
too
and their mothers cry out and shout names o those who ran
together never knowing how they could go palm to palm to make
their way rom orders on papers to jungles, deserts, streams,
DREAMSseen only when they close their eyelids,
the sites, views and hues o courage too young to give up and too
seless to turn back now.
A pledge becomes declared not on paper but on palms, a battlefeld
psalm
ormed ater many miles and many troubles and many struggles:
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My hands will cradle your broken body when you all.
My palm will calm your breath and close your eyes when you no
longer have control, when you release.
I will take that paper rom your inside pocket and put it next to my
heart.
And I will keep running. And you will still be one o us.Scissors.
An unexpected sign o peace.
A sign o humble power to cut down borders and boundaries.
To edit the texts o papers and the anger o fstssince you can
take that extra moment to contemplate the weight and the cost
o what youve brought to bear on a world which has seen its air
share o wear and tear.
We tear paper to pieces and see the many that create the one: each
part important,
each part needed to eed the fre at the heart o the matter.
We take fsts and close a scissors snip! to trim back our curt verse o
rustrated rage and fnd a chorus to vocalize our pride in a move-
ment o the universe,
one verse o common good that should warm our aces with rays o
golden rules and tools to dig deeper to meanings that tell the truthjust
below
the surace.
The fght is ar rom over.
But the enemies can be seen as any one and mes.
It couldve been me in her shoes, walking and running along to a
dierent drummer who eventually returns to the loud
resounding heartbeat underneath the skin o societiesand the stars o the sky.
And I sit and wonder why the cosmos know we exist,
but or what purpose?
I wonder about a peaceul puzzle that requires patience
and persistence and
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human imperections to cooperate and co-create a treaty sealed
and bonded with the
skin o handshakes in the ace o doubt and hate.
What will I embrace to see this ate come alive?
Watch or simple generosities and clever possibilities.Savor what survives and encourage what thrives to make new
shapes and cut along new lines to defne our experiences in all their
madness and truth.
Shoot.
Thrown down what you will.
Your decision.The choice is in your hands, and any second could be the second
that holds opportunities unseen and wisdoms come clean.
Keep your eyes on what is now and remember your roots
the next time you
rock,
paper,
scissors,
shoot.
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PEACEby Tia Williams, age 9
Imagine Syracuse
Peace is like a sunny feld
flled with owers.
It is like a maple tree.
It is like a cloud in the sky.
The touch o peace is smooth.
The ower is a rose.Peace is like the sun shining
oh so high.
Peace is like a bunny bouncy,
bouncy in the grass.
Peace is the color o pink.
Peace is a ast motion.
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Samantha Harmon
Blodgette Middle School
Pen, Pencil,Watercolor on Paper
Stacy Grin
Fused Glass and Bark
ArtTeacher at Blodgette MS.
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Samantha Harmon
Untitled
Pencil and Arcylic on top o Photo
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The West Side TulipsBy Terry Ritchie
Like tulips many o us are slinky and tall; while others are like a mixture o
blended colors, cute and
small.
Tulips have beautiul petals that slowly and graceully all to the ground, even
when no one is around to
see them all.
We as a people oten stumble and all, but most o us pick ourselves up and
continue to stand tall.
Some people are so ocused on the old dilapidated house that we come out o,
that they ail to noticethat we have begun soaring like the aggressive eagles and the peaceul, gentle
doves.
I only we had the power to eradicate hatred and prejudice we could teach
everyone to provide security,
embrace loyalty, and demand unwavering equality and justice or everyone.
When one petal alls rom a tulip it does not diminish the beauty o the other
tulips; similarly when oneperson makes a mistake it should not cause others to think negatively o
everyone that lives in that
locality or vicinity.
Some people speak disparagingly o the west side residents, but that is be-
cause they are outside looking
in; so they ail to see the beauty, eel the love, or experience the knowledge
that is ound deep within
our hearts and our minds.
I you look closely at the west side it has many beautiul tulips and many beau-
tiul people just waiting to
be discovered.
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Roxana Carpenter
St. Lucys Garden
Oil on paper
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Samantha Harmon
The Welcome Inn
Pencil and Pen on Paper
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Girl with the Yellow Jump Rope
Wire and Fabric
Calvin West - Grade 5
Imagine Syracuse
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Kristin Dugger
Ogress
Oil on Wood
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Louaisa Holmes-Grade 6
All About Me
Pencil and Oil Pastel
Imagine Syracuse
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Roxanna Carpenter
Drawing on Paper
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Josh Stowe
UntitledDrawing on paper
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New Man in the 'Hoodby Carole Horan
A young man striding down the street with purpose,Arms swinging, eyes and ears taking it all in.
Recently trading gown or town (diploma in hand),
He's here to help make a dierence.
Stacy Grin
Untitled
Fused Glass
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Patrick Suarez
Grade 5
The City
Marker and Oil Pastel
Seymour Dual-Language Academy
People are walking in the city on the sidewalk. One man is
walking with his dog. They like how the city looks with its
tall buildings and skyscrapers.
La gente est caminando en la ciudad. Un hombre est
caminando con su perro. A ellos las gustan como es la
ciudad con los edifcios muy altos y los rasacacielos
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Pattie Fiegl
Take Flight
Drawing with Poem on Paper
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Tattered Ticketsby Jay Furgal
In this realm o doves and bulldozerswe watch and wait
as i there were messages in the titles
as fne as we were
up the hill
spine speaks o rainbow nights
the river and the old mill, orgotten
over and maybe seen across
it said...
i read...
nudge on my side
my rainbow reection
almost a hero
mistaken or a earless orce
concentrated calm
thick and irregularin small circles around
buds o paralyzing permission
crumbled centro passports
insert into slot and enjoy the ride
into the sophia sky
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Savier Williams, Grade 4
Untitled
Blodgett School
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Jacqueline Padilla, Grade 7Blodgett School
Untitled
Mixed Media
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VoicesBy Jay Furgal
October called this morning
and imparted me to the importance o
reedom, second chances,
and mosaic table tops.
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http://www.acebook.com/WestsideArts
To see the ull-color online version o Crossthreads, please visit:saltdistrict.com/crossthreads