Motley Staff 2015

Editors

Katie HanSophie HerdrichGabe Magadieu

John WahligTanner Daniels

Josh Foster

Faculty Advisor

Simon Adams

June 2015

Dear Readers,

While there is never a specific theme to an issue of Motley, I have been surprised several times

by the way student work seems to follow a kind of “collective conciousness” from year to year. The

writing in the 2015 issue of our school literature magazine touches again and again on subjects of loss,

and fear, and what seems like a frustration with society that, thanks to our current “Age of

Information”, is striking our students at a younger and younger age. While angst is ubiquitous in the

lives of adolescents, and we watch our students growing up faster and faster in a divided world, there is

great hope and solace still to be found. And it can be found on these very pages.

The act of artistic creation is in and of itself an act of defiance against the darkness that can feel

overpowering. Regardless of the subject matter; writing, drawing, painting, composing poetry, are

cathartic experiences that push back against the ills of the world. Singing, dancing, acting, sculpting;

these creative moments give voice to our strongest and often hardest-to-articulate emotions. Each page

of Motley, each drawing, each painting, each poem, represents a moment of emotional growth and

artistic courage for our students.

While some might look at our magazine and only see pages (or pixels) I see power. And

passion. And great hope for us as people who can work through the dark and create our own lights and

find our own voices. Lights which we will hold high and voices with which we will sing out loud for

others to follow.

Simon Adams

Darkness

The black land,

stretches out,

in front of me,

as I step,

one,

two,

three,

four.

What should I do?

What should I see?

In a land that is

oh,

so, dark.

-Madeleine Belcher

Balloon by Sophie Matson

Ceramic Landscape by Unknown

Ceramic Landscape by Unknown

The Pool

I kick, splash;

the cold is refreshing.

I wade, swish;

the water’s to my knees.

I step, resistance;

to my wait it goes.

I get ready;

J

U

M

P!

The water surrounds me;

I am under, silence;

all I see is swimming bodies.

I come up for air;

Dripping wet;

The towel surrounds me.

Warmth

-Annabel Rosenbaum

Paper Sculpture by Unknown

White River at Sharon by

Ellie Rudnick

I chose to emulate White River atSharon by Edward Hopper. The piece is awatercolor landscape. The artwork has manycomponents including a forest background all theway to a river foreground. This piece was createdin 1937 and was a view from a farm that Hopperand his wife were visiting in Vermont. The stylethat Edward Hopper was known for was stronglydefned lighting, clearly defned lines, andcropped viewpoints. I choice to emulate thispiece because of the many layers and depth tothe piece. Also the piece has an interestingtexture that adds quality to the painting over all.White River at Sharon shows space in manyways. There are many light and dark areas in thepiece that create and sense of depth in theartwork. Space is also shown by the many layersof the piece. The background layer is the skywith clouds that spread across sky with a wind

blown look to them. One of the middle groundlayers is a white rock with a tree, the tree goesfrom almost the bottom of the page all the way to the top and overlaps over the landscapebehind. The foremost ground is of the river. Theriver is blue and textured to make the water looknatural.

Texture is a major element of art in thepainting. Texture in technical terms is the waysomething feels to the touch. However, in arttexture can also be the way something looks as ifit feels. It helps the looker to be able to imaginewhat the are would feel like without touching it. There is texture in the river as mentioned above.This texture is created by small pencil lines madeover the water colored blue area. The texturedmarks show a bit of a pattern but more create asense of movement of the water. There is alsotexture upon the white rock, this is done byadding black areas on the rock to make the rocklook as if it has areas that are higher than othersand creates a more rock shaped texture than just a white space. The trees also have a almostsmudged texture that was created by the

watercolor. All of these textures add contrast andmovement to the piece and make the paintingmore interesting.

There is also a tremendous amount ofvalue shown in the artwork. Value is thedifference between light and dark areas and thedifference between light and dark shades of acolor. This value creates a major contrastbetween the light and dark areas of the piece.The light and dark areas that are shown adddepth to the painting making it seem all the morerealistic. This is especially shown in the trees atthe farther they go back the dark they get to showthe aspect of distance. This value was one of thehardest parts of the painting to emulate properly.The value of light and dark is also shown aroundthe rock to make the water and the white rockcontrast against each other and make the whiteof the rock differ from the blue of the water.Overall, the value in the piece adds to theelegance of the art work.

Edward Hopper was an artist from anearly age. He was born in 1882 into a middleclass family in New York. He originally studiedillustration. After a few months he changed hisstudy to fne art at the New York School of Art.After he graduated he used his experience inillustration and was an illustrator for a few years.He then took three international trips that wouldfurther infuence his work. Paris had a realinfuence on him and he visited there with greatinterest. He visited Paris on all three of thesetrips. Hopper was known for clearly outlinedforms in strongly defned lighting, croppedcompositions, and a mood of eerie stillness. In1923 he married the artist Josephine VerstilleNivison, and she became a major element in hisart. She was the one that really encouragedHopper to focus on the medium of watercolor.Every summer for almost twenty years was spenton a lake house in Cape Cod, Massachusetts.This place infuenced many of his works. Someof the recurring themes in “Hoppers artworkwere the tensions between people, the confictbetween tradition and progress in both rural andurban settings, and the moods brought on byvarious times of day.” Sadly Edward Hopper’scareer came to an end when Hopper died in

1967. A this point his wife gave the majority ofhis works to New York's Whitney Museum ofArt. In 1980, the Whitney opened "EdwardHopper: The Art and the Artist," agroundbreaking exhibition. This celebrated bothhis life and his work.

In working to recreate this magnifcentpiece of art, I believe I have really learned notonly about Hopper’s capability as an artist butalso of mine. I really enjoyed working to getevery bit of my painting to look as similar aspossible to the original. While this was nearlyimpossible, I had a fun time trying. The hardestpart of the piece was to get all of the dark colors

to stand out as every time I would paint a darkcolor it would blend into the light colors anddisappear. To solve this I did a lot of painting,letting it dry, and then painting again. If I couldchange one thing about my piece I would haveused the pencil aspect as Hopper did to createthat surfeit amount of detail that was hard toaccomplish with just watercolor. A connectionbetween Edward Hopper and myself would bethe use of everything in the world as a model. Iam always noticing the little things in life andwhile Edward Hopper may have been portrayingthem on canvas this is a common trait that weshare.

Work Cited

"Click Here To Play: Edward Hopper: Great American Painter." Edward Hopper: Great American Painter. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Nov. 2014.

"Edward Hopper." - Paintings, Biography, Quotes of. N.p., n.d. Web. 26 Nov. 2014.

"Edward Hopper." Highlights from the Smithsonian American Art Museum. Smithsonian American Art Museum, n.d. Web. 28 Nov. 2014.

Murphy, Jessica. "Edward Hopper (1882–1967)". In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000–. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/hopp/hd_hopp.htm (June 2007)

Squid by Carson James

Self Portrait by Mackenzie Pizzo Self Portrait by Kassidy Castillo

Self Portrait by Catherine Morrissette Self Portrait by George Norris

The Writer

Poe sits, The ominous white page waits,

The pendulum swings, the raven taps.

Every moment a thousand years,

Every beat of his heart an echoing thump

In the darkness.

Words form on the page,

Images form in his mind,

Forming, fading, creating a story,

An abyss of emotions,

Black and white,

Now blue, now red, now green.

The sweet smell of a summer breeze,

The bitter biting steel of a winter storm;

He sits, alone with a fantastic fantasy

That no one will notice, no one will feel,

Until the words form. They curl like smoke in the air,

Spilling on to the page from his pen

As easily as if he were speaking them directly to the parchment.

In the garden of thoughts he walks,

Picking fruits of imagination, planting seeds.

From this he conspires against reality,

Creates a world with his mind for every soul to read.

The feather falls, the darkness closes in, amazing ,

In a second the world will fall into the abyss of death,

In a moment the writer writes nevermore.

Colors fade, Shadows close in, the writer lays on the snow,

Doomed to write nothing more than his own epitaph.

But a light there is still as one’s person fies over himself,

Or in the clouds of imagination

Anew is the storm that was brewing.

A new thought appears, new words form on the page,

Without despair, grief as before.

Silver tinkling of ice falling to Baltimore ground,

Men yelling, shouting in fear, a warm bed.

One thought, “Lord help my soul”,

The page is empty.

Works Cited

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/edgar-allan-poe

http://www.biography.com/people/edgar-allan-poe-9443160#mysterious-death

https://www.poemuseum.org/life.php

http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poet/edgar-allan-poe

illustration by Stella Bean

Clara Tolley Rose Lynch

Rose Riversmith Maddie Labbe

A Love Forgotten

A lucid recollection of times pastLonely and mellow just like a white doveOn its fnal fight– meeting end at lastVague are the days of our great, blissful loveElusive is the passion of our lustFor its gentle glow seems just out of graspOur affection now seems lost in the dustRegret churns when I think of your last gaspGreat happiness – all though now concludedObstructs me from the true meaning of lifeToward our end we may have seemed unsuitedThough once I wanted to make you my wifeEons may elapse but despite its gleamNostalgia is none but a futile dream.

-Ben Potter

Silkscreen by Abigail Farmer

Extended Lunch – An Argument

by

Sam Pausman

Lunch time! Students race down the

halls into the cafeteria and excitedly wait in line

to claim their food. They fnd their friends at a

table and sit down to start eating, ffteen minutes

later children are dismissed without enough time

to eat their food in a healthy way. All over the

nation short break times are a problem for

students in public schools. This is no different in

FMS. Because of this problem, student’s schedule

must include extended study halls, lunches, and

time between classes because it prevents stress, it

is a healthier option, and it keeps students

organized.

If you ask anyone who is in middle

school, or has ever been in middle school about

stress, they will say is was a very stressful time.

Maybe it was the small, cramped hallways, or

the lockers, though it’s likely it was the short

period of time between classes. As a result of

this, school schedules need to change. In fact,

according to a survey, one hundred percent of

seventh grade students are stressed due to short

study halls. Also, the average period of time

between classes at FMS is two to three minutes.

That does not give kids a lot of time to get from

one end of the building to another. Teachers are

never pleased when a student shows up late, and

that is understandable, but if the student’s

schedule had carved in more time to get to the

class, the amount of students that show up late

would nearly split in half. A survey of seventh

grade students shows that over sixty percent of

seventh graders feel the need for an increase of

time between classes due to the stress that it

places on kids.

In the seventh grade, lunch is one of the

few times during the day when you can calm

down, talk with your friends and forget all about

the school day. But what if your lunch is only

ffteen minutes long? At FMS we have a twenty

minute scheduled lunch, but once students get

their food, and sit down, they only have about

ffteen minutes. You could say that instead of

increasing lunch time we could increase the

periods that “matter” like classes. Although that

sounds logical, it obviously will not help students

at all. It will only hurt them. If class times are

extended and lunch times remain the same,

students will not have enough energy to actively

participate in class, and teachers will become

agitated because no work is being completed. It

is nice that Falmouth is trying to get healthier

food at the cafeteria, but they overlooked the

most important piece. Time. If a student has less

time to eat, out of instinct they will eat faster.

According to Nanci Hellmich of USA TODAY,

“Studies show that when a person eats quickly

they consume more calories, enjoy the meal less,

and causes them to get hungrier sooner than

later.” According to a survey of seventh grade

students, eighty percent of FMS students feel the

need for longer lunches so they do not feel

stressed about wolfng down a meal in ffteen

minutes.

Take notes, study hard, and turn in assignment

on time are a few of the many ways to do well

and succeed in middle school. While all of these

may seem important the most important one is

obviously to stay organised. The majority of

middle school lockers are messy. If students are

allowed more time between classes they will have

time to neatly put away their books and binders,

and replace it with the one they need for their

next class instead of shoving their materials into

Cartoon by Julia Lee

their locker. Also, if study halls are longer

students can complete homework neatly and have

enough time to pack up and not leave anything at

the study hall.

If Falmouth Middle School provides

extended break times throughout the school day,

kids will be healthier, more organized, and will

not be as stressed. Next time you create the

schedule, FMS, take into consideration what is

good for the students, not just what looks good on

paper.

Cameron Birks

Devin Quinn

Emma Cole

Abstract Speed

by

Caroline Spencer

Giacomo Balla was an Italian man known

for his outstanding abstract paintings. He was

born July 18, 1871 in Turin, Italy. In his art he

uses a visual portrayal of light, movement and

speed. Balla spent the later years of his life as an

art teacher. When he was 42 years old he made a

abstract painting called Abstract Speed - The

Car Has Passed. This outstanding piece of art

was created using oil pastels and clearly shows

the element of art space. With the different

colors and overlapping of the colors it makes the

painting look like there are 3 layers with different

lines going through each layer. I chose this

painting because of my love of abstract art and

how everything comes together to makes a

cohesive piece of art.

In this piece of art there is many

important elements and principles of art,

although one clear one would be line.

Throughout the whole painting there are lines

going in every direction going through each layer.

These lines overlap and are different colors to

create rhythm and space. Space is portrayed

through the lines because each line helps in

showing the clear 3 layers of space, background,

middleground and foreground, but also defeating

it because of how some lines go through all layers

but are still apart of each.

The painting shows the principle of art

rhythm. In this, there are repetitive lines and

designs. Rhythm means recurring lines, colors or

forms and in the painting there are colors being

repeated in different layers helping to unify the

painting as a whole but also separate it. Also

there is a frequent cross hatching type pattern

and “hills” in the painting which are part of

forms and lines.

Stella Deltergo

Giacomo Balla was born in Turin Italy

July 18, 1871. He is mostly commonly known for

his exceptional abstract art. In Balla’s painting

Abstract Speed - The Car Has Passed he used oil

pastels as his medium which helped to blend the

lines but also keep them singular and separate

from the rest if the painting. Giacomo Balla

practiced futurism art, a style of the fne arts

developed originally by a group of Italian artists

about 1910 in which forms were used to

represent rapid movement and dynamic motion.

Giacomo Balla was an extraordinary

artist who specializes in abstract work. While

making this painting myself I realized that his

choice of oil pastels was very wise. I chose water

colors which didn’t work out as planned but I

didn't mind the fnish product. Also, throughout

the process I really began to realize how much

thought actually goes into making these pieces of

art. There are all these tedious lines and patterns

that unify the work but you really have to plan

ahead. Art is not just paint on a canvas, art is the

expression or application of human creative skill

and imagination producing works to be

appreciated primarily for their beauty or

emotional power.

Works Cited

"Giacomo Balla." Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, 30 Nov. 2014. Web. 02 Dec. 2014.

Whitford, Frank. Understanding Abstract Art. New York: E.P. Dutton, 1987. Print.

The Editors of Encyclopædia Britannica. "Giacomo Balla (Italian Artist)."Encyclopedia Britannica Online. Encyclopedia Britannica, n.d. Web. 02 Dec. 2014.

"Giacomo Balla." - WikiArt.org. N.p., n.d. Web. 02 Dec. 2014.

New England Cotton Tail by Caitlyn Bull

City by Viviana Griffin City by Elena Parr

Thank you

You've always been there,

making sure that I was o.k.

The one that helped me be

the kind of person I am today.

I'll never be able to repay you,

for all that you have done for me.

Knowing that I'd need someone,

when I'd fall and scrape my knee.

You are my big brother,

one that I admire most.

I will always be thankful,

having a brother like you makes me boast.

You understand me,

like only a brother can.

And when I'm upset and not talking,

you always just give me a hand.

Now you’re going to college

and your career will soon begin.

But I will always come to you,

whenever I feel sad within.

So this is my attempt,

at thanking you for what you've done.

Because in my book you'll always be,

my brother; number one!

-Nick Langdon

Self-Portrait by Delaney Irwin Self-Portrait by Ethan Livingood

Self-Portrait by Mitchell Kelley Self-Portrait by Sophie Herdrich

Music

Music is everywhere can’t you see?

Music is anything so beautiful and

free.

Music is the rivers, ponds, and

streams.

Music is your thoughts and wildest

dreams.

Let its sound fow into your ears.

Jazz

Classical

Pop

Mind suddenly clears.

You start to sing.

You start to dance.

This is your time.

This is your chance to be happy and

free.

-Natalie Haug-Pavlak

Teapot by Libby Danielson Teapot by Unknown

Kayaking

by

Matt Arnoldo

Marco peered out the car window as littlebirds and tumbleweeds passed by in a rush. Hisfather patted his shoulder and smiled. This wasthe frst time together since the divorce andMarco never wanted it to end.

Before his father left, for his 8thbirthday he asked for a kayaking trip down in theGrand Canyon. His parents discussed it and saidhe must wait until he was ten. Marco had beencounting down the days til the day he would ridethe currents with his dad. He imagined the envyin his classmates faces as he would tell them hisadventure. A couple months after his birthdaycelebration, his mom started arguing with his dadmore than usual. It turned into fghts that lastedlong through the night. Sometimes his motherstormed off and didn’t return for days. Marcowould sit at his window looking out, waiting forher to come back. When she did, she would hughim and apologize about the fght. It would seemfne and he would settle back into his family life.But the next day it would happen again. Marcogot so upset about the fghts that he went to hisfriends’ houses just to see a happy familyhousehold. His family fell apart again one nightand there were many harsh words thrown. Hisfather packed his things and slammed the doorwithout a goodbye. Marco cried for days anddays. His wish for kayaking was smashed underthe many wishes of his father’s return. After hegot used to being the man of the house, hisinterest of kayaking came back. He studied thesport and longed to kayak. The whole trip was aplan to spend more time with his father.

“You excited?” asked his Dad taking along sip of his coffee.

“Yes!” replied Marco taking a bite outof his turkey sandwich. His father looked out thewindow and said, “Yes, we are taking a very hardroute today.”

Marco raised his eyebrows. “A veryhard route? Is it dangerous?” His dad shook hishead.

“Not really, but it does have manycurrents that could fip your boat, and I can’thave that happen.”

Currents were rough, and if not skilled,someone could get seriously hurt or killed. Marcowasn’t really thinking about that though, he wasonly thinking about the time he was going tospend with his father. This trip was going to bevery exciting and risky. Marco liked that.

Their little stationwagon rolled up in acloud of dust. Marco helped unhitch the kayaksfrom the top of the rusted car. While his dadunpacked the supplies, Marco peered slowly overthe cliff. The sound of rushing water wasoverwhelming and the currents were seriouslystrong. He gulped and walked shakily over to hisfather.

“Saw the river?” asked his fathergrinning.

“Yes. Are you sure that that’s the one?That’s the one that we’re gonna ride?”

“Uh huh. I have planned an extra triptoo down to one of my friend’s house down river.It will be fun visiting them!”

If we get there without dying, thoughtMarco. So many things could go wrong.

He carried up the heavy boats to theaccess trail. He tripped over tough sharp rocksmultiple times. Little scaly lizards skittered acrossthe sun beaten cliffs.

They reached the point where theywere supposed to start. There was a little time torest before they launched. As his dad anchoredthe kayaks, Marco took a bite out of a powerbarand looked at the guide book carefully. It seemedthat everything would be fne with the right skills.

“Lets get going son!” yelled his fatherover the roaring water’s sound. When Marcostepped into the wobbly boat he sat steadily inthe seat and looked at the supplies in his kayak.He spotted a weapon-like object tucked in acorner of the raft.

“Hey dad! What’s this for?” he asked.He held up the object and handed it to him.

“Ah… I remember this. It was from mylast trip down the river. We got stuck in a logjamand had to fre this fare. Please don’t play with it,it could burn you.”

His father handed him the paddle and

by Abbie Ryer

by Abbie Ryer

by Sophie Blier

took one for himself. “Ready?” asked his fatherexcitedly.

“Oh yeah,” he yelled and plunged hispaddle into the crystal clear water. They jerkedforward and all of a sudden he wished he hadn’teaten that powerbar. The butterfies in hisstomach futtered up to his throat and he wantedto throw up. He wasn’t about to lose his braveappearance and toss his cookies all over hiskayak. They hit many waves that could havefipped their boats but with educated skill, theydidn’t.

“Are we near the campsite?” hescreamed at his dad. He slowed and paddled overto him.

“No Marco, we still have a long way togo. There is a big current up ahead around thatcliff,” he pointed to a huge cliff to the left thatwas in the water and rose up, burned red fromthe harsh sun. “The campsite is a couple milesafter that.”

He craned his neck to see past the cliff.All you have to do is get past that cliff, he toldhimself. The camp was right past it! He took adeep breath.

“Let’s go,” he said. He paddled with easeand bravery. His heart was pounding and he feltcourage fowing through his veins. It felt like hewas fying with no fears. But when he rushedaround the sharp cliff, all his fears came back.Those currents up ahead were the steepest,dangerous and raging waters! As he hit the frstwave all of his lunch threatened to leap out of histhroat. He blinked the dripping water out of hiseyes and surged forward. His paddle hit a hugeslippery rock and his boat jerked sideways.Supplies spilled out of his kayak.

“No!” he yelled as he watched the fare,guidebook, and medical supplies fall anddisappear under the roaring waves. He had notime to react and grab them because his dadslammed into him. Water splashed into his openboat ruining dry supplies. Sitting in a pool ofwater rushing through a river was not his favoritething to do, so he tried to bail the water quicklyout of his boat. He put the paddle down on hislap pouring water out his boat with his leatherhat. He hit another rock and the yellow paddlefew off his lap into the water.

Phoenix by Parker Thibodeau

“Dad! Help!” he yelled over to him. Hedidn’t even have time to hear his reply becausehis kayak fipped over! Water swallowed his boatunder the waves. He foated slowly around andhis breath was running out. He started to panicand waved his arms around trying to right thewaterlogged kayak. It was no use. He startedseeing sparks around his sight and he foughtdesperately to get to the surface. Suddenly thekayak started to turn sidewards and he lookedupwards through the murky waters. As his headbroke through the surface, he gulped air as fast ashe could. He never had swallowed so much waterin his life. It had felt like he had a gallon of itsloshing around in stomach.

“Are you okay? Marco, answer me!”asked his dad with fear painted all around hiseyes. He didn’t answer, he knew it was wrong tokeep his dad worrying, but he needed his breathto breathe not talk.

“Marco? You fne son? I need to know,do you need medical attention?” he said again.He looked around seeing where they were. Theywere off in a little pool away from the currents.

Desert Landscape by Eban Daniels

“Y-yes,” He stammered slowly as if heneeded to relearn how to speak.

“A little dazed bud?” said his fatherholding his shoulder. He nodded and took a deepbreath. He really needed to eat something.

“C-can I have a drink please? Some ofthat orange juice maybe,” he asked.

“Son, all of our supplies are gone. Itrusted that you would keep them safe, but…” helooked at him with pity. Marco spit in the water.He had never felt so low in my life. He couldn’tlook at his father so he aimed his eyes at a littlewater bug crawling up his kayaks side.

“I’m really sorry dad, I am! I guess Iexpected the current to be less violent,” helooked at the ground.

“It’s fne son, it was an honest mistake,”he turned his boat around and beckoned him tofollow. “C’mon Marco, we’re almost to ourcampsite anyway. We’ll just have to do withoutour supplies.” He paddled slowly after him. Hewas careful to not capsize as they went to theircamping site. They ate apples that they found on a tree nearby. He ate fve of them and stoppedafter he saw a wiggly worm in one of them.

He almost threw up after that. The rocks weresharp and could easily get into a hull of a weakboat. He looked up at the rocky cliffs edges andwatched an eagle perch on top of it, lookingaround with its noble look.

“Time to hit the sack, Marco,” said hisfather laying out the sleeping bags and got out asmall deck of cards. They were worn out andfaded with age.

“Play cards?” he asked him holdingthem up. He reached out and took half andstarted playing a game of poker. It sort of got hismind off the fact that they had almost no food,extra clothes, and daily necessities. Marco wontwo of the games and ate a half of a peachbefore he settled down to sleep. Right before heslipped into sleep mode, Marco heard his dad say,

“Watch out for those scorpions.”He opened his eyes after a long sleep.

He remembered vaguely a moment in his dreamwhere a scorpion stung him. He had woken upand checked under his blanket to check.

He shook his dad awake and they atestale biscuits and coffee.

“That was a tough ride yesterday,wasn’t it Marco?” asked his dad.

“Yeah, but I can ride better today! Iswear! I had a bad day!” he said fearing that hisdad would quit the trip and they would leave.“We aren't leaving are we?”

His dad looked him straight in the eye.“I would never quit on a trip I planned for myson that I promised to do, and don’t think you'renot allowed to make mistakes.” He smiled, androse up, stretching. Marco took a sip out of his

cup and looked at the brilliant sky. He spilled therest in a dirt hole and then took a long swim in ashallow pool. His dad got out the guidebook andstarted to look in it, scanning each page. It lookedlike this trip would be as interesting as watchingBuster King pick his nose with his pencil. Marcoshuddered even thinking about it. Then theguidebook his father was holding dropped downto the ground.

“I don’t think that the way we took wasthe right way…” said his dad. Marco stood up,surprised.

“What?” he looked at his dad withsheer confusion. His dad didn’t usually getmessed up on a something like that. He was veryskilled with maps.

“I think that the route I took was anincorrect one,” he admitted. He looked around.It looked like the right place, but he couldn’t tell that, he wasn’t experienced enough to tell.

“Now what?” he asked discouraged.His father scanned the river, and said,

“I don’t know. I think we are going tohave to go up and see if there is a way out.”

“Are you sure? Are we going toabandon our trip?” Marco said, anger starting torise. It threatened to spill out.

Uneasily, his father said, “I guess we’ll justhave to fnd our way through this.”

Scissors by Dominic Severino

Erase by Matisse Moser

Mask by Mary Kate Bayer Mask by Chloe Jacquet

After The Mushroom Cloud

Lyrics by Baker McMahon

The red, white and blue fags, are on fre

They tell you its alright, but they are all liars.

We ran through the jungles. Fought through the fear.

I fgured out pretty quick there's no way out of here.

We bled through the blitzkrieg.

And howled at the pearly gates.

Lost every loved one cause we're a disgrace

Lost all the living when the world became ground zero.

I’m telling you there aren’t any heroes

You know how to remember and how to forget.

But will you be proud after the mushroom cloud.

No you know you won’t be proud, after the mushroom cloud.

Think of every time you’ve hid from the hatred.

And imagine all the pain from the screaming, black napalm.

The innocent life burn into the blood red sky.

There are six of us left and seven about to die.

We could tell ourselves there's hope but, its really just a lie.

You know how to remember and how to forget.

But will you be proud after the mushroom cloud.

No you know you won’t be proud, after the mushroom cloud.

Remember all the hate there is in Ferguson.

And don’t forget about Baltimore, Maryland

The love and understanding reverberate all the same.

But, it never will ever beat out the hate and pain.

You will say goodbye when there's no one to save.

You won’t be laughing when the whole world's in a grave.

Love by Clara Tolley

You know how to remember and how to forget.

But will you be proud after the mushroom cloud.

No you know you won’t be proud, after the mushroom cloud.

The militias run from their own crosshairs.

You know they own the wasted land.

The fres rage, over bloodied bodies.

The blue-blooded senators burn in the distance.

Their precious money is just ink on paper.

The four-star generals are all just unknown soldiers.

Even the president is a long gone abandoner.

You know how to remember and how to forget.

But will you be proud after the mushroom cloud.

No you know you won’t be proud, after the mushroom cloud.

Think of all the pain in any town, everywhere.

And remember all of the world is exploding.

The violence is vast.

The death machine is unloading.

The fres burn free, there is no chance of stopping.

There is no chance of escape. You know it’s just the same old place.

You can hear the planes soar. There is nowhere left to explore.

It is all just a battle-zone. Raging the winner-less war.

You know how to remember and how to forget.

But will you be proud after the mushroom cloud.

No you know you won’t be proud, after the mushroom cloud.

No, no, no, no you won’t be proud, after the mushroom cloud.

The Old Guitarist

by

Kade Kelley

The piece I chose to recreate is “The OldGuitarist.” Using oil paint on panel, PabloPicasso made it during 1903. It was createdduring his Blue Period(1901-1904), in which hisfriend committed suicide in Paris, enveloping himin sorrow and causing many of his pieces to beabout tragic, sad, and sorrowful subjects. This oilpainting shows a poor blind man in anabandoned room, playing the guitar, the onlything that keeps him happy. The blind man withan inner vision presented in this piece showssome of the symbolized work he made during theBlue Period. I chose this piece to represent spacebecause I felt like there was a great dimensionthat I could exaggerate.The arms stuck out to melike it was the only “living” part of him left andthe guitar was the only piece that wasn’t a shadeof blue making it really stick out due to contrast.

The element of value, or the degree oflightness or darkness in a color, takes a major rolein my piece. Value is the relative degree oflightness or darkness in a color. All of his skintones are pale to dark blue. His clothes containsshades of dark blue and black. The differentshades puts emphasis on his face, arms, andguitar. It brings out the most important pieces ofthe work by making it pop out through thecontrast shapes when it’s surrounded by othercolors or shapes. Emphasis, or special attentionand importance, of the face is important inunderstanding the mood of the work as well as ofthe person. His arms and the guitar look more“alive” in comparison to the rest of the piece.The value, contrast, and emphasis is joined bymy use of the different layers to promote space.

“The Old Guitarist” was painted duringPicasso’s Blue Period, this painting representssome of the grief he faced during that time. Thereason it was called the Blue Period was not[only] because he was having the blues, it wasbecause the color blue overwhelmed his

paintings. Many of his paintings during this timecontained tragedy, poverty, and disability. Thiswas especially important in making my piecebecause I had to recreate the mood. The elementof color could be seen in my piece by just it’scolor(hue), but I also had to attempt to perfectthe exact value, intensity, and tint of the blue. Justhaving the color blue was the frst half thatadded to my piece. It refects the gloom shown inthe original painting. However, if I did the sameblue for all of his skin, clothing, and background,it’d look like someone from the Blue Man Groupswimming in water. However, the differentshades, tints, and tones add a new depth thatmakes the piece of art captivating, engaging, and3D. Color is extremely important in artwork,especially one like this where almost the wholepiece is the same.

Pablo [Diego José Francisco de Paula JuanNepomuceno María de los Remedios Ciprianode la Santísima Trinidad Martyr Patricio ClitoRuíz y] Picasso was born in Màlaga, Spain,

The Old Guitarist by Kade Kelley

October 25, 1881. He grew up addicted to artand was taught by his father at a very young agehow to draw. This resulted in his frst word beinglapiz, Spanish for pencil. When he was around13 years old, he far surpassed his father’s talent.Not long after, he lost his desire for schoolworkand would spend his time doodling in hisnotebook. His family relocated twice, each timehe started a new school he would skip classes andpaint what he observed of the cities. This is whenhe dropped the idea of sticking to classical artand he began looking at innovation,interpretation, and experimenting. At the turn ofthe 20th century, before his Blue and Roseperiod, Picasso moved to France to set up his ownstudio. He once said, “God is really only anotherartist. He invented the giraffe, the elephant andthe cat. He has no real style. He just keeps ontrying other things.” My interpretation from thisquote is that when he thought of an artist, he

thought of someone who didn’t stick to onething, someone who tried new things and wasn’tafraid to get out of their safe zone. Picasso was atrue artist. Although he mainly stuck to painting,he was not afraid to experiment with all kinds ofstyles and movements. One movement thatinspired him was cubism. Cubism is shown in artby only using geometric shapes, interlockingplanes, and sometimes collages. He triedsurrealism, symbolism, and more.

I’ve learned a lot through this project. Ilearned about the elements and principles. Notonly what they are, but how they work. Each onehas to come together to become a piece of art.Art is not one or two of these. It’s all of them,present or not, that work together. Value, color,contrast, and emphasis are all needed for themood alone. Movement and balance enhances composition.

Works Cited

"What Are Some Interesting Facts About Pablo Picasso?" YourDictionary. N.p., n.d. Web. 21 Nov. 2014.

Bio.com. A&E Networks Television, n.d. Web. 21 Nov. 2014.

"The Art Institute of Chicago." The Old Guitarist. N.p., n.d. Web. 21 Nov. 2014.

"Pablo Picasso." The Old Guitarist by. N.p., n.d. Web. 19 Nov. 2014.

Skyline by Stella Bean

Some Might Say

Some might say that Mary-Lou-Allen

lived on Pepperidge Farmor was it Naples?No matter the less

her cat was sly,her father loving,

and the mother was to not bespoken of.

Days playing in the feldwouldn't last long,

until little Mary had to help her father.

The felds were hot dry too,

but for her fatheranything.

Beauty sleepwas bogus

and exercising stupid,but as Mary got older

she realized that husked corn

and fresh eggs werethe last of what she needed.

The day she askedwas frightening

and scary,for worried that her father would

dis-agree with the idea.

“Daddy…..can I change my name?”“Mary-Lou-Allen isn’t enough,

I want something that sounds like royalty.”

“Oh honeyname changing is

is expensive,time consuming too.

Your perfectand keep telling yourself that.”

I knew itwas coming,

but that wouldn’t be last of those kinds question.

Today my tea was too sweet,

and lemonsa bit too sour.

Dad was in the rocking chair and

I was exchanging glanceswith the pictures

on the wall.The ones of my mother

were tearjerkers.And we all knew that.

But as my storycomes to a close

I’ll tell youthe last bit.

Fathers eyes shutand were never

to be opened again.The thumping in his chest

would come to a quick halt

and the barn doorswould close for good.

-Annalise Rodrigue

Illustration by Sarah Greenlaw

Christina’s Worldby

Emma Auer

A woman sits alone in a barren feld and gazes towards a house in the distance that is framed by a cold blue sky. A gust of fall wind blows her hair and the dry stalks of grass around her. Andrew Wyeth painted this piece, called “Christina's World”, in 1948 using tempera paint. The painting features a woman named Christina Olson who was the subject of a series of Wyeth’s paintings. I chose this painting because it not only shows fascinating Maine scenery, but is intriguing and enigmatic in its display of Christina. This painting presents space and depth because the viewer is very close to Christina in the foreground. Then, in the middle ground, the felds slope upwards until at the top, the houses are very small in the distance.

In “Christina’s World”, there are only a few main forms, or three dimensional shapes, including Christina, the buildings, and grass. These forms, while simple, are very important because they create unity and movement in the painting. The forms work together to create a diagonal line that draws the viewer from Christina, across the felds, and then fnally to the house. In other words, the forms bind the painting together.

Another important element in “Christina’s World” is color. The color of Christina’s dress creates emphasis, or special prominence, because Christina is set off from the brown stalks around her. The emphasis is important because the viewer’s eyes are drawn to the subject of the painting, and she takes precedence over the other parts of the piece.

Andrew Wyeth was born in 1917 to an illustrator father. He was born in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania where many of his paintings were located. Wyeth also painted in Cushing, Maine, where “Christina’s World” took place. Wyeth painted representational pieces, meaning viewers could easily recognize what was depicted. He was part of the realist movement, and he painted with watercolor and tempera. Also, he used a limited color pallet. The emotional style of Wyeth’s paintings was infuenced greatly by his father’s death, mainly because his color palette became darker and less complex, and the subjects of his pieces were very dramatic.

In recreating this piece, I enjoyed the 3D aspect, but I had a lot of trouble with blending paints and working quickly. If I could change something about my painting I would make Christina larger and the buildings smaller, thus creating the effect of space, as it is in the original painting. A similarity I discovered between myself and Andrew Wyeth is that his painting was not as crisp and defned as the work of other artists, which is what I enjoy painting.

Works Cited

Corn, Wanda M. The Art of Andrew Wyeth. Greenwich, CT: Published for the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco by the New York Graphic Society, 1973. Print.

"Andrew Wyeth." Biography. Present Www.AndrewWyeth.org, 2011. Web. 23 Nov. 2014. <http://www.andrewwyeth.org/biography.jsp>.

Possum by Emmett Hamilton Snail by Natalie Grondin

Jaguar by Oceane Bowden Arctic Fox by Clara Tolley

The Rose

It’s been awhile since I saw you,

you ignore me every street,

every time I approach you,

you walk into the shadow, out of the heat, away, away

you turn down an alleyway and disappear, away, away

you leave at the alley corner with my fears.

I wilt, like a rose, my petals disappear to soil,

and working in the felds, you leave me to toil.

You break my heart, when you go off like that,

run through the whispering winds, away, away.

When I approach you at the shore, you dash off,

straight into the chuckling waves, away, away.

I know that you’re still mad at me for what I’ve done,

but I’m still your father, no matter what.

-Henry Armstrong

Kevin Billington

Hero's Journey

by

Annabel Rosenblum

“Ok class lets just fnish this last mathproblem and then you can go home and enjoyApril vacation!” Mrs. Huckleberry said smiling,her fake smile as always.

I looked over at Anna, my best friend, andshe grinned a mischievous grin. We both raisedour left hand at the same time and looked like wemight pee our pants.

“Mrs. H,?” I asked, “can we go to thebathroom because we really have to go.”

“No, I know this trick just to get out ofdoing this last problem,” she said looking smug.

I moaned and Anna got up and startedhopping around. Even though we are in 8thgrade, I crossed and uncrossed my legs. By nowthe whole class knew what we were doing. Wehad practiced the plan many times before. Ilooked over at my boyfriend, Noah, and heimmediately understood and got up.

“Hey! If my girlfriend needs to go to thebathroom, let her go!” His 6’0 tall body toweredover mrs. H’s 5’5 self.

“Yeah!” said Ivan, Anna’s boyfriend,standing behind Noah, he was shorter butdefnitely stockier than his friend.

“Ok, ok you are dismissed.”Yes! I thought. My plan had worked (as

they always do). -just so you know whenever mrs.H says you are dismissed that means school isover and you are free to go to the bathroom.

All the other kids ran out of the roomscreaming and joyfully getting their bags andthings. I looked at the clock and smiled because Ihad successfully gotten my class dismissed tenminutes early.

“C’mon, lets go,” I yelled to Anna, Ivan,and Noah, who had hung back with me andwaited for the classroom to empty. “Anyone wantto come to my house?”

“Sorry,” Noah muttered, “I have laxpractice.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Ivan who was also

on the year round lacrosse team.“So sorry,” Anna moaned, “My mom

needs me home to take care of Lindsay.” Lindsaywas Anna’s baby sister.

“Ok, thats cool.” I shrugged “Bye.”I tied my chest length, neon purple hair

into a loose bun and grabbed my messenger bag.I calmly walked out the door, not knowing whatwas ahead of me. Something caught my eye as Iforcefully closed the school door. It then occurredto me that I as the only person on the street. Iheard footsteps on my right, I snapped my headtowards the sound but there was nothing there.

Something is chasing you! popped intomy head! My only thought as I raced throughtown was that I needed to get home. Home wasthe only safe place from the black-robed men.They were always watching me, when I got out ofschool, when I went to get Mom something fromthe store, even when I went to the amusementpark with Anna four hours away, but the second Iran through the door to my house they woulddisappear. I could see the house on the horizon itwas easy to spot because it is the only castle likehouse in all of rural Wisconsin. I kept my focuson the house and didn't see the other tall men

Fungi by Billy Myers

standing just in front of me until I was in theirarms, all of my muscular 14 year old selfstruggling to get away. Oh sauce.

“Stop, stop! I’m not afraid of you! Put mycousin down now or you will be in deep trouble! Iwill rip out your motherboard, all of yourmotherboards!” Standing in the doorway of myhouse was a young woman, maybe 20, with herchocolate brown hair tied in a wet ponytail thatswished whenever she talked. She was wearing ababy blue bathrobe and holding a lime green barof soap, raising it in the air like it were a sword.

The men were so surprised that theyloosened their hold on me enough so I couldwriggle free and run full sprint to the door.

Once inside, the woman ran upstairs andin a few minutes she came down, fully dressedand holding an Iphone instead of a bar of soap.

“Hi, I’m Shayna Rollet but you can callme Shayna. I’m your cousin and your Dad isletting me stay here because I need somewhere tostay and I am broke. I will stay out of your wayunless you need saving or I need to use you hairbrush.” said my so-said cousin.

I looked at her suspiciously.Oh now Iremember him saying a cousin would be coming!Say something nice so she doesn't hate you whenyou go through her stuff and see if there isanything valuable! I thought.

“Ummm, hi i’m Annabelle GenevieveRollet, um, and I’m 14 and, um nice to meetyou.”

Backpack by Alex Mazelsky

“Hi, Annabelle Genevieve Rollet, do youlike to be called that or do you have a shortername I could call you?”

“Yeah, Annabelle is good.”“Ok, now that we have introduced

ourselves, we need to get down to business. Dothose men ever watch you or follow you?”

“Umm, Yeah.”“Oh, this is worse than I thought! Ok, so

I’m going to tell you some info that may just turnyour world upside down.”

“Ok, Tell me already!”“So, those men, they are not men at

all,but robots for the S.S.O.M. or “secret societyof men”--pretty cheesy name, right? They aretrying to take over Wisconsin and theneventually the U.S. by kidnapping the worldsstrongest and most famous people. Also no one-”

“Wait, but they tried to kidnap me, andI'm not even important or famous or rich oranything!” I say, completely confused.

“Let me fnish talking!” “Sheesh, lady, calm down!”“As I was saying, no one knows who the

leader of this group is. Maybe you are importantor famous to this person. Who knows at thispoint. Trust me, I know more about this thananyone that isn't in the S.S.O.M.”

“How do I know you aren’t here tokidnap me!” I am now very worried that my lifeis in danger and I start backing up from my spoton the living room foor.

“Oh no,honey, no I’m not part of them!”Shayna’s voice immediately changed tosomething much sweeter and kinder than herharsh voice before. “Have I said too much? Ohsweetie,, its ok, I wont hurt you, never, never willI hurt you oh darling Annabelle its alright.”

“I’m 14 I don't need to be babied, butseriously, are you one of them? Tell me thetruth!”

She raised her chin and looked me in theeyes. “I would never… no I am not and don'tplan to be one, ever.”

“Now that that is solved why don't you tellme everything you know about these guys.”

“Ok, well they have these beasts that….”Suddenly there was a deafening roar from

near by. The ground shook, boom, boom, boom!

GARGOYLES

Unknown

Molly McDermott

Haley Stark

I looked out the window just to see a giant redand blood orange colored eye looking at me fromthe other side. I mean seriously this thing washuge! The eye itself was small compared to thebody and that eye was as big as a monster truckwheel!

Shayna and I screamed in unison andbacked toward the basement in an odd crabwalk. Then out of the blue a dog comes runningup to the beast and barking at it.

“No little doggy, no! go away don't messwith that beast! You’ll get killed!” I screamed atthe dog, completely terrifed that it would gethurt, or worse. One thing you should know aboutme is that I love animals more than anything,even humans, my own species.

“Its fne,its fne calm down! The dog isnot even a dog, just watch!” Shayna saidcompletely calm. I will be fne, just trust me! And suddenly I was calm as well.

Then the dog started growing andgrowing until it was bigger that the horrid, uglybeast. They looked like twins except for the factthat the, well dog I guess I could call it that but itwasn't one anymore, was bigger and much moreelegant than the slimy gray beast. My name isArgos. Please call me by my name, I thank you inadvance. What was it with that voice, it was like itcould read my mind and also deliver thoughts tome. It suddenly occurred to me that the dogmight be Argos. Well any-who, the beast took a

mighty blow but didn't even make a dent in thearmor of Argos. Then it was is his turn. the beastfell with a big, deep gash in its throat. I wanted tolook but Shayna covered my eyes and I didn'tfght her.

…It only took a few minutes for Argos to

over-power the beast and when he did it wasfatal.

Argos shrunk down to something thatlooked like a mix between a black bear and atiger, and then back to being a GermanShepherd. He then calmly pushed open the doorand walked through.

“Hello, I have not formally introducedmyself to you,” he said to me, “I am Argos one ofthe 10 Andromeda on earth.” Argos said, cool asa cucumber.

“Umm, pardon my asking but are you likea god or an alien or what, ‘cause i’m kind ofconfused.”

“Oh, I thought you knew aboutAndromedas.” Shayna said. I shook my head“well this guy is here to protect you.”

Everything just faded into black as Icrumpled slowly to the ground.“Annabelle, Annabelle! Come on, wake up!”

I hear my mom’s voice, maybe that wasall a dream. Maybe there is no cousin Shayna, abeast defnitely did not just try to eat me, and thefact that I would be protected by anything istotally a dream.

“I will meet you at breakfast,” I say toMom. Then it hits me, Mom is dead. She diedmysteriously coming home from work 6 monthsago. No one knows how, but they found her carin a ditch, smoking, and her missing.

My dad strangely didn't even want toacknowledge that she was missing. He said and Iquote “I do not want you to go look for yourmother in such a time of peril. Beware bad forcesare among us, some of them seek to destroyyou!” When he said that I had the feeling hedidn't mean YOU as in people, he meant YOUas in ME. Ever since then I have had to take careof myself. But I thought nothing of it at the time.Remembering that my mom was dead, I instantlystarted crying.

“Hush, hush, darling, everything is

Ceramic Landscape by Ryan Langston

alright. you fainted, do you know who I am? I’mShayna, remember.” “Argos, Argos come here”Shayna forcefully whispered. I sat up groaning and looked around,confrming that this was no dream, Argos stoodabout ten feet away in his German Shepherdform. Outside the broken window was a big pileof ash, and if I looked hard enough I could seesome of the men outside talking amongstthemselves and gesturing to the house. I slumpedback to the ground. “Come on! We need to get out of here! They

are sending more beasts that are much worse.”Then, just on cue comes another roar and

the whole forest erupts in the stomps and roars of100s of beasts about a mile away. “That one that attacked frst must have beena baby” I say. “They always use a baby frst so that we thinkthat’s how big they are, but adults are double thesize.”

We run upstairs into my room in the frontmost turret of the house and made a plan.

Egyptian Curtain by Abby Marley

Which is Best?

Can you hear the oaths or praise?

For they are told on wasted breath.

And those who speak them; are they crazed?

Will we fnd out through life or death?

Our oaths are made through fre and ice

for they do melt or disappear

This praise that is given will not suffce

without a sound; without a tear.

Truth and lie aren't night and day

As far as we can tell

for when we speak, Oh, none can say

that all forever shall be well.

Can you hear the oaths or praise?

for we aren't all damned or blessed

Do our kind live in such a daze?

And truth or lie; Now, which is best?

-Sam Morril

Chocolate.

He is so sweet

and was

a pleasure to meet.

We became so close

our friendship

is quite deep

My mother and father

do not agree

they think he is bad

for me

But I do not care care what they

say he and I

are here to stay.

through thick and thin

and good times and bad

chocolate never makes me sad.

-Lauryn Kidwell

Tree Tiles by Seventh Grade

What e'er men do, or say, or think, or dream,

Our Motley paper seizes for it's theme.

-byline from The Tatler (Eng. 18t c.)

-from Juvenal (Roman Satirist 2nd c.AD)

Leaves by Katie Han