Find the shape and tell it!
All Students: Be sure to read the entries for this group --February writers). Everyone is required to comment on at least THREE different pieces of writing. You must submit comments
on Canvas (for each one, include the name of the author and the title
of their piece, and then your positive, specific comment ) by Tuesday, April 1 on Canvas.
This piece was inspired by the novel, The Great Gatsby. I decided to make my piece based off of this novel because the main discussion that I remember having in my class was whether Gatsby truly loved Daisy or if he loved the idea of her such as her wealth and status. The certain scene that I wanted to depict was the time Gatsby and Daisy reunite in Nick’s home. I used vibrant colors to portray the magnificence of a peacock with acrylic paint, and watercolor to imitate the rainy weather that is depicted in the scene. I was also inspired by the scene in the movie which is filled with various species of orchids so I used acrylic paint to the orchids. Finally I used color pencils to emphasize the feathers on the peacock as well the petals on the orchids. I used gold acrylic paint to paint a frame around the peacock to portray the elements of the 1920s which is the time period in which the novel is set in. The whole idea behind the piece was to paint my interpretation of Daisy through the perspective of Gatsby. I painted a peacock because of the extravagance that they naturally exude which immediately reminded me of Daisy. Gatsby loved Daisy because of her natural extravagance, she came from old money, she was desired by many men, she was described to be on top of the social ladder which is the complete opposite of Gatsby who came from nothing. Her social value is what made her so alluring, similar to a peacock. My interpretation of Gatsby being reunited with Daisy was supposed to invoke a feeling of fireworks, hence the vibrant colors used in the piece.
I don’t hate Valentine’s Day anymore: a phrase younger me would have never thought I’d live by because when you grow up as a lover girl, Valentine’s Day is “supposed” to be a holiday you look forward to, mainly because it’s a holiday celebrating romance, but in my case, that wasn’t true. Now, I’m not saying that because I wanted to be different. I adored romance, and that feeling hasn’t changed since. But I was a lover girl who didn’t share the same experiences that were said in multiple love songs or seen in romcoms and Disney movies, so the thought of looking forward to the holiday never happened and instead left me dreading it every year it came around.
It was around fourth or fifth grade that I began to have some distaste for the beloved holiday. Of course, I enjoyed the elementary school parties that required every student to beg their parents to buy Valentine’s Day cards and candy that they’d pass out to their classmates in class the next day; sure, every kid did, but when it came to any time outside of the classroom where I’d have to see my closest friends be gifted teddy bears and gift baskets from their partners, I couldn’t help but feel resentment. I mean, why must there be a holiday that does nothing but make single people feel worse about themselves? I knew I was selfish for not feeling happy for my friends, despite us being at the age of adolescence where “true love” was nowhere near the sort, but I grew up not receiving that type of attention from anyone. That attraction from someone else was all I used to yearn for; I felt like I was letting myself down by not living up to my “Disney-movie-type-of-romance” dream, which I thought gave me more reason to feel so negative. My hatred only grew worse in middle school when my parents finally allowed me access to social media, and I’d see Instagram stories posted by close friends of their partners with the same caption: “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Swiping through social media only made my heart break in two, feeling more left out by the rest of the world because I couldn't participate in posting a significant other when that’s all I ever wanted. When I got to eighth grade, the second movie of To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before came out, which held my hopes up high for high school because if Lara Jean could get her Peter Kavinsky in high school, maybe I would too! But boy, was I wrong.
When I entered my freshman year, not experiencing my Lara Jean dream, my heart sank even more as I passed by couples holding hands as they walked each other to class. During that year, I remember ranting to an ex-friend about how I felt regarding Valentine’s Day, and her immediate response was to scold me about how the way I was feeling was belittling those and herself who were in relationships and took part in those couple activities. But that wasn’t it. In my mind, all I wanted was for her to enjoy and cherish that love she built with her boyfriend because that connection is so beautiful. However, my sophomore year was different. I experienced what our society calls a “situationship” for the very first time, and it pains me to say that going through that is a canon event for anyone. Being the lover girl I am, I daydreamed about how Valentine’s Day would look for the guy and I. Would he greet me with a teddy bear, my favorite candies, and such prettily put into a decorated pink basket? Would he post me on his Instagram story with the caption “Happy Valentine’s Day” to one of the love songs I shared with him? Would he be my Peter Kavinsky? Long story short, he wasn’t. But I’m glad he wasn’t because right after things went south with him, I had people who reminded me that love can come from anywhere and anyone. As I look back at these memories, I’m proud of myself that I’m now at a point in my life where I don’t beat myself down over not having that romantic attraction with someone and remembering that platonic love is just as beautiful.
Though it took me time to realize, I’m glad that I finally acknowledge that Valentine’s Day isn’t just a holiday centered around the romantic attraction towards a special someone. It’s a holiday of celebrating love for those around you, whether they’re a significant partner or not. I celebrated this year’s Valentine’s Day with the help of the quote, “I know it is real because I exist, and I am full of it,” by appreciating the impactful love I have around me, which is something I wouldn’t have done years ago. I would’ve been sulking and making the day full of negativity when it shouldn’t be. And to just my luck, this year’s Valentine’s Day ended up being a great one. Now that I’m a senior in high school, with three months left of what I’ve put myself into for the last four years, my love for Valentine’s Day continues to grow as my bonds with family and friends blossom every day. And instead of making a scowl at the thought of this holiday, I now smile, knowing that I have such memorable people in my life, and that’s the best Valentine I could ever ask for.
On a warm, Monday afternoon October 28th, 2024 I was filled with nothing but pure excitement to get into my car and finish listening to the new, Tyler, the Creator album that had just dropped, CHROMAKOPIA. For weeks me and my friends had been eagerly counting down the days to hear his new music. I had gone the whole school day hearing nothing but them raving about the new album. I needed to listen for myself, and I did. On my thirty minute drive home which usually feels like an eternity, sitting, and waiting in bumper to bumper traffic, the time flew by. I was about seven minutes away from my house when one of the most beautiful, yet gut-wrenching songs I had ever heard began to play, Like Him. As soon as the song played, a wave of cold rushed over me. Goosebumps emerged from my arms, the hairs on my arms stood up straight as if each individual follicle was being pulled, and my mind became completely empty of every thought, except for the lyrics of this song. I went into autopilot as I began to internalize every lyric. Like Him is about Tyler, the Creator's life living without a father, yet still being compared to him both in his physical appearance and in the way he acts, living in the ghost of a man he never knew, defying his whole identity as an individual. I snapped out of autopilot as I realized the sun had set, I was way past my house, and I needed to go home after replaying the song well over 50 times.
I had internalized the lyrics through my own lens: the frustration of growing up constantly compared to someone else. I have always felt that my own identity was overshadowed by those of the people I surrounded myself with. That my perception of myself was tangled up with the expectations as well as identities of those who came before me. The message of the song triggered a topic I had heard about, yet was never able to fully comprehend, the concept of self reflection, and projection.
As we grow up we are frequently reminded of the traits we share with our parents, or loved ones. For some it’s one parent, for me it was both. As a child I found it endearing. I was a walking, talking, living, breathing mirror of the people whom I admired most. When I would make a certain face and hear, “You look so much like your dad” or I would be a little bossy and get told, “You act just like your mom” As a child it was heartwarming, and a constant reminder of my heritage, but as I grew older it began to take a new tone. What once sounded like compliments and sweet melodies to the ear started to feel like insults and criticisms to my personality and character.
For context, my parents are divorced and navigating a biweekly custody schedule that balances the needs of their lives along with mine has become very difficult, and has taken a strain on my relationships with each of them. The constant juggling of time, and sacrifices of expectations has led to moments of tension, where both my parents’ worst traits begin to reflect not only on them, but me.
On numerous occasions, I have been scolded for my lack of communication and time management skills, the once compliment, “God! You’re just like your dad” was now attached to, “You don’t care! Just like him!” an insult hurled at me, used to hurt me. Once I would have been comforted with these words, now they feel like a sharp punch to the gut. I began to question, Was the problem within me or rooted in him? Was his way of maneuvering the world inadequate? The kind, go with the flow man who I once admired now seemed to be someone I desperately wanted to distance from. The last thing I wanted to be like was him.
On other occasions, when I’m chastised for taking things too seriously, I’ll hear, “You’re just like her, she couldn’t ever take a joke” What was wrong with the strong, driven woman whom I wanted to be like most? Was she too uptight? Was I too uptight? Was my presence bothersome? Was I being a burden for showing too much emotion and not loosening up? The organized, passionate, woman I admired was made to seem like someone I should never resemble.
Listening to "Like Him", the quote from a concept I was never able to fully grasp began repeating in my head as often as I was repeating the song, “How you perceive people is a direct reflection of you. What you don’t like about someone, you have failed to confront about yourself.” When my parents, or anyone for that matter criticized my behavior, my appearance, or my actions, when they used my resemblance as a weapon towards me, it was never a direct reflection of who I was as a person, but rather the unspoken reflection about themselves as people. Others' comments towards me began revealing more about themselves than they had realized.
It’s a humbling realization that people’s perception of you is never fully about you, not to say that everything you do can be fully justified all the time. However, it is colored by their personal feelings, fears, and insecurities, met with their judgments and aspirations. When someone tells me I act just like my mom or my dad, it was never about how I mirrored them, but about how those certain traits and characteristics from them, ignite certain emotions in the viewpoint of the person projecting onto me. I no longer get offended when I hear that something I do reminds others of my dad. I love his free-spirited nature, I love the way my nose hooks down just like his, or his fathers before him, and my brother. Or when someone tells me I’m being bossy, I take that as a compliment. I’m resembling my moms ability to initiate control and leadership in a situation. Like how I love her ability to be organized, I love how my cheekbones pop out when I smile just like hers, every time I’m happy I see her in me. And I will never allow anyone to make me feel any different.
This understanding shifted my perspective. The struggle and pain I once felt from these comparisons was not a burden for me to carry, but a projection of the beholder’s own feelings and inadequacy. Recognizing this has allowed me to embrace my own identity, and no longer be ashamed or embarrassed by those who came before me but proud of my lineage to them. The now firm understanding that how others perceive me says more about them than it ever will about me.
I decided to pick Kendrick Lamar’s halftime performance as my piece of literature.What inspired me to choose this is the fact that the performance has so much meaning behind it that ties in to what is going on in the world right now. What I chose to draw was kendrick and put the american flag colors. It relates to the performance because he had the american flag shown and the colors present.What I used was cardstock then I drew kendrick with pencil and did the rest in color pencils. The message behind the Super Bowl was uncle Sam (Samuel Jackson) is present during the performance and he praises kendrick when he behaves then he will scold him when he is “not behaving properly”. Uncle sam says “ Gamekeeper deduct one life” and that represents how black people are treated in this country where if you don't “behave properly” that you are going to be chasiabe.Kendrick also had a message about capitalism. The sweat suits the dancers were wearing were similar to those of Squid games and those represent their status in the game but everyone fights each other to get the money.
One infamous checkbox on applications asks, “Please select your race,” intending to categorize diverse identities. For me, that box is African American/Black—an identity I’ve always found challenging to articulate. I’ve often thought, “Why do I need that specification?” An extra label and a title that I had yet to grasp the full meaning of.
Growing up, I had little understanding of what this label meant. In middle school, we were assigned to bring a dish from our heritage. A Nigerian classmate brought jollof rice, and I couldn’t help but feel jealous. Here was someone who could identify with their African and American identity, proudly sharing a dish that connected them to their ancestral roots—something I often felt was lost to me, as my ties to Africa seemed severed centuries ago. It's funny how a project intended to appreciate and recognize the diverse cultures that represented our school made me feel overlooked. It pains me to admit that during that time I thought I had no cultural identity. I chose to bring mac and cheese, feeling it wasn’t specific enough to define my culture. In my fascination with other cultures, I overlooked the presence of my own—an identity rooted in a community that fought for citizenship rights in the country they were born in and faced displacement and discrimination.
I realized too late that the history of African Americans presented in my earlier education was filled with gaps. It wasn’t until I took the first AP African American Studies course being offered at my high school that I began to embrace and learn about my culture. I hadn’t considered how history shaped who I am and the privileges I enjoy today—like attending a diverse school, a privilege earned by those who came before me.
Though it may sound silly, I truly can resonate with the popular saying Kamala Harris’s mother would tell her, “You think you just fell out of a coconut tree? You exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.” A few years ago, I would have laughed; this statement would have flown right over my head. To understand this saying, one must first understand the context. Not until the end of my junior year did I truly grasp this. By taking AP African American Studies, I found the significance of taking pride in my culture.
During this course we learned about the countless contributions from African Amerians that shaped the America we live in today. From the early Civilizations of Ancient Africa to the Civil Right Movement this course broadened by understanding of African American Studies. I find it disheartening that a course that has been so meaningful to me is currently banned in a few states. The impact this course had on me transcends from what words can describe. I realized that African American studies is U.S history and its presence in the education system is often overlooked, oversimplified, and underrepresented.
I appreciated my teacher, Mrs. Lennon, who invited discomfort and didn’t lessen the full picture of African American history. She created a safe learning environment and emphasized the FAM in the acronym she created for the course, APAFAM (AP African American Studies), to create a family community within the classroom. The history of my ancestors was taught with every detail, helping me understand why I’m here today and the box I’m proud to check.
Understanding my cultural identity has also shaped my personal aspirations. It has fueled my desire to further my education at a Historically Black college or University and has inspired me to celebrate my heritage unapologetically and encourage others to do the same. The feelings I had during middle school have now transformed into a sense of unapologetic pride for my culture. I now see that African American culture is not defined by a single dish. It is a multitude of experiences, struggles, and triumphs that have shaped not only my understanding and the foundation of this nation.
As I reflect on my middle school cultural project, I realize that I do have a culture—one special in its own right. Although I may not pinpoint my ancestral origins to a specific African country, my identity is shaped by a broad spectrum influenced by American history and the countless individuals who fought for the liberties I enjoy today. Now, whenever I check a box asking for my race, I recognize that my identity transcends those confines. It reaches beyond the boundaries of the box, embracing a rich community that defines who I am today.
Malibu Rising, 2021
Valentina Alba (b. 2007)
The novel “Malibu Rising”, by Taylor Jenkins Reid, is the pinnacle of muse that this artwork was inspired by. The drawing I have displayed is symbolic to me as it conveys the complex dynamic between a young woman and her father. The main character of this novel is Nina Riva, the daughter of Mick Riva, the neglect of her father has only led Nina to feel isolated and wounded, despite the fact she is wealthy and rich in many aspects of her life, her father’s abandonment has left a profound scar in persona. This tragedy is something I resonate with. It’s an unfortunate connection I found myself making with Nina Riva. However, the way in which she was able to grow from the weight of her emotions is a quality I admire, and a trait I wish to fulfill in the near future. This novel is heartfelt to me as it represents the journey of growth and underlying feelings that one may carry into the world, it conveys the message of perseverance that I believe everyone should understand.
Love is an essential human emotion that all of us experience in various ways throughout our lives. Everyone spends their whole life searching for their true love, and some, if any, are lucky enough to find it. I was one of the fortunate few who discovered my one true, first, and only love in the sport of soccer. I first fell in love with it when I was 4. The passion, the competition, and the energy added something to my life that I had never experienced before. Growing up in the sport and maturing over time, my love for it deepened, and I grew closer to the teammates I met along the way. The sport provided me with the opportunity to meet the people who would shape me into the person I am today. I met some of my closest and best friends, who taught me the important lesson of teamwork and collaboration in order to achieve the ultimate goal of winning.
My love for soccer helped me become confident and disciplined in everything I did. The countless hours of practice not only allowed me to succeed on the field but also off the field. Assignments and studying for tests became similar to preparing for games and practices. Soccer slowly became my everything. Everything I did was about soccer. I thought about it constantly, daydreamed about being on the field, and went to sleep every night eager for my next opportunity to play. Soccer was an obsession because it allowed me to be my true self. I could express my emotions on the field, whether I was struggling in school or facing challenges in my life. If something was bothering me, I could go onto the field and get it all out. The scent of freshly cut grass, the chatter of my teammates in the background, and the feeling of my cleats striking the field cleared my mind.
Then in one moment I lost all, my love had been ripped from me in one moment. It was my last club game ever, I wanted to go out and give it all. Warming up I was so sad and nostalgic at the same time, I had spent the day reminiscing about the past and my countless memories that I formed with my love for soccer. I wanted to experience all the passion and intensity one last time for just one more day and remind myself why this sport made me fall in love with it. Towards the end of the game I was suddenly put in, colliding with the girl was nothing out of the normal, it felt odd though, wrong place wrong time it seemed like. When I tried to get up I knew what had happened. Suddenly I couldn't move at all, the adrenaline that was once in my veins had suddenly been flushed out. In a rush and a blur I was taken to the hospital and I didn’t process what had just occurred, I still haven’t to this day in all honesty.
Instead of proving myself in my last season on the high school varsity team, a dream I had since freshman year, I had to watch from the sidelines as I was replaced. This injury didn’t just take away my sport; it took a part of me. As I processed this loss, I reconsidered who I was without soccer. Beyond being an athlete, I am a friend, a sister, a leader, and a student. These roles, which had been overshadowed by my dedication to soccer, became more central in my life. As a student who had never had a grade below a B, I reflected on how I had allowed soccer to consume me. With my time off, I learned to plan ahead and focus more on my academics, improving my grades and my involvement in school activities.
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The Eternal Light
This artwork is inspired by the song “There is a Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths. This song is about love so strong, it is the light in someone’s life that never turns off. It reflects the meaning of true love, and the extent someone will go if they truly love you. Going so far as to wish to die next to the person you love, no matter the circumstances.
I chose to do my piece on this song because it comes from one of my favorite movies named “500 Days of Summer” where a man and woman’s whole relationship is the cause of them both liking this one song. It’s lyrics are also a bit exaggerated and sarcastic, but what’s love if you can’t joke about it sometimes.
A description of my artwork is somewhat simple and has to do with the lyrics in the song. The song states “And if the double decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.” So I painted a canvas all black with acrylic paint and a bright white light with a heart in the middle of the light representing love. I also used markers to draw a double decker bus, and then painted over it with white acrylic paint to give it an abstract and smudgy look.
The most prevalent emotion in this painting is love, but it is also unknowingness and mystery. Love is something people are never sure of at some points, and sometimes we must take risks for love. It’s better to do it and learn from it, than not do it at all and regret never doing it.
It was a normal Saturday afternoon, around two to be precise. The sun’s beams burn bright against my skin as I head down towards Clemming’s Thrift Store. I love this store with most of my heart. There’s so many styles on the metallic racks waiting to be explored. They range from the tattered old clothes of the 2000’s to even older, pale colored clothes from who knows when. I usually come in here and find gold. Most of my clothes are thrifted whether they be in the best or worst shape. Today I was on the hunt for a hot pink cheetah print skirt to match with a new shirt I got. Oddly specific, I know, but I come in here with a specific item in mind and usually find it so, my request isn’t that far fetched. I turn the block and grab the handle, opening the door to the store. The bell jingles against the top to alert the workers another customer came in. My eyes scan around to see only a handful of people today. Some old lady was pushing a cart filled with different colored scarves, another woman with weirdly pointed red sunglasses walked around checking logos on brands then tossing them into her cart. Not a lot of people were here but that didn’t change the fact that the customers already in the store were odd. I frowned a little and slowly walked towards an aisle without anyone, since it felt weird to linger around today. Slowly, I put on my headphones and let my playlist run. While hearing Robert Smith pour his heart into lyrics, my hands scanned the clothes. They ranged from random old birthday shirts to fast fashion throwaways, nothing good nor my cheetah printed skirt, so with a heavy sigh I continued until my hands brushed against silky fabric. I pushed other clothes away and lowered my earbuds because there stood the most beautiful coat I have ever seen. Where do I even begin to describe this? The black base of the coat blended perfectly with the deep red stitched on flowers and spider webs. The trim had the same blood colored red as the designs, as did the cuffs. It looked perfect and I knew I had to buy it. Slowly I glanced around to make sure there wasn’t anyone eyeing this before grabbing it quickly and walking towards the cashier. Forget the skirt, all my mind could think about was getting home and trying this coat on. So with only six dollars, this coat was mine. I began rushing home right afterwards.
“Hey Casey!” my sister says. I give a quick nod and head to the stairs, walking into my room. Finally with the door closed, I'm alone with nothing but the silky coat in my hands. I look across at my long facing mirror with a confident expression. I stand up and brush down my long black skirt then slip my arms into the coat. Slowly, I walk towards the mirror and take out my black curls, smoothing them down to lay effortlessly against the sharp shoulders of the coat. My eyes scan the mirror slowly, it looks perfect. Just as I was about to take off the coat and think of an outfit to go alongside it, my vision blurred and my balance grew more and more unsteady. I staggered backwards, closing my eyes and tried to fall into my bed, however I immediately fell onto the wooden floor instead. With a groan, my eyes open and blink rapidly. Slowly, I get up from the floor. When trying to grip my bed’s railing, I instead scratched the white thin curtains that fell against me. There was a loud clang that echoed through my room as the curtain rod fell on me. I get to my feet again with a groan and look over at the mirror. I hold in a shriek and quickly back away. Oh no, this can’t be happening, I look hideous! Instead of my tanned skin was a more sickly pale almost grey like a corpse. My eyes are blood red and my cheeks are hollowed as if I hadn’t eaten in days! There’s dark wine colored spots under my eyes that give them a sunken look. I opened my mouth to gasp again before immediately stopping as my heart dropped. Slowly, I slide my tongue against my teeth and find the sharp edges against two of them. I walk closer to the mirror and open wide to find two fangs where my normal teeth used to be. This can’t be happening, I look like I'm straight from some cheap horror movie! Quickly I grip the jacket against my skin that once felt like heaven, now feeling more like a tightened grip that wouldn’t let go. Something happened when I put on this jacket and now I can’t take it off. My chest went up and down rapidly as I grip the jacket but couldn’t get it off. I hear my sister’s voice calling from the hallway. My eyes dart around for any kind of cover or escape. With a lighting speeded pace, I run towards the window and open it, shrieking in pain as the sun hits my hand. I tremble in fear, looking at the redness that deeply contrasts my pale skin from where the sun hit. Well- the sun hurts now and I have fangs. This can’t be real- I couldn’t have turned into a vampire from wearing a stupid jacket, that’s not how this works! This jacket has to be cursed. Now what? Where do I go? What do I do, I can’t go back to school or society looking like this, what if I suddenly crave blood? I’m not going to murder someone! My eyes look over at my door before exhaling and smoothing back my hair. All of a sudden a paper flies down towards my feet. I gently pick it up and squint to read it better. The wrinkled note says, “Extremely important coat! If lost, return to Jane. Address: 8593, Blood Dr. Transylvania, Romania” With a heavy heart I realize I need to run away and make the trip to this Jane, hoping she can take this jacket off me and remove this curse before I turn full vampire! (Or at least that’s what I assume happens) So I pack my bags with outfits and whatever food I had hidden in my room. I grab my ipod and earbuds, the important things, then leave my phone against my nightstand so I can’t get tracked. I take one last glance at myself in the mirror and weakly try to take off the jacket. It still wouldn’t budge. So I sigh and put a giant sun hat that I dug up in my closet from last year's Hawaii trip. Slowly, I climb outside of my window and jump down. I take one last look at my house before heading towards the road that’ll hopefully lead me down to my new life. Maybe I'll come back if I find some kind of cure for this curse, or when I find Jane, all I know is that there’s no way I'm showing my face till then. Today wasn’t as expected though I did learn two things, never to shop at Clemming’s again and to never trust super cool coats before looking to make sure they’re not cursed.
Gursakhi Thind (b. 2007)
Claudia’s Fury, 2025
Colored Pencil and Crayon
Artist Statement
My artwork is based on a character named Claudia from the book “Interview With the Vampire,” a piece of gothic literature written by Anne Rice. I was first drawn to the book because of its supernatural elements. However, the internal conflict the characters went through became extremely intriguing. Claudia was 5 years old when she was turned into a vampire and remained in this body for nearly 100 years, aging only in mind. She grew increasingly envious of the women who could grow physically and become adults whilst she was cursed with being an eternal child, which is depicted by the woman on the left (an adult woman Claudia doted on). She began to harbor resentment for her maker as well, the man who turned her into a vampire, and attempted to kill him (the knife on the right). The moon and dull streaky black canvas represent Claudia’s forever tie to the night, as the only thing she can experience in the light is death. The scissors express a moment when Claudia seethed in anger as she desperately tried to change her appearance by cutting her hair, but it all grew back almost as fast as she cut it.The fangs on the right and the blood stained portions represent Claudias victims. Although, Claudia looks harmless in the center of the page as the only subject not colored bold red or etched in black colored pencil. Her rage and vampiric nature had created a ruthless killer. The background is like the void of isolation she felt as she lived without the ability to be viewed differently, or a companion that could truly understand her. In this piece I intended to portray how jealousy, vengefulness, and feeling stuck in time can take over a person and become their drive into chaos.
A letter or two or three or four. It was late I knew, I was not far. But far I was to be there.
A pen and paper was all it took. Then the storm was all that looked. Sincerely Yours a game of chance. Who’s really telling my story?
An observer, I hope with a pen and paper you wrote. Two sides to every story yet destiny together until we meet again.
For I knew this would be the last night together. The sky is on fire, burning brighter. The world is ending yet, I’m just beginning. In the end I made what’s mine sincerely, yours.
Only saving so many, without memory. I may never remember you sincerely but my heart will always have enough in it to love me more.
My lesson in grief sincerely, yours a place where I am from.
Reflecting on my journey to becoming a polished and refined musician, led from one life changing moment to another. From playing acoustic driven songs on my guitar in my bedroom to electrifying blues music in clubs and breweries. Eventually, took me to the stage on the corner of Beale Street at BB King’s Blues Cafe in Memphis, Tennessee for the International Blues Competition (IBC) as a youth participant. It became the catalyst which have led me to various achievements that have set stone for my future in music to be shaped and recognized as a nominee for the Nike Wings Scholarship by the United Negro College Fund. I’ve been inspired to pick up the guitar from the young age of 12, marking the beginning of shaping my musical interests and genres. I would continue to nurture my love for music through listening in the car when my Dad put on Green Day, Nirvana, and Tenacious D. I wanted to play guitar so much that we ended up retrieving my Dad’s old guitar from storage, which was passed down to me. However, I eventually put it down soon after the death of my grandmother. What began as a small interest faded, only to lead to a growing passion that became bigger and bigger.
My grandmother was diagnosed with cancer and passed away on the 25th of December. I honored her death at her funeral to play her favorite song of all time, “If” by Bread. Soon after, I wouldn’t pick up the guitar until 2 years later, marking my first year of high school. My high school years were the most difficult years of my life as it defied all my prior expectations. Living the fun high school life, get-togethers with friends, and relationships would affect me on a mental and physical level. Including financial hardship where my parents were struggling to provide for all of me and my three siblings. It seemed since the death of my grandmother affected our family, although, what were initially thought to be curses were blessings in disguise. I took every negative piece of my life and used it to fuel my passion and drive to pick up the guitar as a means of self-expression, despite only knowing how to play open chords. I laser-focused—learning and practicing until the dead hours of the night, often being stopped because I was disturbing everyone who was asleep. Ultimately, this shaped the foundation of my desire and addiction, driving me to continually progress and further polish my musicianship.
I sought more to feed my ambition, to get in front of audiences and show that I wanted to play and get better each time. I joined my high school jazz band in my sophomore year where I simultaneously started taking lessons. However, I was struck with a detrimental injury where I ripped my tendon on my dominant hand while playing rugby. The doctor told me that I would need a surgery where I would be out for 6 months–I only feared the worst. I couldn’t pick up the guitar until I was fully recovered and I couldn’t write. It was a life changing moment, it was rugby or music; in the end, it was music. It was the lowest point of my life. The moment I got home, I twiddled with my thumb where my whole hand was in a cast. I felt jaded, but it didn’t stop me from learning and studying videos online. I would be healed in 6 months time while in hand therapy, but I was playing and I was better than ever before.
One day, my Dad took me to a jam with the Los Angeles Blues Society where it would mark the first of many hardships that I would’ve ever played–persistence. The air was filled with booze and weed. I got on stage with other players and without any knowledge of the blues, I brought my neon green guitar stage where I was humiliated by two old men. They cussed me out and left me on stage along where I would sing, yet, broken and shaken up. I cried in the car soon after, until my Dad brought me to come back where the society would welcome me with open arms. I would receive free lessons from Daniel Modesto Diaz as my first blues teacher. Eventually, I would be sent to Beale Street in Memphis, Tennessee to play as a youth participant in the International Blues Competition (IBC) on January 19, 2024. It led to the formation of my band, 7 Weeks to Memphis, it was a privilege to get two of my friends who were willing to play with me; despite, only to be formed in seven weeks time for a thirty minute set.
Memphis weather was colder than ever. My bandmates and I felt the ice-cold wind blow over us as soon as we stepped outside. Snow filled the streets, and the ground was covered in ice. I would be catching my band members from slipping and grasping everything within my reach to avoid slipping myself. It was an amazing feeling to be surrounded by incredible blues players of all ages—I felt the spirit of B.B. King, Freddie King, and Albert King flowing through my soul. At that exact moment, I knew I had to bring an electrifying performance to the stage and represent the West Coast. I wanted people to know that we were about the culture, with our unique blend of sophisticated playing styles. When the big day arrived, it brought us to the stage of B.B. King's Blues Club, determined to shake the stage and make people turn heads. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath with my guitar in my hand. I prayed to my grandmother above to give me her blessing—strength, resilience, and the confidence to prove that I'm made of something more. We played our hearts out, showcasing our covers and written originals we made to make an amazing blues set. The building shook with cheers and applause. I gazed down at the audience in epiphany—and it clicked. It was an enlightening experience from not only learning more about “real” blues, but how many young people like myself loved the blues. It felt like I belonged, I realized music was indefinitely for me.
The IBC was the catalyst to many great things from one after another. I got to get in with the Rondalla Club of Los Angeles, learn under the mentorship of Perfecto De Castro (legendary former guitarist from Filipino rock band Rivermaya), and the Youth Mentorship Action Network (YMAN). Most of them all, YMAN was a cohort intensive masterclass where they taught young musicians how to produce and perform their own music; in addition, I received a stipend. I also got to exchange contact with the Grammy Award winning producer Michael Uzowaru as a representative at their Nike Sneaker Gala as one of their performers. Uzowaru produced for artists such as SZA, Frank Ocean, Vince Staples, FKA Twigs, Beyonce, and many more. YMAN eventually led to nominating me as a representative of them for the NIKE Wings Scholarship. I couldn’t be more thankful.
The road is definitely not easy... I laugh at all the silly little mistakes I’ve made and wonder how they even happened. Though, I’ve learned that you can always take something away from your mistakes. Despite the odds, I was persistent and put my feelings aside because I aspired for greatness–but sometimes, it is best to stop and think for a moment to realize why I started picking up the guitar in the first place. The way of the universe has a way of humbling me everytime I'm ahead of myself. I intend to take music to the next level to inspire, give back to the people and the mentors who have helped me. That next step is about taking on even bigger stages, selling out tickets, and gaining recognition, whether it’s through the college experience or even getting signed by a label.
All Students: Be sure to read the entries for this group -- January writers). Everyone is required to comment on at least THREE different pieces of writing. You must submit comments
on Canvas (for each one, include the name of the author and the title
of their piece, and then your positive, specific comment ) by Friday, February 14 on Canvas.
Artist Statement
This artwork is inspired by Neal Shusterman’s novel Unwind, a story that challenges our understanding of identity, morality, and the value of a single life. It reflects the human cost of a society that prioritizes functionality over individuality, exploring the pain, fear, and resilience of those caught in an unjust system.
In Unwind, teenagers are “unwound,” their body parts repurposed for others in a horrifying solution to societal conflicts. I was struck by the psychological and emotional toll this takes on the characters. This inspired the central theme of fragmentation in my piece: the loss of identity and the dehumanization that comes when individuals are reduced to their utility. The repeated phrase “CHOP CHOP CHOP” reflects the mechanical and brutal nature of the system, while “TRUST” symbolizes the betrayal of the human spirit under the guise of order.
At its core, the artwork represents the struggle to hold onto humanity in the face of destruction. The fractured face at the center symbolizes the characters’ inner turmoil as their bodies and lives are torn apart. The abstract, chaotic background conveys a sense of confusion and fear, mirroring the emotions of those resisting the unwinding process. The looming eye in the upper corner represents surveillance and judgment, a reminder that society watches and enforces compliance. The distorted stop sign hints at moments of rebellion and the fight to halt an oppressive system, even when the odds seem insurmountable.
The piece is created with charcoal on canvas, a medium that allowed me to explore raw emotion through texture and contrast. Charcoal’s smudges and imperfections reflect the vulnerability and brokenness of the characters in Unwind. The monochromatic palette emphasizes stark contrasts between light and dark, representing moral ambiguity and the clash between hope and despair. The uneven strokes were deliberate, evoking a sense of chaos and instability to immerse the viewer in the oppressive world Shusterman describes.
This piece is a reflection on what it means to be human. It questions how we define a person’s worth and the consequences of reducing lives to pieces of a larger system. By juxtaposing the violent imagery of dissection with the word “TRUST,” I aim to highlight the fragility of faith in a society that demands compliance while betraying its people. The artwork conveys both fear and defiance, encouraging viewers to consider the impact of their choices and the systems they participate in.
Ultimately, I want this piece to remind viewers of the importance of empathy and individuality. Just as the characters in Unwind fight to reclaim their sense of self, this artwork urges us to recognize and preserve the humanity in ourselves and others. It is both a warning about the dangers of dehumanization and a call to stand against systems that seek to divide and dismantle us.
In the early months of Summer 2015, my family and I had taken an extensive trip around Europe, we started in New York and then flew all over the continent going to France, The UK, Poland, and Italy. These were some of the most beautiful places I had ever seen in my life and of course we visited all of the tourist attractions such as the Eiffel Tower in France or the Colosseum in Italy. As a child I was oblivious to the cruelty of the world around me and thought people were as beautiful as the scenery that surrounded them. I remember walking with my family around London. I was stopping to take pictures of the two story red buses that I thought were only in movies, staring at the worn out brick buildings around me, and taking in the beautiful city.
While walking through the small area I was in, there was a sweet and delicious aroma that was faint in the air. Across the street from me there was a bakery, it was built in the same worn out brick as the rest of the silent town I was in. I ran over to the bakery, leaving my distracted family at the church, my mind set on finding a delicious treat as I peered through the window in front of me. The sweet smell of bread and pastries had clouded any other thought that was in my mind. Whilst I was staring through the window, about to walk into the door, I heard commotion adjacent to me. I looked over my shoulder, already halfway in the bakery, and saw nothing. I remained on my journey throughout the store,looking at all of the colorful variations of different types of breads and cookies. Realizing I didn’t have any money, I walked out of the bakery, and began to look for my parents. I headed back towards the church that was across the street, however, I didn’t see them anywhere. I looked in the church and its surrounding buildings, feeling creeped out by the calm, yet ominous atmosphere of the old building. A crystal chandelier hung at the top of the church and it brought to life the intricate details of the building, I knew they couldn't have been far.
I was 7 years old, in a different country, without a phone. After getting distracted by the beauty of the church, I ran into the closest store I could find and started asking the adults for help. The majority of the adults I had begged to help me were native to London, however, none of them helped me. I was ignored by at least 4 adults while I was inconsolable looking for my parents. I was in awe at the fact that none of the people around me were trying to help, I was a small, awkward 7 year old who was incapable of helping myself. I was running around for about an hour when I finally gave up and sat on a nearby bench, I was hyperventilating, and the sweet smell of the bakery that I was so infatuated with made me sick. I felt isolated and scared, my parents had installed the thought of “stranger danger” into my mind from a very young age so by this time I was assuming the worst. As my head was in between my legs while I was curled up on a dusty wooden bench I heard a familiar voice yell my name. Soon after I felt the embrace of someone I knew was my mother. I was beyond relieved and I sobbed even harder into her arms and apologized profusely. My family was beyond grateful that nothing bad had happened to me and had even taken me back to the bakery and bought me whatever I wanted.
Years later I am still horrified at the fact that no one would even look at a helpless child. The world is filled with people who are too self involved, which is something even I am guilty of, but when the world is full of so many people, you realize how much of our lives are about human connection. Somewhere along the way I think we lost the capacity to love, which was given to us for a reason. It is impossible to give love to others when you don’t feel loved yourself. I am trying my best to reflect that philosophy in my own life, but it is still very hard. You surround yourself with people who love you and help you in times of need. It is hard to live in a loveless world, but love is all around us and will find us when we need it most.
If You Could See the Sun, 2025
Abby Carlos (b. 2007)
Colored pencil on paper
The inspiration behind this piece comes from the book “If You Could See the Sun” by Ann Liang. I initially connected with this book as a freshman and have since reread it a few times due to its lighthearted humor and romantic tropes. The girl left blank in this artwork is meant to represent Alice Sun, an overachiever who’s fears of becoming a nobody physically manifests as she suddenly becomes invisible. Overall, this piece is meant to illustrate a sense of alienation and exhaustion as a result from excessive negative self perception.
I wanted to convey the discomfort of feeling overlooked by using dark blues and purple for a majority of the background in order to contrast with Alice’s stark white appearance. The consistent solid black lining is also interrupted when it comes to Alice, emphasizing the permanence of her surroundings versus her own physical impermanence which signifies her self perceived unimportance.
In addition, the only features I made visible for this piece’s subject were her eyes which are focused towards the girl beside her, underscoring her obsession with how she measures up compared to her peers as well as her desire to be seen and remembered for her achievements. Her shifting eyes are also meant to move the viewer’s focus to the rest of the class which symbolizes again that even if she does stand out, her insecurity prevents her from being noticed for long.
Ultimately, by using dark colors against white and shifting from solid black lining to lineless, I intended to express how the fear of failure can become all consuming and result in feelings of isolation and constant insecurity.
Kloee Carmean (b. 2007)
Monday 10:05 AM, 2025
Chalk on Clock
Based on Marieke Nijkamp’s “This is Where it Ends,” I made a symbolic clock sculpture. The book inspired my work because I thought it was really interesting how, in the book, it takes place over the course of just two hours. The piece is about a school shooting told in four different, but connected points of view. The cover of the book has chalk that was shot as the art, so that inspired my use of chalk in my own art. Each new section of the book has a timestamp and the time of the shooting is 10:05 a.m. So, I set the time on the clock to 10:05 in order to symbolize how time, in a way, stops because of how fast everything else happened. The book had such a chokehold on me that I read the entire thing in one sitting. For the background I used the title page from the book and tore it to give it a more dramatic effect. For each marking on the clock, I used a piece of chalk cut to size with a knife and hot glued to the paper. Then, I hot glued the clock hands at 10:05. Then I reassembled the clock. I want the art to display how fragile time is, especially in urgent situations. In just two hours, so many students were killed and injured and helpless. While the book is fictional, it accurately displays a tragedy that has affected America repeatedly and I believe it is important to bring awareness to the many ways in which the difficult topic of school shootings can affect people.
The Three Musketeers is a
classic piece, written in 1844 by french author Alexandre Dumas. The story was
originally published by Le Siècle, but is now public domain for everyone to
access.
The story follows d’Artagnan, a young, hot headed man in the provinces of France eager to make a name for himself. With the advice and gifts given to him by his parents, d’Artagnan begins his way to Paris in order to join the ranks of the musketeers— An elite group of soldiers that act directly in accordance with the king and queen's safety. On the way there, his easily irritable nature gets the best of him and he loses the letter of recommendation his father provided him. Still full of heart, the journey onwards was smooth sailing until his arrival at Paris. There he gets his first encounters of musketeers, before meeting inside to meet the man in charge— M. De Treville.The interview begins, with it being cut short upon the arrival of some of our most important characters and the namesake of the book— The Three Musketeers Athos, Porthos and Aramis. With his interview botched, he soon after quarrels with all the musketeers separately to find them all amused and embarrassed by the coincidence and sparking the start of their companionship as they let bygones be bygones.
Romanticism is commonly imbued within the writing of Dumas throughout the book through various means. Characters are very passionate and emotional, and with characters such as d’Artagnan, it tends to cloud their reason and brings about new issues to address. This extends into the brotherhood developed between d’Artagnan and the three musketeers, best defined by their iconic quote, “All for one, one for all.” Loyalty to one another as they embrace hardships shows their devotion and shows vulnerability that transcends time.
Another principle of romanticism implemented is the idea of honor and heroism. The three musketeers and d’Artagnan are prideful, and nearly immediately upon meeting did they all challenge each other to a duel in order to preserve their dignity. Although these duels were eventually dropped, honor is still pursued, though whether or not it is preserved in the end of the book is up to interpretation.
The main character serves as a typical representative of the romantic genre. d’Artagnan is a hero full of passion and honor, but finds himself going in the wrong direction as his priorities get mixed up. The contrast between his initial goal and the conclusion of the novel creates a slight sense of tragedy, since many of the efforts at first seem to have been for no reason at all. This moral fall from grace creates a sense of intrigue in the young Gaston as he is followed throughout the book. The development of d’Artagnan feels natural throughout, as while he still holds his principles dearly, he has to shed some of that idealism as he comes to terms with what he wants and what he must do in order to earn it, keeping the story relatively grounded.
Dumas writing
throughout the book holds many elements of romanticism, with events of grandeur
and emotional moments but still keeps the story feeling grounded and believable
through the development of the characters and the grounded setting. The mixture
of romanticism and believability add to the allure of reading as it gives the
reader a sense of greater drama than what exists in reality while still
maintaining it’s historical integrity. This is most present in his characters,
as they best try to embody their honor and pride and find themselves conflicted
when their desires contrast their integrity and goals. Dumas’ effectiveness in
representing this turmoil as they continue through their journey helps to make
the story as captivating and interesting as it is.
For my personal opinion of the
book, I think it is a great read for anyone who loves a fast paced and action
packed journey. The thing that would scare anyone away the most would be the
sheer amount of length the passage has, and that was especially daunting when I
first picked it up. I believe that it’s earned its right as a classic, though
in some terms do I think it’s lacking. Personally, the lack of symbolism within
the story takes away from me since it doesn’t leave a lot to think about when
you put the book down. The symbolism of brotherhood has become rather common
within pieces of literature I have read, so it has become jaded as a concept
whenever it is a central theme within a piece. Disregarding my own perspective
though, it has appeal for literary technique and thought along with simple
rules of cool that’ll keep you drawn in as you read through the book, and would
definitely recommend this to anyone who is willing to put in the commitment.