The Art & Literature of Hutchison School Spring 2014 Volume 57
The
Emblem
The Emblem Art & Literature Magazine 2014 Volume 57 Cover Artwork Front: Haley Putman ’15 Aqua Pura Graphite Table of Contents: Elizabeth Wharton ’15 Time Flies Mixed Media Back: Molly McKinney ’14 Reach Charcoal
Editors:
Sundus Tameez ’14 Emily Faber ’15
Special Thanks To: Mrs. Martina Cole Mrs. Jeanette Leake Ms. Anne Davey Mrs. Cathy Barber
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Explore
The Hands of Time
1 Well-Worn by Hannah Lansky ’15 3 Play of the Week by Madison Wunderlich ’16 4 The Cycle by Claire Boals ’15 5 Son Monde (Her World) by Nanny McFadden ’14 5 To Dream is to Believe by Abby Holliday ’14 6 La Paz (Peace) by Laura Carrier ’17 6 Every Day is a New Day by Abby Holliday ’14 7 A Rendezvous at the Zoo by Natalie Rodriguez-Nelson ’14 8 Maya by Mary Margaret Moore ’15 9 The Art of Storytelling by Amanda Miller ’14 10 Pace Yourself by Abby Holliday ’14 11 A Place to Call Home by Ylenia Schardt ’14 12 Wonderland by Haley Hale ’17 13 Blurred Vision by Elizabeth Wharton ’15 14 The Ride of My Life by Morgan Murdock ’14
Identify 15 Furrowed Eyes by Katie Daniel ’14 17 Weeds by Emily Stokes ’14 18 A Garden Despite Myself assembled by Daisye Rainer ’17 19 In the Mood by Hallie Robison ’16 20 Tu Piano (Your Piano) by Evey Eason ’16 21 Leadership by Sundus Tameez ’14 22 Re-Laxin’ by Abby Holliday ’14 23 Cheek Hug by Virginia Owen ’16 24 Quality Time with the Girls assembled by Luba O’Dell ’17 25 Atonement by Kathryn Kimery ’15 26 Negotiating by Evey Eason ’16
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Reflect
The Hands of Time
27 Pull by Katie Daniel ’14 29 Fast and Fast by Gabi Stein ’15 29 Rosso Corsa by Molly McKinney ’14 30 Out of Touch by Sophie Merchant ’17 31 “There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired” by Hallie Robison ’16 32 Farewell to Youth by Natalie Rodriguez-Nelson ’14 33 Reach by Molly McKinney ’14 34 The Bingo Game – Nursing Home Edition by Emily Faber ’15 35 Hydraulics by Haley Putman ’15 36 No Room by Kelsey Dowling ’15 37 Wild Grasses by Saneela Tameez ’16 38 Weeds by Emily Stokes ’14 39 Time Flies by Elizabeth Wharton ’15 40 The True Heroes by Claire Boals ’15
“She writes what she thinks not what she hears...” Translated excerpt from Son Monde by Nanny McFadden ’14, page 5
Explore Hannah Lansky ’15
Well-Worn Charcoal
“and all we think of is here and now” Excerpt from The Cycle by Claire Boals ’15, page 4
Madison Wunderlich ’16
Play of the Week Graphite & Prismacolor
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Claire Boals ’15
The Cycle Fingers drum on desks and tables tasks that need completing run around the burdened minds of young and old and all we think of is here and now and all we know of is the stress that drowns us one by one “Another Casualty” reads the paper no one notices it’s all the same one way or another it gets to him it gets to her it gets to you and there’s no way out because this is your life now you complete task after task jump through hoop after hoop until you’re done until you get to the place you’ve been dreaming of to do the exact same thing for the exact same people the only escape is through your little rebellions like “I’m not doing that homework” or “I’m writing this in purple ink” or “I’m eating candy for lunch” but when will they stop being enough?
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Nanny McFadden ’14
Son Monde
Elle écrit ce qu’elle pense pas ce qu’elle entend Elle ne prend pas de notes elle écrit son histoire à maintes reprises plusieurs fois elle est dans son propre monde où elle se sent en sécurité elle peut faire ce qu’elle veut elle rit elle sourit elle évite tout le monde ici elle ne veut pas avoir de problèmes Elle aime être heureuse seul dans son propre monde
(translation from French)
Her World
Abby Holliday ’14
To Dream is to Believe Charcoal 5
She writes what she thinks not what she hears She does not take notes She is writing her story repeatedly several times she is in her own world where she feels safe she can do what she wants she is laughing she is smiling here she avoids everyone she does not want trouble She enjoys being happy alone in her own world
Laura Carrier ’17
La Paz La pluma puede parar una guerra; Una espada puede comenzarla. Violencia no es la respuesta; Con la paciencia, puedes encontrarla. El mundo quiere cambiar tu mente; Siempre debes protegerla. No dejes a una amiga; Quédatela. No te comportes mal; Haz lo que es debido.
(translation from Spanish)
Peace
The pen can stop a war; a sword can start it. Violence is not the answer; with patience you can find it. The world wants to change your mind; you always have to protect it. Don’t leave a friend; keep her. Do not behave badly; do what you should.
Abby Holliday ’14
Every Day is a New Day Linocut
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Natalie Rodriguez-Nelson ’14
A Rendezvous at the Zoo
Decked out in camo and holding yellow walkie-talkies in our small hands, my brother and I, five and seven-years-old, begin the one-block trek to the zoo from our house. Our father escorts us to play our favorite game: Zoo Rendezvous. Entering the gates with maps in hand, we gather for one last meeting to discuss logistics. We pick our target, the Komodo dragons, and each chooses a separate route. Yearning for adventure, I pick the longest: Cat Country, Penguin Rock, African Barn, and finally the Asian Gardens. I set off boldly, watching my comrades depart in their own directions. My ultra-blonde bob bounces as I turn to face my mission. I feign confidence as a turbulent mixture of vulnerability and apprehension stirs my stomach and sends my mind racing. In the heart of Cat Country, the buzz of adrenaline keeps my pace light and hurried. Despite my urge to run to the rendezvous destination, I pause a moment to watch my favorite cat, the black jaguar, pace back and forth. The repetitive patrolling of the panther has worn a grassless trail along the perimeter of his territory. I understand the repeated strolls along well-known pathways. Overton Park Street, Veteran’s Plaza, and the Zoo have become my territory. Walking barefoot on the worn out concrete, the soles of my feet memorize the familiar terrain. I know where the cracks in the concrete are and avoid them. Like the panther’s pacing, my nightly walk is a constant in a world of ever-changing variables. Brimming with pride and feeling less alone, I resume my march. Lost in thought, my apprehension slips away. I gaze at the animals as I pass their enclosures. Rounding Penguin Rock, I watch the finely dressed birds flit back and forth in the water. Disregarding the African hooved animals of the Round Barn, I enter the thick vegetation of the Asian Gardens. I note the red, arched bridge and pass through a thicket of bamboo before reaching my final destination. Beaming at the realization that I arrived at our rendezvous destination first, I radio in my coordinates. “I’ve reached the Komodo dragons, over.” My brother’s small body, weighed down and swallowed up by camouflage, reveals itself moments later. Straight-faced, we nod and acknowledge each other, congratulating one another on a successful mission. Dad smiles to greet us as he approaches. “What’s our next target, lieutenants?” As a 15-year-old, I learned the appalling truth about those expeditions. My brother and I both felt superior to our peers because we explored the crowded Zoo on our own while their protective parents kept them on short leashes. Oddly enough, we never questioned the logic of our father. One day, I, a typical cheeky teenager, bravely asked my father what on earth he was thinking letting his small, adorable children walk around the Zoo alone. Shockingly, my sassy remark resulted in an earthshattering response. “What? You lied to us? You were always right there? How did we not notice?” Ashamed that I had failed to notice my father’s proximity, I grappled with the implications of the truth. Now that I have recovered from the crushing realization, I have often reflected on the intentions of my cunning father. Why had he gone so far to fool his prideful children? I now understand that the game taught my brother and me to be alert and aware of our surroundings while building our confidence and independence. These traits aided us in adjusting to the twice-weekly transitions between our mother and father’s homes. The memories created by the Zoo Rendezvous are priceless, but even more invaluable are the fundamental characteristics that have become so ingrained in me because of my father’s rather unorthodox parenting. 7
Mary Margaret Moore ’15
Maya Charcoal
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Amanda Miller ’14
The Art of Storytelling
Senior Speech Excerpt Picture this—an 8th grade Amanda Miller—braces, unathletic, generally a very awkward human being. Her father has made the brilliant suggestion to run track that spring. This is the unfortunate main character of our movie. By the end of middle school, I had made an attempt and failed at several sports: basketball, volleyball, tennis, and soccer. So you’d think that when my dad suggested that I run track, my reaction would be, “Mmm. Nah.” However, I did indeed run track, and from the very start, I was obviously one of the weakest members on the team. When the coach was deciding who would run each race at the first track meet, I guess he thought it would be a good idea to place me in the 800. The film begins, and it’s the day of the track meet. Cut to the bleachers, which are half full of parents and the odd middle school supporter. The camera pans along the START line, with girls set and ready to run the 800. Close up on my face: I am full of despair and regret. The gun sounds, and everyone takes off sprinting. What follows is the most I have ever struggled at anything in my entire life. By the second lap, I’m not even running. I just look like I’m walking with a slight limp in both legs, pitifully bobbing up and down. After a few different pans, mediums, and long shots (those are technical film terms) to demonstrate this absurdity, the film comes to the final leg of the 800. At this point, literally everyone else has already finished the race—including my little 6th grade sister. My lungs, legs, and feet are screaming in agony. Insert a shot from my point of view, with a voice over of thoughts running through my mind—“It’s just a little while longer. I can get through this. Never mind. I cannot get through this. Why did I sign up for this. I hate everything.” Then I start running past the bleachers. Cut to my fellow runners’ parents watching me struggle in secondhand embarrassment. And then there’s my dad. He comes out of nowhere, onto the football field, running alongside me adamantly cheering, “C’mon, Manda! You can do it! Just a few more yards! C’mon!” I attempt to glare at him through my sweat and angst, but instead end up with a sideways glance that says, “Daddy, shut up. I do not need this right now.” With my dad yelling in my ear, and random parents’ pity clapping, I finally finish the race and come to a complete stop, not two inches past the finish line. Cue a shot of me with the entire track field behind me. “We Are the Champions” by Queen plays in the background. Out of breath, in pain, and with severe shin splints, it is then that I vow to never run track ever again. Fade to black. Although a bit dramatized, this story is just one of many I’ve regaled my friends with over the years I’ve spent at Hutchison. I’ve also spent a lot of time developing my filmmaking skills. From making the very first digital scrapbook in the history of Hutchison’s Middle School; to being recruited for the Student Council video each year; to co-founding Film Club, I’ve been able to explore the incredible ability of film to tell stories. I enjoy telling stories, and I hope people enjoy listening to them. And in the future, I hope people will also enjoy watching them.
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Abby Holliday ’14
Pace Yourself Charcoal
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Ylenia Schardt ’14
A Place to Call Home
Growing up, I never, not once in my life, thought I would end up at an all-girls school. I always regarded all-girl schools with a passive shrug and a picture in my mind of an almost imaginary, fictional institution where boys don’t exist. So, when I moved to Memphis, Tennessee, from Lausanne, Switzerland, and proceeded to attend an all-girls school, I was pretty stunned, to say the least. Keep in mind, I also had to deal with the culture shock of the South, a place packed with drawling accents, sweet tea, monogrammed items, exclamations of the phrase 11
“Y’all,” and chicken biscuits, a fried snack that seemed perplexing at the time —I pictured a cookie decked with poultry. With these surprises already under my belt, could I handle any more? Yes, indeed, I could. When I made my way into my new, all-girls preparatory school, a few things caught my eye. First, there were girls everywhere. I wasn’t that shocked about that particular observation because I was, in fact, aware that I was about to receive a single-sex education. Second, where were the men’s bathrooms? Not that I would need them, but still? Where
Haley Hale ’17
Wonderland Mixed Media
were they? Third, seventh grade American girls were not very familiar with the geography of Europe. Switzerland and Sweden are actually not the same country! No, I do not speak Swedish! Yes, we have running water in Switzerland! While these reflections were seen from the surface, I soon began to delve deeper and open my eyes to more. It was still an all-girls school, but I started to see my peers in a different way. The friends I had made weren’t just Americans with a limited knowledge of European geography; they were smart, funny, charismatic people who helped me discover aspects of myself that I didn’t know existed and exposed me to a more realistic image of the South: a place that cannot be characterized by a
few simple words, as I had previously thought. And, in turn, I like to think I showed them a little bit of the world I knew. They learned more about Europe, and I learned more about the United States. They learned more about me, and I learned more about them. It was, and remains to be, a beautiful trade-off. After six years here, I feel that this place, among these people, with all the sweet tea and fried chicken in the world, has become a place to call home. An all-girls school in Memphis, Tennessee. Who knew? I certainly didn’t. At the end of this school year, when I stand smiling and proud with my classmates at graduation, I know I will feel fulfilled in all ways but one: I never found the men’s bathrooms.
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Elizabeth Wharton ’15
Blurred Vision 13
Watercolor
Morgan Murdock ’14
The Ride of My Life Finally, it is my turn on the ride I have been waiting for my chance In this extensive line for hours And finally I am being allowed to advance I have watched countless others Also eagerly anticipate the experience And within moments their time is done And it is on to the next one equally curious Now is the opportunity to have my fun And I can’t help but think of all the things that could go wrong I can see the frightening hills ahead But at this point I just have to go along We have so many other roller coasters to tackle today Some with lots of turns that have a frightening design And others that I have confidence I will love So, for now, I am going to enjoy this one.
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Identify
Katie Daniel ’14
Furrowed Eyes Charcoal
“How do I, Raise them right Bigger, better, huge return” Excerpt from Quality Time with the Girls assembled by Luba O’Dell ’17, page 24
Emily Stokes ’14
Weeds Relief Print
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Assembled by Daisye Rainer ’17
A Garden Despite Myself (Garden Design Magazine)
Moss, the shy, shade-loving greens that favor undisturbed spots,
creating spaces of deep tranquility and transcendent beauty. Humbling and strange,
a world a p a r t an endless range of
shapes and colors.
A coexistence of visual strength and physical fragility— Treasures and traditions and supporting your roots. The place maker, the support system,
a garden nurturing nature…
A garden despite myself.
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Hallie Robison ’16
In the Mood
Graphite & Prismacolor 19
Evey Eason ’16
Tu piano
Tacábamos tu piano Por muchas, muchas horas Nunca tocaría como tú Quería ser como tú Pero practicaba un poco Cuando no estaba jugando Cuando no estaba estudiando Solamente cuando te visitaba No quisiste esperar Tu vida estuvo completa Nunca tocaré como tú Quiero ser como tú
(translation from Spanish)
Your Piano
We used to play your piano For many, many hours I would never play like you I would want to be like you But I use to practice a little When I wasn’t playing When I wasn’t studying Only when I visited you You wouldn’t wait Your life was complete I will never play like you I want to be like you
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Sundus Tameez ’14
Leadership
Senior Speech Excerpt Unlike what many of us may believe, leadership is not encapsulated in one type of person. A leader doesn’t necessarily have to be an experienced orator, tediously organized, and class president. Leadership skills aren’t genetically inherited or found in some secret formula in a lifestyle magazine. Instead, leadership presents itself in many different forms and ways. A leader is someone who is willing to make that announcement in convocation, who is always ready with a pen and paper to meetings. A leader is a student in the classroom who willingly tackles the difficult calculus or AP Physics problem to help her fellow classmates comprehend the lesson or asks difficult questions during class discussions. A leader encourages her other teammates after a difficult loss or fills in for a last minute role. A leader is also a teacher who effectively deals with hyper students during the last class on a Friday. These examples all illustrate the leadership of the students and faculty here at Hutchison.
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Abby Holliday ’14
Re-laxin' Graphite
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Virginia Owen ’16
Cheek Hug Graphite
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Assembled by Luba O’Dell ’17
Quality Time with the Girls (Hobby Farms Magazine, December 2012)
It’s about dreams One place- up in the air How do I, Raise them right Bigger, Better, Huge return
Get the hang of it, Don’t leave it alone Just got tougher Split-second decisions Because you think they’ll grow up better Build it yourself.
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Kathryn Kimery ’15
Atonement Graphite
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Evey Eason ’16
Negotiating Too late for my corpse did I smear the blood from lambs. When you win my body, Leave twenty-one grams. I know we had a deal— Let me find a loophole! You’ll take my dirty flesh, But I’ll still keep my soul.
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Reflect
Katie Daniel ’14
Pull
Soft Pastel
“Since there’s no turning back, we must bear on. For time passes; life does not wait for me. Sweet comfort of childhood, those days are gone. I resign, O Time, myself to thee.” Excerpt from Farewell to Youth by Natalie Rodriguez-Nelson ’14, page 32
Gabi Stein ’15
Fast and Fast
Fast and fast life goes Whizzing past so no one sees The great memories
Molly McKinney ’14
Rosso Corsa Prisma Color 29
Sophie Merchant ’17
Out of Touch They hate the frigid air that stings the face. Complaining, people lock themselves inside. When frost sits on the grass, this crystal lace Makes justified their skilled attempts to hide At times when all is clothed in fluffy white, They hibernate and stay inside their cage, And even when the sky is full of light, In nature’s wonders they do not engage. But even though the trees are thin and gray, And colors of the coming spring withheld, While on the yellowed grass the dead leaves stay, And all the pigment of the past dispelled, The stillness brings a peace that man knows not— A calm that most of humankind forgot.
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Hallie Robison ’16
“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired” Graphite & Colored Pencil 31
Natalie Rodriguez-Nelson ’14
Farewell to Youth
Inspired by “Farewell to Love” by Michael Drayton Since there’s no turning back, we must bear on. For time passes; life does not wait for me. Sweet comfort of childhood, those days are gone. I resign, O Time, myself to thee. Loosen the net of safety for dear progress, Leave behind memories of the past: A father’s words of love, a mother’s sweet caress, A parent’s role was never meant to last. Now, as the days and hours swiftly tick by, I find myself lost in long train of thought. Recalling all I knew, I heave and sigh; It seems that nearly all has come to naught. No matter how the Fates dictate and call, Resilient memory shall restore all.
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Kelsey Dowling ’15
No Room Acrylic
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Emily Faber ’15
The Bingo Game - Nursing Home Edition Frantic fingers, sluggish brain Come, let’s play the B-I-N-G-O game! Find the pattern, the goal, the meaning Fit it between your daily doctor screenings. One sinful chocolate for the winner Accompanied by two insulin shots at dinner. There you go – you’re almost there! Three to five years till you’re free from here. Sterile hands, spotless mind Try to remember what you left behind. Passions that drove you many a mile Cease to entreat a wrinkled smile. Sedate the fears, the panics, the ills With empty words and convenient pills.
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Haley Putman ’15
Hydraulics Graphite
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Kelsey Kerkhof ’15
Skeleton
Acrylic/Charcoal
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Saneela Tameez ’16
Wild Grasses
Where have all the wild grasses gone? The tall grass that stood over me Where creatures could hide under your clever blades Where have all the wild grasses gone? For the sun’s children leaned on your mighty back Now they all walk away Where have all the wild grasses gone? When the wind would blow on your sturdy back, but you wouldn’t fall down Now that battle is over Where have all the wild grasses gone? For your golden pride walked in the air Now your color of brown has nothing to hold Now the blades I know are dead They believe in every muddy imprint that is left When the animals call to be green, they respond in fright King of Blades, if you can hear me Tell me where all your people have gone For I will touch your golden blades And feel the strength of God.
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Emily Stokes ’14
Weeds Relief Prints
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Claire Boals ’15
The True Heroes
We are lesser We are below We will never amount to your innate superiority We have nothing to contribute For you are the heroes The sword-wielding ones who tower over society with might! That is what you think Right? But think of this: Who wielded her strength and rose to battle in the delivery room? Who defeated the creatures who came to you in attempt to sway your future when she raised you? Who shielded herself with armor and threw herself between you and the world’s evils to protect you? We are not without strength We are not without fortitude We lack nothing you have We are women We are strong We are equal and above We will rise to your level We will fight alongside you Just wait for the day You have one of us to answer to Then you’ll see Just how tough we can be.
(left) Elizabeth Wharton ’15
Time Flies Mixed Media
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