2026 Suffield Academy Art & Literary Magazine

生き甲斐

Ikigai

/ee-key-gah-ee/

A reason for being; the thing that gets you up in the morning.

SENIOR ARTISTS

ALANA CLARKE

ALANNA DOLAN

AMELIA CURTIN

CHARLOTTE DELONG

GRAHAM SIMPSON

As long as I can remember, I’ve been always prone to developing extreme fixations on whatever interests me most. As a kid it was trains, and it soon evolved into guitars and music, from there it turned into doing science experiments and learning astronomy in elementary school. A few years later it was creating circuits, trying to learn to code, and building computers. By my freshman year I started doing photography as a hobby, however my main issue was that there were only so many pictures of trees and buildings I could take before wanting more. My solution to this was to try combining this new hobby with my old appreciation of astronomy, and so I bought a small telescope designed to take pictures. Using just a small telescope, suddenly I was learning everything the night sky had to offer. I was learning about galaxies, stars, and constellations, and somehow, I was seeing them for myself from my own backyard by taking pictures that I had previously assumed were impossible for the budget of a highschooler. In the coming years, my interest in astrophotography only grew, prompting me to perpetually buy better equipment whenever I could afford it. The journey of learning, researching, and growing that photography has sent me on is one that will be forever ongoing, as every new goal brings me closer to producing images I can truly be proud to share.

JULIE AHN

KENZIE DUTTON

MELIENAMARIE JOHNSON HYRE

QUINN KIERNAN

SEAMUS SULLIVAN

SOPHIA ROMANIW

ART & CREATIVE WRITING

Snowfall

Leah Cha ’27

Fractal starts fell upon your face

A swirling dance of ivory lace

When time seemed frozen in its place

In falling, falling snow –

The wind would wrap you in whispering whirls

As you lay content in icy pearls

Soft snow angel, watching skies unfurl

To falling, falling snow –

The biting cold has no effect

Your body, growing numb, does not reflect

The soft release you felt when met

With falling, falling snow.

A Mirror Without Eyes

Mile Qian ’29

I do not have an eye, but my black shell is like a mirror, capturing all the figures as they come and go into my heart. I always have a seat on my knee, a position I reserve for those willing to dream with me. Dreamers use their fingers to talk with me. Their fingers hop around on my body as if they are tickling me, and I can’t help turning my laughter into a string of notes.

I was brought home by a woman. Her belly was round, and her hands were shy when they first touched my keys. She had always wanted to learn the piano. As a child, she never had the chance to touch someone like me. By the time she grew up, work swallowed her days and nights. So, she brought me home while her daughter was still inside her and quietly placed all of her unfinished dreams onto that tiny life.

Later, the little girl grew big enough to sit on my knee. She would play with me for more than an hour every day. But I never truly enjoyed playing with her. I could feel that she was unhappy—the corners of her mouth never curled up, her fingers weak and heavy at the same time. Honestly, I never understood what she was trying to say to me through those keys. There was always a woman standing or sitting beside her. I knew this woman; it was her mother. I have watched her longer than the girl has been alive. One day, I reflected on the little girl, her small body stretched across my knee, her face buried in her arms. Behind her stands her mother, her shoulder clenched due to anger, and every sharp smack of the hanger in her hand echoes through my hollow chest. I was built to carry vibration, but these are not what I was designed for. Tear drops drip on my seat. I wish I could move, to hug her, or lift her up to play on the keys, to tell me what is happening, and let her fingers run free, turning those harsh lyrics of punishments into delicate melodies. Those profiles, the raised hand, the trembling shoulders, reflected through my black shell, are like a photograph that I never wanted to take.

I did not notice when practice turned into pressure. At first, I only remembered how I once wished my hands could move like these—small, quick, and certain on the keys. When my baby girl resisted, I told myself it was normal; children always resist before they understand what is good for them. So anger arrived quietly, disguised as urgency. I raised my hand with-

out thinking of it as a decision, only as a way to push things forward again. It was later, much later, under the cold hospital lights, that I learned new words I wished I had never known. Words for the body that I thought would never be related to me. Words that stayed with me long after the sound of the piano faded.

After that, they shut me down for a while, pretending nothing had happened. The room was quiet, and my seat was cold and empty.

The next time I saw her come into this room was three months later. She moved carefully when she sat on my bench, as if the part that gets hit still hurts. I heard some new words whispered around me – hospital, bruises that never faded. Then, a heavy phrase got pressed on my keys: arteriovenous malformation, a tumor hiding where the hanger had once struck.

Fear reached me before I could even open my eyes. When I did, the room drifted in and out of focus, and everything rushed toward me—too white, too sharp. The feeling of fear surrounded me, thick and shapeless, pressing down on my chest, just like every time my mother hit me on the piano. Instead, this time I did not feel any pain. It was just a familiar tightness my body seemed to remember.

I tried to lift my hand; it felt heavy, as if it did not fully belong to me. I thought about the piano. In my mind, I was sitting on the bench again. One key pressed, and I left my finger there, listening as the sound thinned out. No one corrected me or told me to continue. For a moment, I wondered if I must have done something wrong to end up here.

At first, I didn’t know what this heavy phrase meant, but I could feel the atmosphere of the room change. The little girl sat on my knee less often, and when she did, she would press one key and just leave her finger there, listening to the single note fade away. Her fingers were even weaker than before. Her mother stood by the door, eyes red, hands gripping the frame so tight that her fingers turned white. The next morning, they left together, and the house felt completely silent. For the first time since I was brought here, I could not hear her at all, not feel her at all—no wrong notes, no crying, no sighs. Only the sound of the car driving away keeps echoing inside my hollow chest.

Water’s song

Logan Hoang ’27

Water crashes loud

Peaceful to those who listen Nature sings its song

Wonders of the Sea

Logan Hoang ’27

the synchronized fish through the glass beauty lies there sea creatures swim free

Cartagena’s Reef

Lia Bazarian ’27

When seas meets isles

Cities of palms and thorns grow

Create reef of streets

Water and Petal

Lia Bazarian ’27

Waters weight carries A spring’s morning rainfall dews A petal’s burden

Untitled

Teddy Linz ’27

The flow of nature holds steady

As a cherry blossom bloom so do the lilies too

Madoka Shimoyama ’27

Blue clean ocean and sky different blue of summer

But it blended

Mission

Suffield Academy is a coeducational independent secondary school serving a diverse community of boarding and day students. Our school has a tradition of academic excellence combined with a strong work ethic. A commitment to scholarship and a respect for individual differences guide our teaching and curriculum. We engender among our students a sense of responsibility, and they are challenged to grow in a structured and nurturing environment. The entire academic, athletic, and extracurricular experience prepares our students for a lifetime of learning, leadership, and active citizenship.

Non-Discrimination

Suffield Academy does not discriminate on the basis of sex, race, color, religion, creed, national or ethnic origin, citizenship, physical attributes, disability, age, or sexual orientation. We administer our admissions, financial aid, educational, athletic, extracurricular, and other policies so that each student is equally accorded all the rights, privileges, programs, and facilities made available by the school.