Art piece by Anne Aka

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This was an activism project I did in my Art 2 class for black history month. The assignment was to choose a person who inspires you and supported activism, then make art influenced by them. I made a broken-winged bird to represent a poem, "Dreams" written by Langston Hughes, a black poet and social activist: "Hold fast to dreams/ For if dreams die/ Life is a broken-winged bird/ That cannot fly". I used newspaper, acrylic paint, chalk, sharpie, sponge, and paintbrush on this piece (newspaper painted over). First I drew a circle in the center, then paint the outside of the circle purple using a sponge. Later I paint the inside of the circle yellow and sketch the outling of the bird. Next I glued down scraps of newspaper to create a texture for feathers, and painted green over the scraps. Then I used green, purple, black and red chalk to get in small details of the bird and the ground. Lastly, I wrote a poem outside the circle and the author of the poem with a green sharpie. I do not have a title for this artwork.

Endless Love by Kaitlyn Alves

Endless love

My love for you is endless

When we touch, the gates of heaven open

And I am welcomed by your warm embrace

My love for you is endless

Waking up next to you makes me feel safe

And when you leave your scent lingers

Like a fresh apple pie on a sunday morning

Loving you was what i was made to do

And when we grow old together

You’ll always be by my side

Loving you makes me feel 16 and carefree again

Forever and always me and you.

eucatastrophe by Katy Doherty

This photo is titled "eucatastrophe." It was part of a photo essay for my photo 1 class, where the subject of my essay was winter.This photo was taken with a mirror, which I used because I wanted to use the compositional strategy of framing. The reflection also represents how nature is reflected in all of us. 

Imitation of I Saw a Mountain by Tallulah Fair

We are the photographs, we are the last witnesses.

We are memories from mothers and grandmothers

From Rome, Berlin, and Paris.

And because we are only made of paper and ink

And not of blood and flesh, each of us avoided the hell fire.

We images-- that used to hang in the hallways of a struggling families home

Or with loving fathers and grandfathers in the wallets they carry,

We the snapshots from simple jews, from teachers and nurses,

From beaming children of the world, just beginning their education

On achieving occasions, graduating and even until the time of giving birth, to a wedding, to an anniversary

Or quietly-- to a funeral.

Unceasingly we dull. We fade into blank space.

The hangman never had a chance to snatch us, into his sack of loot-- now we wait.

Let everyone imagine our beauty and ponder, which goes up in smoke with the sky,

Along with the remains of our keepers who once were.

Poem by Lizzy Arena

She was a volleyball player, said the volleyball in the corner

in her very organized bedroom;

and a girl who loves the color purple, says the purple walls

that seem to be recently painted

a teenager who loves music, said the headphones in a clutter

on top of her pillow.

She was a short girl, said the height markings

lined along the side of the door

obsessed with her phone, said the constant buzzing

from her phone charging on her bedside table

someone who is unique, said all the decor on her walls

that she had made;

and not just an average girl

A girl with a cold by Stephanie Skura

She is a girl with a cold, says the heater in the corner

And the tissues overflowing the trash;

An organized girl too, says the alphabetized books

In the wooden bookshelf; and a fun, quirky girl,

Says the dori jibbit on the purple croc

In the closet closed off by a door, stuck with years of wear and tear;

But not a girl with a talent for technology, says the broken printer

Laying under a pile of papers and the watch alarm that doesn’t quiet.

Once a field hockey player, says the banged up stick by the window

Dented with brown spots and peeled of paint

Wrapped in hockey tape, and she played softball,

Says the trophies on the shelf and the pictures behind them.

Family came first, says the pictures on the dressers

And dogs on the calendar that resemble those in the kitchen.

And the dry hands, say the limoncello lotion by the bed.

It was New England here, says the array of Jackets that cover every temperature.

Poem by Ava Caiola

A girl lived there, says the pictures of her and her friends

on the small, square bulletin boards above her bed;

and she had two younger sisters, and a mom and dad,

says the family photo from Disney on her dresser.

Two puppies also lived with her, says the pictures of them

that line her mirrors around her room.

She liked makeup but never used much, says the dust

lying on top of almost all of it;

liked stuffed animals too, says the buckets of them

around her room and on her bed;

and she loved books, says the tall shelf

filled with titles upon titles that all look read.

She played basketball, says the brand new shoes

sitting on the floor but never used;

and loved music, says the albums stacked on her

desk that is made of old wood.

She dreams to travel the world, says the pins

in a large map on her wall.