Fine Art
Madeline Knight
Salford Lads Club (drypoint)
For over 120 years, the Salford Lads Club has provided Manchester with youth programs and has remained a
staple in the community, both for its provision of opportunities and importance in pop culture. Just this past year, the
club once again almost went under until money was raised by the community coming together. After taking
painstaking detail, with every brick and line meticulously hand carved on a plexiglass sheet, the sheet was hand-
buffed and highlights were created using yellow pages and q-tips, until finally printed with the addition of the chine
collé technique to emphasize the sign with a pink hue. It is my goal that for any sale I make of these prints, the
proceeds will be donated to Salford Lads Club as they work on organizing a legacy fund.
New Night, New Day (silkscreen print)
First illustrated in Procreate, this print was done using the silkscreen method to better emphasize the precise line work and bold, contrasting values. Inspired by imagery from Johnny Marr’s music video for his song “Night and Day,” the flower blossoming from the barrel of the tank recalls the anti-war symbolism from the peace movements of the ‘60s and ‘70s to broach the importance of intellectuality in times of political unrest and division. The use of the red hue with the flower and the “Night” and “Day” not only emphasizes the name of the song but also creates a sense of unity.
Johnny Marr (linocut relief print)
In some pop-cultural and musical circles, the guitarist Johnny Marr is considered an almost godlike figure in his ability to compose and craft iconic guitar riffs from seemingly thin air, making the saint-like imagery suitable, if not somewhat blasphemous; perfect for a post-punk 80s icon. Using Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop, the reference was created with inspiration from Marr’s music videos before being hand-carved into a linoleum block and printed. On one hand, the inclusion of footsteps in concentric circles might be attributed as a symbolic representation for Marr’s journey as a musician, as well as his desire to continuously learn and grow as an artist. Though, perhaps they stem from a far less profound question that plagues the artist: why is Johnny Marr always walking in his music videos? And where is he going?
Evelyn Dewing
Finally (Silkscreen Print)
I used this assignment as an excuse to finally get myself a skirt. For the longest time, I’ve wanted to, but I just haven’t leaped. By attaching it to an assignment, I forced myself to finally jump. In the piece, I look away from the viewer to show that I’m already looking on to the future and the next leap to take.
Celes Caperoon
Shiny (charcoal drawing)
I love reflections and how light interacts with objects, so I was really fond of drawing a shiny teapot, adding the little highlights and the reflections of the surroundings.
Serene (ink wash)
Inspired by the scenes of Studio Ghibli Films.
MaKaylynn Gilbert
Baby Penguin (linocut relief print)
Sofia Scicchitano
Pike Place Bouquet (oil on canvas)
“Pike Place Bouquet” - This painting is based on a bouquet I got while walking through Pike Place Market in Seattle. I was really drawn to the bold colors and interesting textures, it felt full of life.
Bella Stradina (watercolor)
Statement: This piece shows a quiet street from a small town in Italy. I aimed to highlight the textures and calm feeling of the scene. I wanted to capture the kind of place you might stumble across while exploring, where everything feels a little slower and more peaceful.
Walk in the Woods (oil on canvas)
“Walk in the Woods” - “Walk in the Woods” shows the calm and quiet I feel in nature. I painted it to share the peaceful mood of walking through trees and noticing the little things around me.
Caitlin E. Bates
Palette Knife (acrylic on canvas)
Acrylic on canvas, 16in x 12in x 3/4in, Palette knife exercise where I gave the illusion of depth and shadows on a 2 dimensional surface. I learned that giving shadows different shades of the same color makes the painting look like it’s literally coming out of the canvas and into reality. Shadows have shadows and light has different shades, as well.
Madison Baker
Wonderland (pencil and colored pencils on paper)
Gators (sharpie on sketchbook paper)
Inspired from growing up in Florida, my intent was to practice drawing with smaller messier lines.
Creature Feature (acrylic on canvas)
Inspired by the movie “The Creature from the Black Lagoon” I lately have been enjoying painting from classic horror film themes and doing recreations of scenes.
Lakshmi Chandramohan
Elemental Tigress (Linocut Relief Print)
A portrait of a tiger created during class work in Printmaking I, Winter 2025.
Dismembrance (Graphite)
Part of a series of drawings from a personal mythopoeia that involves a journey into the netherworld.
Nagamma (Graphite Drawing)
Part of a series of drawings from a personal mythopoeia that involves a journey into the netherworld.
Sage Walker
Pocket Full of You (Gouache Painting)
Pocket Full of You was painted to commemorate two life long friends' 10th anniversary, shortly before they leave the state to move to Alaska. Inspired by a photo from a 72hr backpacking trip with friends, and a mission to bring a piece of Washington with them on their journey ahead.
In Between (Oil Painting)
“In Between” is a master copy collage, painted from the works of Nelson Shank, “Natalie”, Nelson Shanks “Bluebird”, and Eric Aho, untitled. The piece represents a time of transition, and allowing the space for beauty and transformation to exist without cause or purpose.
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Poetry & Prose
Allison Grafstrom
Granada
A shell like dried blood,
tough as held breath,
splits with a sound
too soft to trust.
Inside contains
a hive of glassy hearts,
each one swelling
with something sweet,
then sharp.
They do not feed you.
They only satisfy the eye
A dark, honeyed ache,
a stain blooming
like a secret
on your palm.
*
a salty ending
You are the tide I didn’t see turning,
the salt in the sweet.
You are the shadow beside me
when laughter cracks like sea glass.
you never left on purpose.
You are not the goodbye, but you linger like one.
You are not the shell I picked up,
but the sound I heard inside it.
You are not the ache in my chest,
just the reason it’s there.
^
Lilly Lovato
You Are Not the Moon
You are not the moon,
calm and silver and out of reach
You are the busted flashlight
that flickers just when the thunder roars
You are not the ocean,
wide and deep and murmuring
You are the puddle in my shoe
after dancing in the rain
You are the song stuck in my head
that I didn’t ask for
not the chorus, just the ringing ear worm
You are not the fireplace,
but the smoke alarm going off at 3 AM.
still,
you are also the peanut butter spoon
when I crave a sweet treat
You are the noise,
but sometimes you are the echo
I didn't know I missed.
*
Beneath
Beneath a moon that never wanes,
I walked alone through glassy plains
The trees were bent with eyes like flame,
And each one knew my secret name
The sky, a quilt of stitched regret,
Hung low with stars not rising yet
A hush like breath behind a door
Crept closer than it had before
A house appeared, no roof, no light,
Its halls were bones, its walls were night
I knocked, and heard my voice reply,
But warped and low, not quite a lie
Inside, a mirror faced the wall,
And shadows danced without a call
They whispered truths I dared not know
That I had built this long ago
The wind grew still, the clocks all ceased,
As if some ancient pact released
And in the dark, my hands were bare
No key, no path, no prayer, no prayer
^
Ben Danks
rainstorm
thunderstorm of thoughts
my eyes rain
my hair darkens as it dampens.
the longer i stay, the deeper my clothes discolor.
i like my hair falling in my face, but now i gently
slick it back as the water slowly saturates.
drops drip to ground from the angular edges of my
previously perfect hairstyle.
diluted hairspray stings my eyes.
i can’t tell where the water, that finds home in the puddles
on the ground, traveled from.
the skies’ downpour mixes with my drowning despair.
my eyes rain,
and my thoughts storm
^
Gina Marie D’Amico
RIZE
Like a knife through a cage, unleash the
rage . . .
Of hurt that’s been trapped inside.
Let the raindrops fall, from the mountain
tall...and just
swallow your damn pride.
It’s been re-stiched for years, it’s bursting
with all
fears...and worries that won’t go away.
For this cage is my rib, and it’s splintered
big...I just
want to escape every day.
Between the whirlwinds of time, and the
practicing
mimes...that, you use, to grow.
Love and light, with all your might, you
bleed and
it s e e p s in your soul.
Yet the fight that you suffer through, and
g r o w
accustomed to...you continuously try to
change.
Cause it’s for the best, and you need that
growth...so
you better best behave.
For this rib is my heart, and it keeps
breaking apart, but
I March on Fourth, each day.
Re-experiencing and re-feeling, the wheels
don’t stop
turning...and I beg it to just go away.
All I can do, is push on through, cause I
want to
get rid of this pain...
In my brain, it’s non stop rain, and I just
want
the storm delayed..
So here I lay, in the cold shade...of terror
that is
unknown, but I face my fears, and get
through the
tears..because I have a strong backbone
Cause the road is long, or maybe not far
on, so I’ll face
my future with opened eyes...
For I am she, and I carry me...and because
of
this...I WILL RIZE!
^
Hannah Jean Myers
kicking my feet
Got my green-starred sneakers
And I’m walking out the door
A briefcase in my left hand,
I can only hope for more
Cause school is far,
But makes the heart grow fonder
And I can only wonder
What more life’s got to offer
Strawberries watermelon
maybe something blue
But not a single fruit could fill the
hole that’s shaped like you
Thank god for all the years he
brought you near to me
Kicking my feet
Never knew it could be this easy
^
Alyssa Jeffery
Ursa Minor
They’re de-icing a plane today.
It feels like it shouldn’t work, and yet it does anyway. They spray some kind of fluid onto the plane, which on its own feels like it shouldn’t work– adding liquid onto a cold surface should only freeze it further, shouldn’t it? The answer to that is apparently no, because the de-icing fluid doesn’t freeze at these temperatures. It even gets heated before they spray it. And then they apply anti-icing fluids too, to ensure that the ice doesn’t come right back.
You don’t know this off the top of your head, of course. You know this because you’ve spent an inordinate amount of time listening to videos discussing plane crashes today. Maybe not the smartest idea when you’re expecting someone by plane, but you haven’t had any particularly smart ideas since grad school.
It must be cold out there, operating those machines. Sure, it doesn’t freeze, but the liquid’s still wet. You wonder if the workers keep a change of clothes so they can keep working down on the tarmac without freezing. Perhaps the ground crews wear rain jackets when spraying off the planes. The thought alone is fairly amusing.
A plane lands on the runway. You watch the way it seems to hover just above before it finally lands, a bird of prey finally deciding on its next meal, Alaska emblazoned across its feathers. Must’ve had a connection at some point, because you’re fairly sure that airline doesn’t fly to New Zealand. You double-check on your phone and get mostly ads for flights you will never take.
The Alaska plane comes around from the runway and taxis out of sight. You watch it go for a moment, then start packing up the nest of cabling, devices, and books you’ve slowly taken out over the hours of waiting. You must look like some kind of contemporary art piece. Maybe something making those tired, recycled statements about technology taking over everyone’s lives, braids visually similar enough to pass for cabling– provided the observer stands at the right distance, of course; just behind the flimsy barrier that separates you from the rest of the airport.
The returning of your items to your bag is a quick process. Everything has a little space it slots into perfectly. Books cushion your laptop, just in case you were to take a bad fall on the icy sidewalks outside. You’re sure they’re salted at the very least, but it never hurts to be prepared. The cabling goes into your bag too, and within a few minutes the statue you once were is gone.
You mindlessly clean your glasses with the edge of your shirt to avoid biting your nails while you wait. It’s not quite right material-wise; the fabric smudges more than it cleans– but it’s somewhere to spend the energy crawling under your skin. You can hear the chatter and footsteps of people coming this way, the chorus of “oooh...” and “wow” that always comes with tourists watching the sun dip towards the horizon at two in the afternoon. It never fails to amuse, watching someone see it for the very first time.
Of course, you know your sibling won’t ever be one of those people.
Acrux has seen it before. Acrux has seen the sun refuse to rise then refuse to set and six months of light dancing across planes of ice in the privacy of midnight. It’s nothing new. Maybe they’ll at least be thankful to be free of the unending sun– though you’re pretty sure they’ll miss it more than anything, like the maniac they are.
Ten minutes pass. Then twenty. Less and less people filter into the baggage claim. You wonder if they decided to stick around for another six months after all and forgot to tell you. Your shared message history holds no missed warnings, at least, so if nothing else you won’t be left feeling stupid on the drive home. Truthfully, you will anyway, but at least it won’t be your fault.
That is, of course, exactly when they come wandering out of the stairwell. You could’ve seen them coming from a mile away had they come from anywhere else. Acrux is adorned in the harsh, saturated green of a coat that they’re probably sweating in, because it is not cold enough up here for that idiot to be dragging polar gear around, not even close. If the coat wasn’t bad enough, the bag they pick off the claim is hazmat yellow. You’re honestly surprised they didn’t get pulled aside for checking that monster onto a flight, because it really does look like the type of container that someone would ship a body in.
Maybe the both of you hesitate, when they finally notice you standing there. Forgetfulness and fear of ruining it all (again), taking a wrong step and having the floor fall out from under you both.
If you do, it’s not important, because you smile and wave, and they wave right back. You both pretend that moment didn’t happen as you leave the building together.
The car ride consists of a lot of talk. More on Acrux’s end than yours. One of the first things they tell you, grinning, is the tale of how they managed to convince nearly every single one of the twenty people staying over winter to watch The Thing with them. You wonder how anyone, much less your own sibling, managed to survive that winter. You ask, jokingly, if they brought an alien to show you, and that’s why their luggage is so heavy. They look about the car as if suspecting you’ve hidden some extra person or camera in the backseat, then whisper to you that okay, sure, they did, but you have to keep it on a leash at all times, okay?
Unfortunately for you, you’re busy driving and highly invested in the art of not crashing. This, of course, means that the only respite you get from their cackling is vividly imagining throwing something at them for that one.
Despite the cruel mockery your sibling has put you through, the conversation continues. They ramble extensively about the snowcats, a little vehicle that seems to have charmed them beyond words. You think you’ve seen a few before, but you really don’t frequent the sorts of areas they would be necessary for. They tell you that Aconite, Palmer Station’s very own logistics manager, was practically jumping for joy when they finally decided that they would be leaving for the season. You ask if Aconite was that grumpy guy with the messy hair they sent you a picture of during their layover in New Zealand, trying very hard to imagine that man of all people “jumping for joy”. Acrux confirms that the photo is, in fact, of the very same.
They ask, when they seem to be running out of surface level things to tell you about, about how things have been for you. You try to steer things back to their much more interesting stories, but they insist that it’s only fair if you get to share too.
You cave. It’s almost far too easy to carve out all the painful parts of your life over the last few years. You tell Acrux about your new puppy, a little orange akita who’s gone practically anywhere and everywhere with you recently. They ask why she didn’t come along with you here. You re-emphasize the almost in that sentence. In the interest of keeping the conversation light, you avoid mentioning that little dog probably saved your life more than once in these past few months.
Acrux asks what you named her.
You say Air Conditioner. AC for short.
They howl with laughter at that one, beg you to tell them that you did not actually name your dog Air Conditioner when she practically lives in one. You apologize to them, because you can’t tell them that. Their shoulders shake with laughter for the entire rest of the car ride. “Oh, that poor dog…” finds itself repeated more than a few times. By the time they’ve recovered enough to discuss anything else, you’ve run out of road with which to pass with conversation.
Acrux sheds the ridiculous coat when you park, something that you can’t help but feel a little smug about– even if you didn’t outright tell them that they won’t need it here, you did think it before they did.
Fortunately for them, the cold air doesn’t have the time nor the bare skin available to get a grip on them before they’ve taken their belongings inside and you’ve turned the heater on. The house is chilly at best, as between the insulation and the fact that the heater was only off for a few short hours, nobody will be freezing in your house anytime soon.
You point Acrux to a mostly unused room for them to stay in. Once an office, twice storage, and now dragged into the approximate shape of a guest room. The various items and furniture that were once here have now taken up residence elsewhere, save for a bookshelf along the furthest wall.
AC doesn’t seem to care all that much about the intruder in her house, nor the fact that you’ve been gone at all. She lifts her head from a pillow on the couch, yawns, then rolls over to ignore you in favor of her nap. If she was a guard dog, she’d be a pretty terrible one. Thankfully, her only job is to look cute and have needs, both of which she absolutely excels at in your totally unbiased opinion.
“Do you want something to eat?” You ask Acrux when they return. They’ve ditched the snow pants now, too, and taken to a significantly more reasonable long sleeves and regular pants instead.
“What do you have?”
You roll your eyes and drag them over to the fridge by the sleeve. Letting go, you open the fridge doors and gesture in the sort of way one would present a medal hanging on a wall, or perhaps a trophy on a shelf. “Ta-daaa. It’s mostly fish.”
“You realize fish has made up a good half of my diet in the last few months, right?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been a marine biologist if you didn’t like fish.”
“Microbiologist.”
“Marine microbiologist. Same difference”
“It’s not–” Acrux sighs. Inhales. Exhales again. “Sure. What’s your excuse for having nothing but fish in the fridge then, hm?”
“It’s cheap here, I like fish, and I like money.”
Acrux snorts an almost-laugh, reaches past you and grabs at the nearest plastic container that is, predictably, full of fish. Halibut, if you remember right. You pick out a bottle of wine.
Hours later, you’ve gotten through most of the adventure talk. Difficult days on the water, ice preventing the normal boats from getting in, and weeks stuck inside when the rare but fierce storms hit. It’s still early– only about five, though outside it looks closer to midnight. You can see the stars. The stars stare back, even long after you’ve stopped looking. You try to ignore their disappointed gazes.
“What about you?” Acrux asks, breaking the short silence you two had fallen into. “What have you been up to recently?”
“Oh come on,” You say, “you know I can’t match any of that”
“You don’t have to!”
You do, but you bite down on the words.
“Surely it will bore you.”
“You’re my sibling, it doesn’t matter if it’s boring. Come onnn, I’ve told you basically everything! It’s only fair that I get to know a bit in exchange.”
“Really.”
“Yes! You’ve been so closed off I– I worry about you, Tethys!”
The empty words make your skin crawl. There’s nothing behind it, really– you’ve known this fact for a long time. But it doesn’t make the instinctive reaction of guilt and an icicle dug into your chest any less nauseating.
“Fine.” The word drips with more venom than you really intended, but there’s no way to rephrase it now. Your skin has shifted to the feeling of fire ants chewing into every available surface. You don’t like talking about these things– about yourself– because everyone asks, but nobody ever wants to actually know. It’s rarely the fault of the other person– people don’t want the details when they don’t know you well. The question of ‘how have you been’ is a social pleasantry and nothing more. There is always a script to follow and a smile to give so everyone can continue on with their day.
(You were reminded of as much when you were young, through gritted teeth and a cold glare that didn’t match the light, almost comforting tone they took with you– other people had places to be, things to do. Things not to do with you. It was bothersome to be called out here just to listen to those who didn’t understand why you needed to do well, why the stress and pressure was worth it. You didn’t understand either, but you what you did understand was that now wasn’t the time to be voicing that. There would never turn out to be such a time.)
The problem is things like this, the here and now– you don’t know the script anymore, you don’t know what level of detail to give or what you’re expected to say. You tried sticking to the positive, and yet they still want to know more. Because you’re siblings, but you don’t and have never known what social role that’s actually supposed to entail– especially not as two adults living completely separate lives. Sure, you’re family, but you don’t know and have never known what the hell “family” is supposed to really mean. You never have, because what you lived with never seems to match up with what everyone else in the world reports.
“If you want to know so bad, then you’ll know, okay?? It was terrible! It sucked! That dog has been the single bright spot in my life!” You’ve no concern for your own volume now, because the beloved dog in question left once you two began talking. “I felt like a failure! You were going off and doing what you were just so happy with and I didn’t know what would make me happy anymore! I was so busy doing what was wanted of me I didn’t know what to do once that was gone!”
You’re pacing now, around and around the living room. You see Acrux’s face and turn, unable to face them, unwilling to let it stop you. You see the stars glaring down at you and turn again. A neverending back and forth.
You can see yourself doing it, even. Step out of your own body and watch yourself go, watch your hands move with no input from you. Your glasses are smudged and askew, and there’s a look in your own eyes unlike anything you’ve seen before– not quite dull and tired, not quite boiling just below the surface, but certainly not bright and happy either. Your fingernails are bitten down to nothing, and you spot blood on the right index.
Acrux looks horrified, of course. Maybe there’s something else there, too, but your internal table of face-to-emotion of them has lost quite a few entries over time. Your mind wanders back over to your body.
“I don’t know anybody here! I fuck up every interaction I stumble into! I– you’ve always just breezed through life while I’m left behind drowning!”
(Disappointment etched into every corner of a house. A letter that has been nearly torn in two and smoothed back out. “Get out.”)
Acrux doesn’t speak. You can’t look at them. Your face burns and your eyes water. You used to be so good at dealing with these things. Some considered it a skill. Others considered it robotic. You can’t bear to even stay in this room.
So you don’t. You leave.
AC seems to have been woken up by your rant, even from rooms away. You want to apologize to her. You don’t want to speak ever again. You hug her and sigh instead. She stares at you with big eyes, then wiggles a wiggle that only puppies and their lack of bones are capable of. She, who has spent all that time sleeping, is back to her normal, full-of-energy self. She wants to play so, so terribly. You don’t have the energy.
She wuff’s at you.
Maybe not at you, actually. She’s looking at something else from under your arm.
Back at the door, Acrux stands. There is an alarming nothingness to their face, an expression that leaves no room for extrapolation.
“We’re going outside.” They say. It leaves no room for argument or complaint. You could say no. You could tell them to leave. You could leave. But you don’t. Instead, you follow them out of the house, and AC follows you, overjoyed to have the opportunity to run about the small yard. You’re not paying attention to that though, or to where she’s off to. Your field of view has narrowed to the telescope that’s been set up on your back patio. It’s mostly standard– substandard, even. Worn and aged, by most standards. Child– sized hands dipped in paint that didn’t come off for days afterwards mar its sides– one small handprint on each. One color for each hand.
(“One day, I’ll take you two somewhere you can actually see Acrux for yourselves.”
“But they’re right here!”
“I mean the star, you silly goose. Now if you look closely, I’ve pointed the telescope right at Saturn, so you– be careful!”)
“Point it at whatever you want,” Acrux says “I don’t know any of the constellations here anymore. Forgot to study before I came.” They chuckle, but it’s a hollow, joyless sort of laugh. You don’t point it anywhere. The telescope stands between the two of you, an uncrossable wall.
“I always thought I was chasing after you, you know?” Acrux starts, “I tried to be strong and unphased by everything because you were. And you even– you told me that was the best route for me to take, when we were younger. When I came to you upset about something they– something Polaris said.”
You don’t remember this. But you don’t doubt that it happened. You can’t count the number of times you had to comfort them– or yourself, really– over grades or something else equally unimportant that escalated to the point of screaming. You just don’t remember when the kid who sniffled while you studied together became the one keeping it together while you fell to pieces in their rearview.
You realize you should probably tell them as much.
“You started handling it a lot better than I did, after a point.”
“Really?”
“Really. I started falling apart while I was writing my masters thesis, actually. Just didn’t properly break until– well. You saw it.”
“Is that why you switched to taking the capstone courses?”
“Yep.”
AC stumbles her way back to the patio you both stand on and crawls under the legs of the telescope. Leave it to the dog to cross no man’s land. She sighs loudly, as if just returning home from a long day of work and stretches, claws scraping on the floor. You make a mental note to clip those another day.
You glance over at Acrux, who’s kept themself busy by staring at the very same stars you refuse to acknowledge.
“Are you really okay, these days?”
They shift. Cross their arms. Tap a foot nervously. That one hasn’t left your internal table just yet. “...Not really, no.”
“...Is it something you’d want to talk about?”
“Yes. But not now. Tomorrow.”
You raise an eyebrow. They aren’t looking, but the silence speaks for you.
“I promise. You can hold me to it. We can’t both be breaking down in one night, can we?”
“I mean, we can. We absolutely can. but I get it. Tomorrow.”
^
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