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2013 Motley Online

Table of Contents 3 Letter from the Editor 7 Isabella Libby…………………………………………...…………The Nude Colored Room 17 Abigail Marley……………………………………………………………….… Stay Strong 19 Parker Pierson………………………………………………….………………… The Eye 22 Samantha Pike………………………………………………………………Journey of Man 25 Gibson Scott…………………………………………………………………………Red Pen 27 Maddy Adams…………………………………………….………………Weeping Woman 34 Grace Wiggin………………………………………..………………………………Seasons 39 Summer Spiegal…………………………………………………………..………New York 45 John Rioux……………………………………………………..………La Routine de Louis 48 Garret Aube……………………………………………………………….…… Endless Sky 49 Sophie Magadieu…………………………………………………...…………Hummingbird

* * * This volume of Motley is dedicated to Corinne Greene, whose love of the English language and passion for the power of the written word have inspired a generation of Falmouth students (and teachers). Thank you, you will be missed.

* * * Motley Staff: Sophia Herdrich, Katie Han, Summer Spiegal, Alexandra Burton Cover Illustration by Sophia Herdrich

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From the Editor: You will notice right away that the 2013 volume of Motley is image heavy. As submissions came in over the course of the year they were shuffled into a digital file folder and it was not until the editorial staff and I sat down to sort through everything that we realized there was significantly less text in front of us than we had expected. At first we were surprised and a bit nervous, until we relaxed and let our creative minds flow over, around and through the ocean of images we were floating in. We began to ask ourselves what the artists were thinking. What inspired them? What made this flower the subject of a photo while that one was passed over? Why were certain colors chosen and not others? Who is the main character? What is the artist trying to tell us? In short, we quickly created stories for each piece regardless of whether any words were there or not. It is said, “A picture is worth a thousand words,” but which thousand? Only a thousand? One K? In our world of megs and gigs and beyond we know 1000 is merely the beginning. When an artist lets go of their work and sends it, unarmored, into the world to be viewed and critiqued and pondered, they do so with the knowledge that their picture is only the very first word in the myriad stories that their work will spark. This Motley is bursting with photographs and paintings, prints and drawings and sculptures; use them as a jumping off point for the stories your imagination will create. Put words to them. And don’t stop at a thousand.

Simon Adams FMS Art

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Indonesian Mask Emily McConnell Grade 7

Indonesian Mask Parker Wyatt Grade 7

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Indonesian Mask Indonesian Mask Kristian Valle grade 7 Jessica Trouhb grade 7

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2 Point Perspective Unknown grade 8

Zebra (after Kandinsky) Madeline Rouhana grade 8

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The Nude Colored Room

By Bella Libby

Sandro Botticelli, Venus, The

Blessed Mother, Mona Lisa, Mary

Magdalene, Lucretia Borgia, Monets

Mistress, St Lucy and Medici, are all

legendary women that we know so well.

My name is Giovanna. Here are a couple

of things you should know about me.

I live in Italy with my Father. He is

a rather famous painter. My mother died

when I was very little. My father has

been up to something lately, something

weird but suspicious, and I can’t help but

be the curious little girl that I am. So a

couple of weeks ago I couldn’t hold my

eagerness back anymore.

It was rain and rain and rain all

week. Then when the sun came out for

an hour and showed its face to the

stunned world. I knew that this would be

the day. I thought the sun was like a

flower in spring, popping its head out of

the ground, and so I knew that this

would be the day I go and find out. My

father had to go to town to meet with

some of his friends, that this would be a

perfect time. He had lots to talk about

with them so he wouldn’t be home

anytime soon, talking to those

lemonheads. They seem sweet at first

but once you sink your teeth into their

background they turn out to be rather

sour. I stayed in my room until I was sure

he was gone, completely out of sight. I

snuck down the hallway into the room I

was not allowed in. I had never seen

such a room, not too big but a perfect

size. The nude colored walls seemed

sad, almost like an old photograph

dusted from an album, whitened away,

but as I stared at them, the pattern upon

the nude walls almost made it look as if

the paint was melting off them. There

was a tall and skinny chair in one corner

of the room, it had very short legs but a

long back. It was my mother’s, with a

simple black pillow in the middle of it. The

only other thing in the room was a small

box. I sat in the middle of the half empty

room and thought of what he was doing

and how he did it. My train of thought

was interrupted by the endless shaking

down of clear bead necklaces upon the

roof; it had started to rain again. I sat for

about an hour but nothing came to me.

The next day I was lying in my

room playing with my two dolls Maria

and Lucia when I heard something. I

crept down the long white hallway to

“the nude room.” I stopped at the door

and peeked through the keyhole. My

father was at the couch, and he lifted

the pillow up where I noticed he kept a

key. He walked over to the box, opened

it with the small key and read a poem

which was glued upon the top of the

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Purple Flowers Henry Funk grade 6

Stamp Grace Perron grade 6

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Beads Liam Meyers grade 6

Drops Abbie Marley grade 6

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box, but right when he was about to

read something interesting, I felt a tingle

in my nose, like i was about to sneeze,

and had to run back to my room. Over

the next few days, my curiosity grew

and grew. Again my father had to go to

town, but this time to visit his dear old

friend. I knew this would be perfect.

Again I waited until he was out of my

sight and raced down to the room. I

opened the door and went over to the

couch, lifted the pillow up and grabbed

the small silver key. I slowly and

hesitantly walked over to the box, put

the key in. I could feel the key slide in

and fit perfectly in the hole. When the

key had turned I heard a little click, and

the box top slowly creaked open. There

it was, the poem, written out in the most

perfect handwriting. I looked at the

poem. My cheeks like a warm iron. I

started to read the poem aloud....

My Freedom, my Freedom

You saved me

You tore my chain

You detached the

knots

You

released my pain

You

fixed the dots

Nothing, I felt nothing, I saw

nothing, the silence was so immense. I

shut the old box, turned the key, took it

out and put it under the simple black

pillow. I moped back to my room down

the hallway I had walked so many times.

Disappointed, I sat down on the rug in

my room and started to play with my

dolls.

About five long minutes later I

heard a noise not quite like voices but

more like tiny whispers. I slowly crept

down the hallway. As I got closer, and

closer the noises got louder and louder. I

could feel my stomach drop, but at the

same time lift in a weird way that I almost

felt excited. I tried to peek through the

keyhole but, at last, it was blocked. I

debated with myself on if I should turn

the knob and open the door for what

seemed like hours, but was actually only

a couple of minutes. I decided to do it. My

hands were s weaty and warm, I quickly

turned the door hoping to not make too

much noise. I opened the door. When I

peered in, it was like so many roses, so

many weeds, intermixed. All these girls

stood in the room, all different. The smell

of the silent, waiting world came in to

them. As their heads slowly turned and

looked at me, I gazed upon all of them.

They acted like animals escaped from

their caves. All the girls looked different,

in the face, body type and even the

clothes. One girl had the most beautiful

dress it was a gold or a yellow crayon

or a coin large enough to buy the world

with. She looked as if she had been lost

in the rain for years, but, still absolutely

gorgeous. The more I looked the more I

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Fern Riley Finley grade 8 Orchid Olivia Stucker grade 8

City (after Johnson) Jake Alpren grade 8

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noticed that some of the girls were

looking upon something as scornfully as

the sisters would look upon Cinderella. I

looked over to find a girl sitting propped

up in the chair. They hated her pale

snow face, her waiting silence, her

thinness, and her possible future. She

was as perfect as a freshly cut,

sparkling diamond. It wasn’t that they

didn’t like her for her personality, they

hated her for her beauty and perfection.

I listened to the silence, then, I saw a

face, a face that I recognized. Something

about her face made me think I knew her

so well. It seemed as if the rain had

washed out the blue from her eyes and

the red from her mouth and the yellow

from her hair. Then, it hit me like a bus

moving at 100 MPH. She was the girl

from one of my father’s paintings. As I

looked past the figure to the shadow as

dark as the midnight sky, the girls’ faces

started to shift; their noses and their

cheeks and their mouths. Their eyes

transformed from pure and distinct to a

painted, chalk like eyes. Their mouths,

pink to a rose color. From hair like leaves

before a new hurricane, to a colorful

mantilla, and the sky around it was a

blazing blue tile color. As I thought more,

I realized that my father had been

bringing these girls out, one by one to

paint their gorgeous faces and figures.

My face yellow and sick, like a lemon it

was, I quickly realized something... What

was I to do with all of these girls now?

My eyes helpless, I did what was best. I

thought, and I thought as hard as my little

mind could. I thought to go back to the

box, maybe, just maybe I would find a

clue, or anything at this point. I took the

key from the pillow, and weaved my

way in between the women to the box. I

opened it and searched it like a search

dog, but nothing, I found absolutely

nothing. My stomach sank like a ship

sinking into my deep, dark, blue, sea. I

closed my eyes. When I opened them

again, the key was right in front of my

face. I saw something that appeared to

be some writing. I looked carefully and I

saw a short passage............

My captivity, my captivity

You gave me back

You tied up my rope

You erased my dot

In an instant all of the girls started

to disappear, from the top to bottom and

within a couple of seconds they were

gone forever! I shut the box, took the

key, slipped it under the pillow and

walked away. I went down the hallway

and I knew that this was it. I wasn’t to

say a word of this to father but it was

my little secret.

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Sushi Tavish McDaniel grade 8

Crane Connor Lydick grade 7

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Dandelion Nic Aftowski grade 6

Blue Dew Rahem Kargar grade 6

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Lion (after Leonardo) Gabby Farrell grade 8

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Self Portrait Aiden Cerjanec grade 7

Self Portrait Peter Morrissette grade 7 Self Portrait Winnie Wu grade 7

Self Portrait Cali Wiberg grade 7

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Stay Strong by Abbie Marley A cool wind soars through by flowing branches, Shades of pink come across my eye to my thigh, Everything was stiff as a rock, In the distance people seem to be screaming, Oh why?! Oh Why?! There is a tsunami at this time!!! Couldn't call help, Couldn't even move, Just stood there, Watching, Praying, And crying. It's headed my way, Can't run can't hide, Stay strong, Stay strong… BOOM! Waves crash, Houses smash, Can't see, Help me, Stay strong, Stay strong. Been like this for days, In many certain ways, People stay and pray, I do the same as they, We have nothing, Nothing, Nothing. Living in shacks, It's a very bad mess, Have to go, Good night and hope for the best. Stay strong, Stay strong.

Iris Anna Power-Rokowski grade 6

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Still Life with Teapot Kiesten Marr grade 8

Clips Seiya Matsumoto grade 6

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Bark Sophia Herdrich grade 6

Gargoyle Ada Causey grade 7

Gargoyle Allison Noyes grade 7

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Self Portrait Connor Perron grade 8 Self Portrait Jack Hepburn grade 8

Self Portrait John Rioux grade 8 Self Portrait Paige Chamberlain grade 8

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Journey of Man

All Good Things Must Come To An End By Samantha Pike

Through glass eyes and fragile wings, A boy learns to live and love again. He is reborn, as his precious heart sings. Swimming through a sheltered, sanguine world, when He is released into the jungle of life, in which is full of danger He must fend for himself; for everyone’s a stranger. Watching, waiting, with guides part the way, Into breezy air, a boy’s soul blooms. Learning of discovery, of instincts, of play, Spreading new wings, hidden future looms. Aging quickly, fear loiters in the past. A young man toughens, though a soft heart will last. He, mesmerized by the glory love brings. Though, all good things must come to an end. Scavenging for ornate things, His heart turns black, the devil now a friend. The doomed, fragile flower, weeps and dies, The doomed angles above let out downhearted cries. Though, all good things must come to an end. He grows, turning to the sun, where his heart settles. Purging his soul, the heart will mend. The flower blooms, with brawny petals. He, a bird, a flower, an animal, It’s the Journey of man, through life’s jungle.

Skull Garret Aube grade 7

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Guest (after Gorey) Jordan McDermott grade 7

Feathery Silhouette Sophia Herdrich grade 6

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Relief tiles by 7th Grade Enrichment

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Armrest Caitlin Camelio grade 6

2 Point Perspective Mary Hyland grade 8

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Weeping Woman

By Maddy Adams For this art project, I chose a piece of artwork by Pablo Picasso called Weeping Woman. As I was looking through the book Essential Picasso, I came across this painting and it intrigued me. I loved the way Picasso used shapes and cubism in this painting and how he used certain colors in different places than they normally would be. As I was glancing through the book I realized how much I enjoyed the aspects of cubism and how they relate to what I personally like to draw. I love the abstract aspect of Weeping Woman and all of the triangles in it. Iʼm a person who loves math, so the defined lines and shapes attracted me. I was able to add in a pelican to the piece of art when recreating it. In this project we had to incorporate an animal either by creating the animal in the style of our artist, or by recreating the painting

weʼve chosen and adding an animal into it. I chose a pelican to add into the painting. In Weeping Woman there are many lines going in all different directions and one of the lines forming the nose reminded me of the beak of a pelican. There are fingers and fingernails shown in the original piece, so I decided to replace the fingers with the webbed toes of a pelican. I decided to use oil pastels as my medium because the original painting looked as if it were made with them, although it was originally created with oil on canvas. The oil pastels created the most similar style of painting to the original. The most important element of art that is present in Weeping Woman is shape. Shape is the outline of an area or figure. Some of the basic shapes seen every day are circles, squares, rectangles, triangles, etc. The Cubism used in the portrait is made up of a variety of all different shapes. There are shapes making up the entire piece and shapes in certain places that you would expect to be in others. Cubism is “an early 20th-century style and movement in art, esp.

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Whales Kadie Johnson grade 7

Equine Abi Lebel grade 7

Crane Dance Emma Robinson grade 7

Tree Frog Alex Kinley grade 7

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painting, in which perspective with a single viewpoint was abandoned and use was made of simple geometric shapes, interlocking planes, and, later, collage.”( - New Oxford American Dictionary) The geometric shapes are what create the piece of art, and therefore, shape is the most important element in this painting.

Pablo Picasso was the artist of my painting and he created different types of artwork throughout his career. Picasso was the co-founder of cubism and is known for the wide variety of styles he helped to develop and explore. Pablo Picasso was born on October 25, 1881 in Malaga, Spain. His father was an art and

Pelican (after Picasso) Maddy Adams grade 8

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drawing teacher. Picassoʼs name when baptized was Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Martyr Patricio Clito Ruíz y Picasso. The long name came from many relativeʼs names and a myriad of saints. Destined for a lifetime of art, Picassoʼs first word was “piz”, the shortened version of the spanish word lápiz which means pencil. At even a young age, Pabloʼs father recognized his high skills for art. When Pablo Picasso was 13, his father gave him all of his brushes and palette, vowing to never paint again because his father realized that Pablo had already surpassed his own level of art. I really enjoyed doing this art project because of all of the freedom we got in choosing what kind of project we wanted to do. We got to choose the painting we wanted, which animal we thought fit the style of painting, and the medium we used to create our piece. If I had to do it again, I would love to use india ink and another painting because I observed other people using that

medium and I would love to try it out. I think my final product was very successful because I put all of my effort into it and really connected with my artwork. Some of the time in art class I complete the task at hand just to complete it and not in a way that I am necessarily proud of. This project is one of the times when I really feel accomplished and satisfied with my concluding result. I had a lot of fun recreating this piece of art in my own way.

7th grad

e Coat

of Ar

ms

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Teapot John Rioux grade 8 Teapot Molly Patten grade 8

Wolf Study Abi Lebel grade 7

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Scorpion Study Nathan Jalbert grade 7

Merganser Study Jason Miller grade 7

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Warrior (after Leonardo) Joey Han grade 8

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Self Portrait John Mullin grade 8

Self Portrait Triptych Karan Godara grade 8

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Crane Study Unknown grade 7 Owl Study Unknown grade 7

Swan Study Jack Walker grade 7

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Worker James Mitschele

grade 7

Jewels Bill Penrod grade 7

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New York This city never sleeps. Apartments line the streets, While the city is alive. Businessmen and women, Hustle in a sea of black. I can hear the beep beeps of taxis. The trees flow in the wind like hair. This city is beautiful. This city is New York. -Summer Spiegal

Red City Angus Christie grade 5

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Wolf Clara Geci grade 7 Rip Connor Bracy grade 6

Femur Charlie Henning grade 7

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Macaw Heidi Meyer grade 7

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En Francais Ella Boyd grade 7

Va au Marche Mia Cooney grade 8

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Sunset 1 James Lynch grade 6

Sunset 2 James Lynch grade 6

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Sumo Bryce Hensen grade 8

Fuji Devin Sarazin grade 8

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Mask (after Walker) Isabelle Goldberg grade 8

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The Endless Sky by Garret Aube

I watch over all who need assistance.

I can control all feelings, happy as the sunset over the

horizon, the tears of your sadness is my rain

but remember I am always there when you need me

the most.

I am the air that lets you breath,

I help everyone whether you know it or not, by using

my gravity to hold you altogether, making your

existence possible.

Sometimes I make mistakes with my storms that might

rage, or turn darkened by clouds.

Or even create brutal tornadoes, that might put your

life in danger.

This I know, there is always room for improvement, just

like for any stranger.

But the wind always blows the storms away that leaps

to a better day.

As you know there is nothing that can be perfect. For

this is why I appear, for the people that need me here.

I love all for those who love me.

You can see me as many beautiful things, as stars,

rainbows, and sunshine or as what you can only

imagine.

Like a cloud that is full of many glories, but is hidden in

your passion.

I am always here, so have no fear.

(I am the sky)!

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“Hummingbird” by Sophie Magadieu grade 6

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Still Life Jacob King grade 8

Still Life Unknown grade 8 Still Life Unknown grade 8

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Still Life Unknown grade 8

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What e’er men do, or say, or think, or dream, Our motley paper seizes for its theme.

-by-line from The Tatler (Eng. 18th c.) from Juvenal (Roman satirist 2nd c. AD)

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