My JournalKelliher School &In Progress

proudly present

a collection of photographic works by emerging artists from the Kelliher Community

Seventh grade is a time of dynamic change, a time to reflect on roots, examine the present and speculate about the future. In creating self-portraits and poetry for this publication, students were invited to look into their journal to find mus-ings and phrases that reflect who they are as individuals. By artistically photo-graphing self-portraits and unleashing their voices in words, students validated their individuality and gave credibility to their identities. The result is a compila-tion documenting the faces and ever-changing lives of Kelliher School seventh graders.

We thank all of the students that lent their work to the creation of My Journal

I am a girl

A girl you can find hanging out with the guys and not being a total girly girl

I am a forest,

Full of mysteries, life and beauty.

You might find me in a tree,

Climbing till I get to the top to see flowers of scarlet red and blazing blue.

I am a like a dog

Energetic and happy most of the time.

I am a girl who loves to cook,

Smelling warm cookies coming out of the oven

Chocolate chip cookies that melt in your mouth.

My journal is full of surprises and adventure,

Walking in woods full of mysteries wondering what I might find

Swimming in the sparkling ocean, getting the salty water in my eyes and mouth.

Hanging out with my friends and family.

And that’s only a little part of my life journal.

Breanna Salmonson

My heart and soul

Family and friends

My excitement and fun

Tractor pulling shakes like chocolate kisses, and laughing with my brothers

My pain and sorrow

My great grandma Jensen and animals in pain

My relaxation and love

Sweet smell of the rain, the birds making chirpy noises, and reading the Twilight Saga

My heart and soul

Shell, Joshua, and Carlyle

Traci, Timmy, and Kaily

Becca, Brent, Brad

Mom and Mike

Cheyanne Franks

Me a football player

The beginning of the season, weightlifting, running

August, practice, uniforms, equipment, drills, coaches

Best game, good tackles, good running, good touchdowns

Mustangs win, we’re happy, we party, we are a team

Me a hunter

Target practice, adjust the scope, clean, the gun,

Get up early, pack lunch, get the four wheeler warmed up, get to my stand

Be quiet, don’t spook deer, wait for the deer to come, get a good aim

Good meat, meat sticks, hamburgers, brats

Donald Lindquist

A baseball coming at me at fifty miles per hour,The ball breaks away.

I hear people in the crowd yelling at me. I feel scared,

They are extremely big people. I swing and miss,

The ball gets away from the catcher and I run to first base.I am the person on a second chance.

I am lucky to be alive. I do not act like I’m on a second chance.

When I was little I had to go to the emergency room. I had something stuck I my throat.

I still have trouble breathingNow I am back to full strength playing sports,

Doing chores having fun with my friends, Breathing well.

I can smell flowers. I can smell pizza.

I feel great. I feel as strong as an ox. I am healthy as a horse. I feel red, so exciting.

Dylan Villaran

Rock picking with my friends, bahaing with the skid steer. Burning the paddies with a pro-

pane torch. Hiking through the woods. Shooting Charlie in the woods. Wading in the rivers

and swimming in upper Red. Climbing log bridges over the river. Picking ticks and salting

leeches. Building log forts in pine groves. Setting up HQ near the river. Scouting for trees.

A walkabout. Bible camp in Hibbing and Tenstrike. Bouncing on the trampoline. Playing

kick the can at midnight. Bonfires on Saturday night. Playing soccer to the sounds of Simple

plan, Rehab, Shine down,

Nickleback, Buckcherry, Cowboy Troy, and Bloodhound gang.

Jeremy Erickson

Things, all kinds of things, obsolete things and things that are brand new. Hunting things,

fishing things, fun things, weird things.

Things that I don’t think that I would ever say.

Things I like from county living and outdoors, to the things I hate like flies and bugs to boring

days.

Things from dumb foursquare packets to a bunch of descriptive words.

Holidays, Christmas, Valentines Day, My birthday, 4th of July, and boom of fireworks around

Red Lake.

Special occasions, deer hunting, grouse hunting, fishing, bow fishing, and netting suckers in

the shiny running water on a cool spring day.

From summer, to winter, to fall, to spring. From small things, to big things, From tall things

like Dylan, to short things like me.

Things… all kinds of things.

Mitchell Nistler

I look in my journal and see a kid that is happy most of the time.

I see a kid that loves sports and fun with his friends.

I see a kid that is a sports fanatic and loves to go to church on Sundays.

A kid who sings the songs and listens to his dad preach.

I see a kid that is not afraid of work.

This kid really wants to see his grandma and grandpa who live in California. His grandpa

has Alzheimers and he wants to see him before his grandpa forgets who he is.

This kid stays awake at night thinking about his life in the present, the past and the future.

I look at this boy turning into a young man and I see how lucky a kid he is to have such a

great family to help him and support him in his life. Sometimes I don’t realize how lucky I

am to have such a great life.

Then I think of the people that aren’t as fortunate as I am, and I try to stay happy with the

way things are.

Nathan Anderson

Wonder

I am the rapid wind that rushes under your chin and the whistling wind that rings in your ear.

I am the girl that plays in the dark shadows of the dark clouds and the thundering rain.

I am the girl who sits in a birch tree thinking to myself what a wonderful world.

I am the kinda girl that cheers you up on a really crabby day.

I am the sound of the leaves as you silently ponder through the dark trees and you wait, oh so pa-

tiently and then…suddenly a deer pops out at you. It tries to say hello in a fearful way. You are

standing there and then out of nowhere the deer jumps away, and you walk with nothing but

shame, with nothing to say but why?

You look back once to see the last rain drop that fills your footprint and you say bye to whatever is

listening, but only because you don’t know what else to say.

Raelin Schuh

I see lots of dark feelings like a burnt marshmallow. A hollow case.

I also see a number of lost feelings I had in the past, most of them not pretty. I see how much

change I went through during the previous year. (nice, kind, friendship, anger, acceptance,

and pity for others.)

I see mainly light that seems to penetrate life in many ways that people can’t imagine and

shows it good.

I see dark having it’s own good too, with the calm nights and the silent times.

I see multiple first impressions for myself, some say due to my looks. I am a jerk. But some

may think I am really friendly with newer people.

Most of my feelings come from my sounds like Rammstein, Metallica, and Motley Crue.

Rory Spears

My journal has everything from hunting stories to things I have no clue about.

It has examples of how much I love baseball.

Like the smell of fresh cut grass.

The smacking sound of the ball hitting a glove.

The loud cracking sound of a ball and bat colliding.

Things about DUMB animals that I have killed.

Plans for weekends and holidays.

Stories about grouse hunting.

Things Mrs. Hopkins makes us write.

Sometimes its environmentalist crap.

Sometimes I have to write STUPID poetry.

The story of when I got my first buck.

Pranks I pull on my cousins.

Things about me

Sam Thibert

I am dark and mysterious

I see bloody spirits

Giving bad messages from beyond the dead

I see dead people in every corner I go to

I feel their presence coming toward me

I can taste fear from the dead

I get the messages

Pass it on

I send the spirits

I’m the soldier for the good

I won the war with the dead

Sean Strong

In my journal it is dark and scary.

Ghost and goblins,

Bloody guts coming out of a deer belly.

I see dead black spirits and it is telling me to do bad things. Stabbing the couch with a knife,

that is bad but I am good.

The good ghost (aka white spirit) they are telling me to do good things, don’t listen to the

black spirit.

In my head its saying be a good young man.

The ghost and goblins are tearing me apart.

I will listen to the white spirits, they tell me to do good things, for my mom.

I won’t listen to my bad spirits.

Shane Strong

To me my journal is pretty personal, but I’m going to be nice and share some of it with you… I like a lot of things, from exploring in the woods, feeling the soft, prickly sticks from the trees all over my body. To music, hearing the sound of the beat cheers me up, usually, or it just blocks out the rest of the world and gives me time to think. I like things that are plain sim-ple- like just jumping in mud puddles in my front yard, feeling the warm soft sand on the bot-tom of my feet. It’s like walking on the beach.

I like the sound of the waves splashing on the shore of Red Lake. It reminds me of the time I used to go fishing with my Dad and brothers. We would basically be baking in the sun. Hot and dry. To having fun with my family. Sitting around the fire roasting marshmallows. Eating the gooey, warm, white darkened flavor. So good…

I love to read my favorite magazine, STAR, sitting on my living room couch. Wrapped in soft blankets, like sitting on a cloud.

My friends are pretty important also, Cheyanne & Tashayla. They are very cool, because they like the Twilight Saga, an awesome, romantic story that we just love. Everyone who doesn’t like it belongs in a mental hospital or something. But the others are still my buddies. We love to laugh, especially when Cheyanne has a laughing attack, the loud, screeching sound she gives off when she can’t breath and starts panicking just cracks us all up.

My journal is full of things, as you can see…

Shannon Head

I wait in my stand

I sleep in my stand

The air is cold

The leaves are rustling

I hear a bear

I see a bear

I smell a bear

I shoot at him

The bear is dead

The bear is huge

The bear is heavy

The bear will taste good

Shawn O’Neil

My journal contains mysteries From hunting deer to playing basketball, it always has action Like a cat chasing a mouse,Surprises.Basketball is found in my journal Whether it’s at night with only the light of the moon, A basketball is in my hand. The squeak of shoes, like tires screeching on tar, The smell of popcorn at the concession stand when I’m on the court,Shiny hardwood floors that look like silver glittering in the day. The sight of blood, sweat, and tears on the floor after a nasty foul,The sight of missing a lay up, You can feel the rush, down by 1 with 7 seconds left in the fourth quarter.The awesome feel of sinking two free – throws Then the other team missing a half – court with one second left Tasting victory, Like the smell and taste of a taco.Is there anything better?Of course not. Taking a step down from a game to playing lightning after lunch Sweat dripping from my forehead, The joy of making it in the final round.The joy of Christmas at my house, Light of colored light bulbs on my roof,Glowing in the mysterious darkness of the night. My journal reflects my life Hunting, basketball, making people laugh. That’s what I do.Until the end, My journal will be me.

Steven Mayers

I am the girl who just likes to have fun.

I run with the wind.

My hair blowing with the cool warm wind.

Racing my shadow across the open space.

I love to be creative with my art.

Powwow music is the best kind of music in my soul.

Fancy shawls dancing in the powwow ring with Ojibwe language in the air.

Laughing and drama coming from friends.

Shannon, Cheyanne, and myself talking about the awesome movie everyday Twilight Saga.

Sitting along reading the newest Seventeen magazines alone in my room.

Smelling the dark chocolate brownies baking in the oven.

Yummy they taste as good as they smell.

Having feelings for the boy I love, but he doesn’t know I exist.

Yelping from newborn puppies.

Drama from parents. (Of course.)

Dancing and singing to my tunes alone.

Tashayla Cloud

My Treasures

My nest is empty, but my house if full

In my basement are the echoes of boys giggling

Yes, boys giggle and giggle and giggle

If I look I can see empty bags of chips and juice bottles strewn about

And an open beer in a boot…Oops mom wasn’t suppose to see that

I hear the cheers of Mustang fans at many sporting events

Baseball, football, basketball and track

Remember punching and kicking each other in karate

Now you and Beth are married and looking forward to having your own babies

I can feel the pain and heartache of a friendship forever changed

Learning to forgive and move forward through the tears

Hollister, Rue 21, Debs, dELiA’s American Eagle, Victoria Secrets, Spencer’s

Luckily, Grandma understands this shopping craze, because I do not

My bathrooms hold the excitement of pre-prom preparations

Hair curling, nail painting, make up and more

In MY bedroom on MY bed are dirty dishes, homework and a napping girl

I can hear our late night chats filled with tears, laughs, and love

These are the memories I treasure

My nest is empty, but my house is full

TIffany Thomas

My Life

BOBMANY CHILDREN MANY GARDENSMANY HOUSES

ALL NEEDING SOME PATIENCEAND WORK

NEVER TOTALLY FINISHED

I LIKE HOUSES, GARDENS AND PEOPLETO BECOME

A LITTLE MORE INTERESTINGA LITTLE KINDER

A LITTLE GENTLERA LITTLE PRETTIER

THE WORK IS NEVER FINISHEDLUCKY ME

IT’S ALSO WHAT ENJOY

Kris McGregor

Pieces

Scraps, words, ticket stubs, picturesThe life represented

A Metro card from New YorkSinging Shabbat songs on the subway

A menu from Baluchi’s Indian restaurant; we glimpsed Sean JohnBig deal, the food was phenomenal.Two blonde boys infuse the pages

Their blue/green eyes are the light, the essence.Broadway Playbills and Picasso postcards from MOMA

Now I am an adult, but what is the meaning of that?My journal reads like a teenager’s

Hope, angst, frustrations, joyA Shakepearean sonnet

“To me fair friend, you never can be old…”Don’t get fat,

Exercise, eat right, sneak chocolate.In my garden weeds imitate flowers , impossible to know which is which.

For that I am grateful.Books. Flowers. Kids.

The life lived.

Susan Hopkins

Acknowledgements

School Educator - Susan Hopkins

Artist Mentor - Kristine Sorensen

This project was made possible through the generous support of the Minnesota State Arts

Board Arts In Education Program, Kelliher School and In Progress

© 2010