Rebel, 2008

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JUStIN PRICE |

artistTs statement

Reflections of OneTs Essence.

Artistic expression through organic and mechanical
representations for a meaningful connection with oneTs
Essence:

Each piece of art was inspired by the two most important
things in Price's life, family and spirituality. The purpose of
these works is to arouse emotion and stimulate the senses
in hopes to bridge a connection with oneTs past. PriceTs
works are characterized by rich textures, radiant energy,
meticulous detail, and a rhythm of design. Through both
naturalistic and industrial spectrums, Price strives to weave
a tapestry between the two divisions, for a reflection of
events in one's past. The history and planning of each piece
was derived from his personal connections with the many
individuals he has met on his journey through life. The
works were created as hope for individuals, that reflecting
on oneTs past will lead to discovering oneTs future.

Essence identifying nature: the quality or nature of
something that identifies it or makes it what it is.






aNImation

Delta Fives Test Flight

2� place

~

abam sBuccafusco

artistTs statement

This was a project I had given myself over the summer to
try new things with the animation software and keep my
skills sharp. I was influenced by science fiction books and
movies as a child and I thought it would be well to explore
that in my own animated short. It takes me back to the days
when I would play with my action figures (not dolls!) and
come up with complex story lines and rich personalities.
Thanks to technology, my toys have been replaced with 3D
computer images that may be intangible but allow much
more interaction and a higher level of creativity.

Animation can be viewed on the DVD located in the back of the book.

reBeL * 15






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""" 40 Suggestions for Growth & Development

- 1 place

.

CHRIS SCHWING

artistTs statement

40 Suggestions for Growth & Development is a book

arts project in response to the idea of self-help or self-
improvement publications. Self-help or self-improvement
refers to self-guided improvement"economically,
intellectually, or emotionally"most frequently with a
psychological or spiritual basis. These publications often
offer seemingly easy answers to difficult personal problems,
misleading many consumers. The work reveals suggestions
for living in a comical fashion, which can be taken in a
serious or light-hearted manner. It does offer one idea that
most people should try to follow throughout their lives and
that is, owork hard and be nice to people.�

reBeL * 19

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Paths, « Pimriew .

""" BOOk arts











BOOK arts

The Secrets Beneath a Cup of Tea

2 place

.

LaUREN De SeERRES

artistTs statement

Tea and the various ceremonies related to tea are a healing
experience, which has always accompanied me through
difficult times in my life. The tea cup book appears only
to be a cup of tea at first, but upon closer inspection and
tactile investigation, one sees various images which have
a dreamlike quality. These images are created by altering
actual photography from that point in my life, creating
fantastic characters and environments from actual people
and places. The tea cup book was made primarily to help
me relive and then release these experiences through the
therapeutic qualities of creating art.

ReBeL * 21











oe l | Boo k

5 Place

.

HaNNdaH BRODIe

artistTs statement

It's a book of doll mania and fleuron decoration"
no more, no less.

~ : "" BOOK arts

ReBeL © 23






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BOOK arts

__._._. Mere Won

HONORABLE MENTION

| JENN BRaNtLey

artistTs statement

This book is essentially a whimsical illustration of a quote
from Oscar Wilde's, The Picture of Dorian Gray about the
power and impact of words: oMere words! How terrible
they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel. One could not
escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was
in them. They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to
formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet
as that of viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so
real as words?�

ReBeL * 25









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ANNE PARTNA
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artistTs statement

| replicate and borrow from industrial forms as source
material for social commentary.

CeRaMICS











puma CeRdaMICs

"_"" Crystalline Platter

ReBeL * 31

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aDam ecgenoLf il

aRtistTs statement ile

While learning how different crystalline glazes interact ii
with each other, | have discovered that some glazes will Wa
float and move around the other when fired. This platter Te
shows the process of how a saturated cobalt blue glaze will i :
disburse through an unsaturated clear glaze.











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aNNe paRtNa

artistTs statement

The main body of my work deals with issues of identity and
belonging. Pig was a playful departure from the heavier
themes; it offered me a much needed break from thesis work.

CeRamMmIics











" CekAniiGs

fe ied

HONORABLE MENTION

.

micHaeLe watson

artistTs statement

Art, for me, is about connection to that indefinable feeling
that something is forgotten. The sleeping dream, its sheer
curtain blocking us from remembering. That is why |
explore the visual arts. | paint and sculpt the illusion of what
I think is real using visual language. The visual experience

is open to greater interpretations through an unspoken
language. For me that means more choices, more ways to
connect and bridge the indefinable; a way to remember
what we have forgotten.

ReEBeL * 35











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"_"" Possum

Best IN SHOW

x

toDD cook

artistTs statement

This photo is from a body of work exploring rural decay.
Eastern North Carolina is littered with abandoned

buildings that are literally decomposing. Light and texture
in these environments create a haunting and very surreal
atmosphere. In these environments, | captured imagery that
I felt portrayed each location to its fullest without physical
manipulation. | feel this photo is the most successful and
speaks for itself.

Best IN SHOW

reBeL * 39











SuALEEN WALLACE

LiwpA FOX 2 a lk

Justin FLYTHE

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"""" [ntitled

i place

~

SHaLeeNn waLLace

artistTs statement

Past to present, present to past
Running along a common line
Distinctly different
Until they meet

In the

Middle

PastT Presents
The past and present fathered in a common design

DicitaL pHotogRaPpHYy

ReBeL * 43











"""" Dicital PHOtOCRaPHY

Untitled

2� Place

-

Linpa fox

artistTs statement

My work is an evolution often beginning with a process of
collection. | am attracted to forms suggesting the beauty

of nature, death, and the promise of desired yet feared
freedom. My photographs communicate these ideas through
a subtle collaboration, capturing the transformations and
reflections | see in other forms and in myself.

Rebel * 45











5 place

" Tobacco Barn and John Deere Tractor

.

justin flytue

Digital PHOtOCRaPHY

ReBeL * 47











State of Confusion

HONORABLE MENTION

~

LInst mcafee

artistTs statement

Autism is a spectrum disorder which affects the cognitive
and perceptual functioning of an individual. The disease

is recognizable as early as three to four months of age, but
has no cure. Children with autism may be brilliant with

a wonderful personality and yet never be able to express
themselves verbally and emotionally. State of Confusion is
an extremely personal piece addressing the disease from a
young childTs point of view. As suggested by the bars in the
background, the young boy is trapped in a prison created
by his own mentality. Overwhelmed by exterior and interior
influences, the crayon scribble overlay suggests an attempt
at outwardly expressing the jumbled thoughts that fill

the boy's mind.

Digital PHOtOgRaPpHYy

reBeL * 49











DicitaL PHOtOCRapHy

Fk eT SO a ET TO TT een oe ee TE iar THOT TE

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| Linpa fox |
aRtistTs statement if
My work is an evolution often beginning with a process |
of collection. ] am attracted to forms suggesting the
beauty of nature, death and the promise of desired, yet
feared freedom. My photographs communicate these a
ideas through a subtle collaboration, capturing the
transformations and reflections | see in other forms in
and in myself. i)
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r place

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James JORDAN

artistTs statement

All of my images ultimately are about universal metaphorical
statements. I strive to make these concepts something that
cannot be presented with only a verbal or written language.
These metaphorical conclusions are completed in the minds
of the viewer from personal relationships and experiences
that are unique to each observer, making the visual image

of any work its own language. This particular piece is about
control and submission in relation to a potential lover. The
visual content is one of sarcasm to attack the main idea of
the conceptual theme...

ReBeL * 55






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""" Baron Hi)

2� place

~~

ROBIN I. GRISWOLD - ott

artistTs statement

Art is the part of my life that gives me strength to work
through issues that bring disorder by the use of balance and
harmony and redirect my emotional stresses. I can be in
turmoil through anger, regret, and daily life, but art can turn
those negative actions into artistic motions of line, shape,
and color. Art is the therapy, communication, and release
in my life that helps me reveal my true self that otherwise
[ would suppress. I use art (with the inspiration of ECU |}
teachers, and students) to ask questions, share ideals and |
make statements, on how I feel about life around me. i

When creating Barren I used observations of how my
life has been connected through lines, never being alone
whether in my past or in the present. I see the lines of the
tree as the lines of life with roots that grow and build as
each individual learns new experiences, new ideals, the
tree strives to reach and expand towards the light that
strengthens its very soul. |

We as humans need elements from life and nature Jie
for the human condition to grow and strive, but alone | i i
humans become barren. The tree, without human support |
and exposed to the harsh elements of life is unshielded,
unprotected, in pain as the skin/bark peels away from the
slowly dying tree, revealing the lives as they lose themselves
to the barrenness of a hard dry life.

ReBeL * 57

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HONORABLE MeNTtION

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JON GRaHam

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artistTs statement

| wasn't supposed to draw it like this. It was supposed to
be kitchen utensils laid flat on a board. I drew a pile of

spoons instead.

19 « Jodou

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The condensation rolled otf of the cold

glass bottle and left a damp spot in Rich-
ardTs tweed coat pocket. Because it was
the end of November, he knew that ev-
eryone would buy hot chocolate instead
of cold root beer. It had already snowed
twice in Shadyside, Ohio. He could get
away with it this time and Baba wouldn't
find out. Richard walked quickly from the
icebox to the menTs restroom in the back.
His damp black sneakers squeaked against
the smooth surface of the tile floor. He
picked up his heels and continued walking
the rest of the way to the restroom on his
tip toes. He locked the door behind him
and leaned against the cold green tile wall.
He removed the HireTs Root Beer from his
coat pocket.

oThose bastards,� Richard quietly said,
shaking his head and catching his breath.
The cool moisture on the outside of the
pop bottle seeped through his grey gloves
and numbed his fingertips. He walked
to the sink, pressed the mouth of the
bottle against the white porcelain lip and

Written by Elizabeth Lewis

watched the cap release and roll to the
floor. Richard brought the bottle to his
mouth and let the sweet, fizzy liquid slide
down his throat until the entire bottle was
empty. He brought the empty bottle to the
trashcan and rolled it in white toilet paper
until it looked like the Egyptian mummies
he studied in history class last week. Rich-
ard buried it in the trashcan and walked to
the urinal. The store would open in three
minutes. As he approached the urinal, he
noticed a little piece of paper nestled in-
side of it. Richard" you cleen befour we
open. Richard rolled his eyes and urinated
onto the note.

oReeechard!!!� yelled an old scratchy
voice. Richard was startled by his father
and quickly zipped up his fly.

oComing Baba!� he replied. Richard ran
out of the restroom and into the main floor
of the store. His father stood by the front
glass door and turned the wooden sign to
read Open im big red letters. He was a
small man with an olive colored complex-
ion and thinning black and grey hair. The
wrinkles along his face made him look dis-
appointed, even when he wasnTt. He met
Richard's frantic stare.

oYou late. What you do back there? You
know not call Baba during store hour. You

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call me Dad, okay?� he said as he handed
Richard a wrinkled green apron. oPut on.
Stock candy. Today big shipment come in.
A lot work to do.�

oOkay, sorry, Dad,� he replied, clenching
his teeth in frustration. Richard grabbed
the apron, slid it over his neck and tied it
around his waist. SabTs Corner Grocery
was printed in cursive red letters across his
chest. He took a deep breath and shook his
head as he picked up the big brown box on
the floor. Dragging his feet, Richard walked
to the candy shelf to begin restocking.

It was the same routine everyday. The
store stood on the comer of G® and
Walker Street, just two blocks from St.
Joseph's Catholic Church where Richard
and his parents attended. It was a small,
quant building: once white, now chipped
and grey. Sabs Corner Grocery was painted
in thick red letters along the top. An old
bell hung at the front Dutch door that
rang when each customer walked in. SabTs
carried candy bars, a penny candy barrel,
fresh produce, the new frozen Swanson
TV dinners, dry groceries, comic books,
and an ice chest full of Coca Cola, HireTs
Root Beer, and Dr. Pepper. Richard made a
quarter an hour, which he had to donate half
of to the St. Joseph's poor box. His parents
watched him put his earnings in there every
Sunday morning. He always spent the
other half on the latest Challengers of the
Unknown comic book.

oYou stop dreamdaying Reechard,� his
father scolded, oI donTt boat all way here
to open store and raise lazy boy.� In 1942,
Richard's parents, Saab and Maria Der-
manii left Lebanon and arrived in America
at Ellis Island. They opened SabTs Corner
Grocery just two years later and had Rich-
ard. Saab decided to change his first name
to oSab,� so it would appear to be short for
Sebastian. Because the grocery store was
owned by a Lebanese family, their store
never made as much business as their local
competitors. However, last year, the Der-
manli family decided to change their last
name to Derman which resulted in a 20
percent profit increase.

[lustration by Brian Gonzalez

oSorry, Richard hissed as he knelt in
front of the cardboard box. He slid a razor
blade. across the taped seal and reached
inside. Clark Bars, Mars Bars, and Black
jack gum were set in perfectly straight
rows. Their bright wrappers made Rich-
ards mouth water. He knew they would
be partly frozen on the inside from the
weather, just like he liked them. He pushed
his damp black hair from his sweaty fore-
head as he put each candy bar and pack of
gum on the shelves in front of him.

Sab took notice of Richard's flushed
com-plexion and sweaty forehead. oWhy
you sweat? It too cold outside for sweat.
You no work hard enough for sweat.
Why you sweat, Reechard? You sick?�
he questioned.

oNothing is wrong. ITm fine,� Richard
replied, wiping his forehead with the back
of his hand. He chose not to tell his father
he just finished running from the same
four boys that always waited for him out-
side of St. Joseph's after confession. They
circled around him, just like every Satur-
day morning, called him a Dirty A-rab and
a Foreign Fuck, as usual. Richard would
run and they would chase him all the
way to the grocery store. Sometimes
they would catch him and give
him a black eye or a bloody

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99 « Jodou

lip, but after several Saturdays of be-
ing chased, Richard learned to outrun
lie enemies, [his year (or Chitsuids,
Richard asked for a pair of Red Ball Jet
sneakers to help him run faster, just like
the ad on television claimed.

oNo, you sweat because you bad and
Fadder Martin make you do much pen-
anee for sins, Richalicde tamer reroruea,
laughing through his words. Richard hated
confession, but he knew that if he didn't
go, Father Martin would tell his parents at
Mass on Sunday. He always told the priest
his very basic sins " white lies, foul lan-
guage, and taking the LordTs name in vain.
Father Martin always told him to say two
Hail Marys and one Our Father. Richard
would sit at the pew and count to 50, as-
suming that it would take 50 seconds to
say three prayers.

oFineesh the candy and make Nest-a-lee
hot chocolate mix,T Sab said as he threw
Richard the canister of chocolate powder.

mits Nestee, Dad, mot Nest-a-lee |
Richard scoffed, setting the canister on
the ground.

Sao extended inc lips and ited,
oNesssss-a-leee,� between his teeth.

\Viatever ikichara saicl umeer nis
breath. He continued to hear his father prac-
tice saying the brand in a light whisper as he
stacked boxes of Chesterfield, Pall Mall, and
Lucky Strike cigarettes behind the checkout
counter in a locked case.

~li Tdont put back here, boys come
steal cigarettes right off shelves and I lose
money, Sab said, oSee, Reechard, smart |
lock back here, must ask for them.�

Richard ignored his father and walked
over to another brown box next to the ice
chest. He stabbed it with his razor blade
and tore it open. Glass bottles of pop were
divided by soft crates. Richard picked up
each bottle and cradled them into the bed
of ice. He rolled his finger along the red la-
bel of a Coke a Cola bottle. He noticed an
oRT circled above the popTs brand name.

oNo Reechard, I said do Nest-a-lee
next,� exclaimed his father.

~na second, Richard said, but what
does this mean?� Richard held the pop bot-
tle in the air pointing at the circled oRT. His
father walked towards the bottle, took it
from his son's hand, and squinted his eyes.

oOn. that imean All ight Reserve,
Reechard,� Sab said, rubbing his thumb
across the lettering.

oWell, what does that mean?�

Richard asked.

oTt mean that no one else can take name
Cokie Cola and use on their drink,� Sab re-
plied. oIt mean that name is their name and
no other's name to use.�

oOh Richard said. soits all
about money.�

oYes, money. But, also name carry pride.
One mans idea,T Sab said, handing the
bottle back to Richard.

Richard took the bottle from his father
and jammed it into the bed of ice as the
bell jingled at the front door. A shivering
postman held a clip board against his hip.

oDo I have a Mr. Sebastian Derman
here to sign for a delivery?� the man asked,
looking around the store above the rim of
his glasses.

oI him,� Sab said, holding his hand in
the air. The postman pulled a pen out of his
shirt pocket and handed it to him. Richard's
father signed quickly, set the clipboard
on the counter, and walked outside with
the postman to fetch the next shipment.
Richard walked to the unlocked glass case
behind the counter to snatch a few packs
of cigarettes while his father was outside.
Before he reached the case, the clipboard
caught his eye. Sebastian Dermanli was
scribbled next to his fatherTs printed name,
Sebastian Derman. Richard grabbed the
pen and drew a thick line through the oli�
in Dermanli, so it read
Derman. A gust of cold air blew against
Richard's face. His father and the postman
walked in with two boxes.

oYou clean toilet yet, Reechard?� Sab asked,
his voice muffled by the brown box cover-
ing his mouth.

oI'll do it now,� Richard said, setting the




clipboard back down onto the counter. brand name, he whispered the December
oMy son is lazy boy,� Sab said to the " issue's title, oThe Creatures from the For-

postman, shaking his head. bidden World,� and turned the page.
Richard walked to the back of the store

toward the restroom. He stopped at the
comic book rack and grabbed the new
Challengers of the Unknown comic and

rolled it up between his palms. He looked __ |

behind him to make sure his father didn't :
see him stealing the book and entered the

mens restroom. While taking a seat next

to the sink, Richard rested his head against

the cool green tile and unrolled the comic

book. Its colorful cover was decorated with

Corner Grocery

two green and purple creatures attacking
four unsuspecting men with bright red la-
sers beaming from their eyes. On the floor,
he spotted the HireTs Root Beer cap from
his pop earlier and picked it up. As Richard
ran his fingers along the bottle capTs rough
edges and eyed the circled R above the

ReBeL ¢ 67

____ Ail Riviis Reserved

a place

>

eLizaBetH LewIs

artistTs statement

Inspired by stories of my great grandfather's

grocery store, I chose to explore the concepts of

nationality, stereotypes, prejudice, and personal

pride in this fictional short story. Through P

creation and development of the story's main WE
|

characters, Richard and Sab, I have begun to i] E
understand how society can influence the | '
behavior and happiness of those who do not |
seem to ofit in.�

""- TICLION | |






Written & Illustrated by Thomas James Walker

F THIS HOUSE COULD

~






Elizabeth Moor stood on the front porch. Her hand shook slightly
as she reached down, grasped the aged knob, and twisted. A
small squeal came from the mechanism as it unlatched. The door
opened slightly then stopped. She gave the door a slight push
and, on rusted hinges, it quickly creaked open coming to a hard
stop against the inner wall. A small glass window, set in the door,
shuddered in its sill.

The narrow beams of light fighting their way through the
gathering dusk gave little assistance in brightening the home's
dreary interior. Instead, the pale light seemed to bring life to the
dormant furniture, which still sat inside. Shadows crawled and
danced their way across moldy fabrics and worn carpeting. An
odor of decay and mildew seemed to permeate the air.

She nervously glanced around as a feeling of anxiety ran its icy
fingers up her spine. Her breathing increased and she could see
the moist cloud she exhaled in the crisp evening air. She began
to wish she had dressed warmer. Her long sleeve blouse and
jeans did little to defend her body from the elements. Driving her
hands in her pockets, she fiddled with some loose change"any-
thing to distract her thoughts.

Lightning flashed brazenly across the sky, and, a few seconds
later, a thunderous crash seemed to shake the very foundation
of the house itself. She had hoped to beat the storm, but, obvi-
ously, that was not to be the case.

The house was almost exactly as she remembered. It was
white, two-story, wood siding, with a once great, but now
dilapidated, chimney on the left side. All of the windows, which
once were home to finger paintings and paper snowflakes, sun-
catchers and other assorted holiday decorations, were boarded
up. All except one"a lone shutter that hung clumsily to the
house. Its counterpart lay on the ground half buried beneath
the leaves and undergrowth.

Lightning streaked again, catching the silhouette of the
houseTs one tree"dead, broken, and leaning to the point of nearly
crushing the house. With its spindly branches raised towards
the heavens pleading for an end to its miserable existence. A
strong gust of wind blew and in its wake a sea of leaves and dead
branches flew into the air.

They frolicked about for a brief instance before the heavens
opened and a great deluge fell upon the earth. The house"old,
and not used to the added pressures of wind and rain, moaned
and groaned.

The solitary shutter began to beat lazily against the house.

Elizabeth, deciding against getting soaked, stepped warily in-
side. She went first to the closet"directly past the open door, and
set in the stairs. She remembered there being a box of candles
there. She and her siblings would get them when the power went
out"placing them in a tight group so they could make shadow
puppets on the wall. The closet door was no longer there "it
sat against the opposite wall"but the candles were. She gently
reached down and picked up the box. Covered in cobwebs and
mildew she could barely make out the word, oEMERGENCY�

ReBeL * 69






OL « Jodou

scribbled in black marker. She brought the box into the den,
beside the hall.

It was all coming back. The layout hadn't changed. The furni-
ture had, broken and molded, but everything was in relatively the
same order she remembered. She carefully placed the box ona
small footstool, reached in, and took out a candle.

Suddenly, the sky was set ablaze as a terrific beam of lightning
dashed its way across the sky. Thunder followed behind, its clap
and rumble causing her very bones to tremble.

And then"silence. The only noise was the continuous pound-
ing of the rain.

But Elizabeth hadn't noticed the thunder. And was "even
now"ignoring the drumming of the rain. She was straining to
catch a noise to prove her paranoia true.

For, in the instant the lightning had come, a shadow had fallen
across the floor in the hall, and she could have sworn it was the
shadow of a man.

She waited impatiently to see if someone would step into
the doorway.

The shutter outside became more intense in its clapping
against the house.

The hair on the back of her neck was standing straight up.

Lightning came again"not as piercing this time "but
enough to chase away the dark. The image on the floor was
gone. She was alone.

Elizabeth slowly released her breath. She pulled a small light-
er from her pocket, and, with shaking hands, attempted to light
it. Once, twice, and finally it lit. She brought the candle to meet
the flame, and realized her knuckles were white from clenching
it. With a now-burning candle, Elizabeth slid the lighter back
in her pocket, took the candle in her other hand, and began to
stretch her fingers.

The soft iridescent glow from the candle brought with it a
feeling of comfort. Elizabeth walked back into the small foyer
and paused in front of the stairs. She could see, in her mind's
eye, her parents"a single photo still hanging askew on the wall
next to the stairs showed them happy and in love. They were
riding the merry-go-round at the state fair. But, after many years
had passed, things weren't quite as storybook"not with three
children and bills...

She quickly brushed a tear from her face, sniffed, and turned
to walk away from the staircase.

Without warning, a blood-curdling scream echoed through
the house. The inhuman sound bounded off the floor and walls;
it seemed to be coming at her from everywhere. Then the
scream turned to sobs.

oMother...� she softly whispered to herself.

The memories came flooding back: lamps thrown across the
room, shattering on the floor, furniture overturned, slaps of fists
against flesh, and snaps of bones breaking.

The blood stained sheets.

And that faint whimpering...











TZ « Jodou

Elizabeth couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears streaming
down her face turned her vision blurry. She looked for a place to
sit, but quickly gave up and slumped to the floor. There she sat
for a long time, sobbing quietly.

Outside lightning and thunder began to conclude their fated
dance, the old tree teetered back and foarth under the pound-
ing of the wind, and the single old shutter continued to beat
against the house.

After having composed herself as best she could and wiping
the tears away with her sleeve, Elizabeth picked herself up and
walked to the end of the hall. There on the right was her door.
The stickers were still there, for the most part, their once vivid
colors now faded and worn. A bedraggled spiders web hung
oddly, connected from door to ceiling, long since abandoned
by its owner.

Elizabeth quickly brushed it off and reached for the doorknob.
Although it had been many years, it still felt the same"safe and
warm. The door gave a loud click when she opened it.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity on the second floor.

Boards creaked as if someone were running towards the
stairs. Cobwebs and dust rained down.

Panicking, Elizabeth hurried into the room, blew out the
candle, and hid behind the door.

The pounding footsteps overhead stopped.

Elizabeth held her breath and could feel her heart pounding
in her ears.

Lightning flashed, and slowly, she peeked around the door
and into the hall.

Thunder rumbled and the brief, but divine, white brilliance
came again.

There, at the top of the stairs, was the silhouetted figure of a man.

A very familiar figure.

The icy fingers of fear began to caress her back, and she could
feel the hair on her neck standing up again.

Outside, the terrible tango of light and sound provided an
encore. The wind kicked up and the shutter began to beat
maniacally against the house. The tree"that dead, old shell of a
tree"split in two and toppled to the ground; its torment finally
over. Limbs, branches, and pieces of bark flew in all directions as
the wind seemed to delight in the destruction.

Inside, the front door suddenly swung closed, shattering its
delicate window. The pieces of glass fell into the hallway, and,
in a quick moment that lit the sky, they appeared like stars on
the dark floor.

Thunder rolled as Elizabeth looked about desperately for
a way to escape. There was nowhere really in the room to
hide"and besides, shed be trapped.

A stair creaked.

Elizabeth held her breath again, and strained to hear.

The house lit up and thunder came.

On the tail of the boisterous noise there was another creak.

Suddenly, without thinking, Elizabeth flew into a panic. She




spun around, throwing the door open completely, and made a
dash towards the front door.

A symphony of creaks began, as the figure came pounding
down the stairs.

Outside, the shutterTs beating grew louder.

Glass crunched beneath her feet as she neared the door.
Throwing herself upon it she desperately groped for the knob, but
in the dark, and through the tears, she seemed unable to find it.

The footsteps reached the bottom of the staircase.

Finally wrapping her frantic fingers around the doorknob,
Elizabeth tugged hard. The door was wedged in place. Screaming
out, Elizabeth frantically attempted to reach through the broken
window"maybe she could open it from the outside.

The footsteps stopped behind her, and Elizabeth froze.

The warm breath on the back of her neck was a sharp contrast
to the cold hitting her face.

The shutter, slamming madly against the house, broke free,
and crashed to the ground.

Beginning to sob, Elizabeth slowly pulled her arm from the win-
dow. Her sleeve was ripped and dark stains were starting to form.

From behind her came a soft voice, that made her heart skip a
beat and her blood turn to ice.

oSweetie. You came home.�

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and yet the rain, unrelenting,

continued to beat against the house.

If This House Could Talk

° place

\ \
"

artistTs statement

and despair around every corner.

fICtION

The piece was originally inspired by a 1995 video game
soundtrack. The game, Heavy Gear, had a very dark and
forboding tone to it"at times it was optimistic with sort of a
hopefulness in the melodies, but the majority rang of doom

pe

ReBelL

tHomas James waLkeR






Written by Chelsea Campen

My Father and I have an awkward relationship. Awkward in the sense
that we never grew close, as a parent and child sometimes will do as
they get older, except in that obligatory kind of way after he divorced
my mother. All signals of closeness and family ties come across as stiff,
hugs and I love yous are sufficed by professional substitutes like obe
carefuls� and ohave a nice daysT. I used to wish I would have been born
his son. I think we could have been a little closer, or, judging by his

relationship with my brother, he would have devoted more time to me.
He's a mechanic, a damned good one, at least thatTs what I've heard,

for the local chemical plant. They mine phosphate out of the ground

with these enormous machines (that need my dad to stay going).

They're fat boxes with one long crane like an arm reaching toward

the sky; a child could easily pretend theyre monsters with their own

frightening agenda, and essentially they are. It makes a very surreal

fn nl

landscape like a low budget sci-fi flick. These huge machines dig deep






white holes like moon soil and have enough
orange lights to taint the sky the way cities

will often do. Maybe after the town sinks in
and there's nothing left, sci-fi can use it as a
backdrop for a movie about moon colonies.

He works a lot of overtime. He works
when he comes home too, on anything he
can get his hands on. Usually when people
ask me what my father does I just reply
owork.� | think it affects his relationships;
he thinks about things in terms of parts and
the rigid predictable way they should work.

He yells a lot too. In fact, thatTs been the
majority of our conversations. oYoure all
lazy and you ll never amount to nothing!�
hed yell on Sunday mornings. After that
you might as well get up and get some-
thing done, you cant sleep through the
yelling anyway and there's nothing worth
a crap on TV either. It tempers the day. I
thought of him as an oppressive tyrant for
along time, but adulthood has given me a
different perspective. I can see it's all the
impact of how he grew up.

My grandfather was raised by his cold
and unloving uncle during the Great
Depression, and he passed the bitterness
down to my father. Thinking of him this
way makes me feel pity and | think I was
a lot more content to think of him as a
fascist bastard.

I've never had to pay anybody to fix
my car or change my oil. | guess thats
ok, but I think itTs made me a dependent
woman, and I think he is a little surprised,
and I must admit that I am myself, that Im
unmarried at twenty-five. And | suspect

that he is a little taken aback by my lack
interest in nursing and secretarial work, r
interests being of a more unstructured and
flexible nature. In short, daydreaming. Im
honestly disappointed that 'mnot more
car savvy or at least unafraid of firearms.
There are things |wishhe wouldhave "_"
taught me as I was growing up. But !m
just now discovering my inner boy, and |
am beginning to pursue more adventur- = =| &
ous hobbies like rock climbing (which i
really hasadigressive quality worthy ="s|-'i|
of a mid-life I-need-to-reclaim-all-the- = = ##$$|
crap-I-missed crises). Maybe then he oo
thought I was too skittish to approach
things like engines. : oo |
(I'm still afraid of engines. [hatethose =f
roaring monstrosities pulsing with grease
and battery acid. ITm afraid they Il blow hw
up and burn my skin off. I still have issues &
with checking my own oil.) : - it
Ihaven'tbeenapermanentresident = | |
in my father's house for a long time. I
was even in and out as a teenager, so
when | come and stay | always feel like
I should spend quality time with him, _
though itTs never gone the way Ive __
planned. Recently he wantedtotakea =
fishing trip and couldn't talk my brother __,

ata Ui et alts






into going. I volunteered half-heartedly.
The kind of fishing we were doing is called
flounder gigging and is appealing to me
only because of the primitive nature of the
gigging. ItTs like a spear.

We were on the water by midnight in
my dad's small fishing boat. The color of the
creek reminds me of sweet tea: itTs disgust-
ing. The birch trees give it the color, and not,
to my dismay, the local chemical plant. ITve
always thought it would be cool to expose
some kind of massive ecological injustice.

My dad shut off the engine in the shal-
lows close to the creek bank. My ears had
to adjust to the abrupt change in sound; the
engine hummed in my ears a few seconds
longer until the mating calls of frogs and
cicadas faded in. My thoughts snowballed
from mating to sex, and I started to think
about the men my fatherTs age I'd slept
with. ItTs always creepy to think about sex
around your parents, like maybe youre
flirting with a telepathic ability you didnTt
know you had, or conjuring the person you
are when they're not around.

We stepped out of the boat in our tall
rubber boots. oWatch your step, donTt play
around out here�, he warned. To my dad
everything is play and nobody has the com-
mon sense that he does. There is a chance
for disaster around every corner. Maybe
he is responsible for my skittishness. | felt
a slight irritation rising in my mind. When
his back was turned, I hoisted up my gig
like I was going to throw it like a javelin at a
pretend saber-tooth on the bank.

My dad trod smoothly through the wa-
ter with his flashlight in one hand and the
gig in the other. I tried to move smoothly,
to make the least amount of ripples as pos-
sible. I knew he'd be pissed if I got in the

way or scared any of the stupid fish away.
~DadT, I whispered, then paused, unsure
what to say, owhere did you buy that flash-
light?� He breathed, irritated, and
Ene store.

replied:

An hour later I was still bored, and |
was getting really sleepy. I crawled back
in the boat and watched the sky. My dad
decided to move further up the bank pull-
ing the boat by hand with me inside. After
finding a satisfactory spot, he speared
several fish, even though they were almost
too small. Their size really doesnTt mean
anything to me, itTs their eyes that make
me uneasy. Both their eyes on one side of
their head, nice going evolution. I guess
Picasso wasnt so original.

[ heard thunder in the dist
dozing off in the boat. The storm came out
of nowhere, the way it should when you
are ready to get home and go to bed. A vein
of lightning lit the sky with a loud after-
thought of thunder. The rain beat in many
tempos against the water. My dad
into the boat and tried to s tart t he engine

oGoddamnit, my hands,� he yelled,
rubbing them stiffly against one another.
oWhat's wrong?� | | asked, confused. I was
unaware my Dad had the beginning of
painful arthritis. ItTs a thought as frighten-

nce as | was

ee) |
g0t Dack

>,

ing as engines. I've never imagined my Dad
could have any kind of health problem. ITve
only seen him with a cold a couple of times
in my life and I always th

was invincible somehow | sz

I guess Lz noug oht he

at in the rain
and waited for him to do something: |
wasl nt sure what.

I need you to start it,T
stared at him blankl ly, di

he said. | just

nched by the

a es
ne sald

rain. oWell get your ass up here!

[ did, but I

I wasnt quite sure | could do






it. Lightning made its way through the
sky and it occurred to me that we could
get struck. Everything was wet, even the
motor. I hated that motor; it smelled like
gasoline (which could very well explode at
any minute, to my reasoning), and it was
so loud when it started. I wasn't even sure |
was strong enough to pull back the starter,
or whatever itTs called.

| pulled the first time and I was afraid
I was going to pull my shoulder joint out

]

of the socket. I didnTt even look up, I just
pulled again with greater force and con-
trol. | twitched a little when it growled,
but I had done it

Alright, turn us around and take us
back to the dock,� he yelled through the
increasing rain and thunder. oNo, Dad,

itTs too far, the lightning! We need to find
somewhere closer to take cover until

it slackens!� | protested. Much to my
surprise he said, oAlright, turn us around
and we'll wait under the bridge.� So that's
what we did.

ITm not sure what the point of this story
is, but | was both amazed and proud that
my dad trusted me in a critical moment. He
relied on me to start the engine and lead us
to safety. ITm glad he finally considers me
a rational and dependable adult, sort of. |
have yet to find the impetus to get a job.

Responsibility

3. pLace

CcHeLsea CampeNn

artistTs statement

I wrote it because ITm having issues with growing up.






i.

oy

ii
iain




i, CYNTHIA MEYERS

3 ON SRAHAM i
BETHANY SALISBURY

SHAWN EN@yALO Hi






.|=Clra ET ARDTRS, "






aaa CRaAPHIC DeSICN

"_"" Designers Unite!

reBeL * 81

" 1" pLace

\

CyNtHla meyers

artistTs statement

Given the assignment of creating a brochure for Eco Design
2008, | had to reach out to industrial and graphic designers
to raise awareness on the issue of sustainability and the
built environment. Creating a comparison to superheroes, |
tried to convey to designers that they have the knowledge
and tools necessary to make a change as well as the
responsibility to apply environmental solutions to their
design practice. Every designer has his/her own unique
power to contribute and if we all work together, we can
lessen our ecological footprint and reestablish stability and
harmony with nature.






PORE P OS






Dream Stream Wheels

2 place

\

JON GRaHam

artistTs statement

Mechanization seems too cold to me; too soulless.

With this packaging, I really wanted to bring a sense

of humanity into my work. In the form, my goal was to
create an object that engages the person encountering it.

It is made to be handled, touched, and explored. In the
graphics, I sought to both complement the form visually

as well as tactually with ink applied by a press rather than
an electronic printer. This leaves an indentation in the
surface rather than the ink staying smooth on the surface. |
consciously chose to design and print the package by hand
instead of with a digital system. I feel that this endows it
with a certain sense of ~imperfection,T or more precisely,
variability. I find this more interesting for me during
production as well as for the viewer during application.

=e CRapeic DeSICN

reBeL * 83




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never liked

GRAPHIC DeSICN

"""" Slush Pile Magazine Spreads

~% place

\

BetHaNy SaLISBURY

aRrtistTs statement

The name of my imaginary magazine is Slush Pile, a word
used to describe the pile of unsolicited manuscripts sent to
publishers by authors or agents unknown to the publishers,
making it an appropriate title for a literary magazine
attempting to bring previously unpublished authors and
illustrators together. The article featured in these spreads is
Ergonomics of the Mind which throughout features various
similes and metaphors comparing chairs to other non-chair
things. So, for the three illustrations I drew in ink and then
painted over in watercolor; | attempted to depict each

chair as something it was not. The first is chair as predatory
animal (Venus fly trap), the next chair as holy place or shrine
(Catholic church), the last chair as ornament (necklace.) ItTs
fun giving a little life to something as inanimate and dull as a
chair, | guess thatTs what illustration is about sometimes.

ReBeL * 85






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Eat Fast (Magazine Layouts)

HONORABLE MENtION

\

SHAWN e�,�NOJaDO

artistTs statement

The three layouts were designed around the article, Reading
at the Breakfast Table by Natalia Ilyin. My main focus was
to use illustrations to incorporate a sense of dynamics and
movement, which followed the ideas in the article. For each
illustration, I used collage and de-collage techniques where
| ripped images from newspapers, magazines, and cereal
boxes that I felt were relevant (and some not so relevant)

to the article. Using the gathered clippings, I then pasted
them on top of each other while finding the best placement
of type and image on the page. The end result was very
unpredictable and random, yet very fitting. The aim was to
create a sense of broken rhythm that would flow with the
design elements of the layout. While there are elements of
the ripped page throughout each illustration, | incorporated
this sense of oripping� by the use of aggressive pull quotes
and using scanned images of ripped paper clippings. In the
finished stages of the design, | was very happy to see how
each element was used to reinforce the article.

" GRAPHIC DeSIGN

ReBeL * 87











=

ILLUSTRAT

ASHLEY Pree E

KAREENA DEwiLER
PETHANY GALIGBUe Y

CHASE TEs

Row






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june 41

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"" Kabuki Theater Poster

reBeL ¢ 91

1 wpLace

~
steven HaLL

artistTs statement

I created this poster as part of an assignment to advertise an
upcoming theater performance of my choice. | purposely
chose subject matter that was unfamiliar to me, that being
Kabuki Theater, as a way to emulate the often unexpected
nature of illustrative commissions in real life. The scene |
have chosen to represent from the play is one where the
slain wife of a samurai appears before him as a series of
twisted, deformed faces scattered among red lanterns. The
human face is one of many symbols in the visual arts that

a viewer can make an immediate connection with, so |
often seek the opportunity to manipulate it in my work as a
means to an end.






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One is Higher Than the Other

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asHLey plerce

artistTs statement

This piece is printed through a Thermofax screen using
matte acrylic paint on colored cardstock. The title oOne
is Higher than the OtherT refers both to the breasts and
eyes of the figure. Humans are, of course, never perfectly

symmetrical. It is also born of a story I like to tell about a o
close friend and fellow artist who would draw my portrait. 2
He would often note that though one of my eyes was

a4

noticeably higher than the other it didn't keep him from
being attracted to me. | found the story slightly funny and a
little sad, which is a common theme in my work.

ILLUStRatION






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"" Ex Libris (Bookplate)

ReEBeL * 95

3 place

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kareena DetwiLeR

artistTs statement

This piece was an assignment to create a personal bookplate
(which is a decorative label pasted into a book to show
ownership). When I was younger, some of my favorite
books were horror stories, which is funny because I was
never much of a horror movie fan. The idea behind this

was to show a beautifully dressed ladylike character with
decadent hair and surroundings, but deep within her is
something completely different. Beneath the surface of
everyone lies something that no other person can see. We
get to see the bare bones of her soul and the skull shows

a kind of horror that most people would not have thought
to look for. Anyone can be a monster, they just have to be
pushed to it. It is not the surface of a person that matters |
most, it is what lies beneath the surface of that person that \E
needs to be looked for. Within the image are different things 'f
that point towards what kind of a person she is, both on the |
surface and beneath the surface.











- HONORABLE MeNTtION

»

asHLey pierce

artistTs statement

Sigh is printed onto mat board using a traditional photo
emulsion screen. I've really gotten a lot of mileage out

of this image. You may see her walking around on bags,
T-shirts and posters all over town. Sigh started out as a two-
minute doodle to amuse me while working at the computer
lab. Afterward, | added color separation in the form of
pattern. The playful, optimistic line work on her dress is
intended to create a juxtaposition to her obviously somber
mood. Seeing a sad child naturally evokes an emotional
response. Like all of my work, it is intended to seem light
and fun at first glance but with a decidedly dark tone upon
further examination. Careful viewers can sense the thinly-
veiled danger just below the surface.

ILLUstRatION

ReBeL * 97









How Coyote Stole Fire

HONORABLE MeNTtION

BetHaNy SaLISBURY

artistTs statement

I've always found inspiration in the myths, legends, fables,
and folktales of Native American cultures. The animals

and spiritual beings present in so many of these stories
make for good subject matter. I especially like the original
trickster, Coyote, and the stories concerning his exploits.
This scratchboard tells the Native American story of how
Coyote stole fire from the Fire Beings and how the fire was
taken from the Wood by Coyote and given to humans, who
have it to this day.




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artistTs statement

My pieces were done as part of an assignment in which

we were to create a series of images for an imaginary
calendar based on the topic of our choice. My calendar was
inspired by the poetry of William Blake and the two pieces
I submitted are visual interpretations of two of BlakeTs

most famous poems, The Poison Tree and The Tyger. To
create the images I started with a sheet of colored charcoal
paper. I did a quick sketch in pastel and began laying down,
sometimes rather violently, layers of ink and paint wash.
Then I came back and did a tighter pastel drawing, adding
a little ink and paint as needed. Once the images were
done, | scanned them, placed the files on my computer and
designed a context for them.

" ILLUStRatION

respeL ¢ 101











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""__" Plant A Seed, VWvaich If Grow

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ReBeL * 105

I place

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meLissa CI¢gLio

artistTs statement

This piece was inspired by sowing and planting a seed

and the growth and transformation that is a result of that
simple act. I relate to it personally in my relationships with
friends and family, recalling simple acts of kindness that
impart love and care to others and how those moments
grow and come to fruition. The seeds are seemingly planted
inside the container form, newly sprouted and growing
into something we know in our world to be life-giving, lush,
shading and sheltering. By using electroforming techniques,
a texture is created that emphasizes this reference to nature
and more clearly communicates the metaphor.




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Portion Control Teapot

2 place

HaLey suLLivan

aRtistTs statement

My work is driven by personal experiences and my interest i
in the complexities of human nature. The core concept I i
explored for this piece is oportion control.� While the size of |
the teapot alone suggests this idea, other visual images"a i
rib cage, artery, and electrical cord"relate to other ways |
we attempt portion control: our bodies, emotions, and Hl
connections with others. i











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5° Place

HaLey suLLivan

artistTs statement

My work is mainly concerned with how our environments
and experiences affect and transform who we become.
Layers in two-dimensional works allow me to create
juxtaposition between interiors and exteriors"who
someone is contrasted with how they act. Wearable art
gives further opportunity: a front side which everyone

sees, and a back side, hidden, which only the wearer sees.
These belt buckles are each a personal narrative, with visual
images on the front relating abstractly to the narrative, and
repeated text showing through on the back relating directly
to my concept.

reBeL * 109









Cactus Seed Box

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amaNDa outcalLt

artistTs statement

| created this piece while taking a summer class at Penland.
| was greatly inspired by the mountain atmosphere and all
the wildlife and wildflowers. I love the idea of containers
and the idea of holding something precious. This seed box
is different from most containers as it illustrates what is
inside through its outward appearance, giving it an almost
honest quality.






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I'm Just A Radical

Until Now
The Citadel

Your Disease

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STEALS

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iffany Pa

(CLOSURE

Photography by Shawn Enojado




e often think of death in finite terms as the end of

some great process, the final chapter before one

ceases to exist. People spend their entire lives trying
to deny the inevitability of their own demise and allow them-
selves to be distracted from the fact that someday they too will
no longer be. It's not until death intrudes upon our own lives
that we realize it isnTt at all the end of anything. I learned that the
summer my father died.

In reality my father was a mystery to me, this man partially
responsible for my presence on earth. He held the title but
failed miserably to fulfill the duties that such an important role
demands. Fortunately, | was too young to remember my parentsT
divorce or my father moving out and therefore was spared that
pain. Our relationship in my early years quickly deteriorated from
twice weekly visits to birthday cards once a year to nothing. Each
card expressed his love for me and each left me puzzled. How
could he possibly love me when he never saw me? My child-mind
couldn't understand how one could love another without ever
having spent time together. I knew without question that my
mom loved me. She was always there for PTA nights, plays, ballet
recitals. Not a single day passed without hugs and kisses " and
my hearing the words oI love you.� Of course mom cared, that
was obvious, but she knew me. Mom filled my life with activi-
ties and wonderful memories, but every now and then, usually
around oFathers Day,T my confusion about my own father would
resurface. I envied the kids who could buy their dads tacky ties or
make them breakfast in bed. When we made gifts at school for
the occasion it was never oDad� but mom's name that I spelled out
with macaroni noodles and glitter on my construction paper card.
In middle school, I was on the cheerleading squad. On the

days that we didn't have practice I'd walk home and spend my
afternoons watching TV while I did homework. I became a fan
of talk shows, Jerry Springer being a favorite. | was always self-
righteously thankful that none of the show's outrageous topics
applied to my own life. What did I know about transsexual
love triangles? Many times, the other more orespectable� shows
featured reunions between children and their estranged parents.
These emotional shows often prompted me to write letters to my
father. I always asked him if he remembered me because deep
down I feared he would forget, the same way | usually forgot
about him. My father was like some trunk in an overfilled attic
that rarely gets dusted or aired. As time goes on, the attic be-

reBeL ¢ 119
















UTl = JOdou

comes piled and cluttered full of junk and that trunk gets pushed
further into a dark, cobwebbed corner. I always figured I would
sort through that trunk someday, but for my father and me, that
day came too soon.

Summer had been pleasant enough. I spent my days in
summer school in an attempt to shave time off of my already
extended stay at East Carolina University. In the evenings | taught
gymnastics to children who often made me rethink whether
[ ever wanted to be a parent. As I studied math problems one
night, | was delighted and surprised to receive a three-way call
from my mom and grandma. That alone should have tipped me
off that something was wrong as they never called me that way
before, but nothing could have prepared me for what | heard
next. oI don't know how to tell you this,� my mom said hesitantly,
oRonnie died.� It felt strange even hearing his name since I rarely
thought of him and hardly ever talked about him with my mom
anymore. I half-listened as she explained that while in surgery
for an arm injury, he'd had a heart attack. As the tears trickled
down my face | listened to the comforting words my mom and
grandma practically cooed and heard to_ the pain in their own
voices. My mom had spent my entire life trying to shield me from
the hurt that my fatherTs absence had created. In this moment she
finally seemed to realize that all the spectacular birthday parties,
acting and cheerleading lessons, plays, and games, couldn't fill
this particular void. Every pumpkin carved, every batch of cook-
ies baked and decorated, every trip taken, these were all distrac-
tions. These band-aids which had so effectively protected me
throughout childhood no longer sufficed. I knew the frustration
my mom felt at the fact that she, who had always played both
roles so convincingly, could no longer play understudy for him.

I always knew I'd confront my feelings about my father some-
day. As a child, I desired fame because | thought it would show
him just what he missed out on. As | got older, I realized that he
already knew what hed missed. He may not have known specifi-
cally that I was a student council president or a cheerleader. He
wasnt there when I became a junior member of a ballet com-
pany, or for my plays at Raleigh Little Theatre, or any of my other
accomplishments for that matter. He didnTt know the particulars
of my life, but I think he knew that heTd lost out on his chance to
be a part of something special. My father never had the pleasure
of watching his child grow or the joy that comes from knowing
he was helping to shape someone's life. Instead he lived his own
life, alone riddled with what I suspect were his guilt and regret.

It would have been easy to despise him if | thought he never
cared. The hard part is knowing that he cared but never did any-
thing to change the situation. | do know for a fact that my father
was a very sad man who had few expectations for himself. His
own depression, self-pity, and guilt prevented him from reenter-
ing my life. He didnTt understand that as a little girl | would have
welcomed him back without question. In the end, I think maybe he
was terrified and ashamed to face me. Who could blame him when
my mom had set the bar so exceedingly high? | believe he led a




very unhappy life and robbed himself of his own chance at joy.

I'd always hoped to meet him when I was older and more
otogether� myself"if for nothing more than to show him how
well I turned out despite him. I wanted to vent every emotion I'd
ever felt at his rejection and most of all I wanted that magic word,
oclosure.� With his death I gained just the opposite.

| was always so certain that when people died, that was it, they
were gone forever. My unresolved feelings and bitterness at being
denied the opportunity to confront him made me realize that
death doesn't really end anything for the living.

In my case, death only ripped the band-aid off of a 23-year-
old wound and catapulted me"confused and unprepared"I
into a painful healing process. That unexpected phone call the
summer he died showed to me that death isnTt the end of a life.
For me, this death was a new beginning.

Closure

1" pLace

tiffany palmer

aRrtistTs statement

Writing this piece was a therapeutic way for me to reflect
on some of the experiences that have contributed to who

I am as a person. When | wrote it, I never intended for

it to be read by anyone other than myself. On a whim |
decided to submit it only to test my strength as a writer
and become more comfortable with others reading my
stories. Ultimately | wanted to take a negative aspect of
my life and use it to raise my confidence in my writing and
confirm that | made the right choice to major in English.

ReBeL ° 1






Written by Sarah Stebnicki
Photography by Erica Chan

I remember the day you told me that you
didn't love me like I loved you. That you
needed space. My world stopped " at least
for a while after that. The following day, on
the way back from our vacation in Ocracoke,
I glanced across the ferry boat at you,
squinting in the bright sunlight, even feeling
the visible space that was there. I knew you
could feel it too. Gazing into the water, the
wind blowing through my blonde, wavy
hair; | wished and wished that the gap would
just close in. On the other side of the boat,
you gazed out at the water, squinting in the
sunlight, your shirt unbuttoned, showing
your pale skin as the wind blew through
your blonde, wavy hair. | wondered about
what you were thinking for what seemed
like forever. I could feel and see what I was,
but the vacant space between us and the
eight other cars on the ferry was vast. | was
sure that you probably weren't even think-
ing about us, but I wished that you were.
Probably, you were thinking about how you
wished you could transcend that moment,
skip town and tour with a metal band,
because thatTs what you were always talking
about. Or maybe, you just weren't thinking
at all because we sure weren't talking about
it, and it had been 24 hours since the end
had occurred. At least thatTs what it felt like.
Maybe being together every day for the past
two years is what eventually tore us apart.
But constantly being together made us seem
all the more close.

| remember, after agonizing moments
of this, we stood beside one another to
walk to my car so that we could sit without
speaking for the hour and a half drive back
to Greenville from Swan Quarter...perhaps

JS pace

my euphoria was just a pretext for false pas-
sion. | thought...how oblivious could I have
been? Is the space between us"this vacant,
empty, gap something that | created and in-
creased when I moved away from you"or
has it always been here, and we've just paid
it no mind?

On our way home we hardly spoke five
sentences, letting music fill the silence be-
tween us. | remember just think-
ing, and thinking, and thinking.
About us. About this emptiness | felt,
and that even though you were right there
beside me, you really weren't at all...we are
not going to listen to Guns NT Roses for the
thousandth time. We will listen to Regina
Spektor because I am driving. The song
that is playing is the first song that I heard
after you told me you didn't think we should
be together, and these words are the only
words that could possibly speak to me in this
moment... I thought. oI cut his hair myself
one night, a pair of dull scissors in the yellow
light... You are my sweetest downfall. I loved
you first.� | took long drags from my Natural
American Spirit, which seemed to be in my
hand the entire ride home. Every word of
the song encompassed the events of the day
before. It was so strangely ironic. oShe can
make her voice go really high,� you said, as
you pulled your freshly trimmed hair back
into a ponytail.

| remember when we finally decided
to start hanging out. It was the fall after
graduation when | realized that there were
really only a couple of faithful ones I could
call friends, and we had known one another
for two years but never really spent much










time together until then. You were always
the truest of everyone, because you actually
listened"and you were patient about it. You
were always so patient until the silence hit
yesterday when you decided you didn't need
me anymore. It left me speechless, and really,
I can understand why you wouldn't want to
listen to heavy silence.

A couple of years before, when the
weight of the silence hadn't yet been
evident, everything seemed a lot lighter, at
least when we were together. Wed sit in
your room every day, listening to records,
sometimes drinking whiskey, and talking
about the bands we loved and the things we
hated. I never had to think about my private
life like I usually did when I was alone, and
you didn't have to either because together,
we were best friends. We were just eighteen,
and invincible. Really, | think we just enjoyed
the company of each other so much that
we forgot about our own faults. When we
were together we could just be, no matter
what we were doing"watching movies and
reading books. You taught me how to play
oJust Like HeavenT on the guitar, because |
was so used to Bob Dylan and Fleetwood
Mac and needed a change. We played it
together the week that you moved into your
first place with the hole in the floor of the
closet whereT possums crawled through.
That was the same month that | dumped
my manic-depressive, Xanax-addicted,
drug-dealing boyfriend who for our entire
relationship had been cheating on me with
his oblivious girlfriend who lived next door.
That was also the year that I could not stop
bingeing and making myself throw up every
time I was alone. Hanging out with you was
my escape from my current life situation. |
remember crying helplessly into your flannel
shirt, thinking that nothing would ever get
better and that I was going to be depressed
forever. You were always the reassurance
that I needed, because you listened. You
filled the space | dug into myself and told me
that everything was going to be ok.

The following summer, we were together
almost every night at my apartment, hang-
ing out together with my roommate and
her boyfriend. We'd sit around and talk
endlessly about what weTd do if the Smash-
ing Pumpkins were a band again. We'd
drink beer, and go for swims in the pool at

midnight. The biggest comfort was that you
were always there. You would hold my hand
or put your arm around me, and we would
always laugh and joke, and I was one of the
only ones you would let play with your hair.
I always did because it didn't feel like mine,
and I had been doing it since we first met, at
sixteen, in journalism class. Even though we
were best friends, you would always kiss me
on the cheek with such amusement before
we left one another.

That fall we drove to D C to see Billy
Corgan play and met the Pixies during their
reunion tour. There was this incredible
mystery behind your eyes that I wanted so

badly to figure out. It was like you
lived inside of this secret world
that I was always trying to get

inside. You made me feel like the only
person that could, but it felt like there was

a vacant space that would sometimes creep
its way between us in conversation. When it
did we would just let it be and carry on, ac-
cepting that we couldn't possibly understand
everything about one another.

The next summer, I was fed up with my
life which seemed far too dependent on
everyone and everything around me, so |
decided to move to Asheville for a couple
of months. The night before I left, I went
to the coffee shop where you worked and
asked you if I could stay at your place
because | didn't have a bed anymore. We
shared one, and you ended up sleeping on
top of the covers and I left the very next
morning to finish loading my car so | could
get on the road. | remember thinking the
whole time about how much I was going
to miss you, and about how much I cared,
and that if I never told you how | felt, that
| wouldn't ever be able to forgive myself.
So before I took a left onto 264 East, |
detoured to your house on Eastern Street,
and calmly let myself into the comfortable
place I was about to leave. I knocked on
your bedroom door"you were only wear-
ing boxers, and I told you I had something
to give you before | left. Then I kissed you,
genuinely this time, and you kissed me
back, and I left for Asheville.

Even though I was trying to become more
independent, we started dating while I lived
in Asheville, and made a few visits back and




forth to see one another for the next couple
of months. During the visits, we slept in
the same bed and treated one another like
we were girlfriend and boyfriend even
though I felt like we were still best friends
too. I thought about you all the time and we
would talk on the phone every day, some-
times twice a day. You were what got me
through the adventure and anxiety of living
in anew town. It was lonely sometimes be-
cause I didnt know many people there"in-
cluding myself. It seemed like we were just
as Close as we had always been though, and
by then I fully recognized that I loved you,
but I never told you so. The physical space
between our houses had grown. So had the
vacant space that would sometimes work its
way between us in conversation, but still it
was not enough to keep us from speaking.
During one of your visits, we went
downtown and I took you to all of the best
places I had discovered. We hiked up a
mountain there, and with every step I took
through the city, whether you were there or
not, I couldn't help but to think about how
much I loved you. You bought records at my
favorite store and I bided my time, because
I appreciated so much of each moment that
was spent with you. But I also remembered
one day in particular, that we spent mostly

Zz Space

in silence. | tried to ignore it. Tried to be
comfortable with it, but there was this
uncomfortable space between us. I was
even more upset that | didnTt know why or

how to fix it. What I didn't real-
ize at the time was that it was
always there, with every mo-

ment we shared. It was there when
we met the Pixies; it was there when I cried
on your shoulder, and it was there when
we listened to records and talked about the
bands we loved and the things we hated. It
was even there the first time we touched.
Now itTs been six months and we work
at the same cafe, and live just down the
street from one another, but the space
just seems to have grown. ItTs still here
and it still feels empty, and I'm not sure
if it will ever close because all I can do is
think backward and feel these empty days
pass by. We were best friends. Now we
hardly speak a couple of sentences to one
another. ItTs just like it was the first day
we met in journalism class at 16, when |
was still one of the only ones you would
let play with your hair. And maybe it will
always be like this, because it always has
been. And distance is something that really
never changes.

SaRaH SteBNICkI

aRrtistTs statement

~

2� pLace

This is a story about being young, naive, and in love with
your best friend. It is a story of one person's perception of
physical and metaphysical space between themselves and

a human being that they desire. It measures closeness and
distance between two people through a series of events that
they experience together, which gives both of them insight

for the better and the worse.

NON[ICtION

ReBeL * 127





















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| HOLLy aNN salLors

artistTs statement

Salons were held in France from the beginning of the
18" century to the end of the 19th century. These were

ticketed events for the public to enjoy high culture and
learn about current events through art. The appropriation
of modern day imagery into an 18" century salon painting
expresses how popular culture and media is absorbed by
our society.

ReBeL * 131











Midcity

DaRa WHItINCtON

PaINtING

ReBeL * 133











PaINtING

=. J auren & fredrick Grmier tie
Fruits of Their Labor

ReBeL © 135

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amaNpbDa outcalLt

artist's statement

I like to paint ordinary scenes and people and give them
a special quality, something a little precious about the
moment. I try to use my brushwork and color palette to
create an atmosphere similar to reality but with more of a
unique edge.






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"_"" What They Tell Me

" HONORGABLe MENTION

>

HOLLy aNN SaILORS

artistTs statement

The stages of a woman's life can vary from her being a child,
a young woman, a wife, a mother, or a grandmother. She
can plan her life away, thinking about what is coming next.
By following a system of common existence, we as women
can forget that we are indeed unique. We are not planted

in the roots of motherhood, or service, but we exist for
ourselves. A woman should be what she wants, not what
others tell her to be.

PaINtING

reBeL * 137






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Accused of Control

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1 pLace

-

crecory tuom!

artistTs statement

Imagine a chair, weather vane, dinner fork, or timepiece,
each of which serve a certain function within a particular
space. Suspending these objects in a subtle, ethereal
atmosphere gives the viewer the freedom to place the
subject in a particular space within his/her own imagination.
Accused of Control is an ongoing body of work.

reBeL * 141

" pHotocgRapHy






FRI GR sai Is

Oe eal






PHOtOCRaPpHYy

++ lhe Heartless Princess

2� Pldce

one \

~

tRavis BarRtLett

artistTs statement

The Heartless Princess is experienced through a ten-year-old
girl. I found her not playing with the other kids at the after
school program and decided to go and talk with her. I soon
came to find, through our conversation, that she enjoyed
movies, smiling, and acting. The ironic thing to me is that
when | took this photograph it was as if she was doing all of
the things that she didn't enjoy. The photograph depicts a
very relevant picture of the girl. | chose to refer to her as the
heartless princess because she was hurting from something
that day. She didnTt tell me what it was, but no matter how
bad she was hurting she should always be treated like a
princess. This is so true of young girls and women in our
society today; they are worthy of much more credit than
they actually gain. Many girls look up to the princess figure
and want to meet their prince charming. But sometimes their
prince charming isnTt a man. It is their deepest longing that
they only know deep within their heart.

ReBeL * 143






ile

a """
_""""""






""" Disappearing My Weight

3 place

>

SHaLeen waLLace

artistTs statement

Disappeared.

I'm Waiting

Disappearing

Feeling the Weight of my wait

Waiting

Waitin
Wait
Wai

LAN
"
ro
td
|
Vv
-Q
Vv
a4

Disappeared

PHOtOGRaPHY




Fen
Pian peat
iia
ih

ay






ecient "= PHOtOCRaPHY

Fish

ReBeL * 147

HONORABLE MENTION

~

SHaLeeNn waLLace














"""" a

SS aaa ae a






Written by Elizabeth Lewis

I learned early that | can
tuck the remember deep inside
small pajamas with feet.

| tried not to get lost in the tide
of Barbie sheets on a foreign bed
thick and damp with memories
so I could forget.

Heavy peeling wall paper once
smeered monsters on the smudged _
mirror. Distorted with someone else's
finger prints and my own Mothers. |

Big kidney bean beret covered
stacks of filthy change and travelers -
checks made home by melting Mars Bar :
and Crayola totals. oe

I know I'm too old now .
for pajamas with feet
and forgetting

Instead, I let the stale dae
blanket my bare feet and cue

my version of counting sheep.
I still say the Pledge of Allegiance .
in Pig Latin. a











ce eee CARES REEL poetRy

8 ~ Bedtime Izmir, Turkey 1989

1 place

\
eLizaBetH Lewis

aRtistTs statement

When | was five years old our military family moved to
Izmir, Turkey during the Gulf War. Until we found a place to
live, we stayed in the strange and foreign oKordon Hotel� for
about a month. This poem recalls the childish confusion and
fear I felt in my new and unfamiliar surroundings and how
these memories have translated into my adult life.

ReBeL © 153






i ®.

dd

cm

ee






Written by Arielle Bryant

A windsock
on the porch light, |

that my little sister made,

tilts to the right

in the cricket screams.

A polka-dotted, oblique
fray of bluish tissue paper
spins the red yarn

into a helix.

My mother is in the kitchen
washing dishes,

Dad talks about my drunk
grandma who couldn't even find
her words long enough

to pin them up,

like a tissue paper windsock
made by a second grader.

And thereTs a notebook

ReBeL * 155

and a pencil

at the far end of the table,

(my fatherTs place)
commanding me,
demanding whatever it is
thatTs been making me

this way, and asking

what's wrong with him

to have made his daughter

into such a bitch.
Pots clang, from the door frame
comes an urge to show him

something to impress;

a spectacle of sound
phasered to a slur of words,
and maybe heTd hang it up
on the porch light

so that it spun like a

silent wind-chime,

absorbing the audacious calls
of the crickets

like brandy to grandma's liver.











il

Violent emotion meets tranqui

imagery to clear minds.

CRY

apy
arieLLe BRyaNt

poe

e

\

Windsock Th

2° place
aRtistTs statement

Illustration by Anne Mauser

oe






a
=
eB)

iced

Aa

a)
UV

1@
0

a

=
e
eB)

els)

SES)

s

Illustration by Steven Klund

PS a eS






I knew I was too small to fly

when I couldnt feel the ground
of the rattling belly below
my feet dangling from the seat

Dad tightly strapped me into.

I was small enough to fold
myself into the brown and green collage
of his camouflaged arms so | could feel
steady against the heavy shake
of four monster propellers

and the growl of my Mother's apprehensions.

Families try to fit in
to that new strange culture,
but hate to feel so small
when we know we can be so big

back home.

ReBeL * 159






all

rom

Seas




sic ic ""$"___" P yet R y

= Amide ona Ce erauics

ReBeL ¢ 161

5 place

>

eLizaBetH Lewis

aRtistTs statement

After PKK terrorist attacks occurred within two miles of
my military familyTs residence in Izmir, Turkey, we fled on
helicopter back to the United States. Although my memory
of the flight is a bit foggy because I was quite young, | will
never forget feeling so powerless and small in such a large
helicopter and big situation.






Z9I « Jadou

Written by Arielle Bryant

Mother makes buds out of cigarette butts
smashed into the clay dish,
though it may not have been intended to be used this way,

given to her some countless Mother's Days ago.

Daughter lies on her back,

her tan legs like the orange filters that stuck out

at nasty angles from the mess of unkempt:ashes,

thinking about the hundreds of Sundays that went to waste,

(though she never intended to be used this way)

and how her mother never taught her she was only an animal.






clas isi, ah











Losing Your Virginity

HONORABLE MENTION

arieLLe BRyaNt

ARTISt S statement

A topical piece that observes a rite of passage with softness
but without sentimentality.









JOROAN

co

=

ES

A
~
+

JAN
CHARLE

PHEN'S

Lad

bem en

tn











" Cute Smile, Hide Behind It...

i� place

\

James JORDAN

artistTs statement

This image combines the socially and culturally inspired
ideas of ocute and dainty� with the omacabre� for a pleasing
aesthetic that can be seen in both subjects if looked for.
Both ideas are in essence a visual oxymoron for a concept
that combines thoughts like love and hate, attraction and
disgust or even the processed and organic.

ReBeL * 169

- PRINtmMakING











5G

ReBeL * 171

2� Place

~

CHaRLes stepHeNS

artistTs statement

This piece was a four-run reduction lithograph. That means
I started with a certain amount of visual information and
decreased it some with each additional run to create the
range of color in the piece. The runs consisted of yellow, red,
blue, and then finally, black.






o~_ Apt O OE

Seer aaa






You'll Always Be The Strong One
Commanding Armies of Cowa rds

3 place

\

James JORDAN

artistTs statement

This image is a harsh presentation of a person's demeanor
although it may not be an exact representation of his true
character; a person whose weaknesses are often veiled

due to the pursuit of acquaintances. An intended positive
image about himself designed for others, but is weak and
not accurate. Anatomical specimens of aviary and human
bone indicate a personal symbolism, while the intersections
of line and division of space in the deep atmosphere of

the picture plane give an indication of the conflict and
emptiness respectively.

PRINtmakING

ReBeL * 173






om

SSNS

~hi.

Ox

THREA

~
&

FEL Fun

wet
RELRACTABLE

~

Th

Om SCRAP

MAKE FR

'

TH
STAR

BLUE W
WRITE

ALL

Vi

TAIL WHEE, F




te PRINtMakING

___"" Why Do They Not Hear? Flying is for
Birds with Wings and Similar Things

ReBeL * 175

__|._._ HONORABLE MCNLION

7 \

CHaRLes stePpHeENS

artistTs statement

This is the first digital print that I ever created. It took me
some time to create the final work due to the time involved

in first exploring digital media in creating the image and
then again in figuring out how best to output it.











LLI « Jodou

SCULPTURE

AUSTIN SHEPARD
LAUREN DE SEER E'S

~al al
Lh
i
4
'
e






sores

""""""""

ee






"__. Si, Asis Chamber

"1 Place

>

AUSTIN SHeEPaRD

artistTs statement

Whose soul rests within a mass-produced being?

E " scuLptuRe

reBeL * 179






sbi

~|






" scuLpture

" ( aitieaia

loo)
el
e

ed
ce)
"Q
ce)
ad

2 place

aUStIN SHeEpaRD

artistTs statement

With bio-mechanical computers handling our decision-
making process, just think of how free our brains will be to
pursue other interests.






2






| " Closeout

3°" pLace

~
*
aUSTIN SHEPaRD

aRtistTs statement

What are the ramifications for personal identity when we
are constructed of mass-produced parts?

" scuLptuRe

ReBeL ¢ 183











SCULptuRe

- Eunice and the Evasive Bird

LA
foo)
|
®
road
ie)
aa)
VY
[a4

HONORABLE MeNTION

.

LaUREN De SERRES

artistTs statement

Eunice and the Evasive Bird is one of a series of wood
figures which | have been creating over the past two years.
This study addresses and investigates the human form and
how it is and can be perceived in our culture. Eunice is

an exaggeration of the human form which addresses the
intersection of the human form and that of trees. She also
has playful doll-like characteristics which are accentuated in
the visual dialogue taking place between her and the bird.











iy
Me iy
7 as
ti
Hy i
ii i;
Wy
yi BN
ow
;
ih
K
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i o
ite
ni
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i
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ofh
o i
és
s @
i % @ i 7
Bit &
Ny

it a ict waa ie






hes
ssi iat

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og






= 1ont Carey if urts...(nanery)

" 1" pLace

.

asHLey WRENN

artistTs statement

This piece started with the idea of hunger as a world issue,
until I began thinking of the different aspects of hunger"as
a more domestic health issue. One thing that stood out

to me was self-imposed hunger, such as in patients with
eating disorders. In doing research, | found many online
osupport� communities for people with eating disorders
and used excerpts from blogs on these websites in some

of the pockets. I also filled some pockets with Ex-lax

pills, since many of the members of these communities
~recommendedT using Ex-lax to quickly drop pounds. The
more you look at this piece, the more you can see"there
are paper weavings made with fast-food wrappers, hand-
stitched phrases and shockingly low numbers that members
of the osupport� communities set as their ogoal weights.�

ReBeL * 189

" textiles









4 ¥
~i "" é . tri asc
4 y LLLGeS
%

"" The Isolation Series: The Grave

reBeL * 191

|
|

"_"" 2�"�� pLace

\

JENN BRaNtLey

artistTs statement

This piece is part of a series about beings that are cut off
from the rest of the world. I am intrigued by solitary beings
and events that have little or no effect on anything and the
isolated worlds they seem to inhabit.






hs 25+ TE SS






""" Bruises and Secrets

-3 place

asHLey WRENN

artistTs statement

| hand-dyed the warp to make it resemble bruises, and
used a double-weave to create pockets. These pockets are
filled with secrets, insecurities and fears"things that are
personal, sometimes hurtful, and generally kept inside.
Sometimes these insecurities can eat at you or be hurtful,
causing obruises� on your psyche.

- textiLes

ReBeL * 193










- > a
cs
f
|
i
} sy '
|
=
i
ke






Do You

1" pLace

Le

RICKy CHaN

artistTs statement

Do You expresses an uncertainty in a love relationship.
Uncertainty can bring us to so many possibilities and
interpretations. However, it is also something that we all
fear. I try to capture a feeling of tension and anxiety thatTs
related to this feeling of not knowing the answer. I use
roses as symbols to create a new context and open up
new interpretations.

961 « Jodou

PrOoeressions """"

= place

/

RICKy CHaN

artistTs statement

Progressions isa self-portrait of the continuous Sequence

that happens in my daily life. It captures and recognizes the
inevitability of progressions and the possibilities of changes
in my life that are captivating me. | use montage as a tool to
create hements that speak to the changes lam observing In
a way that is both apparent and metaphorical.






vipeo & fiLm art

RICky CHaN

artistTs statement

Reminiscence retained and revived the mental impressions
I've experienced during my life. Searching for my own
memories, it directly relates to the emotions I've felt and
reflects the memories of angst, ennui, and loneliness.
Memories are a great place to start because they are like
dreams. Bits and pieces are vividly clear, while other parts
are not quite so apparent. As a result, one can fill in the
blanks and create wondrous images.

ReBeL * 197

"""- Dralion F

HONORABLe MeNTION

-

RICky CHaN :

Video & Film Art can be viewed on the DVD located in the back of the book.






@, Oe
Ee
8: * z
we 7 ie . es rs
4.

fs a
o '
._©* ,
















WOOD DeSICN

"" Curiosity Cabinet

i place

\

abam eceNnoLf

aRrtistTs statement

This cabinet was made to be a puzzle. The locking
mechanism was built to be seen, but the lock was not made
in a way that it was apparent how to open it. This was a
cabinet made for the curious mind.

ReBeL ¢ 201











" Special Occasion

2 lace

~

tRaVIS SNyDeR

artistTs statement

Special Occasion was designed as an elegant, simple cabinet
that celebrates the sanctity and intimacy of partnership.
Imperfect woods were used to represent the imperfections
and injuries often experienced in a relationship.

""- WOOD DCsicN

reBeL * 203











WOOD DETICN

ReBeL * 205

"" Open Heart-Paired

3° pLace

.

tRavIS SNyDeR

artistTs statement

Open Heart-Paired was designed as an entryway ensemble:
a place for guests to place hand-held objects while they

"_ remove their coats and settle in. The open panel door invites
the visitor in by exposing an area otherwise not seen.






a En RE A I

heros






Holy Deceptions

HONORABLE MeNTION

o
x
maRIO parebes

artistTs statement

Holy deceptions is my attempt to figure out the animosities
that religions have toward each other. In other words, |

am attempting to deal with the statement omy religion

or religious views are better than yours.� This piece was
inspired by my religious upbringing. I gave the piece

a Catholic taste. It represented to me all the Virgin
Guadalupes, Marys, etc. that | worshipped while growing
up. I purposely made it grotesque with the intention of
creating an initial mood of curiosity within the viewer and
interacting to create a second mood much different than
the original. This was my starting point. | want to attempt
to reproduce awkward ways within our society's values and
beliefs on this topic.

" se WOOD DESIGN

reBeL * 207






Bartlett, Travis

Brantley, Jenn

Brodie, Hannah

Bryant, Arielle

Buccafusco, Adam
Calcote, Daniel
Caldwell, Eric
Campen, Chelsea

Chan, Ricky

Cook, Todd
Countertop Hero

De Serres, Lauren

Detwiler, Kareena

Egenolf, Adam

Enojado, Shawn
Flythe, Justin

Fox, Linda

Giglio, Melissa

Graham, Jon

The Heartless Princess

Mere Words

The Isolation Series : The Grove

Doll Book

Windsock Therapy
Losing Your Virginity
Delta Fives Test Flight
A Waste

Drifting
Responsibility

Do Your
Progressions
Reminiscence
Dualism

Possum

iim just a Radiea!

The Secrets Beneath a Cup of Tea

Eunice & the Evasive Bird

Ex Libris (bookplate)
Crystalline Platter

Curiosity Cabinet

Eat Fast (Magazine Layouts)

Tobacco Barn & John Deere Tractor

Untitled

Untitled

Plant a Seed, Watch it Grow

Spoons

INDexX

Photography

Book Arts

Textiles

Book Arts

Poetry

Poetry

Animation
Ceramics

Drawing

Fiction

Video & Film

Video & Film

Video & Film

Video & Film
Digital Photography
Music

Book Arts
Sculpture
Illustration
Ceramics

Wood Design
Graphic Design
Digital Photography
Digital Photography
Digital Photography
Metals

Drawing

Vas
an 25
190-191
2223
ae 8s

162-165

74-77
196

196

107

197
Seg!
15, DVD
26-21
184-185
0 eo
ae
200-201
86-G7
46-47
44-45
50-51
104-105

607061

ellie dit






Graham, Jon

Hall, Steven

Hill, Eric

Jordan, James

Lewis, Elizabeth

Mcafee, Linsi

Meyers, Cynthia

Outcalt, Amanda

Palmer, Tiffany
Paredes, Mario
Partna, Anne

Pierce, Ashley

Price, Brian

Price, Justin

Sailors, Holly Ann

Salisbury, Bethany

Schwing, Chris

Griswold"Ott, Robin

Dream Stream Wheels

Barren

Kabuki Theatre Poster

Your Disease

Heres to Hope Swiftly Pulling the Rug

Cute Smile, Hide Behind It

Commanding Armies or Cowards You'll Always

Be The Strong Ones
All Rights Reserved

Bedtime Izmir, Turkey 1989

A Ride on a C130 Hercules From Turkey to the

United States
State of Confusion

Designers Unite!

Lauren & Fredrick Gather the Fruits of Their Labor

Cactus Seed Box

Closure

Holy Deceptions

Pig

One is Higher Than the Other
Sigh

The Citadel

Space Flight

The Salon

What They Tell Me

Slush Pile Magazine Spreads
How Coyote Stole Fire

40 Suggestions For Growth

Graphic Design
Drawing
Illustration
Music

Drawing
Printmaking

Printmaking

Fiction
Poetry

Poetry

Digital Photography

Graphic Design
Painting

Metal Design
Non-Fiction
Wood Design
Ceramics
Illustration
Illustration
Music
Animation
Painting
Painting
Graphic Design
Illustration

Book Arts

82 oy
50 5
go-91
15, DVD

ber

168-169

172-173

Oa

150 155

158-161

48-49
60-G
134 985
Oi
UGm123
2007 207,
52 3D

Of 3
90-97
45, DVD
14
Oi
130137
84-85
98-99

10-10






Shepard, Austin

Snyder, Travis

Stebnicki, Sarah
Stebnicki, Sarah

Stephens, Charles

Sullivan, Haley

Terry, Chase
Tuomi, Gregory
Walker, Thomas James

Wallace, Shaleen

Watson, Michaelé
Whitington, Dara

Wrenn, Ashley

St. Asis Chamber
Cathedral

Close Out

Special Occasion
Open Heart"Paired
Space

Until Now

D/S

Why Do They Not Hear? Flying is for Birds

With Wings and Similar Things
Portion Control Teapot

Mantra Belt Buckle Series
William Blake Calendar
Accused of Control

If This House Could Talk
Untitled

Disappearing My Weight

Fish

Untitled

Midcity

I DonTt Care If It Hurts (hungry)

Bruises & Secrets

INDex

Sculpture
Sculpture
Sculpture
Wood Design
Wood Design
Non-Fiction
Music
Printmaking

Printmaking

Metal Design
Metal Design
Illustration

Photography

Fiction

Digital Photography

Photography
Photography
Ceramics
Painting
Textiles

Textiles

VeE-179
180-181
1O2" 104

202-203

ZO4-Z05

247127
ne DVD
WoO-T7

174-175

1@67-107
108-109
100-101
140-141
68-73
42~43
144-145

146-147

132-133

188-189

192-193

a
a
4

a
4






ILLUStRatORsS

Erica Chan 125-126
Sydney Neetles"Coates 150-153
" 1

Kareena Detwiler 26,52, 02, 102, 140, 1904

(ous ~ oe ae nest @ Bee
Shawn Enojado 110-121
Rrian i | -
brian Gonzales Of -O
Bel Hill FIA"TFT7
Lili ar /
stepnen Klund 1I5O 101
Nas ok + er 1[ "Ir ag
\nne Mauser! CS eS

. 1 : ; yee 2 Oo =
Cynthia Meyers 16, OG, 4-115; 120, 106,776

Chric Sc] ino Fee eS es ©)
SATS. SOCAWiI1ITS 12, 20, 1127 12¢

Lacey oiva

9 7 6 io
40, 70, 110, 166, 198

i
I

homas James Walker Go -73

William Wood 162-105






reBeL 50 staff

Editor

Rebel 50 Design

Faculty Advisor
Gallery Photographer

Student Media Staff

Copy Editors

yupces

Literary

Visual Arts

Music

Lacey Siva

Kareena Detwiler
Cynthia Meyers
Chris Schwing

Craig Malmrose
Henry Stindt

Genevia Hill
Corey King
Yvonne Moye
Janet Respess

Kate Lamere

Craig Malmrose
Lisa Beth Robinson
Sarah Umstead

Joseph Campbell
Lorraine Robinson
Liza Wieland

Tom Grubb
Greg Jarrell
Patrick Keough

[ra Varney

Marc Faris




PRODUCtION

Printing Carter Printing Co.

Edition 2,000 finished pieces

Press Heidelberg SORDZ 362 Color and Mitsubishi 40� 3F/13-6D
Stock Cover: Mohawk Beckett (Concept) Mahogany 130dtc

Text: Inspire Velvet White 80 Ib text

Neenah Paper: Eames, Case Study Red,

5ot Architecture Diffused Finish
Typography Arial Black

Bickham Script Pro

Disturbance
OctemberScript
OptimusPrinceps
Porcelain

Radium J
Schoolhouse Cursive
Skizzed

Tiza

Visa ge

COPyRIGHt

The Rebel 50 is produced by & for the students of East Carolina University. Offices
are located within Student Publications in the Self-help Building. The contents are
copyrighted 2008 by The Rebel so. All rights revert to the individual writers & artists
upon publication. Contents may not be reproduced by any means, nor stored in any

information retrieval system without the written permission of the writer or the artist.

Printed with non-state funds.






BReatHe IN.

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| $20RE SUPPLEMENT

THE REBEL

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THE REBEL MAGAZINI

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Title
Rebel, 2008
Description
The Rebel was originally published in Fall 1958. The purpose of the magazine was to showcase the artwork and creative writing of the East Carolina University student body. The Rebel is printed with non-state funds. Beginning in the 1990s some volumes included a CD with featured music.
Extent
Local Identifier
UA50.08.50
Permalink
https://digital.lib.ecu.edu/62619
Preferred Citation
Cite this item
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