Rebel, 2010


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TOMATO
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MADE FROM RED
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SYRUP, CORN
SYRUP, SALT,
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Y Staff 5-6
}" Best In Show 10=13
= Animation 14-19
Lit Book Arts 20-23
Bae Ceramics 24-29
= Digital Photo 30-35
Drawin 36-41
OC Fiction : 42-59
Le Film Art 60-65
OC Graphic Design 66-71
ei Illustration 77.
" Interactive 78-81
Oo Metal Design 82-87
~cae Music 88-91 :
Non-Fiction 92-101 :
Painting 102"107 , g d
Poetry 108"117 :
Printmaking 118124 :
Sculpture 124-129 a fe,
Textile Design 130-135 :
Photography 136-141
Wood Design 142-147 ba 3
Index 148-149 :
Judges 150
Special Thanks 151 o« �*
e Non- Student Staff 152
Production 153

4 i Legal Information 155
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4 TABLE OF CONTENTS

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BEST IN SHOW

Individuals are often remembered and represented
by tangible objects. Heirlooms, antiques, in-
heritances: these all being words used to describe
what is left behind when a person ceases to exist.
What may appear as the most mundane of objects
could very well be viewed as the definition of that
person's life on earth and the relationships that are

Ashley Gilreath
ItTs Only a Matter of Time

Sterling silver, gold foil, enamel, watch parts

made with those around them. These objects can
present themselves in many forms: letters to lovers,
books with inscriptions in the margins, an old sew-
ing table full of dusty thread, seeds once used on
the family farm, a favorite sweater given by a friend,
or a necklace worn everyday.

12 BEST IN SHOW

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However, it is what you cannot hold with your
hands that gives the dead their true identity: stories
told in the middle of the night, glances given be-
tween friends, the smell of their perfume, how their
laughter spread through the house, the times they
frightened you, the feeling you had while sitting
quietly beside them, and secrets given in the strict-
est confidence. These intangible experiences, these
moments of history, love, mischief, wisdom and
grief are all the things that give life on earth such
great value. They cannot be lost, broken, stolen or
sold, and they are all that will remain of you when
everything eventually turns to dust.

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Chris Pitts

Angels Under a Sea of
Black Umbrellas

Digital animation

Real-time work can be found on the pvp in the back of

this book.

ANIMATION 17

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FIRST PLACE

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Paper, ink & colored pencil

JoEllen Pollard
Needle and Thread

22 BOOK ARTS

This book was based on the concept of telling a
story without using any words. The structure of the

book is accordion, which allows part of the book to
be hidden on the reverse side of the pages. In order
to finish the story, the spine of the book needs to
be removed. The beginning of the book is actu-
ally on the last page; however, the readers will not
notice this until they finish the story. The needle
and thread act as a continuous pull throughout the

book from page to page.

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Project Runway was the inspiration for this class s =
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I enjoy the concept of these objects having a plain,
uninteresting exterior but a bright and colorful
interior. I also take joy in performing the ritual of cre-
ating these boxes, using clay and glass as my media.
Whether the box is large or very small, I use the same
steps in creating it. It is this ritual of steps that I have
become comfortable with, and I find it to be a way of
calming my mind while still challenging myself.

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SECOND PLACE

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Wood-fired Bottle

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Yusan Ishimam
Wood-fired Basket

Porcelain

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Fiiko PLAGE

While traveling abroad, I was inspired by beautiful

nature and extravagant colors, particularly those in
the gardens I was able to explore. I learned about

the artist Maurizio Anzeri who wanted to push the
boundaries of photography. Anzeri experimented

Sener Semmens 5

with two and three-dimensional space by stitch-
ing with thread over portraits of people. I chose to

Elizabeth Pike

Purple Flower, Yellow Flower
Digital photography & yarn

combine my love of flowers with a new medium
and texture. I wanted to take an artistic risk from
the confidence I gained during my time in England
and Scotland.

32 DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY

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SECOND PLACE

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Bayardo Caceres
Regresa IV
Digital output

DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY





This photograph documents a rural scene that is
currently in existence, yet precariously standing.
This rural architecture that is slowly vanishing from
view celebrates an earlier era. It is significant in the
contemporary landscape and historically significant
to eastern North Carolina. In this photo, the light
landing on the weathered wood and metal high-

Photography on canvas

lights the rich textures and surfaces of the structure

Karen H. Silinsky
Greenville Barn Scene

that is being reclaimed by nature and time.

34 DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY

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Centipede
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White charcoal

Omar Abbas

Dead Man on Chair

38 DRAWING

This drawing was done in my figure drawing class
using black paper and white charcoal. It took three
hours and is an observational drawing of a human
skeleton done in a dark studio with a spotlight-The
goal of the assignment was to only capture the
major highlights and to allow the black paper to do
most of the work. The drawing is high in contrast,
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Heather DeShields
Machine Horse
Pencil

DRAWING 39

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This drawing was done in my figure drawing class;
it took about a class period and a half to complete.
It is an image of a human skull on top of a horseTs
skull placed on top of a box, with a female model
placed in the background. It was done on Stone-
henge paper and was first covered in charcoal dust.
First, I erased the major highlights and then applied
a paper-encased charcoal pencil to add in the dark
areas, trying to roughly lay out the objects on the
paper. Then, I started to come in with tight render-
ing to bring objects forward and erasing to pull
others back. I did this for a couple of hours until I
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FIRST PLACE

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Steven Mack

Morning Conversations

44 FICTION

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oGood morning.� oT love to watch you sleep.T

oWhat's for breakfast?� Different conversations
from different people take place when we wipe the
sleepy crust from our eyes. What do you say when
you wish, just for that one morning, that the pillow
beside yours had only an imprint on it?

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There is never any logic to what someone says, at
least not the first thing they say in the morning. She
said something that sounded like, oI donTt love you
anymore.� That would not have made any sense at
all. Then she said, oDid you hear me? I love another
person more than I love you.� That put it into better
perspective; I only need to hear things twice on
occasion. My immediate reaction was unexpected
to the both of us: I put on a pair of socks. I haven't
worn a pair of socks in the last few years. ITm a
writer and a spiritual person; I take energy blocks
very seriously. I believe our feet are the entry place
for the energy that runs throughout the world. It's
unusual, but itTs my way.

After I put my socks on and lit a cigarette, I sat
down where she was lying on the bed. She pulled
my t-shirt which she was sleeping in over her head
and wrapped it around her feet. The room was cold
that morning. So was she. oI still love you, so don't
freak out on me, not now, she said.

I took a look at her eyes to see what she was
really trying to say. She was freezing and unsure; I
had sweaty feet and cotton mouth. It was the first
time we were uncomfortable around each other
since we had been together.

We met at a bar"I forget its name, but itTs gone
now anyway. I was living down on the coast at the
time, and her father was a sergeant in some military
branch. SheTs more of a hard-ass than her father ever
was, dynamite-in-a-small-package kind of thing.
Anyway, the bar where we had our first meeting was
the place where my friends and I spent a lot of eve-
nings drinking and trying to corral all of the tourist
girls. My friend Gary saw her first and called dibs; it
would have been beneficial if he would have known
that she was the most undibsable girl in the whole
fucking world. He tried to give her a pick-up line but
she cut him off before he could finish his delivery.
He came back with this self-unassured look of pity
on his face. Next in line was this guy named Chris
or Dan, I forget, but he went over to her and told her

she had beautiful eyes and all that. She didnTt even
say anything to him; she turned around and ignored
him. It goes without saying he was quiet for a few
minutes when he sat back down with us. So [had a
drink sent over to her at the bar and waited for my
highly innovative form of rejection. When the drink
arrived, she gave it a once-over and seemed pleased.
I almost walked over there. Then, she asked the
bartender who bought the drink, and he pointed to
me. She took her look at me and passed the drink to
the person sitting beside her, and the same contin-
ued until the whiskey and ginger made its way back
to me. I got more pissed than I did embarrassed. She
could have drunk the damned thing. I went over to
her and called her a prudish bitch who should enjoy
a bit of company sometime, as nicely as possible of
course. Her glass was almost empty and the whiskey
[had bought her was wasting in my hand. oPlease,
take the drink.T I sat it in front of her. oI have a beer
here already and you're almost out. So drink.T After
that, I walked away and didnTt see her for a few
weeks. The bartender told me later that she did
enjoy the drink.

The next time I saw her was at the same bar. Not
much military hung out there, which was a big deal,
considering the bar was surrounded by Air and
Marine bases. I have nothing against our fighting
boys, but they have a tendency to stir up a bar full
of drunks and women. Our bar was a quiet place
where trouble never came"paradise, you know. I
had been seeing a girl I met on the beach a few days
earlier named Mellissa. She was a nice enough girl
to be around, and she had gorgeous legs. I liked her.
Either way, sometimes people get put to the side
for no good reason. When the sergeantTs daughter
kept looking my way that night and rejecting all
the guys I knew from around town, I put Mellissa
to the side. It happened without me even realizing
it had happened. That night, I went home with the

sergeantTs daughter, Elizabeth, and we haven't been

apart since. Now I was the one being put to the side.

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46 FICTION

oDo I know him? Goddamnit, nevermind.T
oYou donTt know him,� she said. oDon't lose it,
okay? ITm not that bad of a person, I donTt think.T
We both have our ways of not talking to each

other when we donTt know what to say. And we
both have the same damn invisible wall keeping
us from getting to each other when it is needed. I

didnTt know if I even wanted to get around her wall.

oITm going out. Stick around, will you? Make
some breakfast for yourself; thereTs some fruit
and milk in the fridge. PTll be back in a few hours.T
It was my place, but I wanted some air and new
company. There is a magazine stand a few blocks
from my apartment, so I went there to get a pack
of smokes. I didnTt have a lighter and the stand was
out of matches. Then, this lady let out a scream
and jumped out of her damned heels. The stand
ownerTs kid was flicking matches across the pack
to light them and aiming them into the crowd of
people walking by; itTs really funny as hell, just
shit for a kid to pass his day with. But when she
screamed, the man snatched the matches from the
kid and gave the rest to me; I thanked him and got
out of his way.

How do people do those things to one another:

flick little fire balls at each other, take things away
from each other and say oI love someone else,

goodbye� and all that? We hadn't said goodbye
yet, but it felt like we had. I wondered who it was
she loved more than me and where he was. He's
probably in my damned bed right now. Just lying
on my bed while my girl plays him my songs. You
see, Elizabeth is a harpist with light blue eyes and a
melting smile. There are always guys coming up to
her and calling her oangelic� and that kind of shit.
She thinks itTs cute; I think about hurting people
when it happens. I canTt blame them though, the
other guys; everything about her is perfect once
you get her to open up. SheTs an asshole and is well
aware of it; she says itTs her shield or something.
Right now, nothing she has ever said to me means
anything. I should have told her to get out this
morning and to leave my milk and oranges alone.
Shit, I couldnTt do that though, I'd have to make
sure she at least had breakfast.

I lit up a cigarette and stood by the newspapers
for a while. One of the guys at my work wrote an
article about private business owners and how
their family members are constantly ripping them
off. It made me look over at the kid who had his
matches taken away. I wondered if he would, in a fit
of amateur rage, grab the cash register and the tip
jar and scream off. The only evidence would be a
trail of floating money in the air behind him as he





ii

disappeared into the crowded city sidewalks. You
never know when family might strike, according to
the Tri-City Tribune columnist, Gary Winheimer.

A strike had already come past me at lightning
speed. Where's the article describing how to deal
with assholes? I had to leave the magazine stand
because the damned papers were getting on my
nerves. I decided to walk over to a friendTs restau-
rant uptown. He had one of those old grocery store
buildings with an apartment upstairs. He moved
into the place and turned the store into a bar. ITve
known the guy for a few months and heTs always up
for a few drinks, so I went to see him.

I got there and the place wasnTt even open yet;
it seemed later than it actually was at the time. I
knocked on the glass and he came from the kitchen
and let me in. If you come to his bar as often as I
do, you call him oTony.� That isnTt his real name;
it's Dmitri, I think, but he has a deep Jersey accent
so his customers and friends call him Tony; itTs
just one of those things. HeTs a damned good
guy though. When Elizabeth and I are at each
otherTs throats, I come here, but she doesnTt know
about the place. Tony knows about her; he knows
everything about his customers. ItTs a little annoy-
ing sometimes because he always compares your
problems with some other guy you may not even

know. All things aside, heTs good people.
oHow you been, fella?� He calls everyone fella. oA
little early for you to be getting this way, ain't it?�
oYeah, well, ITm thirsty. It was cold when I woke
up, so I took a walk.�

Tony always knows what people need by their ex-
pressions and tones; it makes him a good bartender.

oHere you go,T He reached behind the bar and pulled
out a whiskey bottle and a glass. oDrink this. You
got problems with the lady, too? Everyone always
has a problem with their lady. They come here and
drink and leave and then come back again because
of their old lady. What did you do this time?�

oNothing. ITm not even sure what happened; itTs
early, you know.� I swallowed the drink and he
poured me another one. I didnTt want to get drunk,
but I wanted to forget what she said.

oGet up; come with me to the kitchen. I got some
breakfast left over; it'll do you good.�

One thing is for certain in this world, and itTs the
fact that Tony is the best cook in town and when
he asks you to eat, you do it. He piled up a kielbasa
and onion omelet with some tomato sauce he
made and a fresh glass of whiskey and orange juice,
and then walked to the freezer to put away the
morning delivery. oYou ever met Harold, the bank-
ing guy? He comes in every week or two.� I said

FICTION 47







48 FICTION

(4

no� loudly, so he could hear me over the freezer
fan. oWell, heTs got this girl who donTt like to work.
She runs around town all day with old boyfriends
who buy her lunch and take her around town, you
know? Anyway, when he gets home, sheTs got din-
ner ready and everything. He says she doesn't want
to spend his money, so she sees these fellas to use
theirs. ItTs too damned hard to figure what women
think these days. At least she ain't drying him, thatTs
what I tell Harold when he comes in. Don't let your
girl dry you out.�

You see, itTs always the same stories about other
people. Harold probably isnTt even real, but in some
crazy way, I got what he was saying. oThatTs damn
true, Tony. SheTs not gonna dry me out. Guess what
she told me? ~I love someone else, she said that to
me.� I took the last bite of the omelet and turned
the glass of whiskey and orange juice up until it was
gone. I was full and could feel the liquor warm-
ing me up quicker than I had wanted it to. oTony,
thanks, you're good people,T I wiped my mouth
with my sleeve and went to the freezer to slap Tony
on the back.

oAlright kid, head on home and talk to her.T

oIs Harold still with his girl?�

oI don't know, I ainTt seen him in a few weeks. ITm
sure he is though.�

I looked around the kitchen at all the things
that are needed to keep it moving: the knives, the
food, the exhaust that keeps the air circulating, and
Tony. He enjoyed the work he put into his bar and it
showed. I thanked him and tried to pay him, but he
said to just remember to tell some friends about his
place, which I always do, and I went to the front door.

After a good talk and a few drinks, the sunlight
can be brighter than it first appeared. The town
still wasnTt moving yet except for a few leftovers
from the night before. A few cabs were lined up at a
coffee stand, so I went over and got a ride instead of

walking the twenty blocks back home.

I got out of the cab on the corner near the
magazine stand to give me a few minutes to think
about what I was going to say during the walk
back. The kid was sitting in the booth counting
change for a customer, and his father was pouring
a cup of coffee out of his thermos for himself. I
reached in my pocket and tossed the kid his pack
of matches and his face lit up quickly, just like a
match. He was already flicking them when I got to
the next street corner.

The door to my apartment was locked when |
got there, and the worst came running through my
mind. Is the guy in there? In my house, I should
have kept the matches to flick at the both of them.
But even worse, was she gone? I left my keys in
the bedroom when I left. Then, in the apartment,

I heard something crash in the kitchen and some

cabinet doors slap shut. I knocked, and the noise
stopped, so I knocked again. She came to the door
with my t-shirt and no socks on. Before I could get

in, she grabbed my hand and walked me towards
the kitchen. On the counter, there was a plate with
cut-up fruit and a glass of milk waiting for me. oI
made you breakfast. I ate some while I waited for
you.� Her fingers had an orange tint from peeling
the oranges. oI donTt know what to say.T She really
didnTt. oEat, before the milk gets warm.� She was
still an asshole, nothing will change that. When I
sat down at the counter, she put the plate and cup
in front of me. I thought about sliding it back at
her, but she was trying, so I did, too. Oranges and
milk are her two favorite things for breakfast. There
has never been an orange that tasted better than
the one | ate that morning. After I ate a few orange |
slices and shared my breakfast with her, I took off
my socks and we went back to bed. She still doesn't
know about TonyTs bar uptown. \

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SECOND PLACE

oThere is a Johnny Appleseed of Porn,T said Gregory
adamantly. oITm convinced of it. How can there
not be?�
He unzipped his backpack and halfway removed
a blue three-ring binder, opening it slightly to
reveal a tattered issue of Hustler. Brandon and Jeff
leaned in to ogle the picture of a saluting blonde
wearing only an olive drab Marine Corps cap. She
covered her breasts with her left hand and forearm.
The tagline in bold print to the left of her head read:
oAim High.�
oThat magazine is bullshit!� Jeff proclaimed.
oSheTs wearing a Marine Corps cover and everybody
knows that ~Aim HighT used to be the Air Force's
slogan. Hustler is a disgrace to the military!�

oMan, be quiet,T Gregory said. He quickly
dropped the binder back down into his backpack
and looked around the cafeteria for any nosy teach-
ers. None were paying attention to him.

oAnd just because you found a nudie magazine
doesnTt mean thereTs a guy wandering the country
planting porno mags everywhere,T Jeff said.

oYeah! Johnny Appleseed wasn't even a real per-

son, Brandon chimed in.

oYes he was,� Gregory said calmly. oI remember
some guy coming into my first grade class and
reading a story to us that said he was a real person.T
Gregory took a swig from his half-pint of milk. oHis
real name was John Chapman.T

oJust because Johnny Appleseed was real doesn't
mean there's a guy wandering the country with a
sack full of spank books,T Jeff replied. oLet me see
your magazine again.T

Gregory zipped up his backpack. oSo itTs just

William Cyrus

The Johnny Appleseed of Porn

coincidence that Mark Jennings found a Playboy
near the train tracks, and that that new kid, Peter
McMahan, found a Black Tail in the woods behind
the high school, and I found this behind the rec

center gym?�

50 FICTION

cm



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oMy dad has a whole box of Barely Legals in his
closet. Do you think the Johnny Appleseed of Porn
put those there?�

oYeah, and my stepdad has a bunch of pictures
of black guys having sex with white girls on his
computer. Did Johnny Appleseed download those
for him?�

oShut up, Brandon,T Jeff said. The bell rang, signal-
ing the end of lunch. Gregory, Jeff and Brandon
stood up and put their backpacks on before placing
their trays on the dishwasher conveyor belt.

oAll I'm saying is that someone has to be leaving
these magazines all over town. Who in their right
mind would get rid of a perfectly good porno mag?�

The boys exited the cafeteria and headed for their
fifth period classes.

After the final bell rang, Gregory met up with Jeff
and Brandon by the bike rack and they walked home
together, making a detour behind the abandoned
K-Mart to throw chunks of broken concrete at the
aluminum shipping bay doors. Jeff tossed a piece of
concrete that, upon hitting the door, echoed with
reverberation and shattered into little nuggets that
skittered across the parking lot back towards them.

oThat would have blown up at least twenty terror-
ists,T Jeff proclaimed.

oYeah right, Jeff,T Gregory said, before nailing the
aluminum door with a piece of concrete that let
out a deep boom and left a noticeable dent. oThe
terrorists would have gunned you down with their
stolen Ak-47s first.�

oMaybe we shouldn't throw concrete anymore,T
Brandon said. oI donTt want to get in trouble.�

oThen we'll just have to throw it at you! You won't
make as much noise, will you?� Jeff said, picking
up a small piece of concrete, narrowly missing
Brandon's shoes.

oHey! Stop it! Yes I will!� Brandon screamed,
slowly backing away from Jeff.

Jeff tossed another small chunk that bounced up
and hit Brandon on his right shin.

oOww! Quit it!�

oYeah, Jeff, knock it off�

Before Jeff could throw the next piece, Brandon
tripped over the curb backwards and stumbled into
a row of blooming red azaleas.

oAre you alright?� Gregory asked, running over to
Brandon.

oI think so,� Jeff said.

Jeff lobbed a chunk of concrete at the shipping
bays that sent out another explosion of reverbera-
tion. oEat that, camel-fuckers!�

oIs anything broken?� Gregory said.

FICTION 31







92 FICTION

Brandon shook all of his limbs before shaking
his head. oNo, ITm fine.T He put a hand on the pine
straw to push himself up, but slipped, flinging pine
straw around. Underneath was a slightly water-
stained issue of Penthouse. Gregory bent down and
picked it up.

oT knew it!� Gregory shouted, holding the maga-
zine up so Jeff could see. oThe Johnny Appleseed of
Porn planted a Penthouse here!�

Jeff sprinted over next to Gregory to take a
look at it. Brandon joined him on his other side.
Gregory flipped it open to a page with an extreme
close-up of a shaved vagina.

oThat looks like your momTs pussy, Brandon!�
Jeff smirked.

oNo it doesnTt,� Brandon quickly retorted. Jeff
and Gregory glanced over at him. oWhat? I walked
in on her once when she had just gotten out of the
shower. HerTs is hairy.�

oBrandonTs mom is a man!� Jeff laughed. oITve
seen every issue of my dadTs Barely Legal magazines
and none of those girls had any hair.T

oMaybe women don't grow hair down there until
they get married,T Gregory said. He flipped a few
pages; all of the women were shaved. oA married
woman wouldn't pose nude in a magazine.�

oThat makes sense,� Jeff replied. oI guess itTs a way

for a man to know who's married and who isn't.�

Brandon looked at his watch. oI need to get
home. ITve got piano lessons at four.T He snatched
the Penthouse out of Gregory's hands.

oWhat are you doing?� Jeff asked. oThat's mine.T

oNo itTs not. I found it!�

oYeah, because I was throwing concrete at you.
it's ine

oLet him keep it,� Gregory said. oYour dad has all
those other magazines anyway.

oFine, but you better not get caught with it since
you re gonna give it to me next week.�

~lam noe Its mine,

oT bet Johnny Appleseed planted more magazines
around town, Gregory intervened. oThe next one
we find is yours, Jeff.�

oFine, but if you get caught, Brandon, you better
not mention me.T

"Oume,

Brandon slid the magazine into his backpack and
the three ran home.

Three days later, Gregory took a map of the town
out of his momTs glove box and brought it to school
with him.

oTTve marked the spots around town where people

have found mags,T Gregory said. He unfolded the

14 ls I Ia 18 Tg 20





map, pushing the empty lunch trays out of the
way to make room. The map was marked with six
oX's drawn in red magic marker. oITve marked the
recreation center, the high school and the train
tracks: the places I told you about the other day, as
well as the K-Mart. Paul Philemon said he found
Panty Play in a ditch beside the bowling alley, and
Tony Casparillo found a Mammary Magazine in the
wood pile next to the trailer park he lives in. What
do the locations on the map show you?� |

Jeff and Brandon studied the map. Jeff drew a
line with his fingers connecting one location to the
next. oIt looks like no one has found a magazine in
the northeast section of town,� he said.

oExactly! I think thatTs where the Johnny Apple-
seed of Porn is gonna strike next!�

oBut where?� Brandon asked. oEast Glen is a huge
neighborhood. Someone is bound to see a guy with
a pot on his head passing out pornography.�

oHe's not gonna wear a pot on his head, Fuck-
stick! This is a Johnny Appleseed-like person, not
the real Johnny Appleseed,� Jeff exclaimed.

oCalm down, Jeff. ThereTre those woods behind
East Glen. I think thatTs a likely place for him to
leave his next magazine.�

oYeah, my dad taught me the woods are good for
covert operations,T Jeff said.

oYour dad had to teach you that?� Brandon
laughed. Jeff reached around Gregory and smacked
Brandon on the back of his head.

oCut it out, guys. Listen, I already scoured those
woods for three hours yesterday evening without
a sign of any porno mags. I don't think the Johnny
Appleseed of Porn has struck there yet.T Jeff and
Brandon looked at Gregory. oI think we should
camp out there tomorrow night and catch him in
the act,T Gregory said.

The bell rang and Gregory quickly folded up his
map and stuffed it into his backpack before heading

to woodshop.

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54 FICTION

Friday evening, Gregory packed his backpack with
his Hustler, a change of clothes, a pillow, a flashlight,
three packs of crackers and a can of Coke. He tied his
sleeping bag to his backpack and told his parents he
was spending the night at Brandon's house.

Gregory met Jeff and Brandon by the bike rack at
their school and they went to the woods behind the
East Glen neighborhood, settling on a spot behind
a ranch-style house. An eight-foot wooden fence
separated the neighborhood from the woods.

Jeff, who was supposed to be at Gregory's house,
borrowed a canvas army tent from his dad and took
three Barely Legals from his dadTs closet, as well as a
can of Sterno from the garage.

Brandon, who said he was going to Jeff's, brought
his Penthouse and the ingredients for s'mores.

After setting up the tent, Jeff lit the can of Sterno
with matches from the Cowtown Downtown
Steakhouse. All three unfurled their sleeping bags
and pulled out their porno magazines from their
backpacks. They lied stomach down on top of their
sleeping bags, using the Sterno for light.

oT took these from my momTs purse,T Jeff said,
removing two cigarettes from his jacket pocket and
handing one to Gregory.

oHey! What about me?� Brandon asked.

oT could only take two or she would notice.T

Jeff lit his using the can of Sterno with Gregory
following suit. Brandon made a sTmore, sucking
melted marshmallows from his fingers.

Jeff opened a Barely Legal and put it in front of
Gregory, so they all could see. Gregory flipped
through a few pages. oI think you're right about the
hair thing, Gregory,T Jeff said. oAll of these girls are
only eighteen and probably not married, which is
why theyTre bald down there.T

Gregory opened up his Hustler to a pictorial of
a man proposing to a woman. Two pictures in, she
was completely naked, performing oral sex on her
new fiancé. The bride-to-be was sporting a landing
strip. oYeah, see, she just got engaged, so that must
be when a woman starts to grow hair down there,�
Gregory explained. Jeff and Brandon nodded.

oAnd I think the older a woman gets, the bigger
her boobs grow,� Brandon said. He opened up his
Penthouse to the spread of a once-famous Hol-
lywood actress who was now in her late forties.

She had recently undergone breast augmentation
surgery. oSheTs topless in this twenty year-old movie
my stepdad owns and her boobs were a lot smaller
then. That explains why my mom, whoT only thirty,
has smaller boobs than either of your moms, who
are in their early forties.T

14 ls I Ia 18 Tg 20

Pal







cm

oDon't look at my momTs boobs or I'll kill you,T
Jeff threatened.

oHow can we not?� Gregory said. oShe always
wears tight tank tops when she does housework.
TheyTre just asking to be looked at.�

oTIL kill you too, Gregory. My dad has all sorts of
weapons lying around the house.�

oShut up, Jeff. I saw you looking through my mom's
hamper once. Just chill out and look at a magazine.�

Jeff glared at Gregory momentarily before
returning his attention to a magazine. He, Gregory
and Brandon slowly read every word and took in
every picture in their magazines, not saying a word
to each other.

Thirty minutes later, Brandon stood up. oI gotta
pee.� He removed his flashlight and a pack of tis-
sues from his backpack.

oYeah, we should go out and see if we can spot the
Johnny Appleseed of Porn,T Gregory said.

As they walked towards a large oak tree about
fifty feet from their campsite, Jeff held his flashlight
up to his face. oITm the Johnny Appleseed of Porn,
and ITm going to kill you for stealing my porno
mags. You didnTt let them grow into videotapes.�
Gregory and Brandon laughed. oIf you find a Barely
Legal,T Jeff continued, olet it grow, for soon it will
be a MILF Monthly!�

10

Brandon went to the other side of the oak tree,
and Jeff whispered to Gregory, oLetTs sneak away
and hide while heTs peeing. When he sees we're not
here, he'll pee himself again.�

Jeff slowly crept away, careful not to crunch the
dead leaves too loudly. Gregory did the same, head-
ing in the opposite direction. Jeff hid behind a large
pine; Gregory went behind a fallen maple. They
both turned their flashlights off and peered from
around their trees, waiting for Brandon to finish up.

Brandon came from behind his tree to find no
one. oGregory, Jeff, where are you?� he said. oCome
on guys, where are you?� he said louder. oThis
isn't funny!� he screamed. His light darted quickly
around the woods. oGregory! Jeff!�

A small rock ricocheted harmlessly off of a pine
tree six feet from Brandon. He whipped around and
shined his light at the pine tree Jeff was hiding be-
hind. oJeff, I know that was you!� Brandon ran to the
pine tree, screaming like an attacking marauder. Jeff
was no longer behind that pine tree. A back porch
light came on in the distance. A small pine limb boo-
meranged towards Brandon from the opposite direc-
tion. oGregory, come on, this isnTt funny anymore.T

oNo, it is I, the Johnny Appleseed of Porn,� Jeff said
in a deep voice, oand ITve brought you an issue of



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Playgirl because I know how much you love to look
at dicks!�

Jeff and Gregory emerged from their hiding
spots, running and screaming as they converged
on Brandon. They chased him back to the camp-
site where a man was waiting for them. He wore
a flannel bathrobe, grey sweatpants and moccasin
slippers and had blown out the can of Sterno.

oOh my God, itTs the Johnny Appleseed of Porn!�
Brandon screamed. Gregory and Jeff quickly caught
up to him.

oWhat are you kids doing?� he asked.

oNothing, Mr. Appleseed,T Jeff said. oWe were just
playing flashlight tag.�

oWe're sorry we found your magazines. We won't
tell anybody we met you.T

oThatTs not the Johnny Appleseed of... thatTs not
Johnny Appleseed. ItTs Mr. Santer, my shop teacher,�
Gregory said.

oYou boys better pack up your stuff and go on home.
I don't want to have to call your parents,� Mr. Santer
said. He stood by as Gregory, Jeff and Brandon took
down the tent and packed up their magazines. oYou're
too young to have that type of material.�

After they packed everything up, Gregory asked,

oYou aren't going to tell our parents, are you?�
oGo on home,T he replied.

Gregory, Jeff and Brandon headed out of the
woods the same way they came in, not speaking
a single word. When they came to the last house
before the clearing that led to East Glen Drive,
Gregory stopped and unzipped his backpack, re-
moving the Hustler. Jeff and Brandon watched as he
flipped through the pages one last time, taking in all
of the nudity and hardcore images his brain could
handle. Finally, Gregory stuffed the magazine in a
rotted-out hole in an oak tree"the same oak tree
that Mr. Collins had used a month earlier to build a
tree house for his twin eleven year-old sons.

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Everything had slowed down dramatically. Time
nearly came to a stop as his eyes glazed over,
yielding a million-mile stare. The noise that was
deafening no more than five seconds ago is now
slowly dying out. All of the screams and cries
faded away, becoming nothing more than muffled
echoes. The warmth of his body was pouring from
his chest, slowly extinguishing the temperature
throughout the rest of his body. People were run-
ning to him, trying to articulate with him, but he
couldnTt hear what they were saying. Almost as if
they had become the mimes of this revolution. His
eyes were becoming harder to hold open; his legs
were weak as the world around him seemed to roll
around and smack him in the back. He lay there on
the cool concrete. Fellow citizens gathered around
him as the sound of the world slowly started to
resonate in his ears again. The sounds grew louder
and louder as they took the form of screams from
men and women around him, crying and cursing
the government for their insensitive acts of cruelty.

Along with the sound came a bitter chill around the

warmth in his gut. He lifted his head, just to see a
hand pressing on his sternum, doused in the blood
from his body. His eyes grew wide as his face con-
torted into agony and sorrow. He rested his head
on the sidewalk again as tears rolled down his face,

whimpering for his wife and children as if their
presence alone were enough to heal his withering
body. The women gathered around crying with him,
crying for him, crying as if trapped with him in his
casket of sorrow and pain. His eyes grow heavier as
the tears pour from them, leaving trails through the
dust enveloping his face. The only noises he hears
are the cries of strangers, shouting that the police
are using real bullets and that they are killing our
brothers. His pleas for his loved ones are drowned
out by the yells of the mob around him. He tries to
fight but is forcefully surrendered to his inevitable
demise. His muscles dying out, his body going
limp and eyes going blank as the pain stops and his
tightly gripped hand unleashes his cherished green

flag of freedom, revolution and Islam.

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FIRST PLACE

Of 3 A visual metaphor depicting two people on the
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Ov said world that they ignore the people and things
a 2 around them. It is up to the viewer whether the
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62 FILM ART

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SECOND PLACE

Kelsey Hallatt &
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Lightpainting Montage
Photography & digital media

Real-time work can be found on the pvp in the back of

this book.

FILM ART 63

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Doubting Thomas was a piece I did for my second Real-time work can be found on the pvp in the back of

video art class and the topic was unrestricted. The this book.
silent films of Charlie Chaplin inspired this short

film. I most definitely appreciate that, despite the

ease at which it appears that performers can be-

come another character, it really is a lot of prepara-

tion and hard work to accomplish. The performer,

Thomas Skinner, was exceptional in his depiction

and interpretation of the character. I wanted to

tell the story of an aspiring magician who wants to

make it big, but isnTt quite there yet.

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This editorial spread was an assignment to express
a view towards the death penalty, whether for or
against it. Although it did not necessarily have

to reflect our own personal stance on the topic, I
chose to take the route of being against the death
penalty. I illustrated this view by developing a

retro neon sign, that was once bright and engaging
during its prime, but has since aged visibly over the
years. Instead of giving death row inmates the quick,
easy way out, Eternal Motel is instead their final
stop. It is a resting place until death that is forever
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Christian Dorian
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Anne Mauser
Berlinale 2010
Pen & ink, digital output

70 GRAPHIC DESIGN

The Berlinale is an annual festival in Berlin, Ger-
many that showcases hundreds of international
films throughout the city. There are six categories
as well as a thematic Retrospective and an Homage
that pays tribute to a legendary film personality, all
shown in a wide range of venues over the course of
two weeks.

This poster is one in a series of three that advertises
different festivals from around the world, ranging
from the Elephant Festival in Jaipur, India to the
Spring Lantern Festival in Hong Kong to the Ber-
linale in Berlin, Germany. Each poster is illustrated
and designed to display the feel of the festival

through imagery, composition and color choice.







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paper. The main idea of the project was to create
an informative flyer that could then be reused for
another purpose. I chose to make my flyer about
reducing household energy into a star recycle box.
When you follow the instructions, the printed
designs interlock when they are folded to form new
patterns. Both sides of the paper can be the inside
or outside of the box, with different interlocking
patterns shown.

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five months writing, seven months drawing and
inking, and about another six to get it gray-scaled, a
cover done, and all the inside editing and bio pages,
etc. done. Previous comics I have made were much
shorter as well"the longest ever being around
thirty pages. The other thing is, I wanted to tackle

a realistic situation with a comic for once, unlike
every comic I had made before this (one was about
a robot fighting mummies, another about a boy
and a ghost/zombie dog). I was just trying to push
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ms a digital pattern in the background. The animals I

chose have a personal significance aside from being
the first two animals in the zodiac.

Amanda James

76 ILLUSTRATION








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This project was inspired by exploration. It is meant

to capture the feeling of exploring an unknown
place and discovering ohidden gems that cannot

be found without spending the time exploring.

Exploration

Adobe Flash and AfterEffects CS4

Because time is an essential element of the feeling
this piece attempts to capture, I chose to express it
as an interactive piece. I also intentionally left the
instructions somewhat vague in order to add to the
sense of exploring an unknown place.

Joseph Grubbs-Hardy

Real-time work can be found on the pvp in the back of
this book.

|| 80 INTERACTIVE DESIGN


























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84 METAL DESIGN







This piece explores the distance I feel from a dear
friend who is very far away. The box contains a strip
of map which is cut from Worcester, Massachusetts
where I was living when I made the piece, to Taipei,
Taiwan, where my friend lives. This piece serves

to ensure that he and I will always find our way to
each other. It protects the memory of our friend-
ship and the things he helped me learn about lan-
guage, culture and myself. Making this work helped
to diminish the absence of my friend by bringing
him into my every day. This work celebrates both
the time we spent together and the new dynamic
this distance has brought about.

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METAL DESIGN 87

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FIRST PLACE

Some experiences just have to be written, and my
bike ride to Greenville is one of them. This story
is an expansion of a journal I kept during the ride.
Each entry, each stop, each new emotion was an
emotional growth, and I felt the need to share

115 Miles

my journey.

Sarah Jakubowski

20 Hours, 15 Minutes and

94 NONFICTION





The Week Before:

I bought a bike. Something called a 720. A most
atrocious color of green. Brown leather seat and
handlebar grips. Some flowers painted on it. Hell,
I wasn't trying to make a fashion statement. I just
needed to get from point A to point B. In this case,
point B happened to be 100 miles away.

I don't drive, and ITm sick of asking friends for rides,
so ITve decided to find my own form
of transportation.

The bike shop guys were all for it. oNice!� they
said admiringly when I explained. I had a doctorTs
appointment in Greenville. I lived in Manteo. I
needed transportation.

I said all this quite casually, as if 1 was asking for
nothing more than a bus ticket. I was hoping for a
raised eyebrow, an exchanging of glances. But no, I
guess they do that kind of thing all the time.

Which isnTt to say they weren't enthusiastic about
it. They brought out bike after bike for me to

try. When they wheeled out the green bike they
must've caught my involuntary look of disgust.

oJust try it,� they said.

So I did. And I was in love. So smooth, so fast! The
bike guys said it was a hybrid"a cross between a
ospeed� bike and a ocomfort� bike. The theory being

that I'd get the best of both worlds.

Of course, around the two-hour mark on my ride, I

discovered the opposite; it was neither comfortable
enough nor fast enough for the compromise to be
considered worth it.



They said the ride would take about six hours.
Leave early and you'll get there around three, they
told me.

If only I'd known!
The Night Before:

My alarm is set for 4:30AM. I have $112, a Ziploc bag
full of fun-size Snickers, half a jar of peanut butter,
half a jar of honey and a container of couscous.

Iam ready for anything.
5:00AM, Manteo (o miles):

It begins. I have that oAm I forgetting something?
Am I sure ITm not forgetting anything?� feeling.
Everyone gets it before a long trip, but on this trip,
it's especially bad. It wouldn't do to ride two hours,
realize ITve left something important at home, and
have to ride back.

One last glance around, then I hoist my backpack
full of supplies onto my shoulders, wheel my bike
out to the driveway, and ITm off!

7:07AM, East Lake (19.8 miles, 2 hours and 7 minutes):

The Manns Harbor bridge is one heck of a bridge.
Five point two miles, the longest bridge in North
Carolina. It was worth it, though. I stopped at the
very top and looked over the water. The morning is
cool and crisp, and the sky is just starting to lighten.

oYeah!� I scream over the water, alerting any early-
morning fishermen of my triumph. oYeah!
Yes! Whooee!�

Iam a goddess. I am Queen.

NON-FICTION 95

iil lee Ls: 14 ls I Ia 18 Tg 20 Pal

22







Then I start to feel rather silly, so I coast down the
bridge. Faster, faster, faster, with a grin on my face.

10:47AM, Tyrrell County (34.9 miles, 5 hours and 47
minutes):

I have no idea where I am. ITm not lost, I know
ITm on the right road. Just not the city or county.
ITm pretty sure itTs Tyrrell County. If so, TyrrellTs
the most boring county in the world. I keep
waiting for a place to stop but don't see one.
Finally, I just pull over and eat some couscous
right next to the highway. ItTs a very self-
conscious feeling, eating something as weird as
couscous right next to a highway in the middle
of nowhere.

11:38AM, Columbia (36.8 miles, 6 hours and 38
minutes):

ITm in Columbia now. So pretty! And a nice
sidewalk next to the highway. Much better than the
tiny sliver of road most highways reserve for bikers.
Before Columbia, it seemed like I was always mere
inches away from speeding death. Compared to
that, a sidewalk is downright luxurious.

I saw a sign that said oRest Area, 1 /2 Miles� and
thought, oYes, thatTs what I need"rest.T I'd been
stopping every hour or so to stretch or have

an energy bar, but I was in need of a more

major pit stop.

ITm on the boardwalk, about to eat lunch (more
couscous). Resting my oh-so-tired knees and
thinking. If I had chosen to drive the distance, I
would already be there. But I wouldn't be in
Columbia enjoying the sun. In a car when you go
from point A to point B, you see points A and B but
you donTt see anything in between. On a bike, you
see everything.

1:22PM, Scuppernong (49.6 miles, 8 hours and 22
minutes):

ITm writing this under the o1 Mile to EdentonT sign.
I liked living in Edenton and part of me thinks, oOh
good, one mile ~til home.�

Earlier, I felt self-conscious eating couscous next to
the highway. Now I'm all, oOh yeah, chillinT next to
the highway, eatinT me some lunch.�

'An A
GODDESs / Am QUEEF
N.

96 NONFICTION









cm

I'm sitting cross-legged in the warm grass. I lean
back and watch cars pass. Smearing peanut butter
onto an energy bar, I think, oThose people in
cars"they don't know what they're missing.�

3:08PM, Roper (59.3 miles, 10 hours and 8 minutes):

ITm tired. ITm sore. But ITm getting there. ITm under
the o1 Mile to Roper� sign now and am about

to finish off the couscous. Hard to believe I was
expecting to get to Greenville by three! But 'm
starting to learn that, hey, so long as I get there in
the next 24 hours, before my doctorTs appointment,
who cares how long it takes?

4:36PM, Plymouth (67.4 miles, 11 hours and 36
minutes ):

ITm in Plymouth and I want out. This place is
horrid for bikers. Big, scary log trucks and no

sidewalk or bike path at all.

I saw a church sign that said, oro LATE DEVIL WE
GOT THE VICTORY » It became a chant, over and
over as I pedaled. oWe got the victory, we got the
victory, we got the victory.T At this stage in physical
exercise, the mundane seems profound. That



10

nonsensical church sign became a lifeline.
oTo late. To late. We got the victory. The victory.�

Yes, itTs safe to say I began to approach a state of
near-delirium.

5PM to 6PM (approx.), Beargrass ( 92.8 miles,
13 hours):

It wasn't until I reached Beargrass that it finally
sunk in that I wasnTt going to make it before
dark. I went to turn on my flashing red taillight
and realized"oh shit"it had fallen off God-
knows-how-many miles back. Worse, my written
directions showed roads that weren't on the map.
When I went online for directions, I picked the
oshortest route� option, as opposed to the ofastest
route,� which factors in speed limits and such. The
point being: my route included lots of back roads.
My safe crossing depended on a few scribbled
notes I'd copied from Google Maps. Dear God.

These back roads led into a scary, scary place. Scary
in the sense that I kept hearing animals of various
sizes fighting in the woods, and scary in a bad-
neighborhood kind of way. I was pretty sure I was
lost, but I wasn't about to go knocking on doors

NON-FICTION 97

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asking for directions. It seemed like the kind of
place where the residents would open the door
with a loaded gun.

6PM to 9PM (approx.), Stokes (100 miles, 16 hours):

ITm getting steadily colder and hungrier and the sun's
getting steadily lower and lower. In the movies, the
concept of riding into the sunset seems romantic,
but right now itTs pretty damned terrifying.

ITve finally found my way out of the maze of back
roads, and I am back in slightly more familiar
territory. Unfortunately, itTs now so dark that I
more or less have to guess where the road is.

No way in Hell can any cars see me in this, so
whenever I notice headlights approaching behind
me, I have to get off and push my bike on the

soft shoulder until they pass. Whenever a car
approaches ahead of me, the driver sees me and
flicks on his (or her) brights. I do not know why
they think this is a good idea, but they do it

every time.

I shield my eyes, making over-exaggerated oHelp,
youre blinding me!� gestures, but to no avail.

9PM to 11PM (approx.), Stokes (105 miles,
17 hours):

[just passed a bar. Now, whenever I see cars
coming from that direction, I swerve way over to
the side, pushing my bike as far away from the road
as possible without going into the ditch. oThere's
about a 20% chance,T I think, othat those drivers

are sober.T

Someone stops. oAre you OK?�
oYes!� I gasp. oI'm sorry"I'm going to Greenville. I,

98 NON-FICTION

I wouldn't ask, but could you please, please, please
give me a ride?�

oTm sorry, we don't pick up hitchhikers.�

I wanted to say, oI am a scared, lost, cold, tired 20
year-old girl. And you don't pick up hitchhikers?!�
But, by that time, they'd already driven away.

1PM to 124M (approx.), Stokes (110 miles, 18 hours):

By now, I can see lights ahead of me. Not
headlights! TheyTre from Greenville. I remember
the flashing orange lights at the railroad crossing.
ThatTs what I was seeing. It wasn't long before,
walking towards those lights, I began to refer to
Greenville as oLight City� in my head.

But my optimism was short-lived. I could see

the lights, but they never seemed to get closer. I
trudged slowly on, riding my bike when there were
no cars, but mostly pushing it alongside the road.

I tried to cheer myself up. oIn less than two hours,
Pll be warm and safe in a hotel room,T I told myself.

oNo!� some part of me said, oYou're never going
to get to Greenville!� I honestly and illogically
thought that I just wouldn't get to Light City. Not
in two hours, not in 20. I was never going to get
there, and ITm so, so cold!

12:00AM to 12:47AM, Greenville (115 miles, 18 hours
and 47 minutes):

Finally, oh God, finally, I rode my bike over the
railroad tracks under the blinking orange lights.
Greenville! Light City!

I was too tired to cheer. oYes,� I breathed,

and smiled.

AISA





But once again, I was starting to celebrate too early.
True, I was in Greenville. But I wasn't yet in a warm,
safe hotel room.

I found Greenville Boulevard, which was the street
my hotel was on. It was too dark to see the road and
I was too exhausted to ride anyway, so I pushed my
bike. I tried not to cry. I was so sleepy and so cold,
and I just wanted this day over with.

Up until now, it'd seemed like an adventure. Even
riding the back roads of Beargrass and racing the
sun to the horizon had been sort of exciting. I was
cold and scared and quite miserable for much of
the past five hours, but never hopeless. Now I'd
completely lost heart.

God knows how long I would've kept that attitude
or where I wouldTve ended up if it weren't for Taxi-
cab Man. He saw me walking and asked if I wanted
a ride.

oYes!� I said. oBut... only have enough money for
a hotel room.�



10

He looked me over. I did my best to look wretched

and desperate, which wasn't hard. I was feeling
pretty wretched and desperate.

oHop in,T he said at last. oWe'll put the bike in
the trunk.�

oThank you,T I said. oThank you, thank you,
thank you.T

We loaded up the bike. The inside of the cab
was blessedly warm. I tried to keep my teeth
from chattering.

oSo, ya wanna go to the nearest hotel or the
cheapest?� Taxi-cab Man asked.

On my bike, I was going for nearest, and expense
be damned. But now that I was in a warm car, I
changed tactics. oCheapest, please.T

Which was a Motel 6 that cost $28.99 a night. After
unloading my bike and thanking Taxi-cab Man
profusely, I went into the lobby to pay for my room.



NON-FICTION 99







12:47AM to 1:15AM, Greenville, Motel 6 (115 miles, 20 my end-of-day ritual. It had been a long day, and I
hours and 15 minutes): needed reassurance that it was really over.
Sanctuary! Turning out the light, I noticed a sign on the door

that said, oFor your protection when in room
I wheeled my bike into what was to be my home engage deadbolt and security latch.�
for the next three nights. I turned on the lights. I
Hil turned on the heat. Oh God, the heat! Which was decidedly sketchy, but to me, the room
| was luxury. It had a bed and a shower and that was

I honestly considered just collapsing on the bed all I needed.
unshowered and with the same clothes I'd been __

wearing for the past 115 miles. But no, I was going to

do this right.

| T undressed and stood in the shower stall under the
, | flood of hot water. Warmth!

The hotel provided soap but no shampoo. I wasnTt
about to complain. I rinsed water through my hair

until it was clean and no longer had the helmet-feel

to it. Again and again, I lathered soap over myself. I
| | stayed in the shower until I was clean and my skin
| was pink from the hot water.

| I brushed my teeth. Combed and towel-dried
| | my hair. Applied ChapStick to my very chapped

I| lips. Even as tired as I was, I relished every step of

Hl |
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104 PAINTING

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Dolls have emerged in my work as a representation
of my mother. Children are incapable of control-
ling their circumstances. People who are older than
them"adult figures such as parents, guardians

or teachers"hold that authority. Dolls are inert
objects that are subject to their ownerTs discretion.
Having a mother diagnosed with schizophrenia
has become my inspiration for working with

the doll subject. I find them beheaded, scarred,
missing limbs, with tattered clothes and patches

of hair gone astray. ~These conditions evoke my
memories of my motherTs inability to control the
circumstances of her condition. She has undergone



disturbing experiences, such as rape and abuse, as
well as permanent confinement in an assisted-living
facility. The doll has become an apparent symbol of

this situation.

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Aiko! PEACE

Chris Rupe
Chrysanthemum

110 POETRY

Here we are

In a dingy house

It is dark

Even though the day

Is well near noon.

The smells

Of countless burned meals
And vitamins

Permeate the air.

Here is an old man

Who has decided

To end the world

As he sits alone

In this small home.

He smokes one final cigarette
And dumps out a handful of pills
Which

In a smaller dose

Could only help.

He grimaces

As he chokes them down"
We hold his hand

Because no one

Should be alone for this.
His leathery fist

Clenches tighter

As his breath

Comes in short

Gasps;

Foam breaches

His caved-in lips,

And his eyes

Hazy with age

Roll back into his skull.
Elsewhere

A girl cries out

As she loses her shoe in a creek.
A boy laughs maniacally
During a game of insect torture.
A mother adds gin

To her midday chai,

And all across the state

On front porches

Chrysanthemums burst into

Golden bloom.

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Jamin No
Ritual

112 POETRY

I tasted the summer

in the moist flesh of a fig
you knew when to pick
it was just ripe enough

gathering the unyeilding bulbs in your skirts
magnanimous as a fisherman

with bits of struggling ocean

weighing heavy in your net

you would take the figs into the kitchen

and your knowing hands

would gut the tantalizing plumpness of pink flesh
peel the skin away

slicing, silent

to the droning of cicadas

and arranged on my favorite plate

the kaleidoscopic carcass

of pink and red and white
just for me >

a summer ritual









IOV Id GulHL

I find comfort in geography.
The thought that

if I could only find some shoes
if I could only walk on water

if I could only have the courage
everything would be easy.

And I would be the girl
in that picture "
you know the one. |

Would geography

Hold that smile for me baby,
til lam the one in your arms.

Change the shutter speed of your DSLR?

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HONORABLE MENTION

| I had an accident with fate
Hi when my elbow collided
| with your jar of sesame seeds.

Scattered on the faded gray galaxy

ty of imitation marble countertop

I have read
| i in the constellations
| Our unfortunate fortunes"

You will lose your voice
and I will lose my touch.
You will find another,

I won't care that much.

Seeds

We've long felt the pull of entropy,

Jamin No

why should we fight it now?

114 POETRY

i spilled seeds are golden granular stars.

We eventually

scatter like sesame seeds
haphazard decorations
on muted gray canvas

pretending our accidents have purpose,
all wistful laughter
as if the distance was deliberate.







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118 PRINTMAKING

This print is about LONGING.

The process of screenprinting was used to illustrate
this dream-like, evocative artwork. By directly
drawing on the screen and using multiple colors, an
edition of twenty-five was created. Process is one of
the most important parts of screenprinting. Hand-
drawing, hand-inking and hand-printing allows
complete participation of the printmaker.








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120 PRINTMAKING







In Nothing is Ever Perfect, | worked on the image in
between teaching middle school art classes during
my internship in Art Education. I would only work
on the drawing for a few minutes at a time, and the
angles and perspective clearly became askew. In
the end, it didnTt matter, because the image always
reminds me of that uncomfortable time in my life.

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124 SCULPTURE

The Empty Geode Series is intended to walk a line
between geological specimen, object of aesthetic
contemplation (Chinese ScholarsT Rocks), and
sculptural form. This piece draws from my child-
hood interest in collecting rocks and my recent
studies of oScholarsT Rocks� and the aesthetic crite-
ria applied to them. My intent was to create a form
that focuses on the Song Dynasty aesthetic criteria
of oLou� (Hollowness) and create a form that could
be interpreted as a sculpture, contemplative object
or specimen.

Empty Geode also came from an interest in
geodes and also my presupposition of the stoneTs

interior. The interior of a geode is expected to have
color and crystals. Empty Geodes are an attempt to
guide the viewer into focusing on exterior qualities
and texture, and to emphasize the empty interior
cavity and create oLou� or hollowness. |







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My work is generally inspired by events in my own
past. I use the female figure to represent an ideal-
ized perception of myself in dealing with the situ-
ations I have faced throughout my life. The stories
I try to illustrate can be interpreted as themes that
may apply to othersT lives. Although this is com-
monly found throughout the art world, I believe
that the value in self-reflection through someone
elseTs art cannot be underestimated. This particular
piece is based on the agony felt when an individual
is plagued by an issue that cannot be vocalized. A
keyhole is present in place of a mouth, but the

key is nowhere to be found. The heart is absent,

begging the viewer to ask the questions oWhy?�

and oWhat happened?� Of course, the answer is
locked away. Many people can relate to this feeling,
whether it is a deep connection or simply a realiza-
tion. My goal is to make people reflect on this
concept and delve into what has happened in their
lives to make them feel the same as this tortured
figure. I want them to imagine how the story could
have gone in the case of this iron female and walk
away with a greater understanding of themselves,
even if only in a small way.

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FIRST PLACE

silkscreened fabric

Leslie Pearson
Toward Wholeness
Hand-embroidered, rusted &

130 TEXTILE DESIGN

yy
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Essentially, my work is autobiographical. I use tex- Repetitive handwork becomes a ritual and a perfor-
tiles, video, sculpture, photography, painting, leath- mance that I feel compelled to document, so I can
erwork and text as vehicles for communicating my " experience it over and over again.

personal history and Christian faith. The imagery

represents my thoughts about freedom, feminin- Video accompanying this work can be found on the

ity, identity, overcoming personal limitations and pvp in the back of this book.

finding strength in things often considered weak or
vulnerable. The act of making art"the process of
making things with my hands and exploring new
materials"is often more significant to me than the
final product.



14 Pal








IOV Id GNOOAS

Womb Flower is inspired by the Sahasrara Padma or 2 ==

the thousand-petaled lotus. This is the highest of = E Ae

the chakras, resting at the crown of the head, the ~ Oy

flowering psychic center of our energetic body. In S m= |
Buddhism and Hinduism, the lotus represents = 2 Mm

awakening to the spiritual reality of life. An eye- = 2s
opening, sprout-stretching portal from this realm B a

to the spiritual realm, intermediary and connective. 2

The lotus is the womb, a way to manifest thought
forms through the prism of perspective worlds. The
womb flower is a ripple in the veil between worlds.

TEXTILE DESIGN E3%







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132 JEXTILE DESIGN







The Feathered Pepper absorbs and transcends the
ethereal barrier between vegetable and animal. The
pepper is imaginative and suggestive, evocative and
conversational. The assortment of fabrics caused the
dye to react in different ways, creating a variety of val-
ues. The cap and stem are made from acid- dyed wool.

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TEXTILE DESIGN 133

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FIRST PLACE

T 2 The intended purpose of this photogram assign-

= Se ment was to experiment with different materials

= = & or objects and see how they transmit or block light
L c) on photo paper. I was at work one night, desperate

© "_ = to find a storage spot for the bag full of light bulbs
~e that I had accumulated, when I realized they would

om be perfect for this assignment. I never expected the
aS results I received from the light bulbs I used. I was
"

able to capture the cylindrical lines throughout the
glass that are not easily or as vividly seen by the

naked eye.

136 TRADITIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY







SECOND PLACE

Mary Howell
This is the Way I See It

Polaroid image

TRADITIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY 137







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138 TRADITIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY







HONORABLE MENTION

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Mary Howell

After Walking Miles in the
Same Shoes, Your Fee
Smell Bad

Polaroid image

TRADITIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY 139

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HONORABLE MENTION

Luke lvy Price
Pipe #1

Black walnut & cherry

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Abbas, Omar

Amante, Matt
Barron, Tiffany
Bennet, Robert
Borja, Jorge
Bradsher, Jessica
Brown, Cathy
Brown, Margaret
Buccafusco, Adam
Caceres, Bayardo
Cordrey, Brandon
Cyrus, William
Denton, Andy
DeShields, Heather

Dorian, Christian
Erickson, Megan

Gilreath, Ashley

Gray, Sarah
Grubbs-Hardy, Joseph
Hallat, Kelsey

Hegler, Sarah
Heuss, Abigail
Howell, Mary

Ishimam, Yusan

Jakubowski, Sarah
James, Amanda

Kelischek, Stefan

Kinlaw, Lauren
Knox, John

148 INDEX

Dead Man on Chair
HorseTs Skull

Empty Geode #3

Soak Tem From the Sky
Green

Tools

This is Agony

lTm Sorry, Ma

Relatively Small Boxes
Disaster Imminent
Regresa IV

1st Street Bridge

The Johnny Appleseed of Porn
Event Tonight

Machine Horse

Kelpies

Back Country: Flask, Cards & Wax
Womb Flower

Feathered Pepper

It's Only a Matter of Time
Flea Market

Exploration

Okami Title Sequence
Kinetic Typography

N-V Robot

Lightpainting Montage
Doubting Thomas

7719 Miles

This is the Way | See It
After Walking Miles in the Same Shoes...
Woodc-fired Bottle
Wood-fired Basket

20 Hours, 15 Minutes and 115 Miles
Centipede

Lightpainting Montage
Fortunate

Zodiac

Eyemagine
Kelischek/Spletzer
Nothing is Ever Perfect
Pair of Trilobites

Drawing 1", 38

Drawing, Honorable Mention, 41
Sculpture 1", 124

Printmaking 2", 119

Fiction 3", 58"§9

Drawing 3", 40

Sculpture, Honorable Mention, 129
Painting 2", 105

Ceramics 1�, 26

Film Act 1%, 62

Digital Photography 2, 33
Painting 1o, 104

Fiction 2, 50-37

Sculpture 3", 126

Drawing 2", 39

Painting, Honorable Mention, 107
Graphic Design 2", 69

Textile Design 2%, 131

Textile Design, Honorable Mention, 133
Best In Show, 12-13

Photography 3�"�, 138

Interactive Design 1o, 81
Pummation | 16

Animation 3", 18

Animation, Honorable Mention, 19
Film Art 2�"�, 63

Film Art 3", 64

Metal Design 2", 85

Photography 2", 137

Photography, Honorable Mention, 139
Ceramics 2, 27

Ceramics, Honorable Mention, 29
Non-Fiction 1o, 94-101

Digital Photography, Honorable Mention, 35
Pil Art 2", 63

Ilustration 2", 7s

Illustration 3", 76

Wood Design 1", 142

Wood Design 3", 144

Printmaking, Honorable Mention, 121
Ceramics 3", 28

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Laing Youmans, Lindsey Watertower #3

Mack, Steven
Mauser, Anne
No, Jamin

Pearson, Leslie
Pell, Samantha
Pierce, Ashley
Pike, Elizabeth
Pitts, Chas
Pollard, JoEllen

Price, Luke Ivy

Rupe, Chris
Silinsky, Karen H

Strader, Molly
Sullivan, Owen
Venema, Jeannie

Wagoner, Heath
Weaver, Timothy
White, Eric

a

Morning Conversations

Berlinale 2010

Ritual

Geofotografi

Seeds

Toward Wholeness

Two Are Company, Three Are None
Self Conscience

Purple Flower, Yellow Flower
Angels Under a Sea of Black Umbrellas
Needle and Thread

Nature

Star Recycle Box

Cherry Ring

Pipe #1

Chrysanthemum

Greenville Barn Scene

Dream Barn

Ready for Flight

Assembled Utensils

Eternal Motel

Untitled

Lightbulbs

Rings of my Travels

Thulu

Nautilus Abstraction #3: Disconnect

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Painting 3", 106
Fiction 1*, 44-49
Graphic Design 3", 70

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Poetry 2°, 12

Poetry 3° 13

Poetry, Honorable Mention, 114
Textile Design 1*, 130

Textile Design 3", 132

Illustration, Honorable Mention, 77
Digital Photography 1*, 32

Animation 274, 17

Book Arts 1°, 22

Book Arts 2"4, 23

Graphic Design, Honorable Mention, 71
Wood Design 2", 143

Wood Design, Honorable Mention, 145
Poetry 1o, 110-111

Digital Photography 3", 34
Printmaking 1", 118

Metal Design 1*, 84

Metal Design 3", 86

Graphic Design 1, 68

Printmaking 3", 120

Photography 1*, 136

Metal Design, Honorable Mention, 87
lilstration 1 74

Sculpture 2", 125

~
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a - INDEX 149







JUDGES

y Gry

4

VAAUG

Qj terary

150 JUDGES


Mike Joosse, Graphic Designer
/
Alia El-Bermani, Painter od \
4
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Victona Sexton, Geramist :
Charlotte Fitz, Director of Greenville Museum of Art _ fy
: 4
Ny a
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" a @) yA
CO 4
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Julie Fay, Professor of English at East Carolina University

Erica Ploufte-Lazure, former professor of English at East
Carolina University

Christopher Tonilli, Professor of English at North Carolina
State University

Edward Jacobs, Professor of Music at East Carolina University





Carson oDash� Copeland
Anna Vaughn Creech
Alia El-Bermani

Vicky Fanberg

Julie Fay

Charlotte Fitz

Holly Garriott

Katelyn Haynes

Henry Stindt Photographic
Paul Isom

Edward Jacobs

Sarah Jakubowski

Mike Joosse

Craig Malmrose
Harrison Metcalf
Yvonne Moye

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Erica Ploufte-Lazure

Perry Loflin

Frank Pulley

Pitt County Arts Council at Emerge
Lisa Beth Robinson

Victoria Sexton

Henry Stindt

Stone Printing & Graphics
Christopher Tonelli

Trade Union Press

© © apeciak thank»

University Printing & Graphics

SPECIAL THANKS 151

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=e East Carolina University
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152 OTHER STAFF







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Rebel 52 is produced by and for students of East
Carolina University. Offices are located within
Student Publications in the Self-Help Building. The
contents are copyrighted 2009 and 2010 by Rebel 52.
All rights revert to the individual artists and writers
upon publication. Contents may not be repro-
duced by any means, nor stored in any information
retrieval system without the written permission of

the artist or writer. Printed with non-state funds.

a
°« A
oa Rebel is a division of Student Media. Please direct _ :
all questions or comments to rebel@ecu.edu. ®
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» East Carolina University 9 ®
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Title
Rebel, 2010
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
UA50.08.52
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https://digital.lib.ecu.edu/62621
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