Photos taken and developed by Jonathan Silin

Linoleum Block Print by alum Natalie Stevens

Linoleum block print and lead type letter press 

4.25'x6' postcard

text reads, "Maine, 

your children adore you,

seasoned in crabapple ways."

Photos by Katherine Torrey

Photograph by Walker Stockly

Various Projects from Leander Johnson

Photos by Leander

Blog: http://maryonpark.tumblr.com/

&

http://masculin-feminin.tumblr.com/ 

A Video: http://vimeo.com/15969125

Music: http://www.myspace.com/leanderprojects

Photos taken and developed by Erika Joyce

"Korean Border"

"Sincheon"

"Spirits"

  "Silence"

Poem by Chris Spalding

"Snow is almost here,
I can feel it."
"You make those baseless
Exclamations every year,"
Is the indifferent reply.
"Baseless maybe,
But hopeful nonetheless."
I say, slightly shaken.
"Hope is merely a feeling.
It changes nothing"
I hear in return.
"But it is the catalyst
For everything."
I retort firmly.
Nothing but silence,
And a glimmer of light
Come from the once
Pitch black corner.

The Sun by Emily Torrey

I swallowed the sun.

Whole, and raw, and burning.

Before it could sink into the cutting blacktop mountains,

that stood faint and regal in front of me,

or drown in the pool of shining oiled river,

swirling below with the faintest whisper of true reflection.

Before I lost it-

my sun-

I crushed it, with fist, phalanx, and whole figure.

Its inky yolk soon sailing criss- cross

through the iodized waters of my crying cerulean irises,

waves leaking indigoes, pinks, yellowed golds, and fading reds

down to my shoulders,

previously callow of such beauty,

and lighting within my deep, tired core, the world.

For now I see;

I see beauty in the wisps of hair that curve from eyelids on the one who is loved,

in the tree,

that is framed in my frosted window,

and which in the summer relinquishes a perfectly soft pale orange peach

into the hands of the one who is hungry.

I see beauty in myself,

who is now lighting my own precious world from the inside out.

And watching,

as the ones who are sad,

the ones who are waiting,

waiting for the day when their own light will be swallowed,

and their eyes will swim with silent, golden tears.

These eyes which will grip tight the unseen,

unextinguished beauty which quietly surrounds us all.

Longboarding: Sexual Soda with Cam Barner, Will Cleaves and Sam Martin

Poetry from Elias Pierce

You strayed from the path that

God intended for you

And wound up in my arms.

I can only hope it was out of ignorance

God spoke to me once—

In a dream.   Or a nightmare.

I can’t remember.  He looked

Like a man.  I chuckled, because

There goes one of the ten commandments.

I don’t believe in god,

But you, you are so perfect

You must believe in heaven.

I have to go now.  I never

Wear a watch, but I always

Know the time.  Maybe

You’ll see me in heaven, but

I won’t see you.

Maine Session 1 by Will Hallett

Tar Paper & White House Paint

Top by Corey

Bottom by Hannah

Waynflete art in the greater community

 Waynflete and Portland high school students team together and create the ornaments that will represent Maine on the national Christmas tree in Washington D.C.

The Shards of Nasril

The Shards of Nasril

-Seth’s Poetry Class

I am

The Rummy champion,

A tree, two dogs

And a cliff.

climber

I miss rocks that were houses,

and the Grandmother Willow tree

I am from fog horn sounds

And snow plows scraping streets through night,

blinking their lights,

A power plant that floats

Over the hill

like the moon

I am

languid liquid

Free flowing till

I freeze

into stark

Rainbow reflection

Where beauty was invented

So Northeast no one

Knows 

but Canadia.

Wicked.

I miss the Angell Ave bungalow

Whose two tar roads

Are yellow with beachy sand,

I am a girl

Who used to sing the Lord’s prayer

To her dolls dying of malaria

And now

Church makes me sick

I miss Imus in the morning

And Bill Nye reruns 

After school

I am from

“We need to put some meat on those bones!”

And wondering how my dad’s thighs are so muscular 

I’ve got some big whitey tighties to fill.

I am

Awkward.

And I miss spaghettio’s.

I am not just a number

I was taught never to look down

I miss sculpting tin foil cubes

From public school lunches.

Wading thigh high 

In black water 

Collecting Indian-soap.

From seaweed,

Ferry rides through sea smoke

Homemade honey and

Fried bread with nutella. 

The farmhouse,

And past due bills

I am from the Ocean

Winking back at me

Knowing always who 

I am.

I miss skinny dipping with my brothers

When the homework was scarce,

Girls had cooties,

And everyone looked the same

We didn’t care

Sacred and Profane

an art festival at battery steel, peaks island