E l e v e n R i v e r s R e v i e w Vo l u m e 2 , I s s u e 1 S p r i n g 2 0 1 6

Acknowledgements

The ERR thanks everyone who made our third issue possible

Cakky Brawley, Professor of Art

Dr. Alba De Leon, Professor of Art

Lee Ann Epstein, Tiger P.A.W.S Director

Dimona Esparza, Senior Multimedia Specialist

Vicente Guillot, English Department Chair

Mark Hogensen, Lead Professor of Art

Dr. Mary-Ellen Jacobs, Dean of Arts and Sciences

Shirley Lejia, Financial Aid Associate Director

Karen Mahaffey, Assistant Professor of Art

Thomas Murguia, Tutoring Services Coordinator

Dr. Denise Richter, Professor of Journalism

Matilda Staudt, INRW Lead Instructor

Beth Tanner, Vice President of Academic Success

Juan Tejeda, Mexican-American Studies Instructor

Lloyd Walsh, Associate Professor of Art

and many others

Editorial Staff

Student Editors

Nathan Cantu

Deidre Carrillo

Sarah L. Lopez

Abraham Rodriguez

Staff Editors

Hunter Bates (Coordinator)

Selina Bonilla

Larissa Hernandez

Tyler Moses

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Table of Contents

Mane River / Michelle Alvarez .......................................................................................... Cover

Rapid Trap / Gracelyne Davis ................................................................................................... 5

The Womb / Elizabeth Rodriguez ............................................................................................. 6

Adam and Eve / Melinda Huizar ............................................................................................... 7

Imagine / Iris Ledezma ............................................................................................................. 8

Blue Jay / Roman Sanchez ........................................................................................................ 9

Cheap Sugar / Melissa Tarin Croom ....................................................................................... 10

Isolated / Summer Dinscore .................................................................................................... 11

Stormy Night / Iris Ledezma ................................................................................................... 12

Mission Espada Garden Cross / John Martinez ....................................................................... 13

Unsure / Santa Perez ............................................................................................................... 14

Rivers of Imagination / Stephen Ratliff .................................................................................. 15

Vehement / Ivone Ortega ........................................................................................................ 16

Ribbons / Melissa Tarin Croom .............................................................................................. 17

Snake Eyes / Abigail Barrientez .............................................................................................. 18

Cleopatra’s Last Kiss (Snake Lips) / Sean Campos ................................................................. 19

Dance of a Rigid Woman / Roman Sanchez ............................................................................ 20

Blossom / Ashlie Dix Walpole ................................................................................................ 21

A Letter to My Papa / Alyssa De La O .................................................................................... 22

Emotions / Samantha Gonzales ............................................................................................... 23

The Angel / Ivone Ortega ........................................................................................................ 24

Riverflow / Ivone Ortega ........................................................................................................ 25

King of the Jungle / Sarah Losoya .......................................................................................... 26

Untitled Clay / Kimberly Bustos ............................................................................................ 27

Fiesta Skull / Brendon Vidaurre .............................................................................................. 28

Medicine Tome / Jose Luis A Nunez ............................................................................... 31-33

Anatomy of Stone / Ashley Rodriguez .................................................................................... 34

Princepe de los Ciervos / Nathan Cantu .................................................................................. 35

Fishes and The Flow of Time / Stephen Ratliff ....................................................................... 36

Daddy’s Turn / Michelle Alvarez ............................................................................................ 37

Man Behind The Mayan / Stephen Ratliff ............................................................................... 38

I Am One / Sean Campos ................................................................................................... 39-41

La Virgen / Jasmine Trevino ................................................................................................... 42

Just a Dog / Mike Mullinix ..................................................................................................... 43

Students Remember Poetry Archive Mural / Abraham Rodriguez ...................................... 44-46

Rapid Trap Photography

Gracelyne Davis

5

This photo was taken in Concan, Texas on the 1050 bridge. I heard, "MOM, I’m stuck," so I leaned over the side and saw a boy stuck in the rapids of the river.

A drop of you will tear the flesh of me,

and my skin will shelter it,

and it will indeed swim in my ocean.

It will make images of the lines that are my veins.

It will rest upon the clouds of my heaven until it falls from grace.

The Womb

Elizabeth Rodriguez

Adam and Eve Mixed media on canvas

Melinda Huizar

7

Imagine Digital art collage Iris Ledezma

Blue Jay, Beautiful blue bird...

Serenade soft, sweet sonnets to the red Cardinal bird

sitting high above mountainous pedestals,

perched upon arthritic riddled trees

Blue Jay, Beautiful Blue Bird...

Charm the cherry colored bird

Flutter your wings,

Sing of things,

With wondrous reddened things

Blue Jay, Beautiful Blue Bird...

Equal her splendor to that of a scarlet red rose,

Sing of the bellowing blue skies hope and dreams

where Crimson and Cobalt wings take flight

Blue Jay,

Beautiful, Blue, Bird.

Blue Jay

Roman Sanchez

9

Cheap Sugar

Melissa Tarin Croom

A kiss hello,

and a kiss goodnight;

cheap sugar.

A backyard picnic

on a cloudy day;

slow dancing to a song

on a second-hand radio;

cheap sugar.

Heart-shaped chocolates

the day after Valentine’s;

cheap sugar.

Coarse white granules

spilled across the floor;

clumpy crystals caught

in the bristles of a broom;

cheap sugar.

A bruise on the cheek

and a bouquet of bluebonnets;

the mantra, whispered,

“never again.”

Cheap sugar.

Isolated Photography

Summer Dinscore

11

Stormy Night

Acrylic paint on Bristol paper

Iris Ledezma

Mission Espada Garden Cross Photography

John Martinez

13

Unsure

Santa Perez

I can’t talk now, I’m too busy hitting rewind

Since each mistake makes me want to go back in time

I’m thinking in questions such as “What the hell?”

“Where did this come from?” It was all going so well

I’m on the move again trying to find a new place

This time I don’t think I should leave a trace

I want to be heard even though I don’t have much to say

I just want someone to look over so that they could stay.

This isn’t what I ordered so can you please take it back?

I want to start over but I can’t find the right track

Rivers of Imagination Black-and-white photography and Photoshop

Stephen Ratliff

15

Vehement Ink drawing and mixed media

Ivone Ortega

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Ribbons around my throat

tied in bows to remind me

to be good

to be alluring

to be worn for the evening.

Ribbons around my ankles

twist and tumble with each step

a taunt to follow

a truth to grasp

a taboo to discern.

Ribbons threaded through my hair

ready to unravel

just one pull

just one tug

just one more.

Ribbons around my wrists

hands gently tied together

giving up control

granting me my freedom

gratifying a darker need.

Tangled to-do lists strangle my soul

paranoid what-ifs weigh me down low

but not here

but not now

because he knows what to do.

In a single touch

with great precision;

those weary thoughts

are sliced to ribbons.

Ribbons Melissa Tarin Croom

Snake Eyes Photography

Abigail Barrientez

Cleopatra’s Last Kiss (Snake Lips) Sean Campos

“…and when the things you wish to perpetuate are as lost and forgotten as your

meager lives and your attempts to solidify them in the consciousness of the people,

I’ll have a great laugh. I may not be around, but I’ll have my progeny which is

merely me reborn, and you’ll have nothing. What do you have? A few centuries? I

have eons.

I have millions of years behind my fangs, and neither of you can outlast the dust of

the Sahara that sweeps and swoons and grants you mercy to exist at all. This is the

eternal. I was here before your ancients’ pyramids. I was here before you ever

spoke the first word. I saw you fall from trees like poisoned apes, then stumble in

the hot sands barefooted. I met you in the garden: a clumsy being that should have

been dealt a deathblow from mercy before you created a misery for not only all of

us, but yourselves especially. So can I have this last kiss?”

“What is this thing, Antony? We don’t believe in magic anymore, foolish creature.

What lovely fantasies this land entertains. Talking snakes are for Judea—not

Egypt... Go!”

The asp: he’s sand that clatters

with a leather coil down stairs.

Cleopatra: she drops a sloppy pomegranate,

And pulls gold pins from Egypt's hair.

All of Rome can lick its lips

and every Spaniard tear his veil—

the world is balanced on one snake’s hump

and Time's sand slithers down his scales.

His kiss that rips the prince or pauper,

discards them like an empty shell—

he kisses, fangs curled back to taste

her hand seized in two silver nails.

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Dance of a Rigid Woman Wood sculpture

Roman Sanchez

Blossom Compressed charcoal

Ashlie Dix Walpole

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Papa,

you are the funniest and most whimsical

person I’ve known. I wish you were this

person every day. It has been told to me

that we will never have the parents we

dream about. I have finally accepted that.

You taught me what the definition of ab-

normal is. It took me years to finally trust

a man, since I could never depend on you.

However, at the same time, you taught me

to live without ever needing one either. He

says he loves me and adores me, pero with

the way I saw you lie to ma, makes me

think he saying differently. You know the

time where you would bring your five

sanchas to our home, while ma was in

school trying to better our future. It was a

perk that I got such lavishing presents

from them, but they could not replace the

love I saw you broke with my own mother,

and most importantly, your esposa. How

could I ever trust anyone, I always

thought, with your false hopes and dreams

that you had promised me? I was not

enough to love, to give, or to care for? No,

I accepted.

You are independent. You never needed

the love of others, especially your daugh-

ters. There was a time though, when God

entered your life for the first time, with the

help and support of what you forget: your

familia. You were different. You were at-

tentive. Of course, you were the best thing

that ever happened to our lives. God had

given you the strength to prosper and be-

come the man you were always expected

to be.

However, that period was short. It dimmed

faster than the afternoon sunset turning

into night. But I am thankful for that short

span of time. I never expected it to last

long anyways, just the way I see it when

good things happen to me. You helped me

believe that those times will never last.

From the moment I have known you, you

have been destructible, irresponsible, and

undoubtedly crazy. You make me mad

sometimes. You never came to realize that

I had to fix the pieces that you broke,

while you slept away in the night without a

care in the world. I always stood by your

side, despite the fact you had always let

me down. I always believed something

would change for the better with you. Now

that I have accepted you, I no longer wish

for that kind of fantasy. Except, I have

learned to love you as you are.

Your mistakes and downfalls have only

made me a better person. An independent

person and a successful one too. Without

your dedication, attention, and affection, I

have learned to find what it takes to do that

for mis hijos and myself. I will always

remember you as the one who spoiled me

at times, to make up for the bad things you

had done. You only show affection when

you drink, and if it takes that drink to

make you become the dad I always want-

ed, then I am grateful. I always will be and

for everything that is given to me. Thank

you papa, for loving me the way you did,

and again, I am grateful.

Sincerely,

your Chiquita

A Letter to My Papa

Alyssa De La O

Emotions Watercolor drawing

Samantha Gonzales

23

The Angel Ivone Ortega

It was a shame. Alonso had built a small fire on this frosty night but this fragile girl could not attain warmth from it. Her lips were pale blue and fingertips purple. White teeth chattered and her body quivered even as he pressed her close to him.

Irene sneezed, followed by a quiet giggle that barley made a sound. Life wasn’t fair was it?

The night was bound to only get colder, but he felt her hopeful eyes on him. It was a while before Alonso’s brown eyes met her gentle ones.

“It’s okay. I’ll keep you in my heart. You won’t be forgotten.”

Those words were enough to ease her mind and with a bit of relief, she pressed her cheek against her protector’s shoulder and began to drift away. She fought against it at first, fearing that she wouldn’t wake up if she slept, but eventually gave into the slumber.

Suddenly, a warm hand was on her shoulder and Irene opened her eyes to find herself staring at an older man with beauty unmatched by any other. He could not be real, could he?

“I am your angel that will take you to heaven.”

Irene turned to look at Alonso who had fallen asleep against her. The fire had gone out; he would get cold. She tried to pick the stones that Alonso had used to light the fire but her hand passed through them.

“What?”

Irene turned to look at the winged man who waited patiently where she had left him. Alonso was still sleeping against Irene’s lifeless body. She noticed then that she had walked out of her physical form.

“I don’t want to be dead. This isn’t real, is it?”

He stroked the hair of her lifeless body, “It was your time to die.”

“But I’m still starting my life. I’ve suffered so much. I wanted…”

“I shall show you happiness.”

“In heaven?”

“No, here on earth.”

“How? I never got to see happiness here.”

“I’ll show it to you.”

“But you said I am dead.”

“You are but you must gather happiness here on earth to plant in heav-en.”

“What happiness, my angel?”

“Call me Damian, Irene.”

Damian took a step back from her and then pointed to the white flowers that surrounded the area where Alonso and Irene’s bodies resided.

“You asked him to bring you here because you like flowers. They make you happy.”

“Yes, they do.” Irene crouched down and gently stroked a petal, “Is this happiness?”

“It’s your happiness that we will plant in heaven.”

“Is it beautiful in heaven?”

“Once you plant your flowers, you’ll see for yourself.”

Irene nodded and began to pick the flowers as Damian watched over her. Once her arms were overflowing with flowers she returned back to him, only sparing a last glance at Alonso who slumbered with her human body at his side. She didn’t feel cold anymore, nor was she in pain. It bought her a sense of hope for what lay ahead.

“Are these enough?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’m ready to go to heaven.”

“Not, yet.”

“Huh?”

Damian wrapped his arms around her shoulders and whispered into her ear, “Close your

eyes.”

Irene did not question him and mentally said her simple farewell to Alonso who had been so kind to her, even when it had been her last day.

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When she opened her eyes once more, she was in a field covered with flowers and a gasp escaped her.

“It’s beautiful.”

Damian took Irene all over the world and showed her many astounding places filled with flowers of all kinds. Irene laughed, played, giggled and asked Damian to bask in this happiness she had found.

“If it weren’t for you, I would not have known true happiness, Damian.”

She watched him pick up the flower and place it in his robes.

“Let’s go to heaven.”

“Wait, Damian.”

“What is it?”

Irene grabbed his sleeves and tugged him down slightly as she stood on her toes and kissed him gently. After a moment she let him go and smiled, “Thank you for loving me the way you did. I wouldn’t be this happy had it not been for you.”

Damian was a bit taken aback by her affection, but held no annoyance for the gift she placed on him. His amber eyes spoke kind words to her and after a moment he articulated them:

“Your happiness is all that matters now.”

“Will, I become an angel like you?”

Damian chuckled and pressed his forehead against hers. She smiled back feeling a bit foolish. He brushed his fingers along her face and closed his eyes. Irene’s eyes widened seeing such a tranquil smile on his lips. It was haunting as if it was too beautiful to watch yet her heart sang at the sight and blood rushed to her cheeks under his touch.

And within a blink of an eye he was gone and so were her surroundings. Irene stood in a vast plain of lush grass filled with the flowers she and Damian had picked.

Face flushed, she looked up at the cloudless sky spreading out her arms and smiling.

As she ascended into heaven, without a hint of regret or sadness, Irene spoke honest words:

“Here is the happiness that I’ve found on earth to bring with me to heav-en.”

Riverflow Digital art

Ivone Ortega

27

King of the Jungle Acrylic and marker

Sarah Losoya

Untitled

Clay (unglazed)

Kimberly Bustos

29

Fiesta Skull

Acrylic and pencil

Brendon Vidaurre

Medicine Tome

Jose Luis A Nunez

Deep within the darkest days of nightly shadow,

lost within the winding winds of whistling time

from pillared wisps of smoke arose the titan

Kobol, and he did call to all his titan kind:

“Brothers! I bid you all to come, and find!

smell and see the oceans stir with salt

hear here, how bright lightning strikes the sea!

feel as wind climbs up her mountain, jumps!

She spreads her wings and flies, dancing

all throughout the sky for what eyes might spy.

But what need have we of this? None whatsoever.

Listen to my tongue, and then do decide:

We need not food to eat, nor do our throats

cry out parched in seek of splashing drink

Are we cold with winter? Do we romance in spring?

Let us build him, then, a one not of our kind.

He shall hunger, he shall thirst, he shall

curse the iron wrists of old man winter's bones,

yet too shall drink and feast, and too shall

greet the golden sun upon a golden throne!”

It was understood, the words of Elder Kobol.

By fine praise they took his words and then

his words they took were made their own

and so was made a mold of earth and clay

Upon him, then, they did pronounce his name,

and then out did shout, the earth, the sky,

the Titans could not themselves deny,

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Galadriel! Galadriel! Oh what happy day!

All was given unto him, and with no delay

he asked for food and drink and ate and drank

they give him warmth and beauty to deflower

Titans taught him wisdom, taught him pride

They were fools, and for that they died.

Word spread fast. A strange event occurred,

for Eliohim had fallen and his body found

pierced and burned. The titans wept,

and out did Kobol cry:

“Why, oh why, has this been done? Why

have you, him killed, our one and only son?”

But there came no answer, none at all.

Eerie silence only could they ascertain.

One day long past, within the wilderness

They found Yocticel had joined the ranks,

stuck on savage pikes, his head and flanks.

Again, did eerie silence dance and dance

Sohroheyim, and Malluleyal were next; then

followed shortly Falyatier and Semuduin.

Until at last, the eldest one, Kobol lived

and into eerie silence, cried so sadly out:

“Why, oh why, why have this you done?

My dear Galadriel? My dear and only son?”

Finally, there came reply as silence left

thunder and howl from the mountains:

“Oh my father, you who had created I

Do, truly, you decline the reason why?

I hungered and thirsted, I wandered and roamed

You fed me with food, left me with drink.

But you did not leave me on my own. Titans,

33

you do not need to drink nor need to eat.

You are home in cold or heat, your bones.

How could you understand? I need to need.

Without hardship, how can heat be welcomed?

Why would cold be feared? Darkness and light—

two of a kind, yet at opposite ends, this

is why the wind wends and stirs the salty sea.

This is the reason the wolf howls at the moon

why lightning and thunder strike as monsoons

It wasn't for you to treat me so well, for

I needed to fight, and conquer, and kill.

I required sustenance, and now you require hell.”

Anatomy of Stone Oil pastel and Indian ink

Ashley Rodriguez

35

Princepe de los Ciervos

Digital art

Nathan Cantu

Fishes and The Flow of Time

Digital art collage

Stephen Ratliff

Daddy’s Turn

aaAcrylic painting

Michelle Alvarez

37

Man Behind The Mayan Photography and Photoshop

Stephen Ratliff

I Am One

Sean Campos

39

E: The sea is coming in.

S: Doesn’t it always? You can’t stop tides or surges, can you?

E: But I think this time it will be more severe than usual. I’ve built this brick wall

to protect my garden. I’ve constructed these walls, bastions and ramparts to pro-

tect my home. But you haven’t done anything to protect your own house from the

sea. It’s right on the shore—shouldn’t you go home and do something to save it?

S: Not really. The sea’s going to take what it wants no matter what I do. Nothing I

can do is going to stop it. Anyway, even though your garden is on a cliff and has a

wall around it, it’s really just as close to the sea as my little house. Do you think a

few feet of elevation is going to make a difference? Anyway, it’s much more im-

portant for us to finish this match.

E: Well yes, of course the elevation will help protect the garden—that’s why I put

it there. And the wall is made of re-enforced stone—unlike the flimsy construc-

tion of your house, which is going to be swept away even in just a high tide or

minor storm. Building my garden and wall farther from the sea would have been a

good idea, I admit, but it just wasn’t possible at the time. Anyway, how can you

think this game is more important than saving your house? Oh, well—I’m fine

with continuing the game, since I know my wall is going to protect the garden

from tides and waves. Your move, isn’t it?

S: I’ll move my knight. Knight fork. Choose—your queen or your castle.

E: It’s a clever move—you always do this to me. I should anticipate it, but it still

catches me off guard. But it doesn’t matter—I have other plans.

S: Since you’ve convinced yourself that it doesn’t matter, I can’t call you a liar.

But have you ever noticed that the knight is really just a horse? An animal? It’s

not something you can understand. It doesn’t move along human lines, but in an

animal pattern that you simply can’t comprehend. Your logic always fails when a

wild card is introduced. It must be very frustrating for you. Now move.

E: You can have the queen. The castle is more valuable for my purposes. It’s all

about position and the end game. Besides, any pawn can sacrifice itself and be-

come another queen. So, I move the castle. You won’t see the advantage of it until

we’re near the end game. The sea is coming in, you know? Don’t you ever think long-

term?

S: What good’s that done you? You want everything pristine and unchangeable. You

are so myopic! How will your pawns ever make it to the other side of the board to

become queens when you toss them away like they’re nothing? For you they’re just

worthless, expendable soldiers. But all right—I’ll gladly take your queen. She’ll be a

lovely addition to my boneyard of pieces that I’ve already captured. I don’t care about

your castle—it’s just as useless as that wall you’ve built to protect your garden from

the sea. How will stone stop the movement of men, or of the elements? Such a shel-

tered little world you live in: never changing and all things in order.

E: It’s better than that hovel you live in. Cobwebs in the cupboards; snakes in the gar-

den. Chaos! What chaos. And you don’t know this game as well as you think. I’ll have

mate in just a couple of moves.

S: I admire your simplicity as much as I despise it. Too bad that you think a cupboard

is just for cups and a garden is just for plants. Where else are these creatures to go?

Besides, a spider in the cupboard kills mosquitoes; and a snake in the garden eats ro-

dents. They’re not all equally worthless—although you seem to think so.

E: Speaking of cobwebs: that’s the flaw in your thinking. Pawn takes knight.

S: Scaffolding and fitted stones. That’s your weakness. They make you feel secure

only when sun and rain are drenching your garden. But come storm or wind, and all

your peace is washed away.

E: It’s my move again—I take your bishop.

S: You can have him. Worthless diagonals—he does what he does because that’s all

he can do. Easily blocked and good for nothing but some small support—or getting in

the way. Like his human equivalent, he’s little more than a nuisance—one to block the

path towards freedom. He douses people in guilt and cold sweats for eating a pork

chop on Friday.

E: So at least we agree on something.

S: Okay—I move my queen to threaten your rook.

E: Why? Move her one more space and you would have had mate! How foolish can

you be? Like I said, you really don’t know this game like you think.

41

S: I’m no fool. You just don’t see it from my perspective. What good is a king to me? He

matters in your world, but not in mine. I don’t answer to others the way you do. As much

as I might love to commit a little regicide, he adds nothing to the running of the board; so

he’s worth less than nothing. Just an old fool we think we have to protect for some for-

gotten, antiquated purpose.

Just then the sea rolled in. It was pleasant at first, with warm water washing over their

feet. But then it quickly rose over E’s small cliff in cold thrashes. The walls worked for a

little while, but soon started to falter. In a few minutes nothing visible remained of the

fortress E had made for his garden but barely visible foundations. Everything in the gar-

den was poisoned by the salt water. E looked at his hard work ruined, and shuddered. S

could see his own home in the distance, shifting in the sand, leaning and then claimed by

the sea; A sudden wave knocked S down and dragged him towards the open waters. E

turned white at the thought of his own mortality. But S went peacefully, as though he was

one with the sea. “I’ll see you tomorrow, brother. We’ll rebuild the wall and replant the

garden.”

La Virgen Photography

Jasmine Trevino

Just a Dog Digital art collage

Mike Mullinix

43

Student Artists Remember Poetry Archive Mural Project

Abraham Rodriguez (and ERR staff editors)

Between fall 2015 and spring 2016, a group of students from associate professor Cakky Brawley’s ceramics and sculpture classes spent countless hours creating a massive mu-ral for the Ozuna Library as part of the San Antonio Poetry Archive. The resulting 12-foot wide, 6-foot high ceramic mural features a painted South-Texas landscape, includ-ing a girl reading beneath a tree and pages of poems blowing in the wind. The Eleven Rivers Review spoke with the student artists who worked on the mural to document their experience on this unique collaborative project. Deborah Clary worked on the mural from September 2015 until its completion. She explains, “It has been a long process from rolling the 2,000 pounds of clay it started with—that’s how many pounds of slabs we rolled.” While laying the slabs for the foundation, the group was also deliberating on the con-cept for the piece. Continuing ed. student Dixie Yarbrough states, “I was involved from the conception and that was the most frustrating part for all of us… trying to bring all of our ideas together, and that really took the fall semester. We got started [with] the major layout and got started on the trees, but we took most of the first semester getting the concept.” Ken Cruz, an engineering major, played a crucial role in the project as the art work-study. He notes: “In a group setting sometimes there were too many ideas to input and we couldn’t decide on just one, so we wouldn’t get to places quickly. Last semester, that was when it took us a long time.” Eventually, cooperation led the group past differences of opinion. Yarbrough says her favorite part of the project was “seeing it come together. Not anyone’s ideas dominated, not anyone’s work dominated; it was truly a group project, and that’s not something you get to experience real often.” The experience of working on a project of this scale was not just a rare experience for the artists we interviewed; it was completely new. Ceramics student Kallie Deavers, who contributed a gecko, tree bark, and leaves to the mural, states, “I never experienced anything like that before—doing such a big project. It looked like it would be challeng-ing at first. I was shocked and surprised [at] the end. . . . I was very excited.” Similarly, continuing ed. student Mary Lance states, “I’ve never been involved in any-thing this big, and many times I thought, ‘This is never going to be finished.’ But Dixie and Cakky had vision and stick-to-itiveness and just did it.” Ceramics student Kassandra Sanchez’s initial doubts were more about her own abilities: “It was my first time doing something like that. I was with all these people more ad-vanced than me, and didn’t want to bother them, but they are just so nice and supportive about everything and they just want to teach you everything that they know…it’s really cool to see that. . . . My worst fear would be, God forbid, messing it up or destroying something or dropping it by accident. I hate having that type of responsibility, but with Cakky’s reassurance . . . not doubting my ability, it really helped me open up with just relaxing about that whole idea. So to me the coolest part was getting past that fear and overcoming my fear of pretty much the whole thing and just really relaxing and having fun with the project.”

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Like Sanchez and Lance, Yarbrough also cites Brawley as a key to the success of the pro-ject: “Cakky’s done a lot of public big projects; she knew what it took. I think for all of us, [It was a] very different experience to work collaboratively and to work on a huge public art piece. . . . I am more of a hobbyist. . . . We are very fortunate in Palo Alto to have an artist of Cakky’s experience and ability. If it weren’t for the fact that she has done public art and big projects, I don’t know if an instructor would be willing to take on something like this.”

One defining quality of the project that came up consistently was its collaborative atmos-phere. Yarbrough, whose husband helped with the project, states, “Like everyone has mentioned, the collaboration was great. Like anyone who walked in the door—students, boyfriends, girlfriends, my husband, you know—if they walked in . . . they would paint.” She continues, “Anytime there was something to be done . . . , somebody would just step in to do it. I don’t think I ever heard anyone complain or refuse to do something.” She also credits the Palo Alto maintenance staff for their “terrific job” with the installation. Yarbrough claims, “One of the strengths of Palo Alto is that we have a multi-generational student body,” something she and Lance, as the two senior contributors to the project, both saw reflected in the group of artists. Lance notes, “The age differences were marvelous. It was very beautiful. In fact, I even had this funny letdown after it was over.” She calls it post-mural depression.

Photo courtesy of Cakky Brawley

Photo courtesy of Cakky Brawley Ownership over individual contributions seemed less important to the artists we inter-viewed. Kassandra Sanchez contributed the swirls in the blue sky, but she points out, “I mean really everyone [collectively] did every little thing, so it’s really hard to be like, ‘I did this specifically.’” One student, Deborah Clary, found fellowship and therapy in the project: “Working as a group was a lot of fun, and I started because I thought it would be very therapeutic. I was diagnosed with cancer three years ago, and that’s when I started my first class with Cakky. [It’s been] very therapeutic, and I’ve grown to love everyone. There’s several of the la-dies—they are like family to me now.”

Lance, a onetime drama major, says working on the project has been “just the most won-derful collaboration project I have ever been involved with. It reminded me of when I was in a play, where everybody has a part. But in this particular case, there was no rivalry; there was no fighting.” Lance continues: “Everyone was of a single mind and having fun, and there was no grade involved… It wasn’t like you were working on something to send to a jury.”

The project was also special in that it covered both engineering and arts. Yarbrough notes, “I learned so much from Ken [Cruz] in terms of the engineering . . . how to put the clay together, how to cut it out, the holes in the back. I didn’t know any of the stuff . . . It wasn’t just the artist concept, creating it in the clay, it was also the engineering to put it together. It was fascinating to see the engineering, the technical part of it. It was definitely an eye-opening experience.” Similarly, Lance says the project was “incredibly technical and complicated and fun.” Finally, after five weeks in which Clary says the students worked on the mural every day for “maybe 8 hours, 9 hours,” the group completed the mural, two weeks ahead of schedule. Asked for her final thoughts on the project, Evelyn Perez, a young student who painted many of the details on the mural, summarized the experience: “I guess you could say, when I leave Palo Alto I can come back and look back [at] what we all did, and be proud of it and show . . . future kids . . . our work.”

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