I recently got new speakers for my stereo. They’re the MB Quartz 502s which were a little over 1000$ when they were purchased, but I got them for much much less on Craigslist from this guy living off of Foothill named Jeff. I was pretty excited to upgrade my system as the last speakers I had came with this house when we bought it and were mounted outside on the patio so they were pretty damaged. MB Quartz used to make a bunch of audiophiles high-end speakers but they were purchased in the mid-90s and started to make much lower quality ones (these are from before the purchase), nowadays they make boat and auto speakers. These things look and so super good although I think in the upper end they sound a little metallic, for this reason, I added one of the sets of older speakers which has a much warmer (overly warm if played alone) sound. With the combination, the whole stereo setup I have been building really comes together and I’ve been enjoying building this sort of thing.
Category: art
Tury
Arturo Sandoval III is 6’5”. His nickname is Tury, pronounced 2-D, and he has helped define what art means to me. His hands are huge, almost clumsy looking, with a set of meaty fingers at their end. He’s a party animal at heart; having crashed three different Porsches between the ages of eighteen and thirty five. And he’s probably the only person who’s gotten my parents to stay out past midnight in the last twenty years.
It would certainly be unordinary, perhaps even extraordinary, for one, at first glance, to associate him with the finer things. Once, on his way to Grand Central Market for lunch from his office in that neighborhood, he was stopped and handed money on the misconception he was homeless. His favorite T-Shirt, depicting a crocodile holding a phone and a Floridian phone number underneath, is so hole filled some might argue the validity of calling it a T-shirt at all. Despite the unrefined appearance, Tury is a master artist.
His work has been used in Miami, New York, and Hong Kong in exhibits, parades, and concerts. He is the co-founder of an art collective known as Friends With You whose pieces are anything but 2-D, often sculptures, large inflatables, and plasticine cut out collages. The message of their work revolves around kindness, positivity, and joy.
Away from his Downtown office, his garage, now converted tinker space, paradoxical to his untamed personality, is perfectly organized. In this garage, Tury made a ceramic sculpture which has been the most influential piece of art I have been privileged enough to own or consume at all.
The sculpture is a fairly simple form, it stands about a foot tall and four inches wide. The shape is a gentle—in mathematical terms—frustum of a cone, which has been subtly choked about two thirds of the way up, it has a dome top and a ring handle above that. The outside perimeter of the ring is a little smaller than a tennis ball, the inside, a little larger than a grape. The whole piece is covered in an off-white lava glaze with yellow under it. For those unfamiliar, lava glaze creates a heavily textured surface on a piece, it is often compared to how lava rock looks, but this particular example reminds me more of the surface of the moon or some other extraterrestrial object.
Since it was gifted to me, this piece has remained inspirational for a few reasons. The first, is simply that as far as a piece of art goes it is beautifully crafted. When light shines from one side of it (how it’s displayed in my room) the light wraps across the surface in such a beautiful way that it changed the way I think about how my work interacts with its environment, through texture, pattern, and color. It also does something that I think defines some of the best ceramic pieces I’ve seen: it expresses the natural form of a clay body, demonstrating the essence of the material in combination with a modern and minimalist look and aesthetic. Conceptually, much of my work revolves around attaining this dichotomy within my pieces. To make something beautifully modern without compromising the identity of the clay itself.
But, I think its biggest influence on me is that it is simply a sculpture, it has no purpose other than to be looked at, truly just a piece of art. From the time I started ceramics in fourth grade, all the way until junior year, I believed that the ceramic pieces I created needed a function. I thought throwing a cup, bowl, or vase made more sense than making a sculptural piece. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value of a sculpture or a piece of art, rather, I did not believe myself to be an artist, and so, my job was to make utilitarian items. This piece, along with encouragement from my ceramics teacher, allowed me to understand that ceramics didn’t just have to be about making simple cups but it truly could be an outlet to express my creativity.
Despite its simple appearance this piece of art changed the way I thought about and interacted with clay forms. It defined, above all, the value of creating a ceramic piece with the sole purpose of being a work of art.
my recent poems
“An Old Farmer’s Smile”
The dirge of a battered life
Wrinkles his weathered face,
A life of work and little grace,
But in his eyes, there is still a fire,
And his smile is warm, like summer mires.
He surveys his earthy prize,
It speaks of love and toil and pride,
Of hard-won peace that can’t be denied,
For the dirt and sweat of his daily chore,
So when you see that farmer smile,
Take a moment, stay a while,
For his happiness is worth a fortune,
And his simple smile, a true accomplishment.
“A Bird’s Last Look”
The bird takes flight, with a weary sigh
Against a sky of blue, he soars high
His eyes take in, the world below
So much to see, he doesn’t know
Where to go, what to do
With just one life,
So he dips and dives, on graceful wing
A dance of life, a symphony to sing.
And as the sun sets in the west
The bird slows down, his time at rest
One final look, at what he’s known
Before he’s gone, and off he’s flown.
PC: https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c3/e9/4c/c3e94c419a65a59ae365fabcf16f6459.jpg
The Art of Trying New Things
There is no one I feel more sorry for than those who live life without ever branching out. Those who stick to what they know and play it safe.
I don’t know a lot about how I want to live but I do believe in trying new things. To me, it’s about discovering what life has to offer, pushing boundaries, and most importantly, growing as a person.
I have my finger in a lot of pies. I’ve dabbled in crochet, tested my skills at the piano, and even explored my artistic side through painting and ceramics. I’ve learned discipline through martial arts and ballet. I’ve challenged myself physically through volleyball, basketball, and cross country. My most recent passion has been chess. Every new experience has taught me something valuable. Whether it’s patience, perseverance, or just a new appreciation for the world around me, I’ve come out the other side a little wiser and a little better.
Trying new things can be scary, I won’t deny that. But the rewards are worth it. You might find a new hobby, a new skill, or a new friend. The point is, you can only improve yourself or find new opportunities by stepping out of your comfort zone. So don’t be afraid to try new things. Embrace this art and see where it takes you. Life is an endless canvas, and it’s up to you to paint the picture.
pc: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/de/80/0f/de800f304a74f6c4475f26a0455426d6.jpg
Creativity PIQ
My creativity is expressed in everything I do––from the blog posts I write for journalism, to the way I dress, and even how I move along a wave when I’m surfing––but ceramics is the place where my creativity is communicated best. It wasn’t always this way, though…
From the time I started in fourth grade, all the way until junior year, I believed that the ceramic pieces I created needed a function. I thought throwing a cup, bowl, or vase made more sense than making a sculptural piece. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value of a sculpture or a piece of art, rather, I did not believe myself to be an artist, and so, my job was to make utilitarian items. I didn’t know it then, but how I treated my ceramics tied deeply to how I thought about the world. I believed that utility was more important than beauty.
The shift occurred after a new ceramics teacher came to my school––she pushed me to use ceramics to express myself. I began to infuse my pieces with creativity, and, just like that, my life became full of creativity too. I created pieces whose sole purpose was to be viewed: teapots that would never hold tea and bowls that I’d never eat cereal from. I put concepts into my work, and my pieces or collections meant something—they didn’t just fulfill a purpose, they stood as a physical representation of an idea. This allowed me to better understand what a piece will mean rather than what a piece will do. The saturation of creativity in my ceramics changed how I thought about the world. I now understand that there is value in something that is simply beautiful.
We all are artists inside––all we have to do is add a little creativity to the many mundane tasks we complete. Now, even when I write a regular essay, or get ready for the day, I push myself to instill elements of creativity into my presentation.
PC (your mom)
light
At the end of each day, when I get out of the shower and brush my hair in the reflection of my steam-coated mirror, I contemplate quite possibly every decision I’ve ever made. I feel the water trickle down the arch of my spine and across my lower back. I let it drape over my shoulders, forcing together flexibility with stillness. I look at myself and no longer criticize. My head turns to the right side as I study the curvature that makes up my exterior. Every night a light seeps into me, it gives me the ability to feel and describe. I feel everything, every drop of water or word spoken. They mean something to me, my mind feeds off of the ability to experience a sensation. My vertebrae twist and my chest crawls outwards, My feet no longer touch the ground and I levitate upwards, the light carries me. My fingertips fall numb and the air expands. A million particles and breaths fill the vastness of the atmosphere. I am nothing and everything all at once. The light swarms me and slithers across my surface. It intertwines with my fingers and the crooks of my neck. It mangles my hair, stretches my skin. It opens my eyes and locks my jaw. It wrenches my shoulders back and opens my throat. I am not me, not without my light. I can’t control her, she flows within me. Her essence seethes through my bones and brings life to my nerves. Her glow leaks out of my mouth and ears, dripping off the tip of my tongue. The layer that separates the world from my organs melts away and leaves me with only a soul. My body means nothing, the only truth I know is my mind and soul. She festers within me. At the end of each night, I look into her hollowed eyes, and thank my tired light. She lets me feel.
pc:me
dravin
Everyone has that one person who propels you forward, who supports you when times get tough and it seems like you are drowning. To me, that person is Dravin. She has been my life preserve, my oxygen mask. I do not think she knows how much she has changed my life, how much she means to me.
Dravin helped me when no one did. She helped that young 10-year-old who thought life was not worth it and made it her mission to make sure it was. She helped that twelve-year-old girl who almost let the bullies win. She helped that fourteen-year-old who moved away because she knew it was best for herself. She helped that sixteen-year-old try and gather the pieces of a broken relationship. She helped that almost eighteen-year-old with her first breakup and told her that life will go on even if it does not feel like it right now.
From the beginning, she was the most understanding soul. She would give me paint and crayons and tell me to “create masterpieces for me,” so that my mind was at ease. She knew how hard it was for me to express my feelings, so she distracted me. She created this safe space for me. A place where I could speak freely without any judgment. A place where I could have a shoulder to cry on. Even when she was with her family, she would take my calls and help me with my breathing.
Dravin saved me. I owe my life to her, but I know that she would just say that she is doing her job.
home
This is a part of my Home essay for AP English.
I love to read. I read romance, mystery, horror, and post-apocalyptic novels. Every corner of my room is coated in books that scale about halfway up my wall. I have nowhere to put them.
Ideally, in the future or in another life, I would have a beautiful living room painted white with cream sofas and high ceilings. The windows would take up the majority of the walls, letting sunlight flood the room like maple syrup drizzling over the top of a pancake. There would be a big fireplace that would provide warmth throughout the winter.
There would be huge bookshelves that would match the size of the redwoods outside, filled with stories and characters. Hundreds of different realities would exist in that room. Making me feel as though mine is not nearly as big as I like to think. There would be many different places that I could settle for the day as I crawl into an alternate universe. Plants would perch around the room granting oxygen and life.
My kitchen would be dark green with walnut counters and an antique stained glass chandelier glowing amongst the space. Windows in the kitchen would open letting in the warm evening air that swept across the orchards outside. My bedroom would have a huge fluffy white bed that would swallow me with sheer curtains that would flow like waves merging with the sand.
Trees would shower the land surrounding my home creating a never-ending forest. A place where my mind could drift endlessly. My yard would have an old pool like the ones in Italy, they are like springs built with mossy stone that hold countless memories.
I would have a big dining room with a long table that way every person I love has a seat. A large wooden record player would sit atop a mid-century modern cabinet. All of my favorite songs would echo throughout the walls that held me up.
I dream of a place that is serene and isolated from the business that infests the world. A place where my mind can slow and breathe the air that roams across the surface of the earth. A place where the world can be perceived similar to the way it once was before humans imprinted on it. I dream of a place where I can take a deep breath because I feel at ease rather than anxious.
Reading Journal on Dr. Faustus i was kinda proud of
Beginning in the 1500s when Dr. Faustus was written and spanning to the modern era, the human race has pushed the boundaries of what is natural and tried to become gods. We invented the astrolabe, conquered the seven seas, built nations on the destruction of entire peoples, and constructed skyscrapers which seem to defy every idea of what is possible. Our health has improved, we’ve made life convenient beyond belief, but despite all this achievement we, like Marlowe’s arrogant celebutante “yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.”
For the past few hundred years mankind has become increasingly involved with the same internal struggle as Faustus. Each new level of knowledge we acquire we become more careless and ignorant. Everytime some new process or physic principle is discovered we slip deeper into the Faustian bargain we call progress. This rat race for discovery becomes paired with this nonsensical notion that we are the only important thing on the planet and that we deserve everything which we can fathom and more. This is the mindset which sent Faustus to eternal damnation, and this is the mindset which plagues the modern world. Regardless of all the power we may accumulate over the natural world we still are humans, flawed forever by stagnant ideas and held to earth by the unrelenting and unstoppable march towards death.
As private school educated students from generally wealthy families, fiscally or situationally, it is easy for us to fall into the Faustian mindset. I’ve been at fault of this, my friends, my family, and classmates––all at some point have looked at the world and thought “I deserve more”. This mindset ruins the last humanity which wisps gently between us, we become stale, ignorant, and spoiled, unable to understand that there are other people around, and even more so, other things. We all too easily divulge in the trap that we can do what we want to the world without consequence.
Just as Faustus enjoyed his twenty four years of power which ended in a no bit unexpected end, mankind is still enjoying its twenty four years marching towards an end we can all see and yet choose to believe is not real. Like Faustus, humans are just people who happen to be in situations of extraordinary power.
My Dark Vanessa (TW)
Im going to give a fair warning that this topic is very triggering and revolves around sexual abuse. You do not have to read this.
I am going to give a few quotes from my favorite book, it is about an abusive relationship between a 15 year old girl and a 42 year old man that is meant to be romanticized. This book is beautifully written and incredibly alluring. It is also twisted and deranged and made me question every single person in my life. The ability to manipulate as well as a sexual abuser is terrifyingly fascinating. This book made me nauseous, and can be painful to read but i think about it everyday and in no way regret a second of the time spent reading it.
“Because even if I sometimes use the word abuse to describe certain things that were done to me, in someone else’s mouth the word turns ugly and absolute. It swallows up everything that happened.”
“It’s strange to know that whenever I remember myself at fifteen, I’ll think of this.”
“I wonder how much victimhood they’d be willing to grant a girl like me.” This particular quote made me sick and furious because it is clear that he manipulated her into thinking every situation was her choice.
“Kneeling before me, he lays his head on my lap and says, ‘I’m going to ruin you.” I cried during this chapter, this feeling was so claustrophobic especially when having to watch Vanessa know nothing of what was being done to her, that was the most painful feeling.
“He touched me first, said he wanted to kiss me, told me he loved me. Every first step was taken by him. I don’t feel forced, and I know I have the power to say no, but that isn’t the same as being in charge. But maybe he has to believe that. Maybe there’s a whole list of things he has to believe.”
“He’s always going to be old. He has to be. That’s the only way I can stay young and dripping with beauty.”
“He’s the only person who ever understood that desire. Not to die, but to already be dead.”
“An older man using a girl to feel better about himself – how easily the story becomes a cliché if you look at it without the soft focus of romance”
“It’s easy to pinpoint when it all started, that moment of walking into his sun-soaked classroom and feeling his eyes drink me in for the first time, but it’s harder to know when it ended, if it really ended at all. I think it stopped when I was twenty-two, when he said he needed to get himself together and couldn’t live a decent life while I was within reach, but for the past decade there have been late-night calls, him and me reliving the past, worrying the wound we both refuse to let heal.”
“It’s just that I’m depraved, my mind so warped by Strane that I misinterpret innocent favoritism as sexual interest.”
“I think we’re very similar, Nessa,” he whispers. “From the way you write, I can tell you’re a dark romantic like me. You like dark things.”
My mind screamed throughout the entirety of this book, it begged for her to run, it wondered if she should stay. And in the end, I realized what this book was meant to do. It is meant to show you how hard it is to say who did it.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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