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Surreal Sculptures of Translucent Glass and Clay Explore the Body’s Transformative Processes

“I’ve blacked a lot of it out. But I do remember that recess was a nightmare for me. My mom told me later that she would sometimes hide in the bushes, and when she saw me sitting by myself, she’d start crying. The diagnosis was ‘selective mutism.’ I’d get so anxious around people that I physically couldn’t speak. I’d get a rock in my throat, and it would feel like that moment right before you faint, when everything sounds so far away. It could be lonely at school. I was the only student with a full-time aide. I was the only one who held up a sign when the teacher called attendance. It doesn’t feel good to be different. But my parents did everything they could to minimize that feeling. Every night before I went to sleep, my mother would say: ‘You’re a terrific kid, and I love being your Mommy.’ When my school had a Halloween parade, she knew I’d be too anxious to do it alone. So she dressed up as Minnie Mouse and marched right alongside me. She was always very attentive to my emotions. But she was also a lawyer so she made sure that my rights were being respected. She knew that the Individuals With Disabilities Education Act promised a ‘free appropriate public education.’ And that’s exactly what she wanted for me. She once shut down my entire elementary school for an in-service day, and the entire faculty was taught to ask me ‘yes or no’ questions so that I could nod in reply. She wanted me in a mainstream classroom, having mainstream experiences. So that I would never be left behind. And by the time I hit 5th grade, I was able to speak. It didn’t happen all at once. But I grew more and more confident. I got better at making friends. I joined the debate team in high school. Recently I graduated from Cornell and completed my senior thesis on disability rights, which I defended verbally. All of this was possible because of my mother. She was beside me the entire time. I took the LSAT in January, and even though the test was five hours long, my mom waited in the lobby. She gave me the biggest hug when I walked out. When I asked her why she didn’t leave, she said: ‘I don’t know. I just wanted to be here. In case you needed anything at all.’”

“From the outside I was a great student. I participated in everything: sports, music, you name it. Plus I’d gotten ‘straight A’s’ since elementary school. But there was a side of me that I kept hidden. Even as a kid, I’d been good at being sneaky, if I took some cookies from the cupboard, I’d put the package back exactly like it was. When I grew older, the behaviors became riskier. I started partying and being promiscuous. With each encounter I’d get a rush of dopamine, but I’d end up feeling lower than when I began. Self-worth is something that I always struggled with. My depression got so bad in high school that I began to self-harm. I even went so far as to write out a suicide note in my journal. But I was so good at hiding that nobody ever knew. I seemed like a happy kid. My parents never saw anything that couldn’t be dismissed as teenage angst. And my marching band instructor even nicknamed me ‘Smiley.’ But there were small signs. On my worst days I’d put my headphones on during class, and lay my head on the desk. Then there was a time in British Literature class when we were given a poetry assignment, and I wrote about drowning. Our teacher’s name was Mrs. Hunt. She was the nurturing type. And she always treated us like adults. The day after I wrote the poem, she pulled me aside after class. ‘Should I be worried?’ she asked. I lied, of course, and said that I was fine. But then she asked me again, and I broke down. ‘I think I have depression,’ I told her. She didn’t blink an eye. She asked permission to send my parents an email. She let me read the whole thing, and I told her to send it. Later that night my parents initiated a conversation about my mental health. It was the first time we’d really spoken about it. A few days later we found a professional and I began taking medication. I’ve come so far since writing that poem. I graduated with two degrees. I’ve gotten married. And I’m about to begin my Master’s in Education. I’m hoping to become the same kind of teacher as Mrs. Hunt. When I needed it most, she recognized my cries for help. She handled them with grace. And I’m not sure if I’d still be here if it wasn’t for her.”

nature series 6/∞

Test Your Music, Film, and Geography Skills With These Cool Posters. 

Those are not just rosaries. Those are mementos, that’s the proof of their families stories. They are taking from them the only portable things they can carry to feel the connection to their families. It’s not a fear tactic. Call it like by its name. It’s dehumanization.

We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

Photographers Regis and Kahran Bethencourt have dedicated their artistic practice to celebrating unconventional beauty. 

Credits: l.luvhee on ig ; rai on we heart it

The West Wing Weekly In Wisconsin 2020: Bradley Whitford and Janel Moloney

source. scvforchange on instagram

"I would like to be remembered as someone who used whatever talent she had to do her work to the very best of her ability."

Nikos Kazantzakis, Report to Greco — Almond Blossom by Vincent Van Gogh (February 1890 - 1890) (at Saint-Rémy-de-Provence)