Zoey Lowe (age 17)

Pennsylvania, U.S.

My grandpa Jerry started running in 1975 after he had a heart attack. He started by walking ten steps and then running ten steps. It took him about six months to be able to run around the block without walking. His main goal was eventually to run a marathon. He trained for four years to be able to run his first marathon in 1979, but he wasn’t able to run it completely. He ended up having to have another heart procedure, so he only did half the marathon that year. He was so proud that he was able to complete thirteen miles. The following year in 1980, his goal was to run the marathon, which he achieved. It took him about six hours and thirty minutes to run 26 miles. One time, when he was running in a green valley, he had to relieve himself. He wiped some parts of his body with poison ivy right before he completed the marathon. He thought this was going to stop him from running, but he ended up taking some steroids which helped him finish the marathon.

My mother and grandmother waited for my grandfather for hours after the marathon was officially over, wondering where he was. My grandfather said that he was still running through Central Park when it was very dark and he was one of the only ones left, but there were people cheering him on the whole time while he ran. He felt so exhilarated even though he was near the end of the pack. This just made him want to run more marathons and he continued running marathons for sixteen years. He completed a total of about sixteen to seventeen marathons, which included the London, Moscow, Marine Corps, Boston, and New York marathons. My grandfather, Jerry was not big on sports, but the one thing he did love was running and that was his exercise. It gave him real calmness and focus. He could think a lot and process his ideas while he ran. It was his savior in both his health and in his creativity.

Amber Cypress (age 16)

Florida, U.S.

Silence

Being Indigenous, nature has always been an important aspect of my culture. In this photograph, the subject has a handprint on her mouth, symbolizing the ignorance of others and the silence of my people. "Respect the land" was a message passed down from my ancestors for generations. The land provides, it heals, and it is beautiful. Climate change is a major issue and has been for hundreds of years. My people fought for this land and they died protecting it. We won’t be the only ones affected by this issue: the animals are at risk, too. The animals are just as important as the land itself and we need to protect both. The reservation is home to many marvelous animals such as panthers, snakes, birds, and many more. There was a pipeline that almost ran through their home, destroying their chances of survival. The Keystone Pipeline was almost completed before it was shut down due to growing concerns. The pipeline would have run 100 miles through reservations across America, destroying not only our homes, but the home of animals as well. Climate change is a problem that still needs to be talked about today, and I want to be one to spread the message. My people were silenced for long enough, and we will not stand for it anymore. I refuse to remain silent.

Gianna Leung (age 16)

Mississauga, Canada

While I was looking for an artifact to photograph, I realized the immense sacrifice my immigrant parents gave to start a life here in Canada. This small clay teapot has always been an important part of the home. Growing up, I would often watch my parents brew tea after dinner and talk for hours about everything from the cooking time of ginseng soup to a close friend’s funeral in their home country they could not attend. I wondered why it was always accompanied by tea.

This small teapot was the only connection that remained for them as a reminder of their home. It gave them a reason to converse in the comfort of each other and allowed them to stay rooted in the foundation of their culture, even as their children forgot their mother tongue. In the Chinese tradition, the youngest family member serves elders. Often, the interactions that are possible between parents and children become limited as the world continues to evolve. This photograph conveys the idea that despite the development of technology and assimilation to another culture, families remain connected through small interactions made possible from objects of the past. Artifacts are a physical manifestation of the stories of our roots and are symbols we can see, hold, and experience for ourselves.

Connor Simpkins (age 14)

Pennsylvania, U.S.

When my grandfather received this coat, it was too big for him. He was used to getting clothes that didn’t fit. When you’re poor, you never get clothes in the right size. At the end of the 1940s he was thirteen years old, the same age I am now. The coat was bare except for his name embroidered on the collar. The label inside says, “Carters. Watch-the-Wear. Union Made.” He was about to travel from Hartford, Connecticut, on a train trip (which he won in a writing contest) across the United States and Canada. The train conductors would be his guardians. He would eat, sleep, and live on trains. He saw the entire country, and for each train line he rode, he collected patches. He gathered them from the Shawmut Line in Massachusetts, the Lackawanna Railway in New York, the East Coast Railway in Florida, the Sunset Limited between New Orleans and Los Angeles, the Pacific Northwest Railway, and countless routes in between. He saw every part of this country as well as some of Canada. He sewed a patch from each train line onto his coat. He watched out the window, witnessed sights he had never imagined, including the mirror-like lakes of the Canadian Rockies, the vastness of the midwestern plains, and the never ending rows of crops state after state. He filled his days and took in the sights, read books, and talked to strangers. There wasn’t the internet to look up what he was going to see; every day was new.

The coat was covered in patches by the time he returned home. Each patch was an artifact, which told the story of its place and its time. The coat itself tells the story of my grandfather and the patches tell the story of the American train lines. Some of the train lines still exist, some have been renamed or merged, some are gone. Each patch represents a conductor proud of his route when train travel was more common in our country. This artifact is a reminder of a different time when it was okay to send a thirteen-year-old across the country alone. Trains connect every part of this country. I am wearing my grandfather’s coat, looking at train tracks near my house. When I look down the train tracks, I think of him, his journey, and how he discovered his country through travel. “People are a lot like the train lines,” he said to my mom. They may look different on the outside, but they are all connected. This artifact connects me to my grandfather, a man I never had the opportunity to meet. When I wear his coat, I imagine how he felt on his trip: nervous, excited, and proud. His coat reminds my family about the value of making the most of what we are given, and of saying yes to opportunities when they are offered, no matter how scary they seem because you never know what you might see, learn, or get to do.

Charly Scott (age 17)

California, U.S.

In my photograph I wanted to capture the exact feeling I experienced when I began to stray from and question what I was used to. Religion has a big impact on me, yet it is one of the most confusing aspects of my life. I think many other teens can relate to this feeling of hopelessness, questioning the unknown, especially if they live in a religious household. The older we get the more we begin to question what has been taught to us and ingrained into our heads since adolescence. Especially now with the current events happening in the world you begin to wonder, Is someone watching me up there? Can they see all this suffering? But most of all, can anyone up there help me. Is there an anyone or anything at all? This photograph reflects the yearning I have felt for an answer or a sign. I understand this may be controversial to some, but this is what life is like for a teen now. We are given all this knowledge and yet we feel so out of touch with the world and everything we believe in. Every time I look at this rosary I feel a sense of guilt for not being as devoted as most, but there is nothing wrong with questioning the things around us. Questioning life, morals, beliefs, and science is what has made us advance as a species.

Alaina Gott (age 14)

Washington, U.S.

The White Cane of Independence

Blindness is a difficult thing to describe. It is not nothing, but something. Not all blind people see the same, not all blind people are completely sightless, and not all blind people use a white cane. A white cane is not just a mobility device; it is so much more than that. It is freedom. It represents confidence and independence. It is a window to the world explored without help. This particular white cane was owned by my Opa. He was a father, a husband, and a friend to many people. Before glaucoma took his vision in his 40s, he was in the military. When he lost his vision, he also lost his independence. That is hard to gain back. When he rediscovered his independence, it was stronger than ever. That's what this artifact did for Opa.

White canes are devices that blind and visually impaired people use to get around. It bumps into things and helps us orient ourselves in spaces and time. There are many ways to use this device and many of them have been invented over the years. They last one to ten years.

I am not sure how long it was used, but it seems to be about five years old given how worn the paint is. When Opa died on July 19, 2009, the cane was given to my uncle who also used a white cane like me. Opa was very dear to him. He invited him with open arms into the blind community. Opa and I are more than just relatives. We share the connection that we both use the white cane that affords us a window of independence in the world. He and I do not have the same visual impairment but we do not need to have the same visual impairment to use a white cane. I have a type of albinism that makes my vision blurry and everything I see moves. When light hits my eyes, I am completely blind. Opa had glaucoma; he had no vision in one eye, but he had tunnel vision in the other which is very different from my visual impairments. Yet, we both use a white cane so we don’t get lost in this world of many small beautiful things. We can both explore in different ways through the vision that we do have.

It's a spectrum. At the end of the day, the white cane is just a mobility device that grants so much more than what you can see with the naked eye. It is independence; it is freedom and it is a way to explore this world and learn new things. This is a beautiful thing that sighted people will not ever get. It is the gift of the disability. It is finding independence through small things in life. You don’t need vision to see the world of little beautiful things.

Aidan Hoidal-Bui (age 15)

Massachusetts, U.S.

My Place On This Planet

In April 1975, just as the Vietnam War was nearing its end, my one-year-old mother, her two older brothers, and my grandparents fled Vietnam on one of the last planes to America just before the airport was bombed by the North. We were fortunate that my mom’s uncle was the general of the South Vietnamese police and head of South Vietnam’s CIA. His high rank is the only reason they were allowed to flee by air rather than by sea in wooden boats.

In humanitarian crises, one must flee without possessions. However, there are some artifacts too critical to communities to be left behind. At the start of this photography project, I searched for hours to find a family artifact in our home. My mom shared with me that my grandparents did not have the luxury of packing and preserving family heirlooms; I was devastated. What they did bring was themselves, the clothes on their bodies, and several cherished photographs of my great-great-grandparents. I had such a narrow idea of what an artifact should look like that I didn’t think about the obvious solution to my problem. I realized that my great-great-grandparents’ fragile photographs were my family artifacts, even if they are the only ones we have.

My grandparents’ primary goal was survival, and they brought only the necessities: their children who were alive and photographs of their elders who had passed. Respect for one’s ancestral history is embedded in the DNA of Vietnamese people. At the heart of every Vietnamese household sits an altar framed by ancestors and elders who have passed away. Bowls of fruit and rice are placed in front of the loved ones as offerings of respect and remembrance. The altar table is an essential part of our lives as it connects us to our roots, ensures we never forget where we came from, and honors those who came before us who made our lives possible. This customary arrangement symbolizes and ties together these essential values of Vietnamese culture. I hope to one day preserve this tradition and pass on these artifacts so that future generations will never forget where they came from and who came before them.

I chose to make the smoldering incense the main focus of my photograph because its smokey scent is forever ingrained in my mind. I know I am entering a Vietnamese home when I walk through the door and the first thing I smell is burning incense, indicating that a prayer has just taken place. To be honest, it is not exactly a pleasant smell. It burns my eyes and even makes me choke. But when I smell that distinctive smoke, I am brought back to my childhood and all the times that we traveled to the San Francisco Bay Area to visit our family for Tết, the Vietnamese Lunar New Year. I chose to focus on the incense because no matter where I am, when I inhale that strong scent, I think of my great-grandparents on that altar and I am reminded of a country that has deeply shaped who I am today.

Student Gallery

Using the Student Gallery in the Classroom