Convergence, 2014

C O N V E R G E N C E

C O N V E R G E N C E

Jorge Luis Borges citesL E O P O L D O L U G O N E S , The Metaphor MANON BOGERD WADA

“Eve

ry w

ord

is

a dead metaphor. This state ment is, of course, a metaphor.”

A

Though their expression breathed a different form than familiar repertoire, beau-ty still abounded. The intricacies of life were still pursued, challenged, and then left delicately pending. As Professor Serena Perrone noted, “sometimes words can evoke images more effectively than an image can evoke words. Something vi-sual can make one say, ‘I have no words for this,’ and thus the visual bypasses the verbal, words seem superfluous. Yet words with all their subtleties and layered meanings can evoke multitudes of images while carrying a beauty and musicality all their own.” Throughout this semester, I have admired my friends’ work from afar and marveled at our differences in communication. While I use words, they use art. But each Wednesday night, we explored a medium of art that blended my structure with their innovation, my consistency with their flexibility, my caution with their nerve, and our words with our images.

As the semester seems to end without warning, our hearts are heavy. We leave behind breathtaking landscapes, revolutionary art, warm cappuccinos, and dec-adent lava cakes. We say goodbye to dear friends who have opened our minds to fresh perspectives and shared in a common appreciation for the often-unnoticed delicacies of life. But as Cortona gently nudges us home, we rest in the assurance of words: while we must depart, we take our words with us. And while gelato will always melt, words will always prevail.

s I sat in the dimly lit room each week, I witnessed the convergence of two worlds. Sculptors, painters, architects read their poetry aloud, and I listened to their creative genius manifest itself in words. With my concentrated study in En-glish and Latin, I felt a common ground emerge among us.

A B B Y J O H N S O N

A CLUTTERED VOID

A vacuum roars inside.Lazily, we abide.Caveats are ignored,Yet discernment gnaws our core.As we live day to day,We hardly think and pray.Distractions flood our eyes.Imagination cries.Sometimes we must be still,Those rumors won’t fulfill.Let nature teach unaided.Will memories be faded?Hopeless, we claw at time,Unless we heed this rhyme.


LETTER TO A SOLDIER

I’ve written lettersthat have traveled from glaciers and grassesto parched beachesand others, from jade lagoons to the desert expanseswords describing water, vision

green desireand the blackness of sea and sky

I do not know any soldiersexcept those of us who transit worlds custodians of magicwe carry it in fragments

S E R E N A P E R R O N E

COME, CHILD

I admired my mothers dressand she showed me where it was torn,I asked the sailor of the seaand he spoke of only storms,I asked the wise man to speak of loveand heard the heartache he spoke ofAs we arm the innocent with sword and shieldto be afraid to fight and afraid to feelWith preprogrammed navigationand numbed by the sum of stale sensations,We’ve got children dreaming behind their rudderswithout any purpose, their passions smothered.

But come child, let me show you where to go,keep your address in your head and keep track of what you know when they say go child, grow up fast,your bones are getting brittle and your flesh will never last

Cause they can call you an enigma, call you broken, call you whole,or write you a prescription until every bottles

soldAs we medicate the pretty mind and teach the second hand to be on time,But this sinking ship gets claustrophobic and the hole is here but you can’t close itCause not a thing they taught you back in school can patch this up with just these tools,But if we can’t conquer doubt and fearWhere are we supposed to steer?

So your mind may wander beyond the boatbut they say the ocean will grab you by the throatto take your one and only breathand your heart will beat itself to deathBeneath the surface where darkness lingersbut that’s why God gave limbs and fingersBecause pulses only start to race,not to be tongues that never taste.

So if you dream of jumping from the bowjust to prove that you know howto live beyond this sinking ship

and drop the oar where they carved you gripfor the fairytale of paradisebecause hope is not the parasitebut fear of water, air, and stormcause in craving comfort we all conform While the sparkling light from the morning suncan rise, ignite, and flood your lungs.

So swim hard, swim fast from fluorescent sailstill you receive your notice in the mail,calling you back to report for duty,born to row, not search for beautyReturn to sender, to the mother shipcause I trained and played and chose to quitand now your letters can never reach me because you have nothing left to teach meFor my head it not a mirror, though my mind is clay,but still, I see no reason to give my life away.

S A R A H P E Y T O N

We found the universe and then asked why we caught itcan it be unwound can we be unbound from this book of life we foundleft for us to leaf through and undo or do it again and againCan you begin from something intense that changes tenses makes a new frame of sensesForget it we walk everyday a new picture

M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A

LIFE LAUGHS

Life is throwing shapes to meto see if I can catch themAre you paying attention?


FOCAL POINT

The rain falls down and hides my tears. They appear to be both the same in color and shape yet my tears are warm and salty while the rain is cool and minerally. As I fall to my knees the cold rain perches my clothes and chills my body. My hands are warm from my face and now smell of salt. I try to hide but my face tells all. My mascara runs and my skin turns blotchy. My green eyes are illuminated by a glassy glaze of fresh tears. I try to be quiet and sit in the shadows but I find myself the focal point of the room. As people wonder they whisper. I here the quiet hymns of concern some try to talk some try to touch but it only makes it worse.

As my body shakes from the cold I want to be held yet the comfort of being held brings the cold of my clothes closer. The wind starts to sore and my feet start to go num. As I sit the numbness spreads to my ears and my nose. As my face followers my tears feel hotter al-most like steam roaring off my face. I sit and freeze as I freeze while I sit. No strength to stand and no want to survive. I slowly break down till there’s nothing left inside.

S A M A N T H A A N D E R S O N

ALIGN

Your voice sits on top of your spineand crawls from your throat in perfect timePerhaps it’s your words that wove your leashand maybe that’s why you were brought to me And you say you swear we’ve met before,swapping poems on your bedroom floorBut then I feel you watch me sleep,writing a song to have something to keepBecause my life without you has you scaredso you address my dreams to meet me thereCause my toes are cold and they’ll go numb soonwhile your broken heart will curse the moonCause you kept me warm but you fit like leadas you tried to take apart my headBut when I saw the luster of your bonesI knew that you’d heal on your own

You see, you were a cage and I was afraidthat it’s all so simple after all We love just to learn, not to last but to serve,Oh I think we only rise to fall.And then on our way downwe ask ourselves, how?How will I ever be happy again?But when you can answer that question you will meet the exceptionin knowing the cycle will end.

It took me twelve whole months of time to meet the one that changed my mindSo I lit his name on fire and every color took a turnthrough the depths of my desire,an entire spectrum burnedThen I wrote his name in cursivejust to feel it in a line,it was the sum of all sensations,shaped like wings within his spine.It was the sum of all sensationsand I won’t run away this time.


THE DREAM KEEPER

Bring me all of your dreams,You dreamer,Bring me all your heart melodiesThat I may wrap themIn a blue cloud-clothAway from the too-rough fingersOf the world.

L A N G S T O N H U G H E S , T h e D r e a m K e e p e r

CARLISLE KRAMER

SLEEP IN THE MOJAVE DESERT

Out here there are no hearthstones, Hot grains, simply. It is dry, dry. And the air dangerous. Noonday acts queerly On the mind’s eye erecting a line Of poplars in the middle distance, the only Object beside the mad, straight road One can remember men and houses by. A cool wind should inhabit these leaves And a dew collect on them, dearer than money, In the blue hour before sunup. Yet they recede, untouchable as tomorrow, Or those glittery fictions of spilt water That glide ahead of the very thirsty.

I think of the lizards airing their tongues In the crevice of an extremely small shadow And the toad guarding his heart’s droplet. The desert is white as a blind man’s eye, Comfortless as salt. Snake and bird Doze behind the old maskss of fury. We swelter like firedogs in the wind. The sun puts its cinder out. Where we lie The heat-cracked crickets congregate In their black armorplate and cry. The day-moon lights up like a sorry mother, And the crickets come creeping into our hair To fiddle the short night away.

S Y LV I A P L AT H , Crossing The Water SARAH TRUETT

NOMAD

I can see it rise before me, but I do not close my eyes. I can hear the water’s whispers fill my ears- a massive tidal wave racing from the horizon. It climbs to the sky as it runs towards me, yet I stand still.

Time floats down the stream as the water begins to fill the space around my feet.

Rising.

Slowly.

Not a single part of my body fleeing the scene, I invite my fate to take over.

I do not stand still because I am afraid. I do not stand still because I don’t know where to run.

I allow the water to consume me. To fill every nook and cranny until the vacuum around me is filled to the brim. My heels once planted in the earth, release. I allow my self to be lifted, to be carried, tossed and turned.

The water is warm, filling the void that was once around me. It becomes part of me as we dance letting it lead me. I drown, swim and float all at the same time.

For my body is what I do know. The water is com-posed of what I do not.

I did not stand still because I was scared of the wave. I knew it was coming. I did not stand still

because I had given up. I was waiting for it.

The water becomes a vast ocean and I earn to ride its stellar waves of openness. Openness to the world, to ideas, to difference.

At the world’s start, there were no categories. There was the earth and the water. Before human life, stereotypes were an unthought thought float-ing through time, waiting for someone to catch them. Before human life, boxes did not exist.

People created boxes. The boxes line shelves of assumption built by society, created then con-sumed,

limiting capacity of thought and difference.

Lines were created to divide us, a linear network to break us down. Rules were created to build us back together in an inorganic unity. Brains were filled without promise, no room for change or acceptance.

For we are not free

Freedom does not exist in a world where boxes exist.

But people created those boxes. They know they are there, but they can’t see them. They’re scared of what is inside. So they can’t destroy them.

The wave lets you see, but only if you allow it.

The wave lets you eliminate the boxes- one after another until beyond the wall, all you can see

is light.With every wave, another one falls, releasing what is inside. The wave collapses the structures until there are no lines, no boxes, nothing holding all of the beauty inside. Noth-ing trapped.

There is a lot that I don’t know. A vacuum of possibilities weaken me for I am aware of the power that knowledge has versus the unknown. Because all exists somewhere between what we know and what we do not. So I wander aimlessly through the void of the in-between.

But I do not seek boxes

I will not walk in lines

I hunt waves

But never in one place

Because I am not from one place

I am not from one idea, one identity

Because I am not from a box

It cant hold me

Because I am a wave

I am a child of this earth

I am a nomad

B R O O K E M C G O WA N

PONTE VEDRA BEACH

I see more life in the surf than I do in the eyes of the sleepwalking. While we all draw different line of sense, none compare to that of our breathing shorelines, uneven and perfectly imperfect.

I watch as waves roll and crash in sets of three, of course, because what other set is there? Like chards of a braid weaving mind, body, and spirit in the uninhibited curls of time, the wave barrels and I real-ize that nothing is linear; not the thinnest peak caught by the light, not the arrival of three crumbling waves, and not the sound of each fresh pull returning to the oceans and cycle of tide.

We feel in waves, not hills. We act in patterns, not phases. We live in layers, not lines. No life can be defined like a strand of hair. Even when skin in shed and the moon gleams grey as I watch the calloused softly age, Beneath the surface in stagnate water where god said get up, go wake your daughter Because there is nothing like a desperate lung to corner yourself with the song you’ve sung As I look not at, but only through these dark and muted shades of blue to focus on internal vibrance that’s born and raised in simple silence.


AGONIA

Morire come le allodole assetatesul miraggio

O come la quaglia passato il mare nei primi cespugli perchè di volare non ha più voglia

Ma non vivere di lamentcome un cardellino accecato

G I U S E P P E U N G A R E T T I , L’AllegriaSERENA PERRONE

TOO LONG IN THE WRONG LOVE

I anger as my heart is weakFor you are my highest peak,

I shutter and run awayFor the hope of you someday,

As I toss and turn I lay aloneI may as well be a stone,

As I do not fight and I do not thriveCan I even say I'm alive,

My blood courses threw my veinsYet my heart does not beat,

Why do I persistently wait for youWhen it makes me weak.


THE LANYARD

The other day I was ricocheting slowly off the blue walls of this room, moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano, from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor, when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist could send one into the past more suddenly— a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp by a deep Adirondack lake learning how to braid long thin plastic strips into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard or wear one, if that's what you did with them, but that did not keep me from crossing strand over strand again and again until I had made a boxy red and

white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts, and I gave her a lanyard. She nursed me in many a sick room, lifted spoons of medicine to my lips, laid cold face-cloths on my forehead, and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim, and I , in turn, presented her with a lanyard. Here are thousands of meals, she said, and here is cloth-ing and a good education. And here is your lanyard, I replied, which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating

heart, strong legs, bones and teeth, and two clear eyes to read the world, she whis-pered, and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp. And here, I wish to say to her now, is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother, but the rueful admission that when she took the two-tone lanyard from my hand, I was as sure as a boy could be that this useless, worthless thing I wove out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

B I L LY C O L L I N S , The Trouble with Poetry ABBY JOHNSON

THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES

The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying of the sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done.

F R A N C I S W I L L I A M B O U R D I L L O N , L i g h t

SAMANTHA ANDERSON

DARKNESS

In these days all seems contingent on light:its intensity, luminosity, durationthe way it gives us blues of every hueand splashes the green of water into my eyes

This lght glances, blazes, leaks, radiatesreveals and obliterates

But what we truly seek is contingent on the dark of which we can not get enough


M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A Roman Ruins

MANON BOGERD WADA Roman Ruins

M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A Crept in The Dark

M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A Found Art

M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A Together Apart

RECURRING DREAM

I’m walking down A lonely roadA road I do not knowWith every stepI lose a toothA part of meLeft behindMy biggest fearIs losing my teethSo I don’t want to take another step

But I have to see what’s on the other side

B R O O K E T H O R N M C G O WA N

MASKS

She had blue skinAnd so did heHe kept it hidAnd so did sheThey searched for blueTheir whole life throughThen passed right by—And never knew

S H E L S I LV E R S T E I N , Where The Sidewalk Ends BROOKE THORN MCGOWAN

EXTENDED RELEASE

It's in the air and the food, now its in all the water,infecting our babies and it's in my dads daugh-terIt's Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder,it's the long term effects of these pills when I'm olderIt's a split personality that starts with psychosiswhile prescribing a bridge to the next diagnosisSo cooperate pharmacists can keep counting dimes

for every pill thats applied to a beautiful mind

And they say to nourish yourself with the food on your plateand that constant craving for their consumer baitGet hooked on these products of food imita-tion then brain washed by labels and the greed of our nation.

It is the danger of visceral adipose tissue and all the minds too tied up in political issues Cause it's the third planet with the third eye where we spray paint on over with TV and lies,Run by the media and the art of deceiving cause there's no one to trust and I can feel my brain bleeding.

There is a war going on for your mind but they keep you distracted, disarmed, and on timeAs they say what they want because they know that you will believe,but I awoke by prognosis to my own infertilityWe are all being poisoned, your organs, in-flamedbut perhaps you won't notice till you have nothing to name.


SUSSURO

Pallida lina

che s'affaccia tra i ramidiscreta

battito d'ala di gabbianoche s'alza verso il cielo

brezza che profumad'azzurro oblio

tremula stella della seranata dall'attesa

cerco per il mio cuore.

A D R I A N A M O S C A , Soluzione apertaSERENA PERRONE

LADY BUG

The thunder roles my mind roarsFor the rain is my tears hitting the floor.

I can't be there for you like you were for me So I will cry so you can see.

Open your eyes and let your heart pound deep For your mind has been as quiet as the highest peak

I know it's hard but so many careFor with out you some would not be here.

Open your eyes my sweet lady bug For they can wait for you above.


[Per Alessandro, Valentina e Dario]

nello spartitoè un taglio l’inizio

noi sappiamo tu e tuche non c’è logo ma dialogoe solo i ma e le eche ci rinviano a noitu e tu senz’ordineparole gestuatecorpi parlanti che s’avvitanoe si slaccianoa trovare il ritmonoi fra tu e tu

i compiti per la scuolaabbiamo giocato ai pronomiindice in resta mirando ai pettie prima che Dario li scrivessec’eravamo solo tu e tu e noisulla punta delle ditanella cucina stanza della ballata

M A R C O PA C C I O N I

ILYA KAMINSKY

I met a poet todayA kind of poet that uses wordsIn the most spectacular way

While he is hard of hearingHe still manages to speakYet only of gratitude and kindness

Through him I know that wordsHold great meaning -If only their owners spent them well

In a lifetime so shortThere are only so many words to be saidSo many ways to use them

And therefore not use them

Some people regurgitate wordsLike a river with a busted damWith no end to its vapid rush

Some struggle to let them out Afraid that they will be contradictedWith other pernicious words

Some stand on opposing sidesLingering on eachother’s last wordSeeking an opportunity of the blind

Some hold onto every last syllable As if another would be too much to ask.

Others use words to empower the bodies that use them

Or speak for those who don’t have any at all.

B R O O K E T H O R N M C G O WA N

amo il tuo corpo di gazzelladi giovane maschio ferito dalle mie vogliefuggito è il mio desiderio su testanco sono della vita eppure vivogioco con il tuo sesso ed è carnevale

M A R I O S T E FA N I , Una quieta disperazioneSERENA PERRONE

THE KITCHEN

Find me in the kitchenEarly in the morning aloneThe cold night around my neckLike a jewelThe sunrise around your hipsLike an armorDon’t ask for coffee but for soulFor grains of us that rise and fallFor me and you standing in the dayFind me in the kitchenAnd bodily again in the night we’ll lay

A L E S S A N D R O C E L A N I , Una lingua in esilio

MARCO PACCIONI

IL SOGNO

Quando aprirò quella porta,senza voltarmi,per non guardare in faccia il mio nemicosarà già assopita la luce.Allora prendimi per manoe fa correre le vie sotto di me.Portami in mezzo ai campiche profumano di giacintotra la fresca ombre delle selvenel cuore delle sorgentilà dove il sole è più caldo e la nottesi veste di stelle.Isegnami a salirefino a dove scoppia l'azzurroe scorrono fiumi di neve.Fammi accogliere dal seno dei mari e dal sorriso umanonelle case della mia gente.Pregala di parlare con me,di toccare i bicchieri in nome mio:che mi trovi felice il nuovo giorno.

A D R I A N A M O S C A , Soluzione apertaSERENA PERRONE

SUN THE FIRST, PART II

Time has gone since the last rain was heardOver the ants and the lizardsNow sky burns without endFruit paint their mouthEarth's pores open slowly slowlyAnd next to the water that dripps syllabicallyA huge plant looks the sun eye-to-eye!

Who is it lies on the high beachesOn his back toking silversmoked olive leavesThe cicadas are warmed in his earsAnts work in his chestLizards slide in the grass of underarmAnd from his feet's kelp a wave lightly passingSent by the young siren who sang:

O body of summer nude burntEaten by oil and by salt

Body of boulder and shiver of heartLarge windblown of the hair tree-gracefulBasilbreath over the curly pubesFull of small stars and fir needlesBody deep sailship of the day!

Slow rains come rapid hailstormsLand slinks by whipped in the nails of the snowThat bruises in the depths with savage wavesThe hills plunge in the clouds' thick teats

And yet behind it all you smile without careAnd find again your immortal hourAs the sun on the beaches finds you againAs in your naked health the sun.

O D Y S S E A S E LY T I S , Eros, Eros, ErosSERENA PERRONE

O MORTAL MIND

Sometimes you are a cavern on the edge of the sea, infiltrated by waterand I, in a tiny rowboat, lay back to watch the hallucinatory play of light on your dark and craggy heightsor I turn, leaning over the edge to peer into your endless aqueous blueover which I am suspended

Sometimes you are a darkened room whose corners shift with passing lightangles bow and flatten as you breathe and sigh rhythmically with the traffic belowI, silent in your midst, unnoticed, observant, tracing the shadows you toss from one plane to the nextacross the hours of night

Sometimes you are an orto incluso populated by fig trees and oleander, loquatyour walls bordered by cyprus humming with beesand I pace quietly in the shade of your canopy of palms

Sometimes I steer my boat back into the choppy waves, open your shutters a bit too wide,leave your tranquil confines and step into the streetI see flickers of your mortality, my own undoingand I return to dip my hands in your depths, weave shadows on your wall, plant seeds in your earth


which lost discoursetries to align again the verseto who you are answering nowthat you didn’t know how on time?

now you write the voicebefore frightened in your throat

it is the echo that still buzzesthe sense of a word

in front of your eyesa begging arm passes

the worn flesh of the word is the gesture


still pronouns et ora pro nobisdeals among the ‘you’the begging for the presenttoward futures already forebode of nostalgia to deceive that ‘we’ separate from ‘they’

in the while the umpteenth bonussidetracks the riverbed of lives to the survivalthat finds hard to progress and brakes into delta

it is the salt of sea that reaches the waters of the river


LYRICS

A decade goes by without a warning.Life is but a vision in a window that we’re peek-ing through.My roots are grown, but I don’t know where they are. Stop this train. I can’t take the speed it’s moving in.Will you walk with me before the morning fades? Cause I love the way you say good morning. It’s like putting on my favorite pair of shoes.You took my soul and wiped it clean.You saw no faults no cracks in my heart. Help me tie up the ends of a dream.And I'll stay and I'll grow gray with you. There was nothing worth sharing, like the love that let us share our name. But empty words make broken homes.

And I just got broken…broken into two. Bad news never had good timing.My weakness I feel I must finally show.Dumbed down and numb by time and age,My heart pumps out old red paint.Nobody knows I’m a lonely girl.The more you take, the less you have, cause it’s you in the mirror staring back.Instead of love we’re spreading animosity.I wish this was vertigo...it just feels like I’m falling slow.Maybe you’re gonna come back to me.The grass you walk on gives way, saying “please, please come back this way!”

Most times I feel just like a sailboat.And sometimes it seems you gain less than you lose,

cause the very thing that makes you could be the thing that breaks you.Heaviness is only temporary, the daylight will soon break in.I'll search if you don’t see it.Some people say faith is a childish game.But life’s more than fame and rock and roll.If you don’t know what to make of this, then we will not relate.Maybe we’ve been living with our eyes half-open.But we will overcome the apathy that has made us.And we’ll be left here pondering on the things which we can depend.Don’t ever forget, you’re never alone.


ED È SUBITO SERA

Ognuno sta solo sul cuor della terratrafitto da un raggio di sole:ed è subito sera.

S A LVAT O R E Q UA S I M O D O ,Tutte le poesie

SERENA PERRONE

you don’t see your lives in lifeamong them you have closed your eyes but every nighthopes constellations with a few lightsstars that nobody knows how to trackstarts already started fugues of ends


MY SEVEN MENDED CHAKRAS

I am what all the breaking people let go of just before they break,I am the knot in the rope, tied with childish hope,that’s not to be severed and never to frayCause I feel for all the breaking peoplethat were made to give but taught to takeAnd I’ll be for any broken personthe lens that shows them what’s at stake.

I’d love all the breaking peopleif my love alone could change their fateFor the sake of the future, if my heart could sew sutures,I’d save this world in a dayBut I speak for all the breaking peoplewhen I say I see no escapeAs I watch all these broken peoplechoosing to die before they wake.

I know so many broken peoplewho don’t understand that we’re free to create.To fold up in a cubical on a day that’s this beauti-ful,Oh how I wish I could change their fate.


THE OVERLOOK

Sounds swarm my ears:Tools shave, bells sing, artists laugh.This mountain lives:Its trees nod with the wind.Bees whisper in agreement.But the overlook sleeps.Its peace perplexes.Its splendor demands something beyond us. The mountains guard its tranquility. Sunsets shelter from the mundane. Houses stare back at me, wondering who I am.Perspective dims reality. I stand detached.And this distance provokes.


EN ROUTE The trip of a lifetimethis journey of livingtripping on time passagethese winding pathwaysall that could've been would've beenbut it’s notit’s this, the type rope you walkthe one shot you gotyou can take it with a grain of saltor sugarif it makes you feel betteror you can bite the bullettake it straight, honestit can taste a little bitterbut honeyit’s just this one picture, continuousshifting, shedding, adjustingto capture that one landscape you’re afterso, what do you wait for?Just pull the trigger

M A N O N B O G E R D WA D A

CONVERGENCE, 2014

Contributors:

Preface: Abby Johnson

Images: Manon Bogerd Wada

Book Design and Production: Brooke McGowan

Editing and Binding: Serena Perrone

Front Cover Design and Image: Serena Perrone

Back Cover Design and Image: Serena Perrone

Adobe Photoshop CS6Adobe InDesign CS6Type is Minion Pro

Edition _____ of _____

Cortona, Italy

Samantha AndersonCarlisle KramerAbby JohnsonBrooke McGowanMarco Paccioni

Serena PerroneSarah PeytonSarah TruettManon Bogerd Wada

U n i v e r s i t y o f G e o r g i a S t u d i e s A b r o a d P r o g r a m C o r t o n a , I t a l y

F a l l 2 0 1 4

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Convergence, 2014