= ~ OUR SCHOOL AFFAIRS WE LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AT THE SUMMER CAMP SAVARY ISLAND IT IS POSSIBLE THAT MANY PEOPLE who have no connection with art or an art school may never realize how strange and varied are the events of our school life here in this towered building. For some years, each Christmas, seriously, we produced a nativity play, cul- minating, in 1938, in the presentation of ‘The White Tyee,” the story of the nati- vity legend among the coast Indians. Last Christmas we changed our programme to a Great Medieval Banquet, complete to the last detail of costume and food. It was a splendid, uproarious affair, achieving moments of rare and exciting beauty. But most unusual of all have been our Hallowe’en parties where a bizarre effect has been the keynote. Last year our attic was disguised as the temple of Apollo for our Attic Nightmare (Spooks Gone Greek) — a white, weird frolic — hilarity, legendry and beauty on equal terms. This year, a surrealist party, or (as it was advertised) ‘A Dilly, a Dali, an eight o'clock Rally.” Fantastic and awful were the results. For days ahead wonder- ing students arrived with ancient objects of long dissuetude, — old chairs, a cow’s skull, a dismantled sewing machine, coat hangers, stuffed arms and legs, fruit, bird cages and mother’s lace party dress. Anon our raftered attic became the Cave of Venus with a great, green-eyed dragon and many a stuffed bird leering from the gloom overhead. Festoons of fishnet hung about our ears. A ‘’mobile’”’ sculp- ture dangled. Green light, a crooner singing ‘‘“My Heart Belongs to Dali’’ — and in sauntered the Poe-ish apparitions—a Faceless Deformity, an Ancient Bone, an Indi- gestible Dill, a Piece of Green Cheese Haunted by the thought of a Worm, The Man with the Cleavered Skull, the Divided Woman, the Minotaur—so many and so weird that the judges were hard put to decide who should deserve the plate of liver and who the portion of tripe and the eyeless grapes. Such dance numbers as ‘’’“”Among the Tombs” were popular and the never- to-be-forgotten ballet, ‘‘Venus Rising from the Sea,’’ found momentous acclaim. In preparation for this event a poem contest was sponsored with the results evidenced below. Who can tell what next year may bring? ENDLESS ENIGMA There is nothing so delicious As gingerbread cooling On the front door-steps, While the clock ticks merrily And glass vases Do a tango On the mantlepiece. Billowing skirts Look lovely On trees In the winter. White chrysanthemums Float past And green ivy Curls luxuriously Around the chandelier. Clear water Makes queer shapes When flung At an octagonal mirror. Harem skirts When worn with a bustle Cause consternation Among the men. Rose draperies And pigs’ knuckles Cause a high wind In a jam jar. Dreams are caused By red cushions And pictures In gilt frames. There is one soul light Burning in the cave of Venus While Aphrodite rises from the sea. And Appollo flits nervously Through rose and yellow clouds While goddesses marvel From golden domes. The crocheted antimacassar Weighs heavily On the mind Of the discontented oyster. And time weeps inconsolably. OUR SCHOOL AFFAIRS WE LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AT THE SUMMER CAMP SAVARY ISLAND ——— IT IS POSSIBLE THAT MANY PEOPLE who have no connection with art or an art school may never realize how strange and varied are the events of our school life here in this towered building. For some years, each Christmas, seriously, we produced a nativity play, cul- minating, in 1938, in the presentation of ‘The White Tyee,” the story of the nati- vity legend among the coast Indians. Last Christmas we changed our programme to a Great Medieval Banquet, complete to the last detail of costume and food. It was a splendid, uproarious affair, achieving moments of rare and exciting beauty. But most unusual of all have been our Hallowe‘en parties where a bizarre effect has been the keynote. Last year our attic was disguised as the temple of Apollo for our Attic Nightmare (Spooks Gone Greek) — a white, weird frolic — hilarity, legendry and beauty on equal terms. This year, a surrealist party, or (as it was advertised) ‘’A Dilly, a Dali, an eight o'clock Rally.” Fantastic and awful were the results. For days ahead wonder- ing students arrived with ancient objects of long dissuetude, — old chairs, a cow's skull, a dismantled sewing machine, coat hangers, stuffed arms and legs, fruit, bird cages and mother’s lace party dress. Anon our raftered attic became the Cave of Venus with a great, green-eyed dragon and many a stuffed bird leering from the gloom overhead. Festoons of fishnet hung about our ears. A “‘mobile’’ sculp- ture dangled. Green light, a crooner singing My Heart Belongs to Dali” — and in sauntered the Poe-ish apparitions—a Faceless Deformity, an Ancient Bone, an Indi- gestible Dill, a Piece of Green Cheese Haunted by the thought of a Worm, The Man with the Cleavered Skull, the Divided Woman, the Minotaur—so many and so weird that the judges were hard put to decide who should deserve the plate of liver and who the portion of tripe and the eyeless grapes. Such dance numbers as ‘Among the Tombs” were popular and the never- to-be-forgotten ballet, ‘Venus Rising from the Sea,’ found momentous acclaim. In preparation for this event a poem contest was sponsored with the results evidenced below. Who can tell what next year may bring? ENDLESS ENIGMA There is nothing so delicious Cause consternation As gingerbread cooling Among the men. On the front door-steps, Rose draperies While the clock ticks merrily And pigs’ knuckles And glass vases Cause a high wind Do a tango In a jam jar. On the mantlepiece. Dreams are caused Billowing skirts By red cushions Look lovely And pictures On trees In gilt frames. In the winter. White chrysanthemums Float past And green ivy Curls luxuriously Around the chandelier. Clear water Makes queer shapes When flung At an octagonal mirror. Harem skirts When worn with a bustle There is one soul light Burning in the cave of Venus While Aphrodite rises from the sea. And Appollo flits nervously Through rose and yellow clouds While goddesses marvel From golden domes. The crocheted antimacassar Weighs heavily On the mind Of the discontented oyster. And time weeps inconsolably.