FLIPPING BOOK CHRONICLE 2024

There! an artist ambles around the art Radiating. And as if hearing my greys as rainbow rays, Relapses into me, seducing me with colour

out and doing everything in their power to belittle me. The foundation of self-esteem that I worked so hard to build in my primary school years was burned to the ground when I came to Michaelhouse, resulting in an era of loss and loneliness. Although the process of rebuilding my character was a long process of grit and determination consisting of many significant moments, it was this moment in particular that served as a final nudge for the butterfly to emerge from its cocoon: completing C Block Journey; winning half marathons; earning Colours and Honours across six different disciplines; my selection as a prefect; and the subsequent relationship that I developed with my E Blockers. The accumulation of these moments, along with many more, comprised the journey that led me to this volta in my life. On reflection of this moment, I have many people to thank: teachers, friends, family, and even those who gave me a rough time. However, I could not have done it without me. This moment helped me to expand my perspective on life, allowing me to talk more, feel more, and love more. I finally opened myself up to the world once more and already unearthed precious relationships of all shapes and sizes just a few weeks after the butterfly’s emergence.

WE’RE SLOW DANCING IN A BURNING ROOM Tumi Motsepe (B Block)

I travel through the maze of my mind, in the corridors of my memory, watching stories etched into the walls of my brain so long ago unravel before me. Stories of guilt, regret, and failure are intertwined with tales of success, glory, and love. I am surrounded by echoes and chants of somewhat familiar sounds. A shout, a song, a laugh, a place. Amidst all the complexities and disarray, I cannot help but be drawn to the corners, draped in shadows with whispers, hushed, suppressed. The corners draw eagerly near, unhurriedly consuming the space around me, coating my essence with sombre curtains. In the company of the corners, a beam of radiant light breaks through the shadow’s barrier, asserting authority over the space and darkness. I am seduced, attracted, drawn to the light. A luminescent presence emerges from the cocoon of the beam as if unveiling a curtain in front of millions. A sense of familiarity washes over me, and it all comes back. Butterflies dance to love songs in my stomach, my heart beats to the steps of this presence, and my knees feel weak as if blood no longer flows through me. My hands shake as if for the first time living in this ethereal moment. A sweat breaks on my forehead as the stakes rise with each lead-filled stride forward. The presence carries an angelic aura, wearing lush brown hair and canvasing the room with sapphire blue eyes. Brown dots cover her smooth skin, exposed to the sun daily. The colour of ripe strawberries every so often surfaces on her plump, soft cheeks. A scent of decadent flower gardens tended with gentle care permeates the space as I gawk at this presence gliding effortlessly across the space it occupies. Immersed in this haven of tranquillity and dreams, assimilating this moment. Suddenly the shadows that consumed the space reach out with their tongues licking up that radiant light, as dogs that have gone unfed for days. Stainless steel chains reach up from underneath, their frigid hands clasping my forearms. The chains are diverse in colour, some are darker shades of black, others a blinding yellow, as if to imply a reflection of my vehemence. The chains do not stop consuming my body, their grip strengthening every second as if to squeeze the life out my body. Every second I count I become more short-sighted as the darkness creeps up my face and covers my eyes. I catch a glimpse of a flamingo pink dress fitted onto a figure searching the room with sapphire blue eyes and lush brown hair, dancing. Dancing in a room with a backdrop bubbling and crackling with flames, and yet she twirls and dips graciously around the room, in such a way that seems she commands the flames. The radiant beam reaches out in a last attempt to salvage what is left of this moment, but the darkness has consumed me whole. My vision extends as far as my nose. I now realise I am surrounded by eons and eons of a cold, damp, and saddening curtain of darkness. 71

FOR I AM YOUR CANVAS Maximillian Murray (B Block)

murmurs float around the gallery, between lips of hollow souls. Few, crammed colourfully by a partner. Some, inspect art to help their hearts Majority, Pretend to prowl for paintings in an attempt to pinch a “tick-tock!” between their digits. Eyes of affection caress posing paintings Hands twitch eagerly behind their backs as if they were relapsing into art Me, merely colours to a dilettante. there I hang, deprived of a primary palette that palette, hankering for an artist

an artist, missing a canvas. so I shout shrieks shaded in White and black and grey wishing to be stroked, swathed and stained with hue.