Gianna Gazulla (age 16)

California, U.S.

Unexpected Beauty

As quoted by Margaret Wolfe Hungerford, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” My photograph captures the unexpected beauty that exists within my community. It represents the significance of national parks in the United States and across the globe through the tangible aspects and genuine opportunities that they offer. These opportunities allow us as protectors of the earth to more fully form a personal connection with our planet—to be conscious about our actions and the impact that they have on the earth. My photograph was taken in Yosemite National Park, and though it doesn’t depict the popular imagery that many people associate with this national park, such as Half Dome or El Capitan, it symbolizes that beauty can reveal itself through lesser known, or unexpected, places.

It wasn’t easy to achieve this image, but the process reminded me that anything that is worthwhile isn’t easy—for example, protecting the Earth against climate change and environmental impacts. We have a responsibility to make sacrifices in order to call ourselves true stewards of the Earth, and during that process, we recognize the beauty that we are called to protect.

Xiaolong Zhao (age 19)

Baotou, Mongolia

The objects in the picture are called the Four Treasures of the Study. They are brushes, inkstones, paperweights, and Xuan paper. On the right of the photograph, one brush is made of wolf hair and the other is made of wool. They have different nib hardnesses because they have different functions. On the top of the picture is the inkstone decorated by a carved dragon and a Chinese scroll, which symbolizes majesty. The inkstone is a special stone, and its function is to hold the ink stick that will be ground and mixed with water to make liquid ink, which will be transferred to the right container. On the left of the picture are two paperweights, and the pattern on them is bamboo from the Three Friends of Winter. These two heavier stones are responsible for keeping the paper flat. In the middle is Xuan paper, a specially crafted calligraphy paper. The word written on the paper is 福（blessing)—this Chinese character symbolizes peace and happiness. My mother and I like to use these tools to practice calligraphy. In the picture, I am writing calligraphy. My mother taught me calligraphy when I was very young. For my family, calligraphy not only represents a skill; it also cultivates one's mind and temperament. Because of my studies, I do not have time to study calligraphy systematically. Whenever I have free time, I always like to open the window and let the sunshine and breeze sprinkle onto the desk in the warm afternoon air. I like to feel the roughness of the ink particles and the smoothness of the Xuan paper, and forget all the worries in life to make my artwork.

I have always been curious about the evolution of other scripts, such as the ancient Greek alphabet, Egyptian hieroglyphs, cuneiform, and Indus Scripts. Unfortunately, these scripts and their cultures have all fallen into the long river of history. These characters are like mysterious codes waiting for humans to crack. There is only a little connection between them and the modern scripts, and their vitality is like a flame from a burned out candle. At this time, I feel the greatness of Chinese characters more and more. This is the only living ancient writing system with its own unique writing methods and instruments. I feel very fortunate that my culture is not locked away in a museum. It is in the homes of ordinary Chinese people who love and are still writing calligraphy, a part of the Chinese culture. Whenever I hold a brush, I feel I am connected to history. Whether it is ancient poetry or novels, ancient military orders or edicts, they were all written with the tools in my hand and the characters I use. How romantic is this! It's like passing the Olympic flame. Every Chinese dynasty, every Chinese emperor, and every ordinary person will pass the Chinese culture from generation to generation. The fire of the times burns traces of the old dynasty, but they cannot burn away all the traces of culture. This is not only a miracle for the Chinese people but also a miracle for humanity. Today, Chinese traditional culture has met with modern development. Calligraphy has a new life, and people don't need to commemorate it because it still exists.

Mariana Sánchez (age 17)

Mexico City, Mexico

These are my great-grandfather’s glasses. His name was Indalecio Huitrón Miranda. I remember listening to his name and imagining how lovely getting to know him must have been. I never had the chance to do so. Grandfather Indalecio, also known as “Papalecho,” had a very entrepreneurial spirit. He dedicated his life to agriculture, cultivating citrus and coffee, and herding horses. In his last years of life, he put a candy stand on the corner of the main street of Teziutlán, a small town in the state of Puebla, here in Mexico. He was a humble, generous man, who led a tough, yet beautiful life. When my father told me stories about him and how he used to live, his glasses were always in the picture. This object, being so representative of him, was passed on to my grandfather and later on, to my dad. He tells me the Mexican glasses, made out of copper, are from the 1950s, approximately 70 years old. My father keeps them on a special shelf where they are safe from falling or breaking. I decided to take this photograph because the glasses and the picture behind them bring my father great memories of his grandpa. It is always very moving for me to experience these emotional moments with him. I will want the glasses to endure for a long time so that his memory stays with my family and is not left behind. Part of the reason behind taking this photograph is that the Day of the Dead is around the corner in Mexico right now. Even though this festivity is celebrated once a year, my family and I keep my great-grandfather’s memory alive through his copper glasses.

Enora Le Moal (age 16)

United Arab Emirates

We can change our perspectives to see our planet as one home by observing animals. In an ecosystem, there are thousands of organisms which rely on each other. They work together. Unfortunately, humans tend to forget about the importance of collaboration. We are so busy thinking about our own problems that we forget how important the people around us are. With global warming, pollution, and deforestation, it is time for us to work together to make this planet a home. By seeing each other as one family, we become more aware of our actions and become more careful towards our surroundings. We need to stop putting people in boxes because we are all humans in the end.

In the film Earthrise, the Earth is described as a “blue marble.” I created this image by using a telescope from Al Wathba Wetland Reserve in Abu Dhabi, or United Arab Emirates (UAE). The black color of the telescope surrounding the image represents the infinite darkness of the universe while the lake and flamingos represent our Earth. The Earth in the Earthrise photograph is also observed from afar, which is shown in my photograph through the use of a telescope. I wanted to convey that we should admire the beauty of nature instead of trying to control it and interfere.

The UAE is important to me as a European citizen. It allows me to become more open-minded by discovering new traditions, cultures, and religions. Interacting with different people has enabled me to view the world from different angles. I want the UAE to be remembered as a country that is multicultural, and which has shown that perseverance and cooperation is the best route to success. People of diverse religions, cultures, and nationalities live in the UAE. It is a country that embraces this idea of being ‘one.’ It takes in people from all around the world and it doesn’t judge them. It accepts people no matter who they are.“The Abrahamic Family House project” (where a synagogue, church, and mosque will be built in the same location in Abu Dhabi) is a perfect example of respect and harmony between people from all backgrounds, beliefs, and nationalities.

Isabel Mendoza (age 17)

Villa Verdun, Mexico

“I hope my grandson will always know the other beings as a source of counsel and inspiration, and listen more to butterflies than to bulldozers.” — Robin Wall Kimmerer

Navillera
Flying beautifully, like a butterfly

It's an ethereal sight, a dream-like komorebi. The clean, fresh air of the forest, along with so many wings flapping and a river-like sound, fills the space. This is one of the most beautiful moments in my life in a place where dreaming and wishing were allowed. The migratory phenomenon of the Monarch butterfly is one of the most extraordinary and mind-blowing trajectories of a living organism. Every autumn, they abandon their breeding grounds in Canada and Northern U.S. for millions to arrive in Mexico, flying far away from the cold to a place where the temperature allows them to recharge energy. When the time comes, they go north once more. Getting to the north can take between three and four generations to complete. With unique abilities of direction and navigation, they only need good temperature with sunlight, water, and trees to rest on. It's us who need to make sure they go unbothered, but we have failed to do so. The number of monarchs each day is decreasing. This is caused by the disappearance of milkweeds, in which they lay their eggs, and climate change.

When I had the opportunity to visit the butterflies in Sierra Chincua, I realized the beauty of nature and how isolated the cities are. One may think the opposite, that in the middle of the forest you are in the middle of nowhere, but that's not true. When you stand in a place full of life, you are connected with yourself and accompanied by music, stories, love, dreams ,and wonder. Listening to the living world is much simpler than you think; it comes naturally if you let yourself go. It's when you are able to open your heart and mind, realizing we are not the only ones on this planet that you are finally starting to listen. You may lose yourself between hearing and listening. To find the difference, you need to learn about the world and its organisms. You don't have to be an expert—just treat it carefully. This planet gives us the warmth of a mother and the embrace and protection we need. If she always carries us on her back, and we don't start using our legs, she will get tired and we will both fall. If we choose to listen to our destruction instead of her stories, there will be no more future for her other daughters and sons...for our daughters and sons.

Ian Rosenzweig (age 14)

Pennsylvania, U.S.

My artifact is an extremely important piece of my family’s history in America and a representation of the values we hold closely. It is a book entitled Seder Avodah for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This translates from Hebrew to “Order of Service for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.” Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are the Jewish New Year and Jewish Day of Repentance. They are the two most important holidays of the Jewish year and are referred to as the High Holy Days. This specific prayer book was passed down to my mother from her parents. It was written in 1960 by Rabbi Max D. Klein of Adath Jeshurun Synagogue (known as AJ), which was in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It is now in Elkins Park, Pennsylvania. Congregants brought the book with them to the services.

Today, most synagogues provide prayer books. The book belonged to my great-grandmother, Bella Zemble. AJ was the congregation my great-grandparents’ belonged to. Their three sons (including my grandfather) had their Bar Mitzvahs (Jewish Right of Passage ceremonies) there, my mother had her Bat Mitzvah there, and my parents were married there. AJ is a strong piece of our family’s history. Using this book was a joyous aspect of the difficult holiday services we endured in the pandemic environment. It allowed us to pray and participate in our service without squinting at the computer screen for hours on end, and it helped us to link our heritage, which felt particularly important this year since we had to socially distance from our relatives with whom we usually celebrate the holidays. The machzor brought up memories for all of us. It made us recall past, happier High Holy Days when we were able to pray in the synagogue with our community and be with our family, which were both missing elements from the online service. My mom thought about her grandmother who passed away when she was twelve years old.

My sister and I learned about our family’s history. We knew about the importance of Adath Jeshurun to our family and that my grandparents are still congregants at AJ, but there was so much more wrapped up in that little book. We learned about what a service day looked like for our great-grandparents and grandparents. We learned about my great-grandparents' untimely deaths within a year of each other. We learned about a synagogue that held so much importance in our family’s past, including memories of all life cycle events. But most importantly, I discovered a piece of my family that was buried deeply beneath the stories of family history that I typically hear: the stories of the Holocaust and the countless family members lost and the anti-Semitism that stripped my family of equal opportunity in Europe and in America. This book initiated discussions of happier times and I learned positive stories about the continuity of this synagogue and this book within my family. I learned about my family, their synagogue and the prayer book that was issued to them 60 years ago which is used on the exact days of the Jewish calendar that I use them on, forming a connection between myself and my great-grandparents. All these connections took place through an artifact that had no monetary value, but was treasured because it signified the ability to pray and live as Jews in a free country. It not only allowed us to experience feelings that we are meant to feel on our High Holy Days, but also express feelings passed down to us through my great-grandmother’s Seder Avodah, her prayer book.

Noa Polston Schwartz (age 14)

California, U.S.

The photo portrays poignancy. The artifact of this distrust being the American flag. The emotion and memories behind the photograph stem from the experiences of my ancestors, their struggles and failures, luck and victories, now only a story. The meaning of the American flag has been changing since it's very creation in 1777. For my grandfather, Miki, the flag was the embodiment of refuge. America, a place for new beginnings, limitless possibilities, as long as you believe. It was the place for lovers of hope and students of hard work. A land where everyone was created equal, given freely the right to pursue happiness. For my Saba, my grandfather, America was justice. Barely seventeen, he set off to America leaving the despicable horror of what was left of Nazi Germany as a surviving Jewish teenager just liberated from Buchenwald. America welcomed him with her strong arms and smile, whispering "good luck."

Saba built a life for himself, learning exactly how to live opposite to a victim. Rising up with strength. America was good to him. And she was to many. What we need now is to be good for all. It seems to me that it's not our most recent years that have been so pivotal. America was never what it said. She lied to her suitors, feeding them hope when all she had was luck and bias, keeping the agonizing truth sealed into her red and blue lips. "Land of the free, home of the brave." How is this possible when over ten percent of America is food insecure? "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." What truths do women have? What can we grasp? "We mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor." Where is there honor? I see the fortunes funneling deeper and deeper to the top one percent. There are small children imprisoned at the spiked borders, metallic with fear. Our brothers and sisters of color marching in the streets and it's called rioting? Our basic reproductive rights being questioned? Our political system so divided over two white men, our police shooting when we are asleep, our country physically turning upside down from the drastic changes in our climate, children diving under desks at school for their lives, the anti-Semitic attacks filling our newspapers. Ask yourself: what does this flag now represent? How can we reclaim it, not just symbolically, but literally? How can we reclaim our America that we've lost to fear and hatred? We must remind her, show her, teach her that love is love, that trans lives matter, that people of color matter, that immigration camps are inhumane. We must spotlight our climate crisis, repair our hope, and reestablish our pride. As a fourteen-year-old little Jewish girl living in California, I hope to one day see an America that has achieved true justice for all. One that my grandfather and all my other ancestors can be proud of as well. And that one day, I can fly an American flag, understanding finally what true pride feels like.

May Wu (age 17)

California, U.S.

My drawing carries a message of hope for the future of our planet’s ecosystem. The background shows the environmental consequences of war and pollution—the smoke and burning vehicles behind a girl holding a glowing earth in the center. My use of color symbolizes optimism: we can save the earth but we must come together to make change. The girl carries this message into the future. My piece raises awareness of the fragility of our environment and denounces those who cause harm to our one and only earth.

Iñaki Ramos (age 16)

Mexico City, Mexico

Due to the pandemic, the thought of death has become more present in our lives. Humanity has faced several challenges throughout the year of 2020, and most of us have lost someone we care about. I asked myself: how can an artifact connect us as a society? I realized that the concept of death, and death itself, has been more present than ever throughout the year. Because of the spread of COVID-19, we haven't been able to properly grieve.

I decided to document a typical altar for The Day of the Dead as my artifact. In Mexico, we have a celebration called The Day of the Dead where we show respect and appreciation for the people who are no longer with us. Every year on November 1st and 2nd, families across South America put up an altar to commemorate their lost ones. The Day of the Dead is considered one of the most beautiful traditions because it represents death from a completely different point of view. No one is really dead unless they are forgotten, so this day is dedicated to remembering all the people that we love and who are no longer with us.

This tradition has existed for more than 3,000 years and it has been passed down from generation to generation. An altar has different objects and each one of them has a meaning. It is formed by cempasuchil flowers, traditional food, candles, pictures, and personal belongings. The cempasuchil flowers are a bridge that connects the world of the living with the world of the dead. The candles illuminate the path home and the food and pictures welcome the dead to the world of the living. There is only a picture of my grandfather on the altar because it is not allowed to put a picture of a living person. Otherwise, you will get bad luck. Throughout my childhood my family has gathered to celebrate The Day of the Dead. I never felt the honor to celebrate it until six years ago when my grandfather passed away. It was special for me to set up an altar to honor him.

Since then, The Day of the Dead has been an important tradition in my life. The year 2020 has been difficult for many families across the world and most of us have been in constant pain. When I was putting up my altar this year, I realized that it helped me heal and have closure around my losses. It also helped me appreciate the values that I have learned from each person that is on my altar. The Day of the Dead is a tradition that connects us all in our most painful times when we lose someone we love. It also allows us to appreciate life.

Marz Landon (age 17)

New Mexico, U.S.

This music box belonged to my great-grandmother, Elizabeth Baker Lamm, in the early 1900s. She always kept it on her dresser, no matter where she lived, as a precious keepsake. She was born in Dillon, Montana, in 1915 and was the oldest of five siblings. When she turned five, her family moved to Portland, Oregon. As the eldest, she took care of her siblings while her mother went out. She graduated high school in 1933 as the valedictorian and was offered a full scholarship to the prestigious Reed College. However, it was the height of the Depression. She turned down the opportunity to attend college and instead found a job to help support her parents and siblings. She held two jobs throughout the Depression. She got married, and her husband left her in 1940 when she was eight months pregnant! Forced to move back home again, she worked long hours as the first female manager at the big department store in Portland. She found a second job as a receptionist for a medical clinic on Saturdays.

In 1945, a man came in complaining of a headache. He fell in love with her and hired her to run the finances of his business. His business became successful in the post World War II economy. They worked together twelve hours a day, six days a week, for close to forty years. Little did they know they would be married in 1952. Their finances were tight, so we know my great-grandmother would not have been able to afford the music box on her own. It is unknown who gave it to her, but it was likely her husband for an anniversary gift. She treasured the music box as one of her most prized possessions. The music box still works, though it is rusty and a little out of tune. After winding it up a few times, it slowly plays the music that she used to love and appreciate so much. While listening to it, my mother and grandmother have memories of her smell, laugh, and smile. They often tell me about how she could light up a room. Admired for her selfless attitude towards life, she worked hard and persevered. I aspire to be like her—to work hard and be kind wherever I go.

Paolo Fajer (age 18)

Mexico City, Mexico

I took this photograph in 2020 at the Inbursa aquarium. My dad is a photographer and he always takes me to these kinds of places to take pictures. Most of the time they are nature photos; be it landscapes or animals. This has always helped me to connect more with a reality that has been here longer than us; it is a completely different world that we rarely value. I think about how these beings are on the margin of absolutely everything that is human and are a gift of nature. While I am alive, breathing, aware of what I am seeing, this creature is also existing in the same frequency and energy, dedicating itself to existing. Although I have no way of communicating with him or relating to him in a human way, I feel a very real connection, a love that is not human-it is natural.

The love of coexisting in this same universe, the love of appreciating its beauty and feeling the energies that surround us, it is a love story that no matter how much I am living it, it is not mine; it belongs to everyone because we all coexist and live on this planet. From a being that is not aware of its own existence to that energy that we do not understand but feel—some call it god. I do not know what to call it. I feel this every time I see the way our world works, the very organic way of simply existing and being beautiful. This is my love story with nature, with this photo and with what I don't know, but I feel love and intrigue for. My message to the world is simple: Why disturb what is calm? Why damage what is part of us? Why destroy what is perfect and why not just try to understand it? We must learn to live this love story with nature.

Suhayl Wright (age 18)

New Jersey, U.S.

Ella Andersen (age 14)

California, U.S.

Artifacts in our everyday lives connect those we love and bring us together. I photographed "My Friend Flicka" by Mary O'Hara. This book was given to my great-grandfather, Victor, and it was given to him by his late sister Gloria in 1943. This copy was published in 1941, making it 79 years old. It sat on my papa's shelf above his bed for many years and now it sits on mine. The book has been passed down for two generations and I hope to continue this trend. This book is very special to me and my family. It shows us an aspect of my papa's family that we didn't know; he and Gloria had a great love for the country and horses. Gloria wrote to him the following words on the first page of this book: "To Vic, with the hope that one day his wish to own a horse will come true. May it be soon." These words from Gloria were one of the last things she said to my papa. Though my papa has passed, this book will forever remain significant in my life. It contains joyful memories and hope. One day, I hope to pass this very special book down to another generation.

Cadence Grandell (age 14)

Colorado, U.S.

Every living thing needs water to survive. The water supply doesn't just come out of nowhere, it is recycled and goes through the cycle again and again. The Earthrise photograph inspired me because it gave humanity a different point of view of the Earth. My photograph is a different view of water.

Especially in this time, people need to know that we are all connected. We may all come from different backgrounds, but we all need water to survive. To take this photo at North Clear Creek Falls in Southern Colorado, I lined up my phone with binoculars to get a good close up on the waterfall. Sometimes you need to look at something from a different perspective to see how beautiful it really is.

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.

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