Romina Arredondo (age 18)

Naucalpan, Mexico

The Face of Progress

A leaf rotten from its center.
A dark stain that at its fervor steps burns.
A leaf without precedents nor relations.
I am the only witness of its existence.
And even though I don’t watch, it lives and dies.

Observant, I find the stain taking shape in its expansion.
Clouds of steam push towards the edges of the leaf
Unpainting every green brush stroke with indifference.
Agonizing, the leaf talks to me through its pattern
and its drawing has the face of progress.

Two sentences inspired the creation of my project. Linda Hogan wrote, “What a strange alchemy we have worked, turning earth around to destroy itself, using earth’s own elements to wound it.” And, Wendell Berry wrote, “The environment is in you, it’s passing through you, you’re breathing it in and out, you and every other creature.” Both statements address the arrogance and impudence of human beings who feel that they are the owner of everything and then become destroyers. The process that I carried out to embody the idea was to put an acetate with a photo of a factory on a leaf of a plant called Pothos, so that it would be printed under the sunlight.

We find so many resources in the nature environment, and instead of taking care of and thank that source of wealth, man is coldly exploiting it. Hand in hand with the above, we have built a hierarchy in which we, as humans, are above everything and that is now part of our molding, so we ignore the fact that as living beings that make up the same world, we are equal. As individuals we exclude ourselves from what we consider to be resources, and we turn them into products that unbalance the environmental order.

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.

Grace Bonk (age 17)

Wisconsin, U.S.

My family and I were visiting the Upper Peninsula of Michigan earlier this year. My dad went to college in Houghton and my mom's family is from there, so it is a very special place for our family. In the moment captured in the picture, my dad, my little brother, and I were walking across the frozen parts of Lake Superior. From the shore, my mom was calling out to us to be careful, and my brother and I were chuckling off her warnings. We were filled with adrenaline with the possibility of the ice breaking and in awe of the beauty around us. This photograph represents the fragility of Earth's climate. Humans walk along the thin ice that is the Earth's climate—fully aware of their actions and the risk they bring—just to see how far they can push before the ice breaks for good.

Dylan Mong (age 16)

California, U.S.

My artwork is a “love story” to the planet showcasing the vulnerability and hope we all have. Four eggs in a tiny nest symbolizes a new hope for life. The mother bird laid these eggs at this location due to the lack of human activity around this site. I’d like my artwork to communicate freedom and excitement to the world. The anticipation for the pandemic to be over is represented with the goal of raising new life.

Ned Henderson (age 17)

Queens Park, Australia

Unsettling Evidence

I am fortunate enough to witness two worlds in my country: the continual game of monopoly within the urban sprawl of Sydney and the often forgotten rural hearts and souls. This macro perspective of the inevitable devastation of our bushfire season was a message to the world. Being located within the city of Sydney NSW during the 2019-2020 fire season, I noticed a disconnection between people around me and what was happening only a couple hours drive west. This alarmed me, as I was viewing updates hourly for months whilst the majority were not concerned. With many family members having to evacuate multiple times, and watching the map for fires near the family farm, it wasn’t the greatest summer. After a fire storm swept through the rural town of Bilpin NSW, I was eager to examine the results. It honestly shocked me, as you cannot prepare yourself for what you see. To think that this is just one handful of ash and one small town upon thousands.

The film Earthrise made me consider scale and perspective. We could see the fires from space and feel the ash in New Zealand, but my image considers the inverse of this by examining the slightest fragment of the big picture. It is important to acknowledge the close connection between cities and the bush and the world's interconnectedness of ecosystems.

The gesture in the image is a transactional exchange of what we have offered and what the natural world offered in return—45 million acres of flaming earth.

Lily West (age 16)

Maine, U.S.

Do you feel all the fish swimming to the surface?

"Do you feel all the fish swimming to the surface?" is a part of a small series of pieces about the beauty of and the destruction of the environment. As I learned more about the environment, I started to focus on whales and sea creatures. The ancient nature of whales is so clear in their size, the way their migratory patterns and song patterns work in communication with one another. There is something about the wisdom and knowledge of the oceans that these animals possess that would be lost if they were to go extinct, or their numbers were to drop greatly.

People have such little understanding of the ocean, which is why the whale's tail is all that is revealed. We do not, and simply cannot, know the waters to the same depth that they do. Also in the piece, there is a hawksbill turtle below the whale's tail. The beautiful pattern and colors on the back of hawksbill turtles inspired me to choose them as a species. Both of these animals have a history of endangerment. Humpback whales have made a major comeback since 1950 when their numbers dropped to 440. The current population is now around 120,000 to 150,000. In contrast, however, the hawksbill sea turtle is listed as critically endangered. They are in danger due to people hunting for their beautiful shells, among the other threats they face. The red lines are up for interpretation, but in my view, they show how much understanding of the oceans these creatures carry within them, and what it would mean for this to be lost. The beauty and wisdom of such animals are something that must not be destroyed.

Gabe Marusic (age 17)

Ohio, U.S.

Bought and Sold

Reciprocity is a two way road, and yet we have treated our Earth like a one-way highway, one in which we take everything without giving back. During the Covid-19 pandemic, I began to go on more walks as I found being in nature one of the best ways to escape from the hustle and bustle of the world. On one of these walks I found this sign and felt a strange irony in finding it in a forested area and decided to capture the emotion I felt behind it. In my photo, Bought and Sold, I try to capture the idea of how people often find they have the right to buy and sell nature to other people. I find that the harsh black and white film I used captures the raw emotion behind the ideas of this photo, as well as the natural sunset lighting that was used. The sign reads “sale pending,” implying the sale has not even happened yet, and yet the land is still being reserved rather than enjoyed by people. If we as people want to remain on this planet, maintaining a true relationship of reciprocity with the Earth is essential. When we just take from the Earth and never give back, we slowly kill the Earth. I found the following quote from Kimmerer especially relevant, “Birds, bugs, and berries are spoken of with the same respectful grammar as humans are.” It relates to the idea of nature and humans all being interconnected as one rather than being the two separate entities we paint them as. People tend to cut up and sell this planet we all share, but this is not our job. It was simply one we convinced ourselves we had.

Andrea Trejo (age 18)

Metepec, Mexico

La nervadura de una hoja, líneas paralelas o sin rumbo que sobresalen de su piel, se encarga de circular la savia y conectar cada rincón de la planta. Mis venas, caminos sin fin alguno por los cuales circula mi sangre, desde el corazón hasta la punta de mis dedos. Tú y yo no somos tan diferentes, nos unen líneas interminables, por lo que cuando intento escucharte lo hago como si tú fueras yo, se que un rayito de sol en la mañana te da energía para seguir todo el día y que escuchar una melodía te hace bailar, lo sé porque esas cosas hacen que se acelere mi corazón y que siga fluyendo por mis venas aquello que me mantiene con vida, y así como funciono yo, lo haces tú.

La única diferencia es que yo dependo de ti, pero tú no de mi.

The leaf rib, parallel lines with no guide to follow that bulge from its skin, is in charge of circulating the sap connecting every corner of the plant. My veins, paths with no ends that fulfill their function by taking the blood from my heart to the tip of my fingers. You and I, we are not so different at all, we are connected by unending lines. When I try to listen to you, I have in mind that you are me. I know that a sunbeam every morning gives you enough energy until the day ends and that listening to music makes you dance. I know this because these things make my heartbeat go faster and keep me alive, flowing in my veins. Just the way my body works, so does yours.

Our difference is that you can live without me, but I cannot live without you.

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.

Ellie Lint (age 18)

Montana, U.S.

Reciprocity is embodied by the idea that we must learn to give back to the world we take so much from. When we encounter nature every day, we take advantage of it instead of realizing all that Mother Earth gives us. On a cloudy day in May of 2020, an osprey carrying a massive trout landed on a tree branch right in front of my bedroom window. I slowly and carefully crept across my lawn up towards the base of the tree until I finally got the shot I was waiting for. In any other normal year, I would be in a concrete building sitting through a class, but Covid had put me into online school. Although Covid has taken a lot from me, I would have never had the chance to take one of the best pictures I've ever taken.

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.

Shelly Fatal (age 17)

New York, U.S.

I sought to illustrate the interconnectedness of humanity and nature by composing the human body as if it were a landscape. By highlighting organic abstract forms, I hoped to express a love story between the inner and outer worlds—how they are mirrored in each other and intertwined. By monumentalizing this organ, I hope to communicate how the outside world is not so different from the smaller ecosystems within us, and how we rely on both systems' unity to survive.

Melody Zhang (age 15)

New York, U.S.

The wind threads itself through the trees, whispering a song. Infinitely many songs join it: the sound of dripping water (melting ice), the crunching beneath your boots and your friend’s, a branch crackles, something moves in the bushes, two birds chirp and four crows join it, a car drives by but you’re moving away from it, taking the side path as it slopes down; at some point, you realize, the world around you is a stream. A stream of sounds, tastes, smells, colors, feelings.

A song that is noise and all. The earth sings a song that is a want, a need, a memory. The song is ephemeral.

Without thinking too much, you steadily step your way across the ice. It freezes in the winter, the mass of water becoming a field becoming a plate becoming a place. Here, the earth stops singing; the above and below of the lake is quiet, the pure white of the snow sitting on the surface undisturbed like a pearl—or an eye without a pupil.

It is looking; looking at nothing.

You know not what it had looked like years before, or decades earlier. You are confident that no one can know everything; knowledge comes in hundreds of people who all know too little until one being is formed from trillions of facts. You are one of these facts, your friend another, the unseeing eye the last.

The earth’s song starts up again: now, the wind scratches against your ears. It screams freely over the empty lake, no trees or mountains to divert it, not until you stand in the center of the lake and become a lightning rod. At the epicenter, the wind is so strong that it nearly knocks you over. It goes so fast that it rushes into your ears and SHOUTS,

and in that moment,
you realize:

The earth was never singing.
It was simply crying.

A need, a want, a memory.

Your friend begins to walk further. You blend in, but you are out of place. Without you at the center, there was no one to cry to (a want): just seventy miles of wind measuring a lake frozen in time, running circles around nothing (a need).

You stand still in the cries, raising your camera with reddened hands, your breath coming out like clouds. The shutter clicks; the shore on the other side sinks into blue, the white looking blindly at the gray sky, the whole thing empty except for one of the two people that heard.

(A memory.)

Abigail Getty (age 17)

Illinois, U.S.

“Living beings are referred to as subjects, never as objects, and personhood is extended to all who breathe and some who don’t. I greet the silent boulder people with the same respect as I do the talkative chickadees,” writes Robin Wall Kimmerer. What happens when the world falls silent? When all falls still? Before this pandemic, we bustled and hustled through life, never looking further than our own field of vision we defined as our world. Our heads were in our phones, our gazes to the ground, untouched by life’s worst. The minute we were yanked from the routine comfort, and into the face of danger, we lost it. Each of us has become numb, terrified, scared, and more awake.

There are the trees to whisper secrets to and the water to awaken your memories, the birds to sing you awake, the frogs to sing you to sleep, the breeze to tickle your face during the day, and the fire to brighten your face in the dark of night. As humanity became isolated, we learned to cherish these things, some we may have never known. These are the fruits of life and they give themselves to us. Humankind has to remember its place in this shared beauty of the world.

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.

Edward Bennett (age 15)

Ohio, U.S.

Life On Metal

My ecosystem has been gradually decaying. There are fewer and fewer trees standing, and buildings and bridges are taking over the habitat. My artwork documents the balance between nature and new construction, a battle that nature is sadly losing, engulfed by industrialization. My artwork communicates how nature and manmade objects coexist in the world and how there must be limits and boundaries set in place in order to protect the planet. I hope my artwork will show that we need to take immediate action to fix the world.

Mercer Weis (age 17)

California, U.S.

San Francisco, one of California's largest and busiest cities, is home to one of the most extraordinary landmarks in history: The Golden Gate Bridge. The Golden Gate Bridge, standing at a height of a staggering 227 meters and spanning 1.7 miles across the beautiful San Francisco Bay, connects the big city of San Francisco and the mountainous Marin County. For almost ninety years, the Golden Gate Bridge has offered the public a convenient, effective, and trustworthy form of transportation. After surviving a massive earthquake and human gridlock, the bridge still stands as one of the world’s largest bridges. Thousands of construction workers and materials built the bridge. One construction piece, the rivet, played a small but vital part in the formation and development of the Golden Gate Bridge. The artifact I have photographed is one of the 600,000 rivets installed in the Golden Gate Bridge when it was first built.

I am lucky enough to have a personal connection with the famous Golden Gate Bridge. My great-grandfather, Edwin Fraser, served as a President on the Golden Gate Bridge Board. He represented Del Norte County on a Board of forty-two other presidents. Before his appearance on the Board of Presidents, my great-grandfather was elected by the majority in his district to represent them in this stunning feat of bridge building. On January 23, 1929, my great-grandfather, along with the other presidents and top bridge engineer firms in the country, met for the first time to draft their management plans for the next four years. My great-grandfather voted on the bridge act, a three-cent tax paid by taxpayers, and many other provisions proposed by geologists, engineers, and fellow board members. The Golden Gate Bridge Board of Directors and Presidents earned a $35 million grant to build the Golden Gate Bridge. After four years of hard and challenging work, the first day of construction for the Golden Gate Bridge finally came on January 5, 1933. During the next four years, my great-grandfather collaborated with his fellow members to set goals for his workers to create the Golden Gate Bridge.

Finally, on May 27, 1937, the Golden Gate Bridge opened to the public. As a token of my great-grandfather’s success, he was given a small red rivet, a replica of the ones used in the Golden Great Bridge, to take home. This artifact has made its way down to me, his great-grandson. I have the honor of keeping this meaningful artifact with my immediate family, and hopefully, will pass it down to the next generation. Although this rivet itself is not a part of the Golden Gate Bridge, it represents the bridge’s purpose. The rivet is a symbol of a bridge that provides transportation to 112,000 vehicles and 27,000 tourists a day. The rivets themselves make up the bridge’s skeleton, one of the most critical structures in the bridge. The rivet embodies the innovative nature of the bridge and its technological breakthroughs at the time. Without these rivets, people would not have a convenient form of transportation today in a city bustling with traffic. It brings people together in one grand location to look out onto the San Francisco Bay. The message behind this rivet expresses the true purpose of an artifact. It is a symbol of one of our greatest achievements for the well-being of mankind.

Emily Williamson (age 17)

Christchurch, New Zealand

Everyone needs to take time to appreciate our planet a bit more. We can see the negative effects we have made to the Earth and how it tries to heal itself. I believe my relationship to the planet is a protective one. My ancestors once believed that they did not own the Earth but cared for it. Papatuanuku was the earth mother and they worshiped her. She provided them with what they needed, and they did not abuse this relationship. Today, we are greedy humans who believe we own the land and all that resides on it. We take and take but never give back. The bee in my image does the exact opposite of this. When it takes pollen from a flower, it gives some as well, providing a fair exchange. I believe our relationship with the Earth should be the same.

I would like this place in the world to be remembered for giving back to the creatures of the land and restoring what once was— an exchange to Papatuanuku for being able to reside on her own Earth.

The Earthrise image inspired me to change my perspective, not just in photography, but in my life and in decision-making as well. For this image, Earthrise inspired me to look at the world from not only someone else's point of view but from the point of view of something else. Bees work together to create and support each other and unlike humans, they are not selfish or greedy. They work individually to come together and combine their efforts. I chose this bee in particular because it worked by itself on a single flower. Despite being alone, it has a team and a hive that supports it. This mirrors the epidemic we face currently, and serves as a reminder that we may be alone working, but we are alone together. We are working as one to save lives.

My image was taken at my home. This image always reminds me that sometimes the wonders of the world are right under your nose. You just have to look. We can be content with where we live and what we have. This bee does not complain about the size of the flower or lack of pollen. It simply does what it needs to do. I should not complain about the size of my home or the lack of friends currently visiting me. My home is special to me because it is where my family is. They are the ones who support me through everything, just like how this flower supports the bee.

Kunsh Puranik (age 18)

Lombardia, Italy

There are two sides in this photo. The right half of the image represents nature, while the left half represents humans. As seen in the image, both the human and the symbol of nature are at an equal height. This represents balance and coexistence with nature. The Covid-19 pandemic gave me time to reflect on our relationship with Mother Nature. In my opinion, it is impossible to continue living if we treat our flora and fauna with such disrespect. We must coexist with nature and a significant part of that is adjusting our lifestyles and imitating nature. In the image, the person holding the conical funnel represents an adaptation and imitation of nature [the bird]. Humans have abused the environment for too long now and it's time we show nature the same respect we show our elders. It is only through balance that prosperity will be sustained and the light of life will shine bright.

Walker Wilson (age 15)

North Carolina, U.S.

The day I took this photo it was very bright outside. At first, I thought I would leave the photo as it was with color. But instead, I decided to add a twist to it. I figured black and white would compliment each other well. One thing that I learned throughout the pandemic is that the little things matter. The most basic things that you normally wouldn't pay attention to have more meaning. When setting up for this photo, I had to find the right angle. It took me a little bit, but in the end, I settled on this one because it makes the tree look "alive." The pandemic has made me more aware of the living world. In my free time I like to go out in nature and find unique perspectives that I can photograph.

Mustafa Toslak (age 18)

Michigan, U.S.

Nature is within the core of all of us. We are sometimes blind to it, and we decide to ignore it. It finds a way to grow and prosper in all of us. As an artist, I wanted to capture the way nature captivates me as a human being. I made jewelry out of copper, patination, and a strange medium, moss.

I think it is vital for us to understand that we cannot block nature out. It will always find a way to grow and become dominant in us. We are a part of nature. This illustration of the environment represents the comfort the environment provides for us. With the pandemic and global warming, this comfort is essential for human beings.

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.

Bailey Seaton (age 16)

Florida, U.S.

Glass Planet

I have always been fascinated with reflections. I was walking in New York City and saw a circular mirror, the kind used to keep one safe from running into someone or from attack. Before taking the picture, I took note of the setting. I saw all the lines intersecting towards the mirror: the sharp lines of the awnings, the metal pole, and the buildings off in the distance. The living tree rests outside this awning, twisting and adjusting itself to the lifeless metal and concrete city. Before the Covid-19 pandemic, I might not have taken this shot. But when I look at how trees struggle for life in the concrete jungle of New York City, it made me think of the struggle for life in the human race, how this struggle to overcome the pandemic rewarded the planet in unexpected ways, and how air quality improved and animals and plants flourished. There are two central living beings (me and the tree). We are the central subjects, not objects. The living and the inanimate are juxtaposed against each other, converging at the center point, the mirror, the point of reflection. The reflection in the circular mirror of the circular world shows life the way it is, the way it should be—mankind, plant kind, and lifeless buildings existing equally.

William French (age 16)

New York, U.S.

We will continue to host photo contests throughout the year and we will b
My photograph is an interpretation of how we are all interconnected. It is an abstract close-up of a wire horse sculpture my father bought for me in Bogota, Colombia.The sunlight shining on the out-of-focus foreground makes the image feel curved like a sphere or a planet. The background is in focus and unlike the foreground, feels shaded in darkness. The intersecting lines are symbolic of how we are all connected to one another as human beings that share the same home.

While watching Earthrise, I was inspired by how the Apollo 8 astronauts felt about their place in the universe when seeing the Earth from space. They felt humbled to see the Earth from that perspective. At the same time, the experience allowed them to see the Earth without countries or borders that separate people. They felt an overwhelming connection to humanity. I see this feeling of unity in my photograph, as well as the beauty and chaos we’re experiencing at this moment in history.

I see a duality in my photograph. Sometimes I see it as a nest that provides safety. I also see the barbed wire of a prison that confines and isolates. This is a metaphor for our relationship to the Earth, especially during the pandemic. As people have been sheltering in place, pollution has been decreasing and the natural world has started to heal. Will we nurture Earth so it is our sanctuary? Or will we continue to destroy it and make it a prison? Like the Apollo 8 astronauts, I want to feel humbled about my place in the world, knowing we are all connected despite the divisions that prevent us from caring about each other and the Earth.

Ruby Penner (age 17)

Vernon, Canada

A New Subject

“Living beings are referred to as subjects, never as objects, and personhood is extended to all who breathe and some who don’t. I greet the silent boulder people with the same respect as I do the talkative chickadees.” — Robin Wall Kimmerer

The focus of an image is referred to as the subject. Subjects are usually people. However, the subject does not always have to be human. The ancient trees should be granted the same respect that people receive. Nature commands our focus. In this image, an ancient cedar tree captivates the same attention a human would. It has limbs holding a delicate bouquet of baby’s breath as if it is a person posing for a portrait. The soft sunbeams encompass the tree with a soft hug as if the sun just can’t help but be near. The gentle soul of this elegant cedar is brought forth when it claims its title as the subject.

How may we listen to the living world with our whole selves?

Wrap your arms around a tree, let it feel your pulse.
May your hearts beat in unison.
Let the water flow through your fingers, feel the way it glides.
May you move as it moves.
Have the wind blow through your arms, listen to it breathe.
May you follow its breaths. Bask in the sun, feel its warmth.
May you be inspired by its light.
May you one day treat nature as you would a person.

We must learn to respect nature as it deserves. Hug the trees. Feel the water. Hear the wind. Stand in the light. Instead of just receiving the gifts nature offers. We must learn to give back.

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.

Jessica Zighelboim (age 16)

Florida, U.S.

The Greenhouse

As time has progressed, humankind has grown somewhat disconnected from the natural world, choosing the material world over the natural, but humans can never truly leave the living world behind. The majority of homes people live in now, especially throughout the U.S., do not traditionally include any sort of factor that keeps them continuously connected to nature, not in the way this greenhouse does. This piece is a photograph of the house of a neighbor of mine, an environmentalist and an advocate for the protection of the natural world. The owner has effectively and efficiently created a small ecosystem for all of these plants, birds, butterflies and more, to live and thrive in. The owner lives in unity with the natural world, allowing the plants to cover their home and flourish.

This incredible interconnectedness between humankind and nature is symbolized by the elegance of the vines and the way they stretch throughout the entirety of the home, keeping the person feeling grounded and connected to the earth. A sense of inner peace is apparent in the precise arrangement of nature as a whole, not seeming overgrown or restricted but perfectly balanced.

Rose Lehrman (age 17)

Michigan, U.S.

I have always been fascinated by bird nests. When I was younger, I would try to make them on my own but, unsurprisingly, I never could quite manage to. The technique, time, and effort that a bird puts into building a nest is something that I try to emulate in my artistic practice. I’m a filmmaker and the work that I do often involves weaving random pieces of stuff together into something beautiful. A bird can see the value in a single piece of thread or a piece of trash. I think that is something we should all aspire to. I found this nest at a particularly low point in my life. It was a reminder that good things take time to build.

The living world is constantly telling us what it needs, but often, we don’t listen. Taking the time out of our day to put everything down and be in nature is something that a lot of people don’t make time to do. As humans, it is our responsibility to fight for a more equitable world where everyone can take the time to connect with the living earth that we are all a part of. We have a responsibility to fight against the corporations and oil magnates who are knowingly causing harm to this planet that we all call home. We already know what the living world is saying. Listening to it is another matter altogether.

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.

Gabe Marusic (age 16)

Ohio, U.S.

When we think about our planet, we tend to think close-mindedly. We think the Earth is only the home of humans, but it’s the home of all beings. The fish, the birds, the plants, the bugs, and the germs all live on this planet with us. I want others to take a moment and look at their surroundings and really take it in. We tend to get so involved with what separates us from each other that we don’t realize how small we are in the history of this planet.

The Earthrise photograph puts the world in perspective. The life we lead can seem so large, but when you see the Earth all in one photo, you realize how small we are. This small robin in central Cleveland reminded me of this. As I think of how small this bird is in comparison with the rest of the Earth, it would seem almost unseen by most. I will never see that exact bird again, and yet I captured it forever in a photograph. That in itself is very beautiful. The bird is isolated, but the cigarette butts, the peeling concrete mold and flooring, and iron railings show that people have been there.

I want Cleveland to be remembered. In the Shaker Heights area, there are so many trees, rabbits, squirrels, and foxes that live there. Humans tend to dominate and we need to conserve nature for what it is, not what we want. Being trapped inside now from COVID-19 makes me realize just how much animals do in a day. Watching the squirrels is almost exhausting, as they do so much. This planet does not belong to anyone. We’re all renting out space until we’re gone. So while we are here, let’s make the most of it and cherish this big blue beauty of a planet.

Ian Gomez (age 18)

California, U.S.

A Blue Marble and A Mound Of Salt

I believe that the way our society views nature is doing more harm than good. We tend to romanticize only the most beautiful spots on our planet and ignore the rest. If it’s not a tropical paradise or pristine woodland forest, then our appreciation veers away from it. If it doesn't fit the mold of pure wilderness, and natural beauty that we expect, then it’s tainted. This reflects our ignorance as a species to feel apart from, or above, nature. Our impact as a species is global; there is not an ecosystem on this planet that is free from our influence. We have to accept that our actions, no matter how benign, have consequences and that there is still beauty in the world we have tainted. We have to focus our attention close to home. When we pivot our attention away from the global theater to our own homes, we can recognize the environmental issues affecting us and our communities. Hopefully, this can foster a sense of accountability for our local environment, and shift our perspective as separate from nature, to an intrinsic part of it.

I took this photograph in the salt lagoons of the South Bay in Chula Vista during a cleanup effort put on by our local nature conservation center. A thunderstorm the previous day had flooded much of the gravel paths, but the salt mounds still towered over us. As a team leader, I lead groups of community members throughout the area with buckets and trash pickers. A lot of eastern Chula Vista was built on top of an estuary. Bits of this ecosystem remains walled off by development. It is a crucial area because it is a rest stop for many migratory birds and houses its own variety of native species. The large mounds of salt and gigantic rusting industrial equipment betray signs that this area is still tied to our ecosystem. Despite being choked off by a city of a quarter-million, the estuary persists. Local organizations such as the Living Coast Discovery Center, play a huge role in alleviating the stress on our local ecosystems. We host clean up events regularly alongside other community events that focus on education and sustainability. Our clean up initiative works its way around the south bay area, including a lot of the industrial zones such as the South Bay Salt Works.

Earthrise had the same impact on me that it did on the astronauts of Apollo 8; it made me realize that there is no second chance. Every square inch of this planet is invaluable. We should be working not only to protect what is left but also to rehabilitate the areas we have disturbed. When I looked over the salt mounds and rusting equipment and glanced over at the salt lagoons dotted with birds, I understood that although we can pave over the estuary, poison the bay, fill the area with steel giants, and reap the ocean of its salt, parts of the ecosystem remain. And these parts deserve just as much consideration as the forests, streams, and lakes that we have yet to decimate. Through my photograph, I want to showcase these areas and highlight the organizations that are fighting to keep them alive. At this point in time, my state has lost more than ninety percent of its wetland area. Eventually, I want the ongoing conservation and rehabilitation efforts in my city to become the precedent for the rest of the country. There is no other Earth, the blue marble we call home is all we’ve got. Every part of it.

Shelly Fatal (age 16)

New York, U.S.

Flesh and Earth

In creating my illustration, I aimed to portray plants as worthy of respect and humanity. By utilizing flesh tones in the color palette, I displayed how plants are made of the same building blocks as humans and animals. Thus, they are worthy of the same altruism and sympathy. This is a lesson that I have learned during the pandemic, as I have been spending more time in nature. Being outdoors has served as a veritable escape from stress, which has changed the way I view my relationship with the living world. Instead of regarding time spent in nature as a chore, I look forward to going on walks and watching the change of seasons. While I am not grateful for the significant losses that the pandemic has brought, I find that it has allowed my compassion for the living world to grow by encouraging me to develop mindfulness for the environment around me.

Leela Khatri (age 16)

Ohio, U.S.

The celebration of Diwali has always held great importance to my family. I remember each celebration throughout my childhood as a blissful reflection of each year and the projection of hope for the future. For as long as I can remember, goddess Lakshmi’s framed picture has been around for our annual celebrations. To me, Lakshmi represents much more than the goddess of prosperity and good fortune. She holds the promise of happiness and is representative of eternal hope. I do not consider myself a religious person, yet the memories I have attached to Diwali will forever be priceless. A specific attachment I have with Diwali is the joy my grandfather had during that time of year. Every Diwali, he would take us shopping for new clothes to celebrate the new year and his beaming, radiant energy was contagious. Ultimately, I decided to take this photograph because I believe it captures the symbolism of Diwali.

To celebrate, a simple mandir and a short prayer may suffice. Diwali is a perfect time for reflection. I love spending time with my family and recognizing how grateful I am for the support I receive every day. I believe that capturing this scene projects the warmth and invitation of Diwali, a celebration that represents new beginnings and the hope for a better future. The candles and prayer items that I decided to represent as my artifact connect to our common humanity in several ways. The first is a symbol of faith, an item that one may turn to when feeling discouraged or lost, and any artifact can provide that same solace. The second is the symbol of hope, which contains the strength and value of resilience. I find that sharing individual stories is a great way of projecting happiness and motivation to the world. I chose this artifact because it is something that truly projects joy in my life and allows me to keep moving forward even through tough times.

Bre Ireland (age 18)

Wisconsin, U.S.

I captured this photo at my grandparents’ house in Northern Wisconsin after sitting patiently in the silence of nature for nearly an hour. The art of nature photography represents the simple reciprocity with nature. By sitting and being a part of the pace of wildlife, you receive the gift of witnessing its true beauty. Photography is a way to share beauty with others. I have found that my best photos of nature are taken when I practice patience. The forest never stops moving if I stand still enough to see it. The art of photography is seeing the smallest points of beauty and capturing it. This glimpse into beauty is a gift for pausing to notice it. It is reciprocity in the most wonderful and simplest sense.

Tom Nesti (age 17)

Nantes, France

I have a reverence for nature. It was the season of roses and they were in full bloom. I rode my bike through the woods to a rose garden in my city. I had a feeling of wonder— there were thousands of roses, hundreds of hues, the smell of infinite fragrances, and the humming of innumerable insects. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful rosebush. I set my camera ready, I bent forward, intensely aware of everything around me, and waited for the perfect frame and the perfect moment when an insect would come and stay on my selected flower. A ladybug came. This powerful moment reminded me of the beauty of the symbiosis between all the beings of nature. We are nothing without this connection and link. I am nothing without it.

I know that when inspiration comes to me, I have to capture it and not let it slip. I learned how to recognize when I have inspiration. The film and the Earthrise photo informed me and inspired me to always seek new perspectives when shooting photos.

My beautiful city is important to me. It is where I grew up, where all my loved ones are living, and where I learned photography. I would like my place to be remembered for its beautiful gardens and flowers. I would like my city to be remembered for its commitment to protecting the environment, to protecting the planet, because we only have one—whether it is seen on a galactic scale, like in Earthrise, or on a minuscule scale, like a rose.

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.

Ava Pecora (age 15)

Ohio, U.S.

This painting is the embodiment of being one with the natural environment. It is supposed to illustrate that nature is beautiful in every form—from the plants and atmosphere to humans and magical creatures. The green is meant to symbolize the liveliness and tranquility of forest life. Green has many different meanings, such as calmness, safety, growth, harmony, and most importantly, the environment. The figure has a deep emotional connection with the woods and is completely immersed in the environment. The area around them is abundant with forest plants and creatures. This makes for a certainly magical universe.

Meagen Krige (age 16)

Caledon, South Africa

My artwork is inspired by the vulnerability of animals. All over the world animals are being affected by climate change, poaching, loss of habitat, and destruction of our wonderful ecosystems. Most of these destructive forces happen because of the species called mankind. This photo was taken in South Africa at one of our famous private nature reserves, Klaserie Private Nature Reserve. Unfortunately, this poor rhino called Mandgleve faced a traumatic experience with a poacher about two years ago. In this event he got shot, but thankfully the reserve was there to help treat his wound. He is still alive to this day and is doing very well, thanks to the vets and the nature reserve that helped him, because he could not help himself. I hope one day people can all see how the animals of our planet are suffering.

Anea Kennedy (age 15)

North Carolina, U.S.

Everything is Not Fine

My piece is what showed up in my head immediately when I heard 'the environment is in you'. I thought of the way the forests and trees are the lungs of the earth and how we are destroying and suffocating them. Factories' smokestacks emit air pollution as we breathe out carbon dioxide. Underground pipes carry water and oil like our veins carry blood under our skin. Tree roots communicate shivers of fear like our nervous systems when we're afraid. We carelessly demolish our planet that gives so much to us, that we are connected with, that enters us each time we breathe, and all the while we close our eyes and cover our ears and pretend not to notice. Every summer my family travels to northern Minnesota around lake Bemidji and Brainard, where new oil pipes are going in, running through Leech Lake. If those pipes leak they'll spread throughout all those lakes and pollute the water that holds so many family memories.

Suhayl Wright (age 18)

New Jersey, U.S.

Daniella Tsuji (age 14)

California, U.S.

I wanted to draw something a little bit out of my comfort zone: a person that's "one" with the things around them. When I refer to getting out of my comfort zone, I mean attempting an art style that is new to me. It was only two weeks ago that I adopted a new way of drawing.

In what ways can we listen to the living world with our whole selves? We can enjoy the things around us, knowing that everything could change over time. Enjoy things while they last and make memories.

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.

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.

Ellie Knight (age 16)

North Carolina, U.S.

The world creeps up on you in the most unexpected ways sometimes. In the beginning, you may not even notice any changes, but it makes itself known pretty quickly. The excerpt written by Robert Hass inspired this photograph as a reminder that the world wasn't always like this. My photo reflects our environment from two different times, one where climate change seemed as though it wasn't an issue and one where its stark existence is hitting so close to home.

I like to show my passion for photography through seemingly basic pictures that take on a double meaning. The side with trees looks way more lively than the reflection it shows in the water.

Climate change directly influences the way autumn appears—the warmer air stunts the development of coloring within the leaves. The noticeable delay in autumn color has caused the season to become a three-day homage. Most people know about climate change, but it goes without a word, just like autumn leaves. I noticed the significance of the color yellow, which can represent a joyful, energetic mood. The problem with our society right now is that no one has that spark of energy to save our planet; we've lost our yellow. To quote Hass, it is in our best interest to "recover an elder imagination of the earth." If my photograph could be used to communicate to my peers, I would want it to say that the world around us is the only planet we get. It's our only chance at life, and we need to get back to a time when these global forces weren't so life-threatening and find the yellow within ourselves to do what we can now. If you look closely at the reflection, you can see some raindrops. Those droplets, however, make the reflection a bit blurry. This documents my feelings by expressing that environmental issues, like climate change, are still a little blurry to me. Everyone starts somewhere, and there is always room to learn. The environment is in you, and you just have to make an effort to bring it out and show the world what it really means to you.

Skye Stubbs (age 17)

Florida, U.S.

The relationship between Indigenous people and nature inspired me to take this photograph. The gentle gesture of the subject resting on the tree speaks volumes, as if they are no different than each other. There is this unspoken respect shown in the photograph that I have seen firsthand between Indigenous people and anything that Mother Earth has provided to us. Being Indigenous, I remember when I would help my mother cook she would always say, "Do not be scared of the fire. You are supposed to respect it." Ironically, we always had an electric stove. However, that never led me away from respecting all things in life. Whether it was cooking under a chickee on a fire, or cooking on an electric stove in a house, I always respected the fire, and it respected me back. Respect goes a long way. We can listen to the living world with our whole selves by simply being close to nature. Go outside and breathe fresh air for a minute or go take a run in a field. Your efforts do not need to be extravagant, they just need to happen. Also, take care of the earth as it does you. It provides you with the air that you breathe and the food that you eat, and all the earth expects back is simple respect.

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.

Zoya Hussain (age 17)

Canada

“Do we treat the earth as if ki is our relative—as if the earth were animated by being—with reciprocity and reverence, or as stuff that we may treat with or without respect, as we choose?" — Robin Wall Kimmerer

This illustration depicts how humans and nature are connected in many ways; we find peace in nature, yet we continue to destroy it. The skyscrapers, along with the cloud and fog, bring about a dream-like appearance, showing how humans have distanced ourselves. We have our ‘head in the clouds,’ ignoring the consequences of the problems we cause. The buildings are transparent. I could give viewers a glimpse into what’s happening inside the buildings, reflecting on the theme of repression and confinement. People are realizing that they need to change their destructive habits and are trying to escape from the buildings. The buildings situated very close together add a congested and claustrophobic tone to the top half of the work, suggesting that this transition is difficult for people to achieve due to fear or selfishness. There are no landmarks, no personality, and all the buildings are uniform, which leaves this work open to interpretation as it could be any city. This decision is based on today’s digital and modernized world, while the buildings and trees symbolize what supports each way of life (human and non-human) and how we are distancing ourselves from nature. The skyscrapers act as the city’s ‘trees.’

The connection point between the road and the river represents nature trying to make a comeback amid the pandemic. While, at the same time, we are all forced indoors. This could represent how our impact on nature can end up hurting us, such as with climate change and deforestation. I also added fallen trees near where the forest and city meet, showing the deforestation and destruction humans cause to nature to make way for our new industrialized way of life. The river is considerably more fluid than the road, and is connected to the trees by their roots; this shows the isolation within crowded cities and the unity of nature in a balanced environment. In the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic, I have gained a greater appreciation for the rest of the living world. Having the opportunity to stay home and take care of my mental health took me on a journey. I began to spend more time outside, stay up to date with current events, and sign petitions to protect the environment. This thought is connected to my drawing as the people living in those transparent buildings can see everything happening, yet they choose to remain distant and disregard the consequences of taking the earth for granted. The design of the river was inspired by aerial photographs of the Amazon River, on human’s dependence on and exploitation of nature.

The living world is calling out to us, and the very essence of life flows through our veins from every breath of oxygen we take to breathing out the carbon dioxide plants need to continue the cycle. We need only listen by putting Mother Nature first for once, and our prosperity will surely follow.

Maria Isabel Guevara Beltran (age 18)

Mexico City, Mexico

We think we are superior to Mother Nature. We see nature as an accessory in our lives when we really are nature herself. Every wound we inflict on her, we are inflicting on ourselves. This artwork represents how we are nature and how we are inferior to her. Not only is she a beautiful thing to admire, she is strength, she is energy, and she is our home.

Marguerite Baxter (age 18)

Minnesota, U.S.

I was walking down my alley, a place that I visit everyday. It was spring and the snow was melting into puddles. When I looked into the puddle, I could see a perfectly clear image of myself and my surroundings. In this moment, I understood how I was a part of the environment and Earth. The reflection of my small hand as I recognized this symbolizes my connection to the environment. Living in a city, natural and man-made beauty is intermixed. Both exist together, but not always in harmony. I believe that all of these things can be beautiful together, but they must respect one another.

This work is a love story to the planet, as I appreciate that in the tiniest puddle a whole environment can be reflected. What a beautiful and miraculous thing. I was taking a moment to see myself as a part of that environment, not separate but a part. Reaching out and placing myself in it. I loved that puddle and I loved the asphalt that looked like a million little stars. I want this work to communicate the tiny details that people so often walk by and ignore. There are truly millions of miracles around us all of the time: the perfect circles that raindrops make in puddles, the way that our bodies can heal themselves, how still water can perfectly reflect like a mirror. This earth is amazing and resilient. This recognition is the first step to understanding how to solve our problems. It starts with love. We must love our environment and recognize all of the beauty in it to become passionate protectors of it. We are not more powerful than nature. We are nature.

Gemma Rossi (age 14)

California, U.S.

For Italians, pasta is a crucial part of daily life. Not only is it a staple of the Italian diet, but the craft of making pasta is passed down from generation to generation. From a pile of flour and an egg, traditional Italian women knead the dough with their hands into the tagliatelle con raggù that my father grew up eating every day in his home on the Adriatic coast. The artifact is not the pasta, but what is used to make the pasta. A tagliere (tale-YAY-ray), a large wooden board, is the surface on which pasta dough is kneaded and rolled out with a mattarello (Mat-TA-rel-lo), or rolling pin. Kept in every Italian family’s household, they are either used daily for traditional pasta or used for making pasta on special occasions. Our tagliere and mattarello are not passed down relics. They were a wedding gift made by Luciano Drudi, the old woodworker who lived across the street from my father’s childhood home in Borella. I will now inherit the tagliere and mattarello so I can make pasta just like my babbo taught me. The pasta will then be eaten by family and friends and will disappear as the night goes on. Italians end the night with liquirizia and gelato. Who doesn’t feel the connection created by good food?

Allana Appleby (age 16)

Ohio, U.S.

Look and Listen

Connecting with the world is really good for both humans and nature. There are many ways to listen to the living world with our whole selves. Simply sitting outside and taking it all in is a great way to connect yourself with the world. Doing research on native wildlife and plants, taking care of the planet by picking up trash, planting trees, and making sure that plants and animals have a good place to live and thrive are all great ways to take action. We must listen and take into consideration the living world. Thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic, I have been able to look and listen to the living world from a whole new perspective. Spending so much time at home by myself gave me the time to just sit outside and appreciate the animals and the scenery. My compassion towards the living world has increased tremendously. I now take into consideration that my actions and choices have consequences that will truly affect this world.

Mariangel Calixto Alonso (age 17)

New Jersey, U.S.

We look at flowers, trees, and animals and take pictures of them to capture their beauty. Sometimes we forget the little things like leaves, the texture of the wood on the trees, and the details on the grass and moss. Nature is filled with living organisms that create a cycle of life. Life is all around. Seeing things grow is one of the little things in life we often don't get to appreciate. One plant could be a home for an insect or food to support an insect's cycle. The stories of the moss, the barnacle geese, and the reindeer are something not everyone knows.

Makenna Hartwick (age 15)

Hawaii, U.S.

History on the Family Table

This artifact is a Sankyo music box that dates back to the 1960s, possibly even the 1950s. Made in Japan, it has been passed down through my maternal family, starting with my great-grandma. She gave it to my mother, who had it since childhood and traveled across the country with it. It was then given to my older sister who gave it to me. I conducted research for several hours to find exactly when it was made and if there are others like it, but have found no answers. When wound up, the music box plays a delightful tune which brings me joy and causes me to think of the others who have listened to it before me.

Music is the only language that connects the whole Earth. It brings people together to dance, sing, have special moments, and make memories no matter what part of the world you are in. Each culture has its own unique style of music, but it is ultimately the joy of sound that unites us all. Not only is my artifact important to me, but the image in and of itself is one that I cherish.

The table that this box stands on was built in 2012 by my father and me. It has lasted through many years of tears, arguments, dinner parties, craft activities, and family meals. Every day, my family comes together to eat dinner on this table with no phones, just real human connection. We talk about our days, our frustrations, and share genuine time together no matter how tired we are. I feel as though many people today lack human connection and could use a family dinner every once in a while. Although you can’t hear its little song, it still brings me joy. My music box is already tarnished with age and history, and in a few more decades, it may be broken and thrown away by its new owner. Despite that, this picture allows it to live on forever, a magnificent piece frozen in time.

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.

Myles Gaffney (age 17)

California, U.S.

I have been fascinated by plants my entire life and no aspect of their development evokes a greater sense of awe in me than the way in which a newly germinated seedling emerges from the soil. Our family has several large organic gardens spread throughout our property and in large barrels on our rooftop deck. We sow several times a year. I took this macro image earlier this week of a bush bean seedling that grew from a seed I had planted eleven days earlier. In the days following planting, I checked the soil each morning, eager to see whether my seeds would come through for us. After a week with no sign of progress, some doubt crept in. Then, suddenly one day, anxiety turned to elation, as the surface of the soil broke with scores of small seedlings. In this photo, the first true leaves are developing in the center of the plant. The bean seed-shaped cotyledons surround it. They are embryonic leaves that will fall off after a few days, but they provide essential nutrition to the seedling until it can begin to produce energy photosynthetically. The whole process is a thing of wonder.

About fifteen months ago, a ferocious windstorm took down a towering eucalyptus tree in our front yard. Miraculously, no one was hurt, but our family was deeply saddened that a tree that had been growing for many decades, and was older than most of our neighborhood, was gone in seconds. Weeks later, we were still mourning its loss, unsure what to plant in its place, when the Covid pandemic struck. Suddenly, the shelves in stores were bare and it became nearly impossible to find fresh vegetables beyond what we could harvest from our own garden. We looked at the bare space in the yard vacated by the eucalyptus and knew what to do. We built trellises and cages and planted pole beans, cucumbers, tomatoes, and blueberries. We doubled the size of our planted area, and we’ve had enough fresh vegetables throughout the pandemic to share with friends and neighbors. We lost a mighty tree, but we will always honor its memory in our eucalyptus garden. The bean seedling in the image has emerged through soil that is teeming with life—from microscopic organisms to nightcrawler worms. Not a scrap of food waste in our household makes it to the landfill; it is all composted. My worm farm has expanded from one large bin to seven this past year. Thousands of wiggler worms break down the waste and decaying plants into bioavailable nutrients that help each round of crops flourish. I peer into the marvelous world of these creatures each day as I feed them. Our relationship is one of reciprocity in the truest sense. Both the bean seeding and I are grateful for it.

Kilian Schoenenberger (age 18)

Burgdorf, Switzerland

Generations

After the passing of my Grandmother and Grandfather this year, I decided to document what they had left behind, the spaces they used to live in, and their environment. One image of the series particularly stood out because of its symbolic depth and connection to me, my family, time, and the essence of life.

In this image, there are printed portraits of family relatives propped up on an antique piece of furniture in my Grandmother’s old living room. She used to light the candle in the front left corner in memory of the people she had lost. The large clock is deeply ingrained in my childhood memories. I remember the times when my Grandmother and I would excitedly wait for the hour to strike.

She, Rosmarie, had lived in this small apartment for decades along with the large pendulum clock ticking away the time of her life, her husband's life, and the people she knew. For a long time, she wasn’t among the ones who had passed away, but now her photo fits in this category. In her picture (in the middle) which she had placed there by herself, she’s holding the next generation, her great-grandson. To the left is her beloved and lifetime partner and husband, and her son, who had passed away before she died from severe cancer. To the right are her sister and husband again. As one of her relatives, I can be seen reflected in the pendulum. My time is ticking as well. And so, the cycle continues. With this photograph, I hoped to portray how we are all connected in families, in life, and in death. This place will stay in my memory as a place of peace, happiness, openness, and love. View more of Kilian's work on his website.

Juan Pablo Terán González (age 18)

Mexico City, 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

I resonate with this excerpt from Robin Wall Kimmerer because it makes me feel connected to the reality of life. I think about who we are and the meaning of our existence. Human beings are mosaics. We have our core part, the original and authentic design that we are, but as mosaics, we are made up of several faces. The people we have known and loved and the nature surrounding us have their way of leaving a little of them inside us. Each person you see in life has something to offer you. Whether it is the person you see every day at the bus stop or the butterfly flying near a flower, learning to let ourselves be impressed and see ourselves included in the world opens all kinds of appreciation for life. Today, while we can still choose, we must decide to silence the noise of the great corporate company that seems to eat the world’s humanity. We must listen to the world and nature, feel it, and understand the story that it tells. We must simply enjoy its fleeting and ephemeral ambiguity.

When the Covid pandemic hit, it stopped the world. Faced with uncertainty, it gave us the opportunity to observe, to feel, and more than anything, to value the world. When we do not own the world, we are one with it. We were able to interrupt the rush of the day-to-day and enjoy being in the sun or barefoot on the grass. These are little things that we overlook and pay no attention to because they are present every day. We were able to miss the feeling of the sand and the sea under our feet; we were able to miss the sense of bewilderment when a drop of rain fell on our bodies and the calm feeling the heat of the sun brings when being on the street. We all believe that the pandemic came when we were living the best moment of our lives, but perhaps it came at the right moment to make us wake up from the automaton reality that we were living in.

In the journey that each one has in life, I do not think it is correct to think that it is our history in which animals and nature contribute, but that we all make a single story and each one plays their role by being one more person in the world, but in the same way unique. Within this everyone can discover and complement the world and its various components. Be the character to develop in your story and the complementary character that helps to grow in the stories of others.

I like to think that we can listen to the living world through our bodies and our emotions. I like being able to hear with my body, letting go of what is most “important” for the modern world, and holding on to the senses and everything that stimulates them.

Paula Calatayud (age 16)

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

I responded to the following quote by Robin Wall Kimmerer: “Living beings are referred to as subjects, never as objects, and personhood is extended to all who breathe and some who don’t. I greet the silent boulder people with the same respect as I do the talkative chickadees.” I created an Illustration and was specifically inspired by the following phrase from Kimmerer: “personhood is extended to all who breathe and some who don’t.” Inspired by the word extended, I used imagery to extend the roots of a tree so that they surround a pale, green-colored androgynous person whom I created without features. This person could be anyone, creating a direct physical connection between a person and nature through the extension of a form. The plant I chose was a weeping willow. I’ve seen this tree in many places; its form is flowy and helps to show extension since the tree leaves flow downwards. Along with the willow tree, I added a dove perched on a branch to illustrate an animal connection. Doves are symbols of peace and represent unity between the different parts of the natural world.

Haley Gipson (age 17)

Michigan, U.S.

I decided to take this picture of myself on the last day of my two-week-long quarantine. My roommate and I were isolated together in our tiny high school dorm room after discovering that both our suitemates tested positive for Covid-19. It was a scary time waiting for the phone call every morning with our test results to see if we too were infected, but thankfully that call never came. During that time, we were very restricted when it came to leaving our rooms. Our meals were brought to us and our only opportunities to go outside depended on the escort of staff members.

Never in my life have I longed more for the freedom that comes with being outside by myself. My roommate and I always left the window open for ventilation, mostly out of fear from the virus spreading from the adjacent room to ours. We were lucky enough to have a window with a view of cabins shaded by trees behind our residence hall. What amazed me was how our moods lifted from simply drawing the blinds and letting the sunlight pour in. The familiar call of black-capped chickadees and the smell of dewy grass made us smile. The houseplants that I had brought with me for a little piece of home sat on the window sill. Watering them every day and talking to them helped me keep my sanity. The beautiful interconnected world of living things I saw every day outside my window reminded me that I was part of something bigger than my problems. My quarantine experience made me respect nature in a new way because the trees and birds had become my friends. The first day after my quarantine was over, I took a long walk outside and talked to my parents on the phone. I told them about the little gifts I received from my window and how grateful I was to be outside again. From this appreciation grew my desire to continue the chain of reciprocity through small actions. By caring for my houseplants and sending my love to the living beings beyond my window, I silently thank my greatest supporters.

Nikki Honchell (age 17)

Illinois, U.S.

Haikus on nature:

The autumn has passed
Winters are growing shorter
Spring will come too soon

Beautiful winter
Leaves us sooner every year.
Will it leave for good?

Sepia roses
Dormant in the winter ice
Dead yet elegant

In all of nature
Everything is connected
We all breathe the same

I can love a rose
Like I love a neighbor
Like I love all things

Nature comforts us
Will it still be our refuge
In the years to come?

Cold flowers outside
Protected in a cone of ice
Is there warmth within?

The environment
Is a part of all of us
Take care of our world.

Maddox Chen (age 16)

California, U.S.

Instinct

I took this photo after seeing my cat eagerly trying to squeeze her way outside. A block of wood and a brick of marble stood in her way, both man-made obstacles. I initially found this unfortunate dilemma quite hilarious, but then I thought about what had put this cat in this situation. This house pet yearns to be outside, but she has personally never experienced what it is like to be free, roaming her natural domain. Generations of domestication have suppressed the natural instincts and freedom that her ancestors exercised routinely.

She is confined to the life that humans have molded for her. There is no escape, since there is nowhere to go. This idea of captivity is something many of us have experienced during COVID-19, including myself. Nothing is as it was. Like my cat, we were confined to our homes, with the only “nature” being a withering plant by the table that is constantly neglected. Freedom, the ability to wander in your natural habitat, is taken away. Even when things returned to “normal,” it wasn’t the same. I still wear a mask whenever I go outside, and there are still restrictions for everything. And with the horrific alterations climate change has been enacting onto the world, the fresh air and the “natural” weather we experience will eventually become a distant memory in a few years, regardless of COVID. Soon, it will feel suffocating to be stuck in a nature-lacking world slowly deteriorating to the point where it will be safer to hide in houses rather than go outside. If climate change continues at its current rate, the environment that we have known our entire lives will be another one of the past, like the one the ancestors of my cat once lived in. People will long for that ecosystem that they had once lived in, but nothing will be as it was.

Student Gallery

Using the Student Gallery in the Classroom