Pink Shirt - Sadie Hickam ‘23

“Pink shirt” is a piece about nostalgia for childhood pets and childhood life. It’s about exploring youth in its simplicity and illustrating memories. In my work, I like to paint the beauty of femininity and its softness; the bunny is her soft loving soul.

A Casa de Vovo

My first memories were of a bus dropping me off at her house.

   It was white, three stories tall with each floor separately owned, a bay window, with a porch up front and a black iron rail with designs so intricate I cannot replicate; to an overgrown backyard and the grapes I never got to taste that would grow on the fence.

   With the steep stairs that would lead me down a basement I never went to out of fear of the dark, never lit, but always flooding.

   I remember running out of her house in torrential rain to get to Mommy’s car, the water getting up to my ankles and soaking my socks.

   She had couches older than me, with thick blankets I would snuggle into while her bed took me to the lands of dreamless sleep.

   I remember how my Tia’s house would be on the second floor, and I would go up and down the stairs with my cousin, having the time of my life.

   Then we moved away, my mom and I, and a casa de Vovo was too far for us to drive to—it became infrequent, with visits only being up to three times a year if we were lucky.

   Restricted to voice calls, I couldn’t see Vovo’s face, see her smile, taste her food.

   I didn’t appreciate her house as much as I should have, always going back to my ipad out of boredom; it was only thanks to Vovo’s insistence that I left the house, whether it had been to go to the park or to walk to the grocery store.

   I didn’t appreciate the views from the bay window of the setting-sun—as it would always set so early in the winter—the way the other houses in the neighborhood would catch the light, and the trees would glow just the right color to capture my gaze for just a moment.

   I didn’t appreciate the mornings where I would wake up to the table being set by Vovo with my favorite breakfast, my buttered waffles, eggs, and milk waiting for me. The bolo de Vovo sitting in the glass cloche in the middle of the table that I would never be able to take my hands off of.

I took it all for granted—these memories were made years ago. When we visit, we won't be in the same white three-floored house; we won't be on the same street with the rest of Vovo’s friends; we won't be in the same overgrown backyard with the evidence of previous cookouts.

A Casa de Vovo is sold.

Naama Gomes-Sammah ‘25

Within the past two years, my family has gained as much as they lost, one of them being Casa de Vovo, grandmother's house. Because of my grandfather's passing, the house held too many bad memories, and the house was sold. Looking back, I realized that I took many things for granted, such as a Casa de Vovo. Now that I can no longer go into the house physically, I have decided to document the memories I associate with it in order to immortalize them. Since my family speaks Portuguese and Portuguese Creole, I decided to add some common words we said in my childhood.