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by Lauren Hollick

A study of a fragile skull over a homemade turmeric ink wash. Life is so delicate and fragile, but that does not mean it isn't vibrant and beautiful.

    Welcome to our inaugural issue of Quaranzine!


         The term 'zine' relates to self-published pamphlets that were popular in the '80s and '90s, usually related to a particular topic such as music, politics, etc. Our 'Quaranzine' is an online digital publication dedicated to the creativity in our community.

         We set out on this project with two goals in mind: First, we wanted to give people a chance to share their experiences during this unique time. Second, we wanted to create a living document of how people in our community were dealing with an unprecedented situation.


         We invite you all to spend some time looking at the creative works submitted by your neighbors and enjoy the creativity that abounds in our small stretch of the Hudson Valley. (Hover over each image to reveal more about the work.)


         A special thanks to all who contributed. 

Music Saves

by Brian James


I’m an avid vinyl record collector and have missed the hunt of searching through bins to find something new. During this time, I’ve decided to hunt through my large collection and listen to albums that I hadn’t listened to in some time. Record nerds call this “shopping in my own collection”. Here are all the albums I listened to in the first month of quarantine.


Missing You

by Ujjala Schwaarts

Mix Media clay masks on canvas: During this time of social distancing we long to be with those we love.


Ironing Tasks Out

by Chelsea Marino

My impromptu work station.

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PAUSE Workplace

by Jennifer Russell

This is my virtual library office. Ergo-dynamic it is NOT!


Under Quarantine

by Adrienne Klonfas

Gesso, acrylic, and patio paint.

Child's play

by a.L. paradiso

            “Mama, why must we wear these white disguises? They are so bulky and cover all of me. Why is the brand new Pripyat amusement park broken — I want to play on them, but none of the rides work?”

            “Yuriy, my child, I told you so many times. The Sun makes your boo-boos hurt so much, we want to save you the pain. The park, it was open only one day after everyone had to leave Chernobyl on April 26, 1986. No one knew where we were, so we stayed behind. Hold my hand tight, core of my soul. ” I hate lying to my aged child, but his mind is still that of a four-year-old despite walking this decrepit, cursed park for thirty-five years. Every new day is April 27 to him.

Continued on next page . . .

Abstract Expressionist Waterfall

by Jennifer Russell

One day, during the PAUSE, I took a drive out towards Boiceville, and I decided to drive down any road that I'd never been on before. I happened upon a lovely waterfall that was gushing with water. There was no one around, so I got out of my car to sit by the falls, soaking in the sounds and afternoon sun. Then, in my car, I sketched the falls from memory. Once home, I pulled out my oil pastels, watercolors, and colored pencils and played with the illusion of depth on a 2 dimensional surface using color and shapes.

            Our ‘disguises’ are our masks for the unacceptable for him. They hide our scars, deformities and secret from him every time we hobble past the park mirrors; they allow us to walk among the tourists here since 2011. Without our hazmat suits, we would terrify people who would literally see through us and know we died here on April 26.

Continued on next fold . . .

            “Mama, when do we see father again? I don’t understand why the new park and new homes are all falling down.”

            I can’t tell him his father was one of the first to die and trapped in the melt down. “Yuriy, my heart, father is a very brave fireman. He is busy helping save people. A very bad accident broke the crumbling homes. They are not safe for anyone. Understand?”

            “I think so, mama. I am to be so happy when we see father again after his hero work.”

            If only that were possible. My young, forty-year-old child will never understand with most of his head

gone. My tears are not for him to see. How much longer are we condemned to walk here? Until the radiation fades completely? Hundreds of years? Millennia? 

             “Come, my child. Once more today around the park. Don’t look in that funny mirror.”


Autumn Walk in the Park

by Kaity Altu

This painting is inspired by my favorite season, I love how the leaves are alive with a multitude of colors and the air is crisp and cool in the Autumn.



by Lauren Hollick

Both teachers and students are adjusting to an online format and adapting to this new virtual world we live in. Yet life goes on and we use this time to represents our thoughts, emotions, and experiences through the arts. Drawn with pen, homemade turmeric, walnut, and acorn rust ink.

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