Dear Readers,
When Alissa Lopes ’29 offered to write my Artist of the Week, I couldn’t refuse. I met Alissa at my first writers’ meeting. It was an unplanned get-together with my new reporters to acclimate them to The Phoenix. Between her infectious smile and impeccable style, it was hard for Alissa not to stand out. But beyond her beauty, her genuine enthusiasm and her courage to speak up struck me. I would go on to tell her that I immediately knew she’d become my successor.
So, staring at Alissa’s beaming face, I couldn’t tell her that I needed to write this piece. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Alissa to interview me; it was that I needed this piece to be a long thank you to her, to my friends, to this segment, and to this place. See, Artist of the Week is the sole reason why I didn’t transfer. I began writing for the news section at The Phoenix. By chance, our then-arts editor, Katherine Kihiczak ’25, couldn’t cover Ella Yadav ’23’s Artist of the Week. Having heard that I’m an artist, my news editor reached out to ask if I’d be willing to write.
Ladies, gents, and everyone in between, I was terrified. We had to schedule a last-minute interview at 10 p.m. in the Science Center. I had a one-day turnover rate. This was my first interview ever. I was already scared of talking to my classmates — much less a cool, artsy senior who ran an art gallery. But when I finally sat down to chat with Ella, she was immediately inviting, encouraging me to pursue my artistry, whether it included rockets like hers or sculptures beyond my comprehension.
The first piece was difficult to write. I used Katherine’s conversational profiles to structure my articles, but they paled in comparison. Nevertheless, she kindly guided me throughout the process, which ultimately prompted me to ask if I could take the column. To my surprise, she immediately began assigning interviews. Each profile got incrementally better. I immersed myself in the arts scene at Swarthmore, joining Kitao Art Gallery’s editorial board, enrolling in my first painting course with Visiting Assistant Professor Dani Levine, and consistently writing for arts.
While I couldn’t major in art, Dani Levine’s Drawing into Painting class changed how I view material, practice, and creativity. As a mentor, Dani prioritized process-based criticism, which made her feedback actionable. Her critiques were comprehensive, but never cruel. I had told her about Kenny Scharf’s 2010 Donuts, a series at the Nassau County Museum of Art that I was obsessed with. Dani’s response was: “You’ve got to paint those donuts, Corinne.”
The next year, Dani let me skip Painting II so that I could join her Painting III: Material and Methods course. At the time, I became obsessed with the idea of collaborative work. I interviewed Miranda “Randy” Kashynski ’24 the previous semester, and Randy’s interest in making art accessible echoed like an earworm. Until we met, I saw the division between craft and art as a legitimate one. Randy’s emphasis on collectivity compelled me to shatter the binaries I held close. My question regarding art and craft shifted to what constituted good versus bad art.
I made a lot of bad art.
Randy’s philosophy bled through my practice. I started giving away my bad art. Once my art started to become better, I began incorporating the viewer’s experience into my practice. I wanted my audience to be an active participant in artmaking with me. For my final Painting III project, I decided to create a “scratch art” self-portrait, combining craft, art, and audience participation. Randy deeply influenced me, though I never confessed how much our conversation affected me.
Once my art started to become better, I turned to bad poems.
That same fall, I wrote a profile on Elijah Santos ’26, who inspired me to take my first and only poetry course. Eli’s writing was intimate, lyrical, and raw to a degree I found indescribable. At the end of my time here, I can’t think of someone more supportive of my writing than him. Knowing that I had someone in my corner allowed me to dive deeply into poetry, and my class had some of the most brilliant creatives I’ve met at Swarthmore to date.
Namely, I met the “enigmatic” Foster Hudson ’26 who would mimic John Ashbery’s tradition — a few biting words scattered across the page — and I’d sit for hours, constructing a million interpretations to annoy him in class. I write differently. I had never considered words in the sense that Foster did. He was the real deal, a bona fide artist with a leather notebook in hand. After years of classes with him, I can promise you that he’s still an enigma to me.
At the end of our poetry seminar, Alexander Griswold Cummins Professor of English Betsy Bolton held a reading in the Scheuer Room. We needed to write haiku introductions, and Foster landed on “Corinne, Corinne, Corinne,” which became the title for my winning creative nonfiction piece in 2026. Don’t worry, we’ll get to that later. At the end of my sophomore year and the beginning of my junior year, I became obsessed with creative authenticity. My friend, Robbie Bonner ’26, was enrolled in a directed creative writing project with Visiting Assistant Professor Moriel Rothman-Zecher. His work was Joycean, playing with the very fabric of what narrative was supposed to hold. I wanted to write like Robbie. I accepted that poetry was not my preferred form of expression, as opposed to fully diving into arts writing and studio practice.
In my junior year, I became the president of Kitao Art Gallery, Swarthmore’s only student-run art gallery. I worked closely with Paris Kampel ’27, whose consistent, stunning, and imaginative artistic vision made me wonder what I wanted my art to communicate. Simultaneously, I reconnected with digital photography after speaking with Howard Wang ’26. Howard, unlike me, believed in good and bad art, which further compelled me to consider my personal philosophy.
I decided art is neither good nor bad; it’s simply art. I doubled down.
My photography was blurry, over-saturated, and ridiculous. I loved it. James Shelton ’28 started teaching me how to use Lightroom while Devin Gibson ’28 and I goofed around on Canva. For Artist of the Week assignments, I told James to be as creative as possible. Each week, he’d come to publication night with more experimental photography. By contrast, Devin’s naturalistic work was stark and stunning. While I was working with James and Devin, I realized that my resident, Damian René ’27, was a professional photographer. I’d bother Damian into working for The Phoenix and teaching me trade secrets. I begged all three to submit photographs to Kitao and bribed them with catering from Duo Taco and Bowls, a small Chester-based Mexican restaurant. The event was a massive success, and I was beyond ecstatic when they all submitted photography to our showcase.
Around the same time, I enrolled in Visiting Assistant Professor Mariel Capanna’s Painting III: Fresco course. I found frescoes to be ugly. Our colors were muted, the subjects were limited, and it felt like a grueling process with little aesthetic or practical appeal. Then, Alyia Carlson ’27 started experimenting with sculptural frescoes. Alyia’s mural was straight out of “Howl’s Moving Castle”: a three-dimensional flower garden that betrayed what I believed the form could do. Alyia, like Randy, drastically altered my boundaries of artistic expression.
Hence, when The Phoenix promoted me to arts editor, Jessica Qin ’28 and I expanded the section. Zephyr Weinrich ’28’s and Jennifer Placido-Rosas ’26’s articles remain my favorite pieces I’ve edited, primarily because there was nothing to change. Their art spoke for itself. Our editor-in-chief, Lucy Tobier ’26, allowed us to source more articles, letting arts grow from three articles a week to six. Without Lucy, arts would not be where it is. She allowed us to embrace memoirs, creative writing, and photography pieces.
With Jessica as a co-collaborator, I realized that theater was an embarrassing gap in my arts knowledge. Her interview with Grace Fruauff ’26, an experimental playwright invested in fan culture, visual aesthetics, and artistic curiosity, prompted me to begin attending Swarthmore’s performances. Grace’s work was magnificent. Even further, Grace was magnificent. I thought I had met everyone I was bound to meet — that my time here was coming to an end, and I had maximized my experiences. Then there was Grace.
I encouraged Grace to submit her play to Small Craft Warnings, Swarthmore’s oldest and only in-print literary magazine. Milla Ben-Ezra ’26 was reimagining the issues, growing Small Craft, and expanding the breadth of accepted work. Milla and a few friends from her high school started a separate Substack, The New Critic, which offered writers payment. Through Small Craft, I met Maddy Posner ’28, whose mind sifted through philosophical discussions as if existentialism were easy. Maddy encouraged me to submit to Small Crafts; I encouraged Maddy to write for The Phoenix. She makes me wish I had more time here to see how she takes over the campus.
So does J. Johnson. In my last art class, Metal 002 with Professor Jody Joyner, I met J., who is the engineering machinist in the shop. Of all my experiences with faculty at Swarthmore, nobody has been more patient, considerate, and accommodating. Honestly, I could talk about how he changed the way I interact with art, but even that wouldn’t do justice to how wonderful he is. I’d stop by the shop to talk to him for hours. I gave J. pieces of every work I produced in the course. It seemed like a small thing I could do for someone willing to mentor students individually, carefully, and kindly.
While I was welding, I took my directed creative writing project with Moriel — inspired by Robbie. I applied to the program with no outline, no structured product in mind, and no idea what to write. Moriel didn’t care. They exposed me to new forms of writing, emphasizing that my voice is valuable because it is mine. My experiences with J. and Moriel were different from my previous work with faculty: they truly feel like friends. So, when my story about friendship won the Swarthmore Creative Nonfiction contest, I only had those around me to thank. I told you I’d come back to it.
When I got up to read, my eyes fixed on a bright red sweater in the center of the room. My first real friend at Swarthmore, Tabitha Parker-Theiss ’26, was clapping with pride. We used to write together at The First Page: she’d turn out full drafts, and I’d leave with a single sentence in my notepad. She won second place in the creative writing contest for a story that also centers on friendship. I credit her writing and our relationship as a continuous source of inspiration.
As a creature of habit, I hate endings, but I can’t run from this one. My journey at Swarthmore is coming to a close. When I consider my time here, I can’t do so without recognizing the people who pushed, inspired, and supported me. When I pitched this piece to Alissa, I knew it barely passed as an article.
But hey, you read it. And as Moriel taught me, writing as Corinne is truly all I can do. You all drastically improved my experience. I wouldn’t be myself without you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
Oh, and don’t be a stranger.
Yours,
Corinne Lafont ’26
