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Hillary Cianciosi
I grew up in southern Georgia, while my parents both grew up in and around Syracuse. Upon transferring to SU in my junior year of college, my parents kept telling me, “The winters here are rough” and “You need to prepare yourself, because it’s going to be a complete different environment.” I just kind of laughed these things off at first, until I had to go outside one snowy enjoying and search for my car under three feet of snow. The cold, the ice and snow—it is a completely new thing for me, but I have come to enjoy it.

When I read this poem, it all just clicked with me. I saw part of me in that blue jay, searching for something in midst of winter. My style of work tends to evoke movement with explosive use of color, so when you view this piece, you can almost visualize that jay flying. When viewing this work, all of my work, I want the viewer to be taken somewhere new. In the cold and the grey of winter there is still color, there is still life. I want you to see that. The world is beautiful.

Cold December wind.
Brave blue jay scans horizons,
seeking his last meal.

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