Coming of Age With No Easy Answers: The 2026 Senior Portfolio Season

If there is one idea that epitomizes the 2026 Senior Portfolio season at Colorado Academy, it might be found in this sentence from artist Tatum Kreitler’s statement accompanying her work: 

“Some parts of ourselves are felt rather than understood, existing in a space language can only acknowledge but never fully capture.”

 

For the group of 22 Senior artists who completed Portfolio works this year, art is indeed central in the struggle to express what feels inexpressible. Across nearly every artistic medium—painting, photography, multimedia collage, pen-and-ink, sculpture, video, installation, and ceramics—they attempt to pry open a shadowy moment of transformation, when the certainties of childhood are overtaken by the questions and constant change of young adulthood.

 

CA’s Senior Portfolio program—which begins Junior year with a required trimester of Portfolio Prep—is, in fact, a coming-of-age experience, documenting young creators’ very real quest for meaning as they face one of the biggest transitions in their lives.

Kreitler, for example, melds collage, paint, and black-and-white personal photos in a display captioned with “I think I was gone the day they gave everyone the handbook on how to live” and “The journey is a gift. Find company in it.” 

 

In her artist’s statement, she elaborates: “My work captures the things I do not know how to say verbally. My pieces are the thoughts, feelings, and dreams that I simply do not have the words for. … My art is an extension of that part of myself, a manifestation of the creative in-between where motion exists before it can be defined by language.”

Kreitler’s jagged lines on canvas, harsh colors, stark contrasts of text and newsprint, and the nostalgic glow of old photos suggest the vivid, frantic attempt to capture all of life’s emotion in a single moment.

Completely distinct in their intricate detail and technicality, Sophie Varholak’s evocative paintings of meaningful locations make the same intention explicit. As she writes, “In creating this exhibition, I was thinking about all of the experiences and memories I have left behind and will continue to leave behind as I transition to college.”

 

Yet Varholak’s canvases all seem to dissolve from brilliant sharpness to hazy cloudiness—a point she emphasizes in her artist’s statement.

“Many of my pieces incorporate an aspect of fading. It is impossible to separate a feeling of melancholy or wistfulness from the nostalgia that comes with moving on from what we used to call normal. However, everything is constantly changing. And, in time, we will have new normals, leaving the old normals as pretty pictures painted in our heads.”

Photographer Parker Pryor, too, is interested in the passage of time.

“I’ve always been deeply interested in the concept of impermanence, and have continually sought to express it through my photography. The idea that moments exist briefly and then disappear has shaped the way I observe and document the world around me. … I am particularly drawn to street photography because it allows me to capture honest, unposed moments from everyday life from small interactions, gestures, to routines that people often overlook or brush aside.”

 

Pryor’s images of urban streets, passing reflections, and silent moments of potential—set next to scratch paper and a shredder that allow viewers to write down and then destroy their own moments—contain both sadness and nobility. “By focusing on these fleeting moments, I aim to preserve experiences that might otherwise go unnoticed and encourage viewers to reflect on the value of ordinary life and the temporary nature of time itself.”

In her artist’s statement, Cate Whalen says simply, “I wanted to capture nostalgia. … I decided to take photos of my little neighbors, and they became the main subject of my work.” 

 

Her elegantly simple black-and-white photos of children doing childhood things—tying sneakers, riding bikes, holding hands—are surrounded by her handmade frames, which, she writes, “are painted in ‘dreamy’ colors because they remind me of a sunset and my childhood.”

And Laura Noyes experiments with the notion of growing more distant from a past self, using bird migration as a metaphor for personal departures, change, and discovery. “One thousand, nine hundred species of birds migrate each year. They travel from just a few miles to over fifty thousand miles round trip, or approximately double the Earth’s equatorial circumference. Migration, for me, represents the ability to adapt to change, which I often reflect on in my own high school experience.”

 

Looking up at the flock of ceramic bird sculptures hung from the ceiling in the Ponzio Art Center’s main gallery, it’s easy to see what Noyes means when she writes, “A migrating bird has no time to linger on uncontrollables; they have flies and bugs to find, mountains to climb, and nests to make. I hope that through my birds, you, too, are reminded how alike we all are. ... There is someone out there, flying a path similar to yours. ...”

Nature

As Noyes’ migrating birds suggest, observing and being in nature constantly seem to ground these young artists. In her statement, Hazel Sankovitz writes, “We often treat the natural world as a backdrop to our everyday lives. It is only in its absence that we realize the nature surrounding us isn’t just a place we inhabit, but a foundational part of our memories and emotional well-being.”

 

Sankovitz’s pen drawings of mountain ranges are filled with thousands of tiny circles, a reference to an experience from her childhood: “When I was a little girl, I’d wake up every morning in the mountains and ask my dad to draw me ladybugs; it was my favorite thing in the world. He would sit down and fill the wings with these intricate patterns, and I fell in love with them every single time.”

Mountains, she continues, are the place she finds comfort, and the tiny circles “add stillness to a world that is overwhelming and overflowing with noise and color. ... Though they are scattered across the world, their silhouettes stay with me. There is a powerful familiarity in the outline of a mountain; even when I am far away, seeing those recognizable shapes has a way of bringing me back and making me feel at home.”

For Marianna O’Connor, nature provides both haven and model. Her coral-like ceramics, immersed in water-filled tanks populated with tiny fish, possess all the intricacy and wonder of the sea. She writes, “The world’s most talented artist is nature. The currents of the ocean mold life from chaos. Clay is a medium that allows me to express my admiration and appreciation of nature’s creativity. The ocean brings me joy in its strength, subtlety, and visual beauty.”

 

But O’Connor, like Sankovitz, urges viewers to approach nature as more than a backdrop. “Climate change fractures the fragile patterns I seek to preserve. My sculpture is my reaction to this threat,” she writes.

Abby Dawson, too, uses images of nature in her paintings and multimedia works to address larger concerns. 

“Growing up in Colorado, the outdoors has always been an integral part of my life. Mountains, snow, and open landscapes shaped my childhood and fostered a deep appreciation for the environment. However, this love for nature has become increasingly intertwined with a growing sense of fear surrounding the current climate crisis.”

 

With her photo-transfer of a mountain onto a collection of vintage skis, Dawson continues, she hopes to illustrate nature’s beauty alongside its vulnerability. “Skiing has been increasingly impacted by climate change, particularly during this past season with inconsistent snowfall and warming winters. By placing an image of nature onto an object so closely tied to winter and mountain culture, I hope to draw attention to what may be lost if these environmental changes continue.”

For Senior Portfolio artists Khloe Brown and Georgia Gutsch, contemplating nature is in many ways its own reward. 

Brown’s collection is filled with startlingly intimate and colorful portraits of nature—vivid and enticing from a distance, and detail-filled on closer examination. While she was searching for inspiration, she notes, “As I looked through my camera roll and photos of my past work, I noticed a pattern. Both were filled with up-close shots of plants, insects, and other small details in nature. For years and years I had been paying attention to and trying to capture these tiny creatures others often overlook without really realizing it. ... With my paintings I wanted to bring these insects and everything I enjoy about them into focus.”

 

Gutsch’s Portfolio work encompasses carefully observed portraits, as well—of a tiger, a hyena, a stunning crocodile spanning seven canvases, and more—capturing the appeal of beauty and strangeness intertwined. She writes, “I wanted to show the beauty not just within the elegance and power of many animals, but also the mystique and strangeness within others. ... As humans we often simplify things to their bare minimum. But by stopping to consider each facet of a personality we allow ourselves to explore the nuance of the world around us.”

Imagination

Some Senior artists discover their richest material while exploring interior landscapes and creatures. 

The photos in Zachery Shull’s installation seem to depict the real world as if distorted by one individual’s unique perspective. “As I reach the end of my Senior year,” he explains, “I realize how much of high school has become a blur, how we rarely had a chance to slow down and take it all in. With this work, I want to create that pause.”

 

In doing so, Shull’s photos and the crumbling concrete forms that anchor them in the gallery “un-blur” the moments behind the constant movement, revealing a strangeness about himself in the process.

“I have always felt alone, not because others push me away, but because of my own overthinking and constant anxiety. I was born in Hong Kong but moved to America when I was very young. Growing up in Colorado I never felt ‘fully American,’ yet when back in Hong Kong I never looked ‘fully Cantonese’ either. That in-between space—feeling slightly out of place wherever I am—shapes the way I see and photograph the world.”

In a clever, National Geographic-style artist’s statement, Jenna Westfall discusses the idea of creating a “pause,” as well. 

“Immersion is a gift. The ability to fully experience my surroundings is something I often find myself taking for granted. As humans, we get caught up in the hustle and bustle of our own lives, frequently forgetting to acknowledge our environments. Within a hallway featuring three displays drawn from my own environment, I aim to create a fully immersive world where beauty and simplicity overrule stress and difficulty. This work captures moments when time slows for me, and when I realize I need to pause like this more often.”

 

Westfall’s contemplative video projections and soundscapes—dreamlike landscape and water scenes—seem to slow time itself. Her project mirrors “the way the audience’s observation deepens when movement is reduced. I invite them to observe the scenes how I did: slowly, attentively, and without urgency, allowing themselves the rare opportunity to simply be present.”

Chloe London’s towering flesh-and-bones paintings, meanwhile, suggest what imagination and contemplation might look like if they leaned toward nightmares. In her artist’s statement, she writes, “My paintings and drawings are often born out of strange dreams I’ve had or one-off sketches that evolved into full pieces. ... Making something that I conceive in my head real is what I find to be the greatest joy of painting.”

 

Evi Sorensen and Ruby Dokken allow their Portfolio collections to speak for themselves—providing only brief, enigmatic statements to guide viewers. 

Dokken’s sculptures and paintings seem to reference the artist’s struggle to reconcile the creative, emotional self with a society that is more focused on perfect appearances and contained feelings. Her simple statement, hinting at a desire to pierce a surface obscuring hidden depths, reads, “Shiny skin catching light pulled taut over what’s loud... Hands reach past the frame.”

 

In Sorensen’s playful paintings, all of which feature a black cat in seemingly incongruous locations, the theme seems to be, “Stay curious,” an idea clearly expressed in the quote she presents as her artist’s statement: 

“Face it. Curiosity will not cause us to die—only lack of it will...

Only the curious have, if they live, a tale worth telling at all.”

~ Alastair Reid

 

Rather than curiosity “killing the cat,” as the cliche has it, Sorensen, like Reid, suggests that there may be no greater virtue than wondering what’s to come and then wandering toward it.

Human experience

A final group of Portfolio works completes the circle of ideas: from the inexpressible, to nature, to the imagination, and finally, to human experience.

Molly Hills’s provocative, large-scale photographs of human skin thrust the viewer directly into the contemplation of bodies and their meaning. She writes powerfully, “We live in a world where we constantly stare in the mirror, loathing things about ourselves that others might actually be jealous of. We apply cosmetics and pay thousands of dollars for painful medical procedures—all because of the hate we feel for our own bodies. The core goal of this photographic collection is to challenge that loathing.”

 

There is indeed discomfort in looking so closely at the body surfaces that Hills captures, but there is also grandeur. As she explains in her artist’s statement, “I want viewers to understand that each piece is not meant to be identified as a specific body part, but rather a fragment of a landscape. A reminder that all together, our bodies make a gorgeous panorama. This is because our bodies are a product of nature. Nature isn’t ‘perfect,’ and it doesn’t need to change to be beautiful—so why are we expected to be anything different?”

In Sloan Cummings’ elegant ceramic place settings, the viewer senses something similar: not perfection, but the deeper significance of things that resonate with the human touch.

 

Cummings’ collection of plates, cups, bowls, and candle-holders—arranged on a dinner table around a vase of flowers—pays tribute to the people and places he has encountered on summer travels. Together, he writes, “They form a visual record of movement, memory, and belonging.”

 

Whether they echo Cummings’ experiences in Montana or Japan, the colors, textures, and patterns of each piece symbolize “gathering and exchange, reflecting how each location shaped me through shared meals, unfamiliar foods, new activities, and the lifelong friendships that emerged from them.”

Through cinematography, staging, dialogue, and acting, filmmakers Alex Aleong and Mitchell Sindler engage perhaps even more directly in teasing out the significance of day-to-day human experiences.

Writes Sindler of his short film, One Day, “The movie explores what it means to live a busy life and how to find joy within it … symbolizing the hope for how one day we can break the cycle and finally give time for ourselves.”

His story examines busy-ness through the lens of two characters: Julian, who is busy due to academics, and Everest, who is busy due to everything outside of school. But, while the two seem to long for the “one day” when their lives will feel less busy, Sindler argues, “As a Senior living through the busiest point of my life so far, I feel incredibly lucky to live such a busy life.”

Aleong contemplates human experience through an age-old lens: romance. And while he admits, “I’m a believer in true love, a believer in Plato’s concept of your other half,” the director also writes of his film, The Soft Violence of Loving You, “Ironically, my film is quite the opposite. I’m not trying to articulate love; I’m trying to capture moments of teenage love, which should never be confused with actual love. Teenage love is volatile, toxic, manipulative, dependent, heartfelt, gentle, fickle, obsessive, miscommunication, caring, loyal—all these and more.”

Drawing on his own experiences with relationships and those of his friends and acquaintances, says Aleong, “My film is not a critique; it is a mosaic of the little things that I know are problematic. I honestly hope that if people take one thing away from this movie, it is to listen to others.”

Elle Guillot, in her artist’s statement, also reflects on relationships: “My Senior Portfolio explores connection and nostalgia, particularly how growing up reshapes our perceptions of memories and relationships.” 

 

Guillot’s paintings and multimedia pieces meld photography, acrylics, and decorative elements such as sequins to transform personal moments into physical artifacts. “I am interested in how memories that once felt stable can shift, distort, or fragment over time,” she writes. “Physically constructing my surfaces became a way to reconstruct memory.”

In a series of stunning portraits, Keren Laizer reconstructs her own heritage, aiming “to capture the beauty seen throughout Black culture, particularly through different lenses of prominent Black women.” Writing about an Old Master-style painting of her mother, Neema, Laizer explains, “She has taught me what beauty really is and helped illuminate the idea that beauty is not something that can, nor should, be defined by society’s scrutiny. She is a perfect model for me of what it means to own your culture and identity.”

 

In her other works—portraits of individuals such as the activist Angela Davis and athletes Naomi Osaka and Serena Williams—Laizer sees beauty in the outspokenness and expressiveness of Black public figures past and present. This perspective feels especially relevant today, she writes, “as we’ve seen time and time again, free speech being attacked and a resurgence in political imprisonment globally.”

Adam Marwan tackles a similar concern in his collection of meticulously rendered, painted worlds and a hand-drawn map that accompanies a giant 3D model of a Middle Earth-like kingdom. He could almost be describing Laizer’s project when he writes, “There are things we learn to stop seeing. Not because they disappear, but because we are taught to slowly and quietly look past them. … My work begins in that space.”

 

In his imaginative land- and cityscapes, Marwan seeks to reclaim the world that came to life in his mind—“places no one else could see. I filled notebooks with cities that did not exist, words I invented to hold the feelings I could not express, and structures that represented memories I had. It was a storm of creative thoughts, a whirlwind without constraint. Over time, I learned to fold these ideas back into the margins of myself so they would not disturb the world around me.”

In one corner of the map of his kingdom is a place named “Wolf Shrine”; elsewhere are a war college and “ramps in the desert.” In a Blade Runner-like cityscape, there is a hooded figure and a neon sign that reads “Assassin Wanted.” In these imagined places, he explains, “The natural and the man-made exist together. The real and the imagined do not stand apart. They grow with one another, layered and entangled. Landscapes hold memories of human presence, including culture, style, story, and the uniqueness behind a place.”

 

Marwan ends his artist’s statement with, “I want this work to leave space for the unseen, the unspoken, and the overlooked. To remind the viewer that imagination matters, that the worlds we carry inside us are alive, and that even the things we almost forget can return if we make room for them. … Creativity is not a luxury. It is how we think, how we process, and how we survive.”