The fifth picture in the photo essay “Anything But Simple” shows a school hallway with gray lockers lit up by sunlight shining through ceiling-length windows and two bodies tightly embracing. One, with large hairy arms, holds the other, draped in a maroon hoodie with a sign that says “faggot” stuck to its back.

The photo essay, curated by Spencer Strebe, was part of a legion of portfolios honored by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards for their poignant and intelligent exploration of young identity. Strebe, 18, received a silver medal with distinction for his work that explored the rugged terrain that is navigating queer relationships as a teenager fresh into understanding their sexuality. He was a student at Yorktown High School in Arlington, Va., and will attend Virginia Commonwealth University in the fall to study art. 

“I wasn’t out as gay dating my first boyfriend,” read his artist statement. “The frustration of keeping their love secret…led the guy in the gray hoodie [to] out his partner as gay in a desperate effort to make their love known. This is more of a thought, a want, rather than an action done.”

Like many his age, the COVID-19 pandemic inspired Strebe to pursue a hobby to stave off boredom. He began by taking photos of his friends, documentary-style, which then evolved into in-depth projects for his high school photography classes.

Although he said he quit more photography classes than he took, the desire to continue using the medium as a form of expression persisted. And, when he was required by one of his classes to submit for a Scholastic award, he heeded. 

Strebe described “Anything But Simple” as a “breakup portfolio” that followed a ceramics tradition of using clay to make secret keeper jars. Because he hadn’t come out yet while creating the photo essay, taking the photos felt like molding a pot into which he’d whisper. 

“Heartbreak is having a lot of love with no place to put it,” he said.

This kind of raw expression is what Scholastic Art & Writing Awards has championed for 100 years now. 

The organization, which adjudicates submissions blindly, awards skill, originality, and the emergence of personal voice. Past recipients of the award include poet Amanda Gorman and artists Andy Warhol and Richard Avedon. Avedon, who received the award in 1941, described the honor as a defining moment of his life.

“Teenagers are incredible young people. They’re not adults but they’re also not children,” said Christopher Wisniewski, executive director for Alliance for Young Artists and Writers. “[This] is a time when [they] feel raw and start to express this in their art and writing.”

For Taiwo Adebowale, 17, her gold medal-winning poetry was a fierce effort to affirm her Black immigrant and queer identities. Adebowale, who goes by she/they pronouns, was a student at George Washington Carver Center for Arts and Technology in Towson, Md., and will study English and advertising at Howard University in the fall. 

“I do not exist. I am not fiction. I am not walking delirium. I’m not even considered a person. I’m Something,” read her essay “subspaces.” “Something, that according to all laws of nature, shouldn’t exist. Something that goes into spaces, softening our tones, crouching down, telling security guards and mothers ‘do not be afraid’ like we’re angels at Christ’s second coming.”

Adebowale, who is also the first Scholastic award winner at her school in six years, draws inspiration from Black queer authors like Akwaeke Emezi, whose work highlights life’s absurdities through mysticism and surrealism. Thus, for her submission, she wanted to embrace the concept of beauty as taboo. 

“Beauty is one of the things I find integral to myself as a person,” she said. “I don’t feel beauty can exist without embracing yourself as a whole.”

In embracing her wholeness, Adebowale harked to a lesson from her poetry teacher about writing about the things that make one uncomfortable. 

In “My Fault, Doctor,” written to mimic a doctor’s note, Adebowale wrote about the annoyance her nameless character had with a doctor who asked about the character’s sexuality. 

“My fault, Doctor. I swallow up the fact I like a girl. Fact beats wings in my stomach,” read the poem. “Fact tries to crawl up with the acid reflux. Fact infests my throat and nests as a knot. Don’t be alarmed by that. I chose to kiss the girl at church, behind my family’s back, with the knot.”

All in all, this uninhibited opining about societal ills is what Scholastic Arts and Writing lauds. Wisniewski believes the award validates budding artists’ and writers’ work, and more importantly, their humanity. 

“Creativity should be a universal value,” he said.