Do you ever get the feeling in your back after sitting in one spot for too long that just feels uncomfortable? It doesn’t hurt, there’s nothing really wrong, but you have to squirm and twist to get rid of it? That’s how I feel when I try to specify my art form. My art form is oil paint; I prefer them over acrylics because I love the pliability of the paint. I can blend and move it across my canvas to my heart’s content because it doesn’t dry on impact like those fickle acrylics. But I still love them, my faithful acrylics, they are useful in their own right. And sketchbooking, oh my heart. Some people don’t see sketchbooking as an actual art, but it is my art form. I have a stack of sketchbooks two and a half feet tall. They’re numbered and organized, each one thicker than the last - the most recent pushes against its elastic band like a pregnant belly at 42 weeks. My books have themes and personalities and are full of paintings, class notes, receipts and tickets. They’re scrapbooks and diaries and magic. I paint windows at local businesses and people stop and interact with me while I create scenes in front of them. They leave feeling like the art belongs to them because they witnessed the brushstrokes as it was created. And it does belong to them, it all belongs to them. I paint scenery and create props for musical theater. Large scale panels that bring depth and story, grounding actors into the world they create with their words. I mold giant pieces of styrofoam with heat guns and paint that transform into the cave of wonders where actors are no longer on stage, they are in the deserts of Agrabah. Large scale painting is my art form. But what about writing? Oh, I love to write. I vividly remember writing my first story at Goddard Preschool; they encouraged me to bind it as a book and read it to the class and I fell so deep in love with weaving my words that I never stopped. When I write it feels like I’m writing a song, my sentences find a rhythm and when the words are right they sing. I’ve written thousands of pages that may never see the light of day but filled my soul as they were created. Art is everything to me and I don’t think I can exist without the constant undercurrent of creativity. My mom is an artist, my grandmother was an artist and her mother before her. Creativity is quite literally in my blood and every heart beat moves it through my system. I have plans to carry creativity throughout my life like a traveling salesman hawking my wares. I guess I can pinpoint my artform, I need to create. Whether it’s words on a page or paint on a canvas, embroidery on my clothes or another fat sketchbook, I was born into a household that is fueled by creating and I plan on continuing the tradition. I am heading to college in the fall and will study art practices and humanities. I will set myself on a well worn path of pursuing the creation of beauty in my life. Maybe I’ll end up in a scientific or even mathematical field when it’s all said and done, but you’d better believe that wherever I land, it will be beautifully creative.

I found out today that my high school is buying one of my paintings to hang in the administrative offices. It's a great feeling, getting paid for my work and knowing that my art is valued. I like having another award for something I live to do - pulling my brush across the canvas, but none of this is my WHY. I teach kids that art is cool. I have since I was twelve years old and wanted to start my own business, I introduce kids to art and help them discover the elation of creating something they love. I'll never need to do drugs because the high I feel from watching a child blend their first sunset is better than any substance available. As I've gotten older I have recognized that it's not just kids who need to have help with their creativity; adults seem to need permission to let their imaginations lead and to let their brains have a little fun. That's what I want to do for the rest of my life: I want to be an emissary of creativity. I have other ideas in how I can use my passion for creating to make other people's lives better. I can continue my art camps and lessons, teaching kids to love art and their parents that it is just as viable and valuable as athletics. I can keep creating my pieces, selling paintings that make people feel something when they hang them in their personal space. I'll be double majoring Art Practices and Humanities with a Business Minor at CU Boulder and I have plans to take my skills and build a company that connects the creative with the corporate. I want to teach busniess leaders not only the value and importance of thinking between the lines and outside the box but that they themselves will increase productivity and the bottom line. People need art. We need creativity in every single field of thought and busniess. I will be an artist that provides beautiful pieces as well as an outlet for others to learn, but more importantly, I want to create and inspire more artists. Let's fill the world with beauty - come create with me.

There is an understanding in the world right now that eldest daughters live up to a very particular stereotype - decisive, in charge, the boss. If you come across a woman who is not only an eldest daughter but also a first granddaughter, man, you’d better watch out. Well, I am an eldest daughter, a first granddaughter on both sides of the family AND a big sister. Check mate. I want to be the best; not because I want to beat anyone or make others feel small, I just want to be my very best in every fragment of my life. As a student, I have taken the highest level of every class offered at my school. My transcript is peppered with honors, AP and college credit courses and I am one of a select few students at my school with three individual advanced learning plan designations in the gifted and talented program. I am a student senator, historian in the cabinet, and have found a surprising sense of personal growth and satisfaction in giving myself so fully to serving my school and my peers. As much gratification as I have found being an excellent student, it doesn’t compare to how it feels to serve others. I have learned how to organize, delegate and create enthusiasm in a group of people. Through our fundraising events I have honed in on how vital it is to give back to others when they’re in need. My first lesson in serving others came when I started my very first summer art camp at twelve years old. I am, above all else, an artist and I found that using my skills to lead young kids on a path they never envisioned was possible is a dream. Through my art camp and private art lessons, the parents in our community have recognized art as a valid extracurricular for their kids when they had previously only considered sports teams as a choice. Opening up the world of visual arts to our community feels like a victory. Teaching countless kids the value of creativity and artistic skill has only improved my own. I have been accepted to the school of Art Practices at CU Boulder and I plan to pursue my love of painting and drawing there. I have multiple art show awards and sales under my belt and I hope to build a path in life that I can support myself with my artwork. But if the real world sneaks in, I plan on creating programs for corporations that would teach employees the value and benefits of tapping into their creativity and how it can enhance their work. While simultaneously creating volunteer programs in local communities that would emphasize the importance of imagination and creativity in maintaining a well balanced life. I am going to change the world; that is a certainty. My plan is to double major in Art Practices and Humanities, graduate with Latin Honors and take my tool box full of perseverance, drive and art supplies into the world to make it more creative and a lot more colorful.

I think trying to draw a line where one art practice stops and the next one starts is like trying to have a grip on a wet bar of soap. My love for theater slips right into my love of painting which slides into my adoration of music. Although I paint canvases regularly for my own art practice, I help a local art and design business with stage decor and scenery backgrounds for theater productions. If seeing my work under the lights up there on the stage wasn’t great enough, knowing that I’ve helped the actors playing their roles in front of my work might be even better. My work as an assistant director for children’s musical theater is more rewarding than I ever expected it could be. Although I was in a children's theater myself, I was surprised by how much I had absorbed during my experiences on stage and could then fully mentor my little actors. Between helping them with blocking and how to learn lines, I encouraged them to get their hands dirty helping me create scenery. I wanted them to know not only how fun it is to create the pieces you’ll then perform in front of, I wanted them to realize how important those art pieces really are to the totality of a show. A show is not a production without the supporting art work - it brings life and depth to the stage. I want the kids to be aware of their props and backdrops; how to use them and how to appreciate what they bring to a scene. When I show the kids how much work goes into each prop piece and scenery decor, they have more respect for the pieces themselves and have a deeper understanding of the layers of work that go into a show. All that and we still have to incorporate music! I am not a musician by any stretch, but I live for good music. I listen to music while I paint, do homework, in class, while I drive…always. I run music for stage shows when I can, and it’s important to me that my little actors understand how interwoven the visuals, the acting and the sound experience are. The connectivity between what we feel and what we hear is vital in a show experience, but also in our daily lives. Moving through the day with a soundtrack makes memories easier to create and then access later on when we hear the song that was playing at the time the memory was made. It would be a challenge to find an artist who is able to sit in one spot and not dance through all the options that creativity provides. I hope to not only continue with my own practice of braiding my artistic endeavors together into one showpiece, but I want to teach people about the importance of keeping an open heart and mind to trying as many art forms as possible. Maybe they’ll see their names in lights someday, and maybe they’ll paint the marquee, but being a part of the process is always a reward.

"Killing Solitude" (The Cowboy Painting) is about the feeling of falling in love and no longer craving being alone. It's the transition from the comfort of your own mind to the comfort of another's presence. Cowboys are the ultimate american symbol of solitude and it's that symbol of stoicism and needlessness that love destroys. The cowboy is subject to a slow decay in his life alone, which is seen in the bruising of the arm; a disease like death as one moves from wanting solitude to wanting companionship. Killing solitude progress: This painting was created following my usual process starting with a digital collage. After finding my subject and proper bruising texture references that I could impose on the subject, I used procreate to collage these items together alongside the background and the hand drawn lace overlay. From there I copied my new reference onto my canvas by way of an acrylic underpainting and then painted alla prima with oil. Technique wise, I tried to keep the portrait itself within tight brush strokes and as concrete as I could so that the loose brushwork of the lace would be a nice contrast. "Balance" (the sailor) depicts the dichotomy between want vs need and the sailors choice between the life at sea he desires vs the life on land. It’s achieving balance through the idea that sacrifice is inevitable, no matter what path you choose. That sacrifice is symbolized by the lambs that are formed through his smoke, becoming his breath in action, his sacrifice literally becoming his source of life. Balance process: The reference for this painting was digitally collaged on procreate using multiple images of lambs as well as the sailor, originally in black and white photography. I then took this black and white image, colorized it by hand, and used it as my reference for this painting. I started with an acrylic underpainting and painted the oil half of this piece all prima. For the white half of this piece, I utilized my palette knife and gesso to “sculpt” the lambs out of the smoke. Then I slightly shaded the lambs with white oil paint for further dimension. The Goose: This painting was made the summer before senior year, entertaining the idea of what it is to feel old. The basis being the dichotomy of being so close to being an adult yet still feeling like a kid. It is the reflection on never growing out of a childhood I loved and that childhood will accompany me as I keep evolving. Throughout my entire life my parents’ nickname for me has been "Goose", derived from silly goose, and has become as used as my actual name within my family. In this painting, the goose is a symbol of my childhood and its safety as it stands face to face with me as an actual child. The background is representative of the wall in my nursery my first few years of life. The bow on the goose is a symbol of my femininity and the smile on my young face acts as a welcoming of that femininity and growth in my life. In all my work I like to keep to my consistent theme of "unlikely interaction from minute personal experiences"; a study of combining ideas or symbols that don't make sense on the surface. Killing Solitude plays with decay and desire, Balance dances with sacrifice and smoke and The Goose discusses grasping onto childhood and wanting to let it go. I want my art to require thought and inquisitiveness, sparking interest and humor.

I love creating. As my clearest form of communication, art has shifted from a hobby and contorted into something almost religious. As much as I love the actual act of painting, when my brush pulls the oils across my canvas it feels like I’m hovering above the work, witnessing rather than producing. I believe the goal of art is to capture and translate the beauty of creation. When I’m in a piece, it’s as though I am revealing something that already exists but previously couldn’t be seen. I’m not creating something new, I’m transforming a concept into something visible. I wake up and am inspired by the soft edges of leaves outside my window before I put on my glasses and everything sharpens. A walk through my neighborhood during the autumn in Colorado leaves me spinning, thinking about how I’d capture the breadth and depth of the oaks and aspens. Is there a way to capture the smell of an autumn leaf on my canvas? I drive to school with the sunrise turning the mountains the softest pink and I have to fight myself from pulling over to capture what I see and record it in my sketchbook. Instead, I go to school and sketch my classmates and the infinite planes of noses and jawlines and the looks of longing for the beautiful person across the room. I am wonderfully overwhelmed on a minute to minute basis by the input of the world onto my senses and all I want to do is capture everything. Paint is my ever present accessory: my hands, my clothes, the carpet in my bedroom are all spotted and dotted with the reminders of canvases in progress. My hair is often secured with a long handled paintbrush with pieces falling and specked with medium. Painting is not a hobby, it is a need - as much as air and food and water. My studio is set up in my bedroom because inspiration does not obey the clock. If a cheekbone in the portrait on my easel needs highlighting, I must get out of bed and highlight. Being an artist is what defines my life and guides my actions, my compass pointing me to what’s next. Artists are engineers of emotions, crafting the human experience into something that can be felt and understood by any audience. The foundation of what it is to be human is what draws me to art. Not only does my art give me a home, but it drives me to be someone who makes an impact on the world.

Admittedly, I leave a large wake as I move through the world. It might be because I always travel with my sketchbook and people are fascinated by my need to artistically record the world around me. It could be that people are constantly calling me an “old soul” and feel comfort in the way we connect over conversation. I like to think that I just leave an imprint on people’s hearts because I just truly care about the people in my life. I want to change the world. Bold? Yes, but it’s true. I have been raised by an artist mother who owns her own business and paints her surroundings into a more beautiful experience. And my trader dad moves through his days on the tips of his toes, interacting with people from all over the globe, anticipating their next move and filling their needs before they even know what their needs are. My little brother and I have learned that there are no rules caging us into a certain expected life ahead - if we can dream it, we can do it. Our parents have set a path of knowing that we set the next stone in our own paths as we go and the world will adjust as long as we put the work in. So I have no doubt in my mind that my plans will change the way things work, and I can impart change where I see a need for growth. My dream is to build bridges from the art world into other areas of life in dire need of creativity. I have taught art to children for so long that it is clear to me that though they need guidance and encouragement to express their ideas, they are not lacking in the imagination department. The people who really need to be reminded about the beauty of creativity are adults. More specifically, adults who live within guidelines and follow paths that were constructed long before they came into the world. Business and law, medicine and accounting - can you imagine the explosion of progress that could happen if someone reminded those fields how to think colorfully and outside of set parameters? I don’t want to have the CEO painting plein air, but I do want to activate the part of their brains that gets them thinking beyond graphs, charts and profit and loss. I want to create a business that gets to infiltrate those black and white fields and get them thinking like kids drawing robots that could do their chores. Imaginative and wild in a way that creates a real spark of an idea that could actually fuel major changes we see in our daily lives. I want to make people feel good about themselves. And connected. I want to use this old soul of mine to be able to look people in the eye and let them know that what they dream about matters to the world and give them courage to express those thoughts. I know I have what it takes to create a tidal wave of confidence through creativity in my life; as an artist I can visualize the path that I will build in order to get to my mountaintop. I am proud to for help along the way, whether that means having funds to help me through college or asking for advice from people farther along the path than I am. I plan to use all the tools available to me in order to leave an Addie sized imprint. Watch out world, I’m coming to make you more creative.

My dream is to be a working Artist who can pay my bills based on the sales of my incredibly popular paintings. When I am in front of one of my pieces, whether it is mixed media, one of my sketch books or a painting on canvas, I am at home when I am creating. I like to achieve in other areas of my life, writng makes me feel like I can make words sing and reading let's me travel through space and time. But my art? My art is my everything. No matter what I do in my life to be able to pay bills and buy all the fancy coffees I need to survive. Between art pieces I want to write novels and debate interesting people on interesting topics in well decorated rooms. In reality, while I continue my work as a visual artist who creates and sells my paintings, I plan to create my own business with the intention of bringing creativity into the corporate world. The interdisciplinary research opportunities at university in the fall will provide me with the skills and knowledge I need to bridge the gap between these two very different worlds. I am a firm believer that creativity is best taught to people who have forgotten how easy it is to tap into our ever-shifting and colorful inner artist - in other words: adults. My engine runs on being creative and I have been raised in a home steeped in thinking on our own and coming up with next steps without being given directives. I can see this theory, if presented with the correct infrastructure, could revitalize and crack open the way businesses are run. I want to use all the gifts that I have curated as a visual artist to help open pathways to curiosity in office culture; curiosity is the gateway drug to learning and a desire to learn means change can actually take hold. If my plans for the next few years go the way I know they will, my time at university will be ripe with learning as much as I can about everything I can fit into my brain. When it’s time to move from semi-adulthood into real adulthood, I’ll be ready to take my game plan into the real world and show all those people out there how to crack open the rule books and think in color.

They marched toward us singing “Country Roads, Take Me Home” in their newly deep, eighth grade voices. I was eating lunch with my friends when the group of boys decided to surround us, link their arms and sling slurs at us. It was more confusing than upsetting because even though I had friends who were trying to figure out if they were gay or maybe even a different gender, I wasn’t, so all those things they were saying couldn’t be about me…could they? It didn’t matter because I could feel Jax freeze next to me as we waited for it to end. As much as I knew there wasn’t a reason that I should be the target, Jax knew that they definitely were. Jax was born intersex and was struggling with figuring out who they were at that time in their life. All those boys who surrounded us, many of whom had gone to elementary school with me, had no patience for someone who was different and let Jax know on a daily basis. After the boys left, Jax and I reported what had happened. I thought that would be the end of the story, administration would call them in, maybe hand out some in school suspensions and everyone would forget, again, that people can be awful. The boys were interviewed and suspended, but it didn’t end there. Administration had determined which of them had been the leaders and which were followers. The leaders were charged with a hate crime and prosecuted. Jax’s family led the charge in making sure the boys were brought to justice and they suffered the consequences of their actions, as they should. Although I agree with the three leaders facing legal consequences, and that they should never repeat what they had done, I had a differing opinion as to what needed to happen as a follow up. There was talk about all the boys being bad people - they did a hateful thing and therefore are hateful people. But I didn’t see it that way; yes, they had done a bad thing, but that didn’t make them bad. When I looked at them, I saw teenagers who not long ago were little boys who held their mom’s hands when no one was looking. I saw boys who acted like they were confident but really just needed approval. I wanted them to learn that the consequences of their actions were that they caused pain. That’s how we grow, by learning that we don’t want to cause anyone to hurt. I decided that regardless how anyone else wanted me to react, I wanted to help all those boys learn from their actions but also that they didn’t need to be punished or punish themselves in perpetuity. So I treated them like I always had, when they expected a vile reaction or retaliation I defied their expectations. They weren’t let off the hook or made to feel like it was water under the bridge, but I did want them to know that good people can come back from doing a bad thing. I wanted them to want to be better because they saw hope in forgiveness. I believe that it made a difference, my interactions with them all throughout high school were respectful with an undertone of sheepishness. I want to believe that by showing them that they could earn back my respect even after what they did, then maybe they will move through the rest of their lives with a desire to not lose anyone’s respect again. I hope my kindness inspired a lifetime of theirs.

You’ve got to be kidding me - I read this prompt and my chest got tight. I am a first daughter and granddaughter, gifted and talented, high achieving, all honors and AP and concurrent classes, I must do the best, I must be the best. I AM “then do more.” I like the tone of the prompt - that it is a positive attribute and not a personality hiccup, because sometimes my inability to do just enough feels like I’m doing something wrong. But then I write a little deeper than was asked on a literature test and feel the glow of earning that extra sophistication point that is rarely given. And it feels great. I paint a portrait in oils rather than submit a pencil sketch and it gets hung in a gallery. I can admit that the warmth of approval is a bonus. But it’s not my why. It feels as though I have an internal off switch that I can’t seem to find or access, and in turn GO is my default setting. If no one else were there to witness what I was doing, I would still do it because I need to achieve for myself. My parents have given me the “you know, getting a B is okay sometimes” speech more than once. While I appreciate the love and support, I don’t get all A’s because I can’t let myself fail, it’s because I know I have what it takes to earn the highest marks so why would I do less? It can be exhausting, needing to go the extra mile in everything that I do, but I honestly don’t know how to do it any other way. At twelve years old I was just starting to get interested in art, most kids would get some supplies and tinker here and there, maybe watch some youtube tutorials or take a class. I started my own art business and ran a summer camp for local kids. It continued for five summers after the initial opening and became a staple in our community and even earned me the Outstanding Youth of Lone Tree Award for our city. And that felt great, but it was not why I did the work. I don’t need other people to approve of me or give me awards, although those are lovely; it’s because it is in me to reach as far as I can. I am never satisfied by matching what other people are doing if they aren’t digging deeper for how to make it better or smarter or more engaging. The university I am attending in the fall has a program called ANDing which promotes students getting everything out of college that they can imagine. As an ANDer, I will double major in Art Practices and Humanities. Because I am already admitted into the Arts and Sciences Honors Program, I will also be able to take advantage of the interdisciplinary studies program as well as work towards graduating with Latin honors. I want to take everything I can learn from my experience at school and use it to build bridges between the creative and corporate worlds, reminding people who live in black and white how important it is to add color and imagination into their lives and bottom lines. I am going to change the world because I CAN. I will make an impact because what people think I can do doesn’t compare to how far I will reach. What is expected is never enough.

My greatest fear is to be normal. That’s the sentence that opened my college application essay and it is true; I don’t want to be normal. It’s lucky, really, because no matter what stage of life I’m in I couldn’t ever be the standard of what my peers consider “normal.” I’m wired differently and always have been. At two and a half I kept my teachers on task because I had memorized the daily schedule and didn't like it when they strayed. In elementary school my mom had to hand sew sweatpants for me because the seams on store bought pants drove me to tears and I couldn’t wear shirts made for girls because the sleeves didn’t hit my arms at an acceptable spot. Sock seams are my enemy and green beans squeak against my teeth. I am not normal. But I am extraordinary. My art has hundreds of thousands of views and awards line my walls. I have read books well beyond my peers’ abilities since before they could read and even though they didn’t understand me and I cannot fathom what makes them tick I have learned to observe. And then I write. My first gifted and talented designation was for writing and it has always been my comfort and my salve. When my laugh joins the chorus a few seconds too late and it’s clear that I don’t get the joke, I can write my way through the discomfort. I don’t have to think about the words because they become notes and the paragraphs start to sing. The ache of feeling left out of my friend group dissipates when my fingers move across my keyboard trying to keep up with the story unfolding behind my eyes. And the beauty, oh the beauty of the melody of a perfectly written sentence; it sings and takes the sting out of the dance when my best friend walked away with her boyfriend and I stood there alone, again, the fabric of my dress balled in my fist. To write is to connect and for a person who is always half a step off course from everyone else that connection is magic. I can write and teachers swoon; I can write and children pay attention. I can write and people who don’t understand me can hear me through my song and I can get them to dance with me to the rhythm of my soul. It is hard to be so different and even harder to be the kind of different that is high achieving and stands out of the crowd. People don’t like it when they don’t understand you but watch as you are rewarded for your achievements - those blue ribbons and walks across the stage only put more distance between me and those tight knit groups who know when to laugh. But I write. I write and I write and I write because it is the thing that opens the valve and releases the pressure inside. Will it all be read? Maybe, probably not. I don’t need them to read it because I write it for me.

I have written countless essays about my strengths and accomplishments over the past few months. This will be the first time I sit and write about my shortcomings and as though an interviewer just asked, “What is your biggest weakness” I find myself wanting to sip my water and avoid the question. My life has been focused on being the best: I’m the best big sister, the best artist, I only take honors and AP classes and already have enough college credits to start my university life well into my sophomore year. I’ve shown my artwork in countless galleries and have a GPA well above a 4.0…but I cannot seem to clean my room. Silly? Maybe. But it is one of my greatest sources of shame. I want to; I’d love to be the kind of person who tries something on and puts it back on the hanger. I want to walk through my room without kicking things out of the way and never have a cup on my desk with a white ring of dried milk around the bottom. From the outside I know it looks like I just don’t care and that I’m ignoring my parent’s pleas and negotiations to get me to get it done. But in my brain, there is a thick rope wrapped around my ability to see it as no big deal, just pick things up and be done. I know it has something to do with how I’m wired, the same thing that makes me extraordinary in one way makes me feel broken in another and so clothes end up piled up right next to stacks of my award winning paintings. It is embarrassing and often leaves me feeling frustrated and impotent. There is something in my neurodivergent system that hamstrings all my efforts to fix this part of myself and I am reduced to tears when I stand and stare at my mess and can’t break the restraints in myself in order to get it done. But in the fall I will have someone else living with me in a small room. I am determined to be a good roommate and a clean person - there won’t be enough space for me to fail. So, I am determined to succeed and find a way to trick myself out of my task paralysis. I plan to circumvent my own pathological demand avoidance (unfortunately that’s a real thing) and change the definition of what I’m doing when I put something away. If I no longer hang up a shirt because it’s causing a mess, but I put it on a hanger because I want to wear it without wrinkles, maybe my brain will look the other way and not fight back. If I rinse my coffee cup when I’m done with the drink because I don’t have a cabinet full of clean mugs in my dormroom, maybe it won’t feel like a challenge. People with normal brains will think this is ridiculous, I understand. But anyone who has alternative wiring will recognize the struggle of fighting against yourself to get something done. But I am determined to find a path to success, just like I have in every other aspect of my life. I am committed to making myself proud.

When other kids carry something from class to class that continuously draws their eyes down and away from the subject matter, most teachers want that item to go far away. But my teachers delight in seeing the item I carry and many of them ask daily to see what I’ve been up to. It’s my comfort and my way to process information - it’s my sketchbook. Honestly, it’s been many sketchbooks over the years, I have a stack of 15 that I’ve filled through high school. I draw as I listen, I sketch as I think. I keep receipts and images and secrets and apply them to the pages that crack and stick together as people thumb through them. I am the art kid and I couldn’t be more proud to have people bypass my name and know me for what I do, because it’s also who I am. I have a painting studio in my bedroom because inspiration doesn’t work on the clock and sometimes I have to get out of bed and blend a background or highlight a cheekbone on a portrait. I think in values and shades and my veins are thick with oil paint. The University of Colorado at Boulder admitted me into the school of Art Practices and I can’t wait to learn new mediums and have professors who can teach me even more than I’ve already taught myself. I have no doubt that winning a scholarship like this will fund my need and habit for art supplies - forever waxing and waning and needing replenishment. I will think of Jacob as I sit in front of a fresh canvas and meditate on my first strokes. I will be thankful for the ability to try a new varnish or brush as I leap into a new still life. I don’t just love art, I live it. My life in Colorado means seeing the sunset over the mountains and planning the colors I would use to capture the heartache I feel to be able to witness something so incredible. I look out my bedroom window and watch as deer scratch their antlers on the trees and find myself studying the texture of their fur. If I am able, I plan to spend my life creating paintings and sketchbooks and bringing creativity into the lives of people who desperately need its light. I have been running my own art camps and giving art lessons since I was twelve years old and I hope to wield my brushes and pens until my joints can no longer handle the weight. My whole life is an art piece and I would be honored to represent another artist like Jacob as I work to fill the world with beauty.

He had a birthmark on his shoulder that made him stand out from anyone I’d ever met. A blur of blonde hair and blue eyes - I fell in love immediately and when he entered my life I knew I’d have to find a new foundation because his appearance had cracked the very ground I stood on. There was another woman in the way and I knew that she would always have his heart, but if I could be number two it would be enough. I would take any place in his life if it meant I could be there forever. It was 11:24 on a Thursday morning when my little brother was born, and that minute changed me completely. I wasn’t even five years old yet but it felt like I had been waiting for him forever; being a big sister had become a film in my head that I watched as I tried to fall asleep and when my parents asked me about school as we sat around the table. I had so many plans for Brother (he didn’t have a name until my mom was in labor) and I knew that I would adore him and more importantly, that he would adore me. William James came into the world with a force that knocked me sideways. Most “brother being born” stories have a humorous twist about how it was better being an only child, but my little brother was everything I had dreamed, and has continued to be for the last thirteen years. I don’t know if I would have learned how it feels to love someone so fully that you want to put their needs before your own. I love my parents more than I have words to describe but as much as they have taught me to be aware of and care for their needs, they don’t require me to put them before my own. But I have been acutely aware of what my brother needs through every stage of his life. I fed him a bottle, snuggled him at every opportunity, got on the floor as he crawled to me, held his hands as he learned to walk. I smiled and clapped at his preschool pageants, praised his drawings and held his chunky little fist on every walk. I became a bottomless well of love for him and he alone had access to the bucket when he needed a refill. As we grew together, our relationship changed from me cooing at him to real interaction. He loved when I came up with new games or built us forts. He dove into our cumulative imagination with aplomb and played Magic Boarding School or News Reporter with gusto. Years rolled on and our sweet interactions grew into real friendship. He lived for me as much as I lived for him and our bond became impenetrable. It is because of my relationship with my brother that I had the desire to learn to communicate with clarity and honesty. Our parents have a rule in their relationship, “never say something you know is going to hurt the other person, and remember that it's the two of you against an issue and not against each other.” My deep need to protect William’s feelings, even from myself, has taught me great control over not only my actions but also my thoughts. My brother is an athletic phenom. I don’t love sports. I’ll watch them with my family and can cheer for my hometown teams with the best of them, but I am far from a sports nut. But you’d have to pry me from the sidelines when my brother is on the field. You’ll find me cheering the loudest, filming consistently and ready to run on that field when he gets hurt. It doesn’t matter to me if it’s 8am on a Saturday, I am at every game. My relationship with my brother has shown me how deeply important it is to support the people in my life. He will never have to wonder if I will be there for him, because every time he’s looked into the stands, I’m there. My life with William has taught me that I don’t have to be the center of every story. I’ve learned the pure joy of making someone else happy, putting others first and communicating with care. All of my relationships have benefitted from my love for my brother, but let’s be honest, none of them will ever compare.