In my coat pocket you will find a sea-polished piece of quartz, a rough-hewn granite chunk, or maybe even a honey-red agate. My rock collection is magnificent. Lining my shelves, in glass jars and boxes, I have everything from pretty polished opalite to prehistoric fish fossilized in shale. I have always felt as though I have two personalities. One is funny and imaginative. Before she could get a real job, she sold architectural paintings on Etsy. The other is analytical and sharp. She built a working radio, antenna strung outside her room, and could pick up the Seattle Seahawks on the AM. She was 6 years old. These two me’s operate as though there is a line between them. Completely separate. Being both creative and analytical, I have been told to pursue science, and keep art as a hobby. But when I focus only on my scientific side I am trapped. Likewise, if I solely focus on my artistic side, the scientific me calls out for more, for meaning. I see people who can do complex calculations in seconds without a calculator, or those who can draw faces from memory, and wonder “if only I could eliminate one of those me’s, could I be more like them?” But I can’t. As only an artist I am horribly objective; strictly as a scientist, I burn out. Last year I made my first video game. I had spent the year learning to code, and my final class project was completely open-ended. “Create something.” my teacher said. I burn the candle at both ends; this was no exception. In two weeks, with zero experience, I took over as project manager and taught myself C#, Unity, pixel art, sound design, and so much more. When the deadline came, our project was by no means perfect. But, miraculously, it was complete. And so was I. The renaissance way of thought, I think, applies to me. I have a computer brain. My bedroom wall is decorated by lines and lines of post-it notes, each a list. I compose an algorithm for my life. As an artist, I know that there is more than one answer to a question. As a scientist, I seek meaning and solve problems. The line between these two is drawn in chalk. When my two brains are in conversation, it is erased. The possibilities seem endless. I think there’s a reason I have rocks in my pockets. Created by the earth under crushing pressures, the formation of quartz is objective and intense. It is incredibly scientific, and yet it is also beautifully artistic. I would like to use my interdisciplinary skills in computer science to research, examine, and solve global issues, because in today’s world, our big problems can’t be solved by just one type of discipline. It is intersections, I believe, that are the future of innovation.

In my coat pocket you will find a sea-polished piece of quartz, a rough-hewn granite chunk, or maybe even a honey-red agate. My rock collection is magnificent. Lining my shelves, in glass jars and boxes, I have everything from pretty polished opalite to prehistoric fish fossilized in shale. I have always felt as though I have two personalities. One is funny and imaginative. Before she could get a real job, she sold architectural paintings on Etsy. The other is analytical and sharp. She built a working radio, antenna strung outside her room, and could pick up the Seattle Seahawks on the AM. She was 6 years old. These two me’s operate as though there is a line between them. Completely separate. Being both creative and analytical, I have been told to pursue science, and keep art as a hobby. But when I focus only on my scientific side I am trapped. Likewise, if I solely focus on my artistic side, the scientific me calls out for more, for meaning. I see people who can do complex calculations in seconds without a calculator, or those who can draw faces from memory, and wonder “if only I could eliminate one of those me’s, could I be more like them?” But I can’t. As only an artist I am horribly objective; strictly as a scientist, I burn out. We are told that our right brain knows art, and our left brain knows math. We are either right-brained or left-brained. Not only is this only marginally true, it is also a very modern idea. During the Renaissance, for instance, art and science were inseparable. Consider Leonardo Da Vinci, the most famous painting ever was his artistic creation. But he was not just a painter: he designed buildings, furthered the study of anatomy and physiology, and even invented his own flying machine. Art and science, for Leonardo, were one and the same. Last year I made my first video game. I had spent the year learning to code, and my final class project was completely open-ended. “Create something.” my teacher said. I burn the candle at both ends; this was no exception. In two weeks, with zero experience, I took over as project manager and taught myself C#, Unity, pixel art, sound design, and so much more. When the deadline came, our project was by no means perfect. But, miraculously, it was complete. And so was I. The renaissance way of thought, I think, applies to me. I have a computer brain. My bedroom wall is decorated by lines and lines of post-it notes, each a list. I compose an algorithm for my life. As an artist, I know that there is more than one answer to a question. As a scientist, I seek meaning and solve problems. The line between these two is drawn in chalk. When my two brains are in conversation, it is erased. The possibilities seem endless. I think there’s a reason I have rocks in my pockets. Created by the earth under crushing pressures, the formation of quartz is objective and intense. It is incredibly scientific, and yet it is also beautifully artistic. I plan to inspire other women interested in gaining exposure to the computer science field. I would like to use my interdisciplinary skills to research, examine, and solve global issues, because in today’s world, our big problems can’t be solved by just one type of discipline. It is intersections, I believe, that are the future of innovation.

In my coat pocket you will find a sea-polished piece of quartz, a rough-hewn granite chunk, or maybe even a honey-red agate. My rock collection is magnificent. Lining my shelves, in glass jars and boxes, I have everything from pretty polished opalite to prehistoric fish fossilized in shale. I have always felt as though I have two personalities. One is funny and imaginative. Before she could get a real job, she sold architectural paintings on Etsy. The other is analytical and sharp. She built a working radio, antenna strung outside her room, and could pick up the Seattle Seahawks on the AM. She was 6 years old. These two me’s operate as though there is a line between them. Completely separate. Being both creative and analytical, I have been told to pursue science, and keep art as a hobby. But when I focus only on my scientific side I am trapped. Likewise, if I solely focus on my artistic side, the scientific me calls out for more, for meaning. I see people who can do complex calculations in seconds without a calculator, or those who can draw faces from memory, and wonder “if only I could eliminate one of those me’s, could I be more like them?” But I can’t. As only an artist I am horribly objective; strictly as a scientist, I burn out. We are told that our right brain knows art, and our left brain knows math. We are either right-brained or left-brained. Not only is this only marginally true, it is also a very modern idea. During the Renaissance, for instance, art and science were inseparable. Consider Leonardo Da Vinci, the most famous painting ever was his artistic creation. But he was not just a painter: he designed buildings, furthered the study of anatomy and physiology, and even invented his own flying machine. Art and science, for Leonardo, were one and the same. Last year I made my first video game. I had spent the year learning to code, and my final class project was completely open-ended. “Create something.” my teacher said. I burn the candle at both ends; this was no exception. In two weeks, with zero experience, I took over as project manager and taught myself C#, Unity, pixel art, sound design, and so much more. When the deadline came, our project was by no means perfect. But, miraculously, it was complete. And so was I. The renaissance way of thought, I think, applies to me. I have a computer brain. My bedroom wall is decorated by lines and lines of post-it notes, each a list. I compose an algorithm for my life. As an artist, I know that there is more than one answer to a question. As a scientist, I seek meaning and solve problems. The line between these two is drawn in chalk. When my two brains are in conversation, it is erased. The possibilities seem endless. I think there’s a reason I have rocks in my pockets. Created by the earth under crushing pressures, the formation of quartz is objective and intense. It is incredibly scientific, and yet it is also beautifully artistic. Quartz becomes lavender, rose, or deep smoky grey depending on the specific circumstances in which it grows. So whether I’m coding a video game or making a series of paintings based on national parks, studying the stars or building a computer, I will always be a beautiful, crystalline combination of extremes. I am looking forward to pursuing a degree and career in computer science, and further exploring the intersection between the arts and the sciences.