The Kindness Butterfly Effect Christmas time is filled with acts of service. Although it is cold outside, your heart will be filled with the warmth that comes from giving to others. SwayJ is an event at my high school that takes place around this time. Shop With a Yellow Jacket is where the students and faculty decorate the school’s cafeteria and take middle/elementary schoolers on a Christmas shopping trip, eventually returning to the school to eat lunch and participate in other festive activities. The event is incredibly heartwarming, and the Christmas spirit felt throughout the event is invigorating. It takes many people collaborating together to host SwayJ, and my role was facepainting the children before they left for their trip. On the way to school that morning, I could only focus on the negatives. How early I had to wake up for SwayJ. How I wouldn’t have much time at home after the event ends before I had to work. I into school that morning thinking that all I was going to do was paint a few faces and leave. My role during the event wasn’t as impactful as my Yellow Jacket peers actually shopping with the children – or so I thought. Then, I met up with my art teacher, who was also facepainting. While setting up the booth with her, I was moved by her excitement and energy. Every interaction and conversation she had with the people around her was filled with positivity and hope. Her kindness and charisma not only lifted the spirits of the kids she facepainted, but it changed the way I viewed my role in SwayJ. I wasn’t simply painting faces and leaving, I was creating an experience for the younger members of my community. The entire event is based off kindness towards others, going out of your way to give to the people around you. I functioned as an example for the kids of that kindness, a student using art to connect with and service others. I began to notice that the faces I was painting – at first nervous and shy – were beaming with smiles by the time they were finished in my chair and saw the festive art they now wore. My art teacher’s gestures of positivity and kindness inspired me to spread more goodwill to the people I was around, and my gesture of kindness hopefully inspired people to continue spreading that goodwill. It was a chain reaction – a butterfly effect – although instead of culminating in a hurricane, it resulted in a connected and proactive community. Our world is riddled with injustices and wrongdoings. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by the mere thought of all the problems within our society, but because of my experience with SwayJ and community service in general, I like to think of the world this way: Kindness does not exist in a vacuum; it’s a powerful thing that can heavily influence your surroundings. The world is not changed overnight, nor is it changed through one herculean act. It is changed through one hundred little services, one thousand small gifts, and one million encouraging words. Servicing my community helped remind me that we are never alone, and that there is always someone willing to help you – even if that person is yourself. With that in mind, my sense of hope for the future is immense and unbreakable. To whoever is reading this essay, I thank you for your time, and extend the chain reaction to you – what service, gift, or kind word will you give to continue the Kindness Butterfly Effect?

My background starts in Marietta, Georgia. I was close enough to Atlanta’s thriving art scene to develop an interest in it, but far enough away that I could form my own art style—one that was shaped not only by the creative culture around me but also by my personal experiences, surroundings, and imagination. Growing up, my earliest fascinations came from the action shows I watched and the comic books I devoured. The vibrant energy, the larger-than-life characters, the dramatic scenes—these stories grabbed my attention and never let go. So, naturally, my interest in art centered around those two mediums. I wasn’t just consuming them; I was analyzing them, breaking them down, sketching them, and trying to understand how they were built. I started with simple pencil sketches of characters from distant lands and fantastical worlds—heroes with capes, villains with tragic backstories, creatures with elemental powers. It was fun at first, just a hobby, but even then I had a deep desire to make the characters feel real. I paid attention to their posture, their facial expressions, and the way their clothes moved. I wanted everything to make sense visually and narratively. Eventually, I broadened my horizons beyond just character sketches. I became fascinated with the environments they existed in. I started practicing architectural elements, working with lighting, and exploring the principles of perspective. Each fold, wrinkle, and reflection became an essential part of the subject’s story, and I go on personal quests to capture them in my work with accuracy and emotion. What started as a fun escape became a discipline I committed to mastering. I never stopped challenging myself technically, but somewhere along the way, I realized that technical skill wasn’t enough. I began to pursue more conceptual pieces. I started asking questions like: How can I communicate my feelings about turning 17 in a single drawing? How do I show people the mix of anxiety, hope, confusion, and excitement that comes with growing up? That’s when my art began to evolve from being about the subject to being about me. I realized that art could serve not only as a form of entertainment but also as an emotional mirror—one that reflects what we don’t always know how to say out loud. That’s what makes storytelling through visual mediums so powerful. I love how you can tell a story with pictures—images filled with enough movement to place you right inside the fight scene, yet composed in a way that doesn’t overwhelm the viewer. This love of storytelling within a frame naturally extended to pictures in sequence: comics and animation. I wasn’t drawn to these forms simply because of their style or flair. I was drawn to the diversity and wonder of the stories they told—stories that dared to tackle themes of identity, belonging, growth, and grief, all while dazzling the eye. These were stories that stayed with me long after I closed the book or finished the episode. I want to be an artist because telling stories—whether fictional or rooted in real emotion—feels essential to who I am. Whenever I get to talk about my work, whether it’s my writing or my art, I feel this sense of joy that’s hard to describe. I’ll gesture wildly, pace around my room, and smile until my cheeks hurt. It’s a deep, fluttery excitement that tells me this is what I’m meant to do. I want to connect with people through the stories I tell visually. I want them to find relatability in the characters I draw and the scenes I create—to find parts of themselves reflected in the expressions, gestures, and moods. To me, that’s the most meaningful kind of connection an artist can create. Interestingly, I’m not inspired by just one artist or creator. I’m most inspired by the collaborative genius behind the works that impact me. Shows like Arcane leave me in awe of the synergy between visual artistry, narrative structure, and emotional depth. The stunning blend of painterly animation with a strong storyline captivates me as both a viewer and an artist. Comics-turned-shows like Avatar: The Last Airbender have also deeply influenced me—not just because of the beautiful animation, but because of the emotional honesty of the characters and the philosophical questions explored through their journeys. Even traditional painters like Caravaggio and Degas inspire me with their mastery of light, composition, and emotion. I find their ability to freeze complex stories and feelings into a single moment incredibly powerful. I’m inspired by the story amidst the art, by the meaning of each brushstroke, and by the feeling each shadow evokes. To me, good art doesn’t just look nice—it feels like something, even if you don’t know exactly what. Artist Statement: My work is a reflection of who I am—ever-growing, sometimes messy, but always striving to become a better, clearer version of itself. One of the core themes I explore through my work is control. I’m fascinated by how people seek to control themselves, others, and the narratives around them. I think a lot about how we present ourselves to the world, how society tries to shape those presentations, and how art can challenge or reinforce those perceptions. These themes show up in my compositions, in my characters, and even in the mediums I choose to work with. I use charcoal, pencil, and marker because they require a level of precision and control that pushes me technically. I like the tension between soft and sharp, light and dark, clean and messy. I often explore the struggle between control and freedom because it’s something I see everywhere—in politics, culture, religion, relationships, and even personal identity. It’s a universal tension that shows up in every era and every corner of the world. My goal is not to solve it, but to explore it—sometimes through metaphors in fantasy, sometimes through grounded emotional pieces. Fictional worlds allow me to talk about real-world struggles in ways that are both imaginative and honest. In that space between fantasy and reality, I find a kind of freedom to express deeper truths. In the end, I create art because it feels like my purpose. It's how I process the world, understand myself, and connect with others. My art is both a window and a mirror: a window into imagined realities and a mirror that reflects emotional truths. If someone sees my work and feels something stir inside them—curiosity, nostalgia, courage, or even discomfort—then I’ve done my job. That’s the kind of impact I hope to continue making with every piece I create.