Growing up in the Southern suburbs, I found that I always enjoyed a change of scenery. Driving downtown to the dense city where I could look up to see my view of the sky crowded with angular shapes and leading lines was always something that I looked forward to. I found that the geometry that I was fond of was reflective of my inner need for consistency. I am someone that values my individuality, someone with a schedule not to be interrupted. However, the older I got, the more I realized that I struggled with going at my own pace. I held high expectations of my capabilities, oftentimes unable to attain my own self inflicted prospects. In my photography, I noticed that my compositions favored one with lines, leading my view from one corner to another, uninterrupted and angular. Cityscapes easily being my favorite, my photography always emphasizing my personality, but I felt unsatisfied with my photos. Looking at each piece, trying to line up the composition within the lens and only snapping the shot after moments of contemplation and hesitance left me with a stale, bland outcome, nothing like the cityscape that I loved. However, in an effort to break free from my own rigidity, I began to explore a different approach to my life. The idea of going with the flow, being in the moment without a plan, felt like something far from me. I opened myself up to the city on this journey. I weaved through the skyscrapers with no itinerary, snapping photos in a split second moment rather than meticulously stanced. Through this random, spur of the moment style photography, I was able to take photos of my favorite aspects of the city, framed perfectly within the angles that I loved. The satisfaction I craved was finally apparent. I felt as if some epiphany had broken through my artistic view of the world. Newfound love for composition struck me with inspiration. A self portrait. I had always shied away from self portraits. They were meant to capture the organic intricacies of one’s face. Fear of feeling reproached by my own portrait kept me from trying, but the revelation of a new spur of the moment approach opened me to new aspects of myself that I wanted to capture. The last of the portfolio is this; my journey, a spectrum of myself.

Two years ago, I was sitting in my school’s art class, engrossed in perfecting my sketching assignment. I was vigorously hatching away, hunched over my paper; a very typical day for me as art is ingrained in my everyday life. Suddenly, as if I had lost all control of my hand, my grip slacked and began trembling. My vision became clouded with orange and there was an unexplainable pain that was making its way down my back and into my thigh. To my dismay, this instance would continue to be the first of many future flare ups. I had found that I developed a chronic case of both sciatica and carpal tunnel, Living with chronic pain for the last two years has forced me into the position of having to decide which hobbies and skills weren’t worth pursuing. I could no longer crochet without my wrist going numb, had to make accommodations as I could no longer hold a paintbrush steady, and had to now entirely re-shift my perspective of how I was going to approach my art from then on. My limited mobility was preventing me from sitting for hours on end, no longer able to engross myself into a piece without having to all together stop for the day. I absolutely resented my body for seemingly giving up on me. However, I then came to the realization that unless I found an accessible way to continue art, I would grow to be without ambition, dulling my sense of creativity, and I was determined to never let that happen. I had always known from a young age that I was going to be an artist. I hadn’t quite figured out which kind but I knew that I was going to pursue art college. While initially, I had more of an inclination towards fine arts rather than design, with traditional means becoming increasingly difficult to continue, I used that opportunity to open my perspective to new fields. Through my new need for an expanded scope of the arts, I joined classes which were strictly related to digital mediums. Had chronic pain not forced its way into my life, photo editing and animation classes would not have appealed to me, but now, I have grown to enjoy 3D modeling and editing softwares. As my understanding of artistic myself expanded, I found a career path that intrigued me. Product design became something that I wanted to pursue, specifically in the sense that I would be able to create something that could help not only me, but potentially an entire community of those struggling with the same frustration of having to slow down their pursuit of their passions out of necessity. I found myself an extensive list of programs in art colleges that I knew I could make the best out of, and after spending months applying, I am now a proud, future student at Rhode Island School of Design. Looking back at myself two years ago, naïve and resentful of my body, I hope to make myself, as well as others like me, proud by being able to help further the opportunities of accessibility and design. As a new admit however, I am faced with a hefty wall of fees and tuition. I am in need of financial assistance in order to be able to make the most of my future opportunities. Being able to enter the league of renowned designers who have improved the world would be a dream, one that I know I can attain with my merit but one that I know I need the support for as well.

Two years ago, I was sitting in my school’s art class, engrossed in perfecting my sketching assignment. I was vigorously hatching away, hunched over my paper; a very typical day for me as art is ingrained in my everyday life. Suddenly, as if I had lost all control of my hand, my grip slacked and began trembling. My vision became clouded with orange and there was an unexplainable pain that was making its way down my back and into my thigh. To my dismay, this instance would continue to be the first of many future flare ups. I had found that I developed a chronic case of both sciatica and carpal tunnel, Living with chronic pain for the last two years has forced me into the position of having to decide which hobbies and skills weren’t worth pursuing. I could no longer crochet without my wrist going numb, had to make accommodations as I could no longer hold a paintbrush steady, and had to now entirely re-shift my perspective of how I was going to approach my art from then on. My limited mobility was preventing me from sitting for hours on end, no longer able to engross myself into a piece without having to all together stop for the day. I absolutely resented my body for seemingly giving up on me. However, I then came to the realization that unless I found an accessible way to continue art, I would grow to be without ambition, dulling my sense of creativity, and I was determined to never let that happen. I had always known from a young age that I was going to be an artist. I hadn’t quite figured out which kind but I knew that I was going to pursue art college. While initially, I had more of an inclination towards fine arts rather than design, with traditional means becoming increasingly difficult to continue, I used that opportunity to open my perspective to new fields. Through my new need for an expanded scope of the arts, I joined classes which were strictly related to digital mediums. Had chronic pain not forced its way into my life, photo editing and animation classes would not have appealed to me, but now, I have grown to enjoy 3D modeling and editing softwares. As my understanding of artistic myself expanded, I found a career path that intrigued me. Product design became something that I wanted to pursue, specifically in the sense that I would be able to create something that could help not only me, but potentially an entire community of those struggling with the same frustration of having to slow down their pursuit of their passions out of necessity. I found myself an extensive list of programs in art colleges that I knew I could make the best out of, and after spending months applying, I am now a proud, future student at Rhode Island School of Design. Looking back at myself two years ago, naïve and resentful of my body, I hope to make myself, as well as others like me, proud by being able to help further the opportunities of accessibility and design. As a new admit however, I am faced with a hefty wall of fees and tuition. I am in need of financial assistance in order to be able to make the most of my future opportunities. Being able to enter the league of renowned designers who have improved the world would be a dream, one that I know I can attain with my merit but one that I know I need the support for as well.

Two years ago, I was sitting in my school’s art class, engrossed in perfecting my sketching assignment. I was vigorously hatching away, hunched over my paper; a very typical day for me as art is ingrained in my everyday life. Suddenly, as if I had lost all control of my hand, my grip slacked and began trembling. My vision became clouded with orange and there was an unexplainable pain that was making its way down my back and into my thigh. To my dismay, this instance would continue to be the first of many future flare ups. I had found that I developed a chronic case of both sciatica and carpal tunnel, Living with chronic pain for the last two years has forced me into the position of having to decide which hobbies and skills weren’t worth pursuing. I could no longer crochet without my wrist going numb, had to make accommodations as I could no longer hold a paintbrush steady, and had to now entirely re-shift my perspective of how I was going to approach my art from then on. My limited mobility was preventing me from sitting for hours on end, no longer able to engross myself into a piece without having to all together stop for the day. I absolutely resented my body for seemingly giving up on me. However, I then came to the realization that unless I found an accessible way to continue art, I would grow to be without ambition, dulling my sense of creativity, and I was determined to never let that happen. I had always known from a young age that I was going to be an artist. I hadn’t quite figured out which kind but I knew that I was going to pursue art college. While initially, I had more of an inclination towards fine arts rather than design, with traditional means becoming increasingly difficult to continue, I used that opportunity to open my perspective to new fields. Through my new need for an expanded scope of the arts, I joined classes which were strictly related to digital mediums. Had chronic pain not forced its way into my life, photo editing and animation classes would not have appealed to me, but now, I have grown to enjoy 3D modeling and editing softwares. As my understanding of artistic myself expanded, I found a career path that intrigued me. Product design became something that I wanted to pursue, specifically in the sense that I would be able to create something that could help not only me, but potentially an entire community of those struggling with the same frustration of having to slow down their pursuit of their passions out of necessity. I found myself an extensive list of programs in art colleges that I knew I could make the best out of, and after spending months applying, I am now a proud, future student at Rhode Island School of Design. Looking back at myself two years ago, naïve and resentful of my body, I hope to make myself, as well as others like me, proud by being able to help further the opportunities of accessibility and design. As a new admit however, I am faced with a hefty wall of fees and tuition. I am in need of financial assistance in order to be able to make the most of my future opportunities. Being able to enter the league of renowned designers who have improved the world would be a dream, one that I know I can attain with my merit but one that I know I need the support for as well.

Two years ago, I was sitting in my school’s art class, engrossed in perfecting my sketching assignment. I was vigorously hatching away, hunched over my paper; a very typical day for me as art is ingrained in my everyday life. Suddenly, as if I had lost all control of my hand, my grip slacked and began trembling. My vision became clouded with orange and there was an unexplainable pain that was making its way down my back and into my thigh. To my dismay, this instance would continue to be the first of many future flare ups. I had found that I developed a chronic case of both sciatica and carpal tunnel, Living with chronic pain for the last two years has forced me into the position of having to decide which hobbies and skills weren’t worth pursuing. I could no longer crochet without my wrist going numb, had to make accommodations as I could no longer hold a paintbrush steady, and had to now entirely reshift my perspective of how I was going to approach my art from then on. My limited mobility was preventing me from sitting for hours on end, no longer able to engross myself into a piece without having to all together stop for the day. I absolutely resented my body for seemingly giving up on me. However, I then came to the realization that unless I found an accessible way to continue art, I would grow to be without ambition, dulling my sense of creativity, and I was determined to never let that happen. I had always known from a young age that I was going to be an artist. I hadn’t quite figured out which kind but I knew that I was going to pursue art college. While initially, I had more of an inclination towards fine arts rather than design, with traditional means becoming increasingly difficult to continue, I used that opportunity to open my perspective to new fields. Through my new need for an expanded scope of the arts, I joined classes which were strictly related to digital mediums. Had chronic pain not forced its way into my life, photo editing and animation classes would not have appealed to me, but now, I have grown to enjoy 3D modeling and editing softwares. As my understanding of artistic myself expanded, I found a career path that intrigued me. Product design became something that I wanted to pursue, specifically in the sense that I would be able to create something that could help not only me, but potentially an entire community of those struggling with the same frustration of having to slow down their pursuit of their passions out of necessity. I found myself an extensive list of programs in art colleges that I knew I could make the best out of, and after spending months applying, I am now a proud, future student at Rhode Island School of Design. Looking back at myself two years ago, naïve and resentful of my body, I hope to make myself, as well as others like me, proud by being able to help further the opportunities of accessibility and design. As a new admit however, I am faced with a hefty wall of fees and tuition. I am in need of financial assistance in order to be able to make the most of my future opportunities. Being able to enter the league of renowned designers who have improved the world would be a dream, one that I know I can attain with my merit but one that I know I need the support for as well.

Two years ago, I was sitting in my school’s art class, engrossed in perfecting my sketching assignment. I was vigorously hatching away, hunched over my paper; a very typical day for me as art is ingrained in my everyday life. Suddenly, as if I had lost all control of my hand, my grip slacked and began trembling. My vision became clouded with orange and there was an indescribable pain that was making its way down my back and into my thigh. To my dismay, this instance would continue to be the first of many future flare ups. I had found that I developed a chronic case of both sciatica and carpal tunnel, Living with chronic pain for the last two years has forced me into the position of having to decide which hobbies and skills weren’t worth pursuing. I could no longer crochet without my wrist going numb, had to make accommodations as I could no longer hold a paintbrush steady, and had to now entirely re-shift my perspective of how I was going to approach my art from then on. My limited mobility was preventing me from sitting for hours on end, no longer able to engross myself into a piece without having to all together stop for the day. I absolutely resented my body for seemingly giving up on me. However, I then came to the realization that unless I found an accessible way to continue art, I would grow to be without ambition, dulling my sense of creativity, and I was determined to never let that happen. I had always known from a young age that I was going to be an artist. I hadn’t quite figured out which kind but I knew that I was going to pursue art college. While initially, I had more of an inclination towards fine arts rather than design, with traditional means becoming increasingly difficult to continue, I used that opportunity to open my perspective to new fields. Through my new need for an expanded scope of the arts, I joined classes which were strictly related to digital mediums. Had chronic pain not forced its way into my life, photo editing and animation classes would not have appealed to me, but now, I have grown to enjoy 3-D modeling and editing softwares. As my understanding of artistic myself expanded, I found a career path that intrigued me. Product design became something that I wanted to pursue, specifically in the sense that I would be able to create something that could help not only me, but potentially an entire community of those struggling with the same frustration of having to slow down their pursuit of their passions out of necessity. I found myself an extensive list of programs in art colleges that I knew I could make the best out of, and after spending months applying, I am now a proud, future student at Rhode Island School of Design. Looking back at myself two years ago, naive and resentful of my body, I hope to make myself, as well as others like me, proud by being able to help further the opportunities of accessibility and design. As a new admit however, I am faced with a hefty wall of fees and tuition. I am in need of financial assistance in order to be able to make the most of my future opportunities. Being able to enter the league of renowned designers who have improved the world would be a dream, one that I know I can attain with my merit but one that I know I need the support for as well.

Moving to California at the start of my high school was initially a chaotic event filled with resentment and grief, however, soon after adjusting, came to be a flourishing educational community where my teachers and peers were both a challenge and a motivation. Finding such an amazingly diverse community where even teachers were vocal about the celebration of identities struck me. I had grown up in Southern Texas, there was no community in which I fit in, and I had grown used to teachers turning a blind eye to hate and ignorance. Believing that that was the norm, I was in awe of my new school’s close knit community and their welcoming arms that embraced me made me want to be more than just a friend, I wanted to contribute. I had joined a culture club in my junior year through the encouragement of a friend who was part of the club’s board. While I was only one of a handful of members, being able to contribute to my community by aiding in the organization of school culture events made me swell with pride. With my club, we managed a day where students were encouraged to wear traditional cultural attire to school. We had spent a week creating posters and drawings for this day, becoming closer as friends as we did. The build up to that day was nerve racking, as we had no idea how many people would actually show up, and in the morning of, I came to school with my traditional Korean dress. Walking into school early and hardly seeing anyone in anything but the typical jeans and a hoodie made me feel out of place. I was nervous that the work we put into this event was for nothing, but when it was time for lunch and all my fellow club members came together, side by side with me in their colorful cultural clothes, my anxiety dissipated. In the end, the day was a success and I had learned a lot about myself. When teachers and peers gathered around with piqued interest and celebration, I realized something about my ambitions. I found that I desired to be a part of something similar to this, but bigger. I always had an interest in art, and being able to incorporate creativity into the club posters and clothing opened my eyes. I loved the community of fellow artists who also incorporated their values into their work. I wanted to contribute further to worldly issues, creating communities through celebrations and art, with creativity and colors and customs. After this, I voiced my interest in attending an art school for college to my school’s animation teacher, she reacted with excitement and celebration, as did many of the other teachers who I told. The encouragement was enlightening, as I had always had reservations about this dream. The financial strain that I knew would come with art school and the work ethic that I knew I would need made me unsure of my capabilities. Only until I realized that all my beloved teachers fully believed in me did I fully commit to this aspiration. Now, only because of their support, I have applied to art colleges all across the country. Their words of encouragement will follow me to the future, where I know that while I may struggle, I always know that there is a community that I too want to create for the future generations.

This piece is incredibly personal to me in that it is a culmination of my identity. I am a first generation Korean American, and for the majority of my life, I was raised in a very Southern part of Texas. I always struggled with cementing myself in my community, especially since my appearance always stood out. The illustration is a characterization of my self acceptance, a representation of how my experiences helped shape me to be the person I am today. For as long as I can remember, my face always garnered unwanted attention from my blue-eyed peers. My parents and their friends did what they could to make me feel accepted, and this included raising me with traditional Korean ideals, politeness being constantly ingrained into every action and word. However, trying to endure ignorant comments and pointed looks, followed by loud, confrontational shouting made it nearly impossible to maintain the composure that my parents had expected of me. I grew immensely frustrated, my shy, timid self unable to put up a defense. What sense did it make for them to ostracize me for my looks and my culture? It ate away at me, I despised being so helpless and alone, all I wanted was to be able to jeer back at the racism without my voice shaking pathetically. Unfortunately, for all the tears I shed in private, it took me years to be able to break out of that shell. Eventually, years later, I moved to California. Suddenly, I was surrounded by people who looked like me, ate like me, and spoke like me. I was star-struck by the sheer amount of local establishments that were owned by Koreans, and the excitement I felt when I first looked around my classroom to see more than a fourth of my peers were the same as me was a feeling that I can barely describe. However, this excitement dwindled quickly when I realized that even now, I still felt ostracized. I couldn’t speak my native language as fluently, I was unfamiliar with many dishes, and in my past efforts to guard myself, I had grown much more “Texan” in personality than I had realized. I had become guarded, always on the defense, glaring at any remarks and retorting back with jeers. This too caused me to feel isolated. The culture shock of being around quiet, reserved peers coupled with my insecurities rendered me feeling unsure of myself once more. Now, as the beginning of a new chapter approaches my life, I have finally found what it was that made me so uneasy. Unearthing aspects of my personality, recognizing why I am the way that I am, all opened my eyes to the realization that there was no need to fit in. I am a unique cultural combination, raised with juxtaposing ideals, there was no place for me to blend into. This drawing is just that; the cultural turmoil creating a person in me both persistent and grounded. The red lasso is shown expressing the long, toiling journey that I went through, and how those memories still surround me continually. I can find my place in the world by forcing my way through the obstacles I know are ahead of me, without the shame of ostracization. This piece is representative of my unabashed self, cultures unified within my individuality.

During Covid-19, I entered my freshman year of high school. I was living in Houston, Texas at the time and had been residing there for the past 12 years. Due to Texas’s lax regulations, I had been in online school for middle school for about a year and was permitted to return to in-person class during high school. After a year of isolation I was excited to come back, and upon my return, I was greeted with friends and new opportunities. My Texas high school offered multiple electives that I was adamant to explore, including a sculpture class, a ceramics class and a painting class. I took the prerequisite Drawing 101 class as a freshmen, and excited with the thought of the rest of my high school being filled with opportunities, I was set on my path as a future art student. However, this excitement was short lived as I was abruptly forced to move out of state to California after just my first semester in high school due to my father’s job. I was given a two month notice to pack up all my belongings and to say my goodbyes to my friends and family who I had known since I was 2 years old. On top of that, my grandfather had passed during that time so I was met with an unprecedented amount of chaos which I did not know how to handle. After moving to Cypress, to my dismay, I found that my new school was still online and that the classes that my old school offered were no longer available here. All the plans and dreams I had set out were interrupted and there was no way for me to get back onto that path. After a year of adjusting, when school finally came back to in-person, I had to rethink my entire plan. The only art related electives I could take were all computer based, which I had no interest or experience in. This forced me to fill my schedules with classes I never thought I’d want. However, this ended up being a blessing in disguise. By taking my first animation class and photography class, I found that I was able to utilize my technical skills from traditional art into my technology based art. I grew to expand my understanding of design and realized that I actually wanted to pursue a future career in something that combined both my pre-existing interests and my new-found love for digital art. Had it not been for the move, I wouldn’t have been able to explore this side of me and I am grateful for the experience and friendships that I have made along the way. As of now, with everything I have learned through the course of my high school journey, I have dedicated my new found interests into my future. I have grown to be more resilient and to utilize what is available to me to further my ambitions. The person I am now is much more confident in my art, now having been accepted to multiple prestigious art institutions, I have a new plan in motion. I will continue my art endeavor through a career in product design and I am infinitely grateful for the change that I had resented for so long before.

From a young age, I was an avid reader, taking virtually any moment of free time to read whatever new book I had just bought from the thrift store. The words leapt off from the pages creating vivid images in my head that only I could see. When asked by my teachers or parents if I enjoyed my book, I could hardly describe my love for the story to them, unable to communicate the colors and movements the book invoked. While reading, I wouldn’t envision the scenario that the author had written for me, instead, stories were full of what seemed like meaningless shapes. Each letter and number each had its color, and as I would read, these colors would swirl together in a nonsensical dance of swirling and swaying, but explaining this to people was frustrating. Making sense of the fact that the letter U was a bright yellow color, or that the word “immediately” was a sharp green that turns red was utter nonsense to anyone curious. My inability to get others to understand what I could so clearly see caused distress in my young, irrational mind and made me question if I would even be able to navigate life correctly. However, I came to find out that the colors I saw glowing within each letter was a phenomenon called synesthesia. I randomly stumbled across this information when I came across an online video of an artist who also had the same thing. They talked about how people’s names evoked different colors and they had created a series of paintings, each painted with the colors in reference to the selected name. This sparked my interest. Maybe I could use art as a medium to express what I could see. Prior to this realization, art had been just a hobby. I had enjoyed picking up new skills such as sewing, crocheting, painting, and drawing, but had never seen them as anything more. But with this, my entire outlook on art widened, I could create works that could show people what I so deeply desired to share. By the time middle school came around, I began experimenting with sculptural elements in my art. This piqued my interest in a way that nothing else had. I realized that I wanted the rest of my life to be filled with art, I wanted to learn as many possible mediums as I could and turn it into a career to sustain the rest of my life. I was hungry for an art education, but the fact that it was inaccessible to me in my middle school made my tiny pre-teen heart ache. Thankfully, however, I ended up moving to California right in the middle of my freshman year of high school, and the new school I was enrolled into gave me a plethora of options. I explored digital arts, delved into a more comprehensive painting class, and by then, I knew that no part of my future could make me happy in a different career field. By now, my scope of the arts is broadening and what was once an indescribable mashing of colors can now be shown through my hands. Even with what I have learned now, I still crave to learn. As a senior in high school, accumulating my work into a portfolio has assured me that art college is the next step in my life, a place where I can further grow my understanding, to share to people how I perceive the world and to also see how others do as well.

From a young age, I was an avid reader, taking virtually any moment of free time to read whatever new book I had just bought from the thrift store. The words leapt off from the pages creating vivid images in my head that only I could see. When asked by my teachers or parents if I enjoyed my book, I could hardly describe my love for the story to them, unable to communicate the colors and movements the book invoked. While reading, I wouldn’t envision the scenario that the author had written for me, instead, stories were full of what seemed like meaningless shapes. Each letter and number had its own color, and as I would read, these colors would swirl together in a nonsensical dance of swirling and swaying, but explaining this to people was frustrating. Making sense of the fact that the letter U was a bright yellow color, or that the word “immediately” was a sharp green that turned red was utter nonsense to anyone curious. My inability to get others to understand what I could so clearly see caused distress in my young, irrational mind and made me question if I would even be able to navigate life correctly. However, I came to find out that the colors I saw glowing within each letter was a phenomenon called synesthesia. I randomly stumbled across this information when I came across an online video of an artist who also had the same thing. They talked about how people’s names evoked different colors and they had created a series of paintings, each painted with the colors in reference to the selected name. This sparked my interest. Maybe I could use art as a medium to express what I could see. Prior to this realization, art had been just a hobby. I had enjoyed picking up new skills such as sewing, crocheting, painting, and drawing, but had never seen them as anything more. But with this, my entire outlook on art widened, I could create works that could show people what I so deeply desired to share. By the time middle school came around, I began experimenting with sculptural elements in my art. This piqued my interest in a way that nothing else had. I realized that I wanted the rest of my life to be filled with art, I wanted to learn as many possible mediums as I could and turn it into a career to sustain the rest of my life. I was hungry for an art education, but the fact that it was inaccessible to me in my middle school made my tiny pre-teen heart ache. Thankfully however, I ended up moving to California right in the middle of my freshman year of high school, and the new school I was enrolled into gave me a plethora of options. I explored digital arts, delved into a more comprehensive painting class, and by then, I knew that no part of my future could make me happy in a different career field. By now, my scope of the arts is broadening and what was once an indescribable mashing of colors can now be shown through my hands. Even with what I have learned now, I still crave to learn. As a senior in high school, accumulating my work into a portfolio has assured me that art college is the next step in my life, a place where I can further grow my understanding, to share to people how I perceive the world and to also see how others do as well.

Understanding the nature of our universe is to understand a multitude of aspects of what makes up our lives. Humans are social creatures and we have the capacity to use our intelligence to understand the world around us, both scientifically and philosophically. Mankind is only a small portion of the vast universe, but what we define as humanity is made up of the universe, hence the importance of understanding its nature helps us better understand ourselves. One of the most intriguing aspects of our world is how nature is incredibly precise in its composition, not just in the way cells are uniquely but consistently built upon each other, but also in how nature has a masterful eye for art. Humans are wired to be drawn to visually appealing things, hence why art is such an integral part of our society. Human activity is surrounded by it, design is the essence of what makes our life unique. The artists of our time use nature’s composition as inspiration, everything that has been created by man was created with what the universe gave us. The world was man’s very first art teacher, guiding artists through example. This idea is something that I yearn to better understand, art is in everyone’s lives and I want my future to be part of that. When I so much as take a glimpse at what the universe created around me, the beauty of the world around me is apparent. The balance of both perfection and flaw are aspects that I desire to ingrain into my art. By utilizing nature as my teacher, I can gain a better understanding of visual appeal and composition. By working to develop my knowledge of the world, I can contribute to society with my art by employing my understanding of the universe’s eye for design. I’ve always looked up to designers of the past, whose work was the stepping stone to new eras of art. I noticed how some chose to focus on the abstract colors that nature gave us, while others created work that flowed with the curve of their material’s composition. I found that each revolutionary artist developed their art by learning about mankind and the world we live in, by learning about the universe, they better understood man. My ambition is that, as an aspiring artist and a designer, I can expand my scope of understanding on how composition is part of the nature of the universe. By creating art for others, based on what I learned, I hope to join the ranks of the extraordinary artists famous for their creations that reflect the world around them.

For the vast majority of my life, I had grown up in Houston, Texas. I had grown up with all my classmates, had close-knit friendships that had spanned over a decade, and the entirety of my father’s side of the family lived within a 30-minute drive from each other. Texas’s Covid regulations relaxed and school reopened at the start of 9th grade. I could meet my old friends again and I had made new ones too. My high school offered art electives that I was passionate about, and I began planning out what each future year would look like for me. Then, right as my aspirations bloomed with ambition, my father broke the news that our family would be moving. His job had sent us to Orange County and we had all of 2 months to pack up and leave behind everything. My excitement for my future came crashing down. I didn’t have a single idea of what life in California would be like, everything that I had thought was a certainty in my life suddenly hung in a balance. I was grasping for more time to say goodbye to everyone and I had so little time to pack away all my precious belongings that I had accrued in the past decade and a half. I was desperately making plans for last hangouts and final goodbyes to my loved ones, bawling when I had to repeat the news. After the first month passed, I was preparing myself to say some farewells during Thanksgiving break, still yearning for more time. Then, unexpectedly, my plans came to a screeching halt. My maternal grandfather in Maryland had just passed away, 2 days before Thanksgiving. We had to put everything on pause to attend his funeral. Selfishly, I cried that I was spending my last school break in Maryland instead of at home in Texas. I wasn’t particularly close with him, and neither was anyone else in the family, yet the guilt I felt for my childish selfishness ate away at me. It was a cruel, second reminder that nothing in my life was certain, and with his death, I lost my chance to say goodbye to not only him but also many of my friends. After this, I had spent the last month I had left in Texas crying in my empty room and in the arms of friends I would never see again. Arriving in California, having spent Christmas and New Year on the road moving instead of with my loved ones, left me feeling lost. My new high school didn’t offer a single elective that my old school did, and all the future opportunities that were just within my grasp were gone in an instant. On top of that, California had not lifted their quarantine restrictions so I was stuck doing online classes with no chance of making new friends. My naively ambitious future had swerved off its course just as it had started cruising. While I had to entirely rethink my future and make due with the severe disparity in available opportunities, I eventually came to find a new realization. My Texas school had offered me classes unavailable elsewhere, but that was compensation for the overall lack of options when it came to adulthood. In California, I found art colleges nearby and easily accessible resources for applications that would not have been available had I never moved. 15-year-old me was resentful of the change, but now, 18-year-old me is grateful for what adulthood here offers me.