Mind Game (2004) by Masaaki Yuasa isn’t just a movie I watched—it’s a film that rewired something in me. It’s chaotic, defiant, rule-breaking, and most of all, alive. That phrase near the end, “Your life is the result of your own decisions,” hit me like a jolt. It’s not just a neat ending—it’s a call to arms. The protagonist, Nishi, starts off passive, full of potential but stuck in hesitation—paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong move. That was me. I’ve always loved fashion and art, always been fascinated by how color, shape, and style could speak louder than words. But taking that love seriously? Pursuing it as a path? That felt terrifying. Like Nishi, I stood still at the edge of something I wanted, afraid to leap. But Mind Game didn’t just show me a character who changed—it dared me to do the same. One of the film’s most surreal scenes shows Nishi literally sprinting on air molecules, weightless and unstoppable. That’s how it feels when you stop waiting for life to happen and start living. When I began to create—not just doodle ideas, but actually make, to take risks in design, to push boundaries—I felt that same freedom. Like I was no longer constrained by what I thought I was supposed to be. In fashion, just like in Mind Game, nothing has to follow a template. The animation constantly shifts styles—pencil sketch, CG, hyperrealism, pure abstraction—and in my own art, I’ve started embracing that same mindset. My designs now draw from the unpredictable: warped proportions, clashing textures, bold silhouettes that feel like motion frozen in time. I stopped designing what I thought people wanted, and started designing what I needed to say. After the film, I finally signed up for a local sewing class I had been putting off for over a year. I started reconstructing thrift store pieces, turning old denim into asymmetrical skirts and jackets with exaggerated sleeves—designs that broke rules intentionally. I remember one specific piece: a coat with mismatched panels, patchwork textures, and chaotic stitching inspired by the ever-shifting animation in Mind Game. It was the first time I let go of the idea that my work had to be perfect—it just had to be me. I also began posting my work online, something I used to be terrified of. I expected criticism or indifference, but instead, I found people connecting with the story behind my designs. Just like how Mind Game blends absurdity with sincerity, I realized my best work came from embracing imperfection and emotion, not avoiding it. Mind Game made me realize that ambition isn’t some natural-born quality—it’s a decision. And like Nishi, I decided to run toward the life I wanted, not away from it.

In my work, I find the everyday world around me to be a boundless source of inspiration. Much like Terry Masters, whose plein air paintings celebrated the beauty of nature, I am drawn to the quiet and powerful moments that unfold in the natural. One of my works, Winter Branches, explores the memories of a cold winter morning spent in solitude. It was a time when the landscape was still, save for the sharp wind and the crackling of icy branches. As I painted, I recalled the way the morning light refracted off the frozen surface of a pond, and the way the landscape seemed to hold both stillness and movement at once. Through painterly techniques like angular, gestural brushstrokes, and the delicate drips of runny pigment, I sought to recreate the raw elements I experienced—icy branches swaying slightly in the cold wind, and the reflective surface of the frozen water. The semi-transparent washes of bright blue that I applied evoke the coldness of winter, while the strokes of magenta, viridian green, and yellow ochre bring warmth to the piece, reminding me of the quiet hope that accompanies the season's harsh beauty. These colors and strokes not only represent what I saw, but they also embody what I felt as I stood alone in that quiet, frigid landscape. My artistic process is deeply rooted in this connection to nature. Whether it’s a chilly winter morning, the heat of a desert afternoon, or the cool, crisp air of a spring dawn, I am always searching for the ways in which nature moves and changes. Just as Terry loved to explore the Southern California desert for inspiration, my work becomes a dialogue between myself and the world around me, as I respond to the shifting light, colors textures of the environment.

The quote, "You must address the past when looking to the future," by Ai Wei Wei, has guided my artistic journey, particularly in creating Recovered Legacy. This wood-stained charcoal drawing explores my family's history. My great-grandfather, Zhu Bin, founded the largest architectural firm in China during the Republic of China era and was the first Chinese student in the University of Pennsylvania’s architecture program in 1918. During the Cultural Revolution, when the government confiscated civilian’s private property and conducted house raids, my family lost their belongings, home, and fled to Hong Kong. As a result, I didn’t fully understand this part of my heritage while growing up. To uncover my great-grandfather's work, I scoured family archives. I reached out to the director of architecture at the University of Pennsylvania, where my great-grandfather was the first Chinese student admitted to the architecture program in 1918. I visited the UPenn archives and discovered several photographs, blueprints, and documents of his career. These materials became the foundation of Recovered Legacy, not only as visual references of my grandfather's Legacy but also as reminders of what is lost to history. Research is now a massive part of my artistic process. For me, this research became a bridge to reconnect with aspects of my Chinese heritage- such as the impact of the Cultural Revolution and the connection of Chinese immigrants in America using dry cleaning to support themselves, which I hadn't fully explored before. Themes of loss and restoration inspired the imagery I chose to integrate into this piece. The central image is the Temple of Heaven, a structure that my great-grandfather worked on restoring. I included bamboo scaffolding used throughout China. This motif has personal significance, linking my family's roots in China with my current life in NYC, where scaffolding is a ubiquitous part of the urban, industrial landscape. This parallel speaks to the constant tension between preservation and construction, overlapping with the past and present, a core theme of my work as a visual artist. This work has been both an act of reclamation and a conduit for personal exploration. It has allowed me to connect my family's fractured Legacy with the potential of what can be rebuilt. As I worked on this piece, I realized that the act of creation was an emotional, intergenerational reckoning with the hidden silences in my family's history. Recovered Legacy has fundamentally altered my perception of art. It's no longer just a means to express my thoughts and emotions; it's a powerful tool for unearthing concealed histories and resurrecting what is forgotten. Recovered Legacy has also taught me that art can serve as a bridge between the past and the future, showing that what was lost can still be reclaimed. Through this process, I've come to see myself not only as a creator but also as a storyteller and historian. I'm committed to recovering and sharing the narratives that shape our identities.

My aunt used to show me pieces of embroidery she saved from old Chinese qipao dresses. The dresses had worn out, so she carefully cut the embroidered sections to preserve the intricate artwork. As she told me about the stories behind each piece, she used fashion to explore identity and cultural storytelling. Fashion is not just about clothes; it is also about keeping memories and traditions alive. Design transforms objects from the past to tell new stories about who we are. My first fashion emotion was refreshing—I felt a sense of freedom and excitement as I observed my peers at my arts-based high school in New York City. Their unique, hands-on approach to fashion was inspiring; classmates would personalize their clothing by adding extra pockets, painting fabrics, or creating accessories with art supplies. These creative modifications weren’t just about fashion—they were a reflection of their individuality and growth. The freshness of seeing how they used clothing to express their identities made me realize the power of personal style and how fashion can be a dynamic form of self-expression. Trading clothes with them felt like a direct, tangible exchange of ideas, allowing me to engage with their uniqueness in a much more personal way than simply viewing fashion online. I want to study fashion because it is constantly evolving, offering a perpetual sense of renewal. Fashion feels like a breath of fresh air—an ever-changing way to engage with and explore not only my own identity but also the identities of others. Just as I saw the value in my aunt's preservation of embroidery from old Chinese qipao dresses, I aim to breathe new life into cultural traditions and explore how fashion bridges cultural memory with contemporary innovation. One example is my lantern dress, inspired by the "Light Up Chinatown" initiative. This community-led effort, designed to support businesses impacted by COVID-19, uses lanterns as symbols of resilience and hope. In creating this garment, I wanted to encapsulate that spirit of Chinatown—a community that has shaped my family’s history. Through this design, I celebrate the cultural legacy of Chinatown while exploring how creative expression can uplift local communities. As I navigate my dual identity as both a New Yorker and a Chinese American, the stories and traditions of my family continually inform my artistic vision. These narratives influence how I perceive the world and inspire the work I create. I have come to realize that fashion, in particular, offers a unique opportunity to merge self-expression with cultural preservation. Clothing is both intimate and external; it wraps around the body while simultaneously telling a story about the self to the world. Through fashion, I can give form to the tension between the personal and the public, using garments to express the interplay between heritage, cultural influences, and personal transformation.

In today’s increasingly globalized world, the loss of cultural identity and heritage is a pressing concern. As a first-generation Chinese American, this challenge weighs heavily on me. How can we preserve the richness of our diverse communities in the face of a relentless push for uniformity? Through my artistic work, I strive to honor and celebrate the cultural narratives that have shaped my identity, while contributing to a broader conversation about cultural preservation. Art has become a powerful vehicle for change in my life, a way for me to preserve and showcase my heritage. One example is my lantern dress, inspired by the "Light Up Chinatown" initiative. This community-led effort, designed to support businesses impacted by COVID-19, uses lanterns as symbols of resilience and hope. In creating this garment, I wanted to encapsulate that spirit of Chinatown—a community that has shaped my family’s history. Through this design, I celebrate the cultural legacy of Chinatown while exploring how creative expression can uplift local communities. As I navigate my dual identity as both a New Yorker and a Chinese American, the stories and traditions of my family continually inform my artistic vision. These narratives influence how I perceive the world and inspire the work I create. I have come to realize that fashion, in particular, offers a unique opportunity to merge self-expression with cultural preservation. Clothing is both intimate and external—it physically envelops the body while presenting a narrative of the self to the world. Through my designs, I aim to create garments that not only enhance comfort but also tell meaningful stories about heritage, identity, and resilience. A significant influence on my artistic journey is my great-grandfather, Zhu Bin, who founded the largest architectural firm in China during the Republic of China era. He was also the first Chinese student in the University of Pennsylvania’s architecture program in 1918. However, during the Cultural Revolution, my family lost everything—our home, possessions, and more—forcing them to flee to Hong Kong. Growing up, I didn’t fully understand the weight of this part of my heritage. My journey into understanding my family’s past began with rediscovering my great-grandfather’s work. As I studied his archives, I felt my history come alive. Faded ink and cracked paper became a bridge to a forgotten narrative of silenced Chinese art and culture. Reclaiming his legacy wasn’t just about recovering the past; it was about empowering myself and my family to give voice to stories that had been overlooked for generations. His architectural work, which integrated both Chinese traditions and Western influences, serves as a guiding inspiration in my own creative process. This journey has transformed my view of art. No longer just a means of self-expression, art has become a tool for personal discovery and cultural reclamation. Whether through fashion, painting, or illustration, I draw from my family’s heritage to create work that celebrates and honors our history. By reinterpreting traditional patterns or drawing inspiration from my great-grandfather’s designs, I seek to reclaim cultural narratives that have been forgotten or suppressed. As I look toward the future, I am deeply aware of the responsibility to preserve my family’s legacy for the next generation. I often wonder how my future children will engage with their cultural heritage—will they embrace the Chinese language, traditions, and cuisine, or will these vital aspects fade into the background? The thought of losing my family’s memories and legacy fills me with deep concern. Yet it also motivates me to continue creating work that bridges the past and present, ensuring that our stories are remembered and valued by future generations.

The arts play a huge role in my life. Ever since I was young I have been attracted to the beauty of being able to create. I know I want to be an artist when I am older. “Refocus your attention on what you find more important.” my mom told me. In my artwork, I am inspired by the environment that makes me who I am, growing up in a city with a vast difference of people and opportunities. Instead of just observing life passively with no purpose, I want to be in it, creating art that reflects my own experiences and thoughts to share with others. With this scholarship fund, I plan to go to art college to become a better artist and establish new connections with like-minded people. Also, I hope to set up my own scholarship fund to give back to young people who also want to pursue arts as a career. I have interned at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in objects conservation, the Brooklyn Museum in arts education, a Sage and Coombe architecture mentorship, a studio assistant in painting, and the 92NY working in the arts department, organizing NYC Teen Arts Week which promotes arts and cultural institutions to teenagers. Through these experiences, I have reinforced my choice to pursue an art career. I was also able to meet many people in the arts industry to connect back with. I’ve learned the importance of advocating for myself, such as taking the initiative to introduce myself to people or when pitching an idea to the whole cohort. For example, by speaking out on my want to study piano, I was able to get funded for private lessons at the 92NY. I'm participating weekly in programs like NYCSalt and Cooper Union learning photography, DCTV learning filmmaking, and Ashcan's fashion design and illustration portfolio prep. For college, I have joined programs in ArtsConnection, which gives college and career help to art-oriented teens. I learned a lot about career paths in the arts, networking, and interviewing skills, and made my own resume and cover letter which helped me apply to all of my internships. Also, I have the privilege to be in an arts high school and to be surrounded by other artists. Because of this, I like to volunteer for school performances, shows, and events because they all align with my interests in art and I get to meet a lot of creative people who inspire me. Moreover, I am a part of the student art show team which helps curate, set up, and advertise the shows. Choosing to go to art school I have surrounded myself with a community that can support and inspire me in my art path. I have a strong desire and commitment to work towards my goals. My philosophy is to ask myself the question: “Does this action support my goals?” I always remind myself to overcome trivial distractions and stay focused on my goals as an artist, rather than to get overwhelmed by whatever is the shiniest, next exciting thing. My family would often tell me to not pursue art and do something that “makes more money” but I believe that I should stay true to myself. I realize that I become 100 times more productive when I am working on something I truly care about, and not living for someone else's. I know in my heart the unique excitement of being surrounded by art, and I will continue to work hard to keep that in my life.