Seven years. Seven years until I understood the contents of one of the two worst days of my life. Dad wasn’t there to pick us up at 5 that day, neither was Lorenzo, my brother. It was fine though, I could see home and run there in 20 seconds flat! Work was running late, Renzo was at a friend’s. Distraught, tried, worried. Every word falling from my father’s mouth was plagued with guilt, anger, and prayers for good luck, tears falling again like so close before. He hadn’t been running late from work at all, he hadn’t been at work all day, rather the hospital, praying for his firstborn, his oldest son, one of his pride and joys. Lorenzo seemed so strong but he was broken down too, he still was a kid just like the rest of us; skipping school, again, to take care of Luke while he was sick might have been the best thing he could do that day. If he wasn’t there Luke would have died on the spot from the heart attack; if he wasn’t there he wouldn’t have to witness the beginning of the end. When I finally was allowed to visit, NiChole refused to come. She was 12 and couldn’t emotionally handle it. I was 8 and simply wanted to ‘see Lukey’. His head was shaved from terrible knots and head lice, and his body was hooked up to more machines than I care to even try to think about. She showed me a picture of him before I went in so I could be prepared. It didn’t help because I didn’t care, I was fine. Cold, pale, limp, beauty mark, rosary, hospital ID band, IV. His hand felt so strange a --hand I held a million and one times-- felt like a stranger’s. I remember holding on for a few seconds… I wish it was so much longer. He looked like he was asleep but, no. A coma is a rest that you can’t wake from. I can’t remember how my Dad, Lorenzo, or the nurse looked and acted that day. There are so many blurs; the room he was in is in a background of blue and a pull-around blind for patients. I can remember a few of the machines and the look of him on his bed, hooked up to keep him alive. I witnessed him as he was dying on a bed, I was at his funeral, I was there while people were crying deeply, I met teachers from this school giving condolences, I witnessed my family breaking down into deep depressions. It took me a few years to finally cry about it. I missed them every day but that doesn’t mean I understood. It took me 7 years to finally capture that I would never have them again. “Mom I’m so sorry, Luke please forgive me!” I had cried out --practically yelling to thin air-- hoping they could forgive me for not feeling this way sooner, not caring who was asleep during this late night. At least they could wake up. It took almost 8 years since the death of two of the most important figures in my life that I realized everyone is going to die, that I wasn’t immune to fate and neither was anyone else. At 15 years old I realized I am going to die, I haven’t accepted it and I biologically cannot yet. It’s a terrifying thought, that took a long night of crying and wondering who was going to be ripped from my arms next to even made me open the pandora's box of wonder. Possibly this is all about growing up, maybe it’s a traumatized brain finally accepting traumatized thoughts. It’s a probability that seeing the rosary that draped his wrist may hurt in a “thankful way for my life” type of way. I am not responsible for the deaths, but I can always work and talk with the ones I love to make sure they aren’t responsible for their own or worse, a terrible accident. Knowing one day that I’ll be no more than a speck of stardust in the timeline of the universe, that one day I shall meet my mortality. Since then I’ve held my time more preciously, making an attempt to appreciate every second I have left. I’ve been working my hardest in school, making healthy life choices, holding the ones I love dearly close, and telling them how much they truly mean to me. The day you are born, is the beginning of the end. Death is unavoidable but having a good ride is a choice. I strapped in.

My love for art started when I was very young, around three or four years old, if I had to guess. I was raised in a house full of creative minds spanning various mediums. Art reminds me of home; it reminds me to pause and appreciate what I see and have. When I was small, I would watch my older siblings sit at the table, drawing and drawing. Being so little, I didn't have much capacity to create anything better than a mess of colors without help. However, they would give me looks and explain what I liked and what could be improved—just kid things. My older brother, Lorenzo, took it upon himself to nurture my artistic side. He taught me how to create my own drawings, although I won't deny that a 12-year-old teaching a 6-year-old didn't always go smoothly. Nevertheless, it changed my life. Art became more of a pastime for me from the ages of six to eleven. When I turned eleven and gained access to the internet, I discovered that being an artist could be a profession. So I started researching art colleges late into the night, long before it even mattered, and I drew every day. Looking back, those early drawings were terrible, but they were mine, and I still cherish them—flaws and all. I would go to Lorenzo and ask for his thoughts, just as he did with me years ago. He would praise my work and offer tips, which I took to heart and used to improve my skills. By my senior year in high school, I had decided what I wanted to do with my life: pursue a career in art at a college I had fallen in love with during my four years of high school (it's good to be prepared, right?). I wrote a letter to my brother, thanking him for everything he had done for me. Lorenzo had long given up on art, fearing failure and being left with nothing and no one, but he never projected that onto me. He took his time to ensure I knew how to be prepared and not give up. In return, I reignited his passion, providing him with a hobby we could share and a rekindled love for art. Lorenzo Gallo is my favorite artist. It's not because he has created the best works I've ever seen, but because he is an artist who creates artists. A man who, even when doubting himself, would never make someone else miserable or worried, but instead, ensure that they strive for better. Art is love, and he embodies it fully.

I'm a girl from south jersey, the town of Pennsauken. It's not small enough that I know everyone but small enough that I find myself walking all over town, meeting people and enjoying what I have. I've always wanted to help people, give what I won't miss and others need. In the future, I plan to use my degree to the best of my ability on top of any other services, I am going into illustration and we all know that "a picture is worth a thousand words in any language". I plan to make pieces to show the struggles communities face, to show that we are all just humans trying to make it along our paths. To normalize what is completely normal is my goal. I vehemently believe that it is possible to change the minds of thousands if we can just get to them. I think what set me off on my path, or cemented it was when I was about 9 years old. It was very late at night, maybe around midnight or a little later. I was a night owl and it was the summer so I was enjoying some cartoons in my living room when I got a gut feeling to open my front door. That sounds like the start to a horror movie but I am glad I did. I peered out the door and took a step outside into the night on my porch when I heard the slap of sneakers on asphalt and a man come running down the street, not a panicked run but certainly urgent. He saw me and kept a distance but called out and asked for help. So I asked him what he needed, and all he needed was 5 dollars. I told him to wait and I asked my grandfather about helping him, which he denied to help and so I ran to my piggy bank and grabbed all the change I had, and gave it to the stranger. He gratitude he expressed was all I needed back, I hope he got what he needed, I hope he needed it for a good reason, I hope he's doing okay. I went back inside after doing all I could at 9 where I met my grandfather and he like the man blessed me for doing what I could. I want to be able to do more today. I'm no longer 9, I'm 18, an adult who wants to do what I can. I am in need myself, but I know I am better off than many and am thankful for all I have. Day by day, moment to moment we can create change and I want to be able to be that change for someone, for someplace. Each day I get closer and I feel the ripple of the changing tides, slow but steady.

As an aspiring artist, pursuing my passion has always been my top priority. However, the cost of pursuing a career in the arts can be immense, and the financial burden can be overwhelming at times. That's why I believe that a scholarship would be a tremendous help in my journey toward becoming a successful artist. Tuition costs rise every year, it can be difficult for students to afford the education they need to excel in their chosen field. A scholarship would allow me to focus more on my studies and less on the financial strain of paying for school. This would allow me to fully immerse myself in my coursework and take advantage of all the opportunities that come with being a student. In addition to reducing the financial burden of attending school, a scholarship would also provide me with the resources I need to excel in my art career. For example, with a scholarship, I would be able to afford the materials and equipment needed to create my art. This could include everything from paint and canvases to studio space and specialized tools. By having access to these resources, I could push the boundaries of my creativity and produce truly exceptional work. I've been passionate about art since I was a little kid, I come from a family of artists. Artists who gave up for one reason or another regret it. I don't want to follow that path, I want to make my mark on the world through making marks! Art is all I've ever known and all I want to know, but to get to where I want to be I need to continue to grow, and I ask you to help me get there. I have support emotionally from my family, but we are low-income. I cannot ask my dad for help, he needs to save his money to survive on his own, and when our mother passed it all got a lot harder. If the people in my life could, they would help me. They can't, and I can accept that and thank them for all that they've done already. I'm asking for the help of you now. I'm proud of my art, all the effort I put in, and the growth I've watched progress. I try to expand my horizon at every chance, take the leap and grow my branches further. I think a good example would be my graffiti mural below, a first try at something I had never done, but quickly fell in love with. I struggled in many ways with portraits and then I did the piece "Elenor" below, I couldn't create animals and then I dove in and found myself proud all over again. There is no can't, only not yet. I don't want college to be a not yet. Not when I've already fallen in love with my school.

When I wake up I find myself inspired by a lot of things I encounter, from the rays gleening in the morning through my blinds to the glimmer of the stars at night. My first love and my first muse is my biggest inspiration, the woods. Something about taking a stroll through the woods fills me with a renewal of artistic ability. My second love would be the sounds of the world, the twitter of birds and the bass of a song coming through the radio fills my head with images and ideas to put on paper. Every note is a new line, a feeling to be conveyed whether it be the art of mother nature or man. The art of the world inspires me, the art of others the art of a leaf falling from a tree. I am inspired by my ability to not just see but to look.

Being queer in this world is not a choice, but being yourself is. The anthem of the LGBTQ+ community is to "show your pride". A beautiful mantra but, with all its good intentions forgotten, is tragically dangerous for so many. There are thousands if not millions of people who cannot express themselves for so many reasons present in all areas of the world. In 64 counties is it still a criminal offense to engage in a homosexual relationship. Now think about the person-to-person danger of being queer in these places. There is so much wrong with this world, but I truly believe that WE the people can change these mindsets based on ignorance. In my life, I've seen these attacks against my peers, against myself. I have felt the fear of wanting to stay closeted, yet I still know I am privileged in my current position and safety. I've been a member of GSAs in my community since Grade 7, and in my senior year, I am president. I use my power to spread awareness, truth, and humanity of our message. Creating a safe environment for my peers and educating the opposition is what I do and I plan to continue to do it even after I graduate from this stage in my life. In the future, I plan to use my degree to the best of my ability on top of any other services, I am going into illustration and we all know that "a picture is worth a thousand words in any language". I plan to make pieces establishing the struggles our community faces, to show that we too are humans trying to make it along our paths. To normalize what is completely normal is my goal. I vehemently believe that it is possible to change the minds of thousands if we can just get to them. Another way I plan to make an impact is to take in those who are unfortunately cast aside due to their orientations, in grade 9 I temporarily housed a friend who was kicked out for being transgender. He still is my best friend to this day, and I want to help others facing these exiles due to nothing of their own fault. Day by day, moment to moment we can create change and I want to be able to be that change for someone, for someplace. Each day I get closer and I feel the ripple of the changing tides, slow but steady.

The attached photo is my favorite artwork I have yet to create. The piece is simply titled "Eleanor", the subject's name in the portrait. This was a great struggle for me during its creation as art and connection cause many issues for me as I feel painting people who are close to me has such an added layer of pressure, I can see every mistake and find it hard to often recognize my own portraits as myself, let alone others. However, this piece was the start of my latest journey. A few months ago I visited what I hoped to be my dream school, and it held up more than my heart could have ever pleaded for. While I was there I had a chance to get my portfolio reviewed, give an idea of what needs to stay, leave, and improve. In my documents, they saw a portrait of myself I had created in the summer of 2022, which they loved the movement and style of and told me to bring more of it to the table, and brung it I did. I spent days trying to create more pieces like my own portrait, either of myself or others and often found myself in depths of frustration over my failures. I eventually decided to unwind and paint my first muse, my first supporter, a person whom I find comfort in during my times of doubt. I pulled a recent photo out and started to block her in and try to stay true to her form. I won't lie and say it was going wonderfully from the start, in fact, it was going fairly wayward until I showed her what-- WHO-- I was working on and I could feel the love radiating off of her while I sent her progression updates, but in all of that, while she cheered me on, she didn't lie to me. She critiqued me and told me what she didn't feel looked like her as I worked and I went off into my little world to mimic her essence. By the end of the experience, I had surprised myself. I know I have talent, and I know my talent is limitless with honing my tools and trade, but this was a truly enlightening experience. This painting opened a floodgate of desire and passion in my art didn't know I could muster! When I look at this piece, I am reminded of love, support, and why I do what I do everyday matters. This piece is a representation of overcoming the sea of challenges to me, the taunts of fear shadowed by all else.