During my senior year of high school, I was introduced for the first time to the medium, watercolor. Surprisingly, it quicky became my least favorite medium to use. I was impatient and struggled with the lack of control that I had with the watercolor. Each painting felt more frustrating than the last. My teacher noticed my struggles and encouraged me to develop a thesis to guide my work, hoping it would bring clarity and direction in my watercolor journey. At the time, the idea of crafting a whole thesis around watercolor only added to my frustration. Going through this creative block, I found an unexpected inspiration in the biopic film Basquiat. One scene in particular stood out. Basquiat attempted to share his work with Andy Warhol through hand-painted postcards. That concept stuck with me. Postcards suddenly felt like the perfect way to begin my watercolor journey. The idea grew into a series of postcards that I imagined sending to my Abuela in Mexico. The series would be called Yo Soy de America. Each card became a small tribute to my heritage. This was a way of telling her that I was still celebrating our culture while living in America. With a personal narrative behind the work, I began to slow down and focus on the process. Watercolor allowed me to convey a sense of calm and renewal, as its soft and delicate nature fosters a delicate quality. This didn’t become another painting but a visual letter to my family. Each brushstroke became a word in my visual message to my Abuela. The more details I include, the more passionate I felt about the story I was telling. Being physically far away from one another, this was my way of speaking with her. Through this process, I grew to love watercolor. It reminded me of the peaceful moments spent talking with my Abuela on her porch in Mexico. It was unrushed, meaningful, and full of love. My technique steadily improved, and I continued to explore the medium even after the class ended. The next pieces I would make was Silver Lining. This would be a painting inspired by my jewelry, specifically my favorite necklace. This painting would tell the story of my faith and how important it is to me during hard times. Using the same approach I had developed with the postcards; I aimed to tell a story through the flow of color and brushwork. Rather than forcing control, I let the paint guide me, allowing the image to unfold naturally. In doing so, the piece gained a life of its own. Although I had a troubling start with watercolor, it holds a special place in my heart. It taught me patience, vulnerability, and how to speak through the painting. I aspire to pursue a career in illustration to share my stories and cultural heritage with a wider audience. Through posters, book covers and design work. I hope to express my passion for watercolor and inspire others with its beauty.

“Por la señal de la santa cruz de muestros enemigos líbranos señor dios nuestro. En el nombre del padre del hijo y del espíritu santo amen.” This was the first prayer I learned in church at the age of six. Now at twenty-one years old, I haven’t set foot in a church for eight years. A long time ago, I made the decision to distance myself from the church. I believed that the church didn’t represent me or my faith I grew up with. Instead, it embodied beliefs that did not align with my personal values. For a while, I lived a seemingly normal and peaceful life. I had everything I had dreamed of since childhood. I moved to a new state, pursued my passion for the arts, and played soccer at the Division II level. Yet, despite achieving these aspirations, I felt empty and lost. As days turned into months, I fell into a deep depression. The turning point came during my freshman year of college. One day I was driving back to campus and lost control of my car and totaled it in an accident. Already struggling with my mental health, that moment felt like the final blow. I broke down crying on the side of the road until a woman stopped to help me. For the next three hours, she went out of her way to ensure I got back to campus safely. Before leaving, she reassured me by saying, “Everything is going to be okay because God made sure you walked away from that crash without a single scratch.” At that moment, I broke down in tears – she was right. Despite the car being nearly destroyed, I emerged unscathed. When I returned to my dorm room, I set my belongings down and, out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed a necklace my mother had given me when I was six years old. I had not worn the necklace in years, yet there it was, lying in plain sight. It was a silver cross necklace adorned with diamonds, resting atop a pile of my oxidized gold jewelry. In that moment, I knew that everything was going to be okay. Wanting to preserve this memory, I translated this moment into a painting using both gouache and watercolor. These mediums allowed me to convey a sense of calm and renewal, as their soft and delicate nature fosters a delicate quality. I depicted my gold jewelry as a homogenous mass, exaggerating its oxidation so that it blended into the brown background of the wood. In contrast, I placed the silver cross necklace within the three- point composition to draw the viewer’s attention, just as it had captured mine in that pivotal moment. To emphasize its significance, I rendered the necklace with intricated details, while darkening the lower portion of the painting to represent my struggles with the depression. As the painting ascends, it gradually becomes lighter, culminating in the brightness surrounding the cross. The cross symbolizes the hope and happiness I had when rediscovering my faith. This is the story behind my painting, Silver Lining.